#so don’t mind cure wonderful staring at you from behind the lyrics

[driedupeyeballs]

Reading the EN translation of ai to tokimeki no macaronage is fueling my urge to make a jamiazu au with these two

#the English title is macaronage of love and excitement but that sounds dumb #this is from the precure wiki #so don’t mind cure wonderful staring at you from behind the lyrics #she means no harm #also correct me if I’m wrong but isn’t she the only pink precure that doesn’t have pink or blonde hair in their normal form?? #idk it’s weird to see a pink precure w brown hair #she’s cool tho #ash-mg

[waitimcomingtoo]

Champagne Problems

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

Synopsis: you play Tom a new song you wrote, and he overthinks the lyrics

Masterlist

On a morning where he was supposed to be memorizing his latest script, Tom got distracted by the sound of you playing your piano somewhere in the house. He followed the soft melody into your studio, where he found you singly softly as you sat with your keyboard.

“You won’t remember all my champagne problems.” You hummed along to the notes you were playing.

“That sounds beautiful, darling.” Tom smiled as he came behind you to rub your shoulders. “Is that new?”

“Yeah.” You nodded as you put your hand over his. “I’m not sure about it though. The lyrics are still a little iffy.”

“Play it for me.” Tom kissed your neck before taking a seat. “I’ll tell you my thoughts.”

“You won’t be any help.” You chuckled. “You’ll just tell me it’s the greatest song ever written like you always do.”

“I can’t help it.” He pouted. “You’re just so talented.”

“It helps to have the loveliest muse in the world.” You cooed, bringing a smile out of Tom.

“Play me the song.” Tom asked. “I’ll be totally honest. I promise.”

“Okay.” You agreed and pulled the keyboard onto your lap. As soon as you started to play the intro, Tom was enchanted.

“You booked the night train for a reason, so you could sit there in this hurt. Bustling crowds or silent sleepers, you’re not sure which is worse.” You began. You looked up at Tom for approval and he gave you a cheerful thumbs up.

“Because I dropped your hand while dancing. Left you out there standing crestfallen on the landing. Champagne problems.” You sang softly. “Your mom's ring in your pocket. My picture in your wallet. Your heart was glass, I dropped it. Champagne problems.”

You stopped playing and looked at Tom to see what he thought. He happily applauded you, making you roll your eyes playfully.

“It’s amazing.” Tom grinned. “It’s the best song ever written.”

You gave him a skeptically look over your piano and he laughed.

“I’m serious.” He insisted. “Is there more?”

“Yeah. I have more.” You nodded and positioned your fingers on the keys. “Here’s the second verse.”

“You told your family for a reason, you couldn't keep it in. Your sister splashed out on the bottle, now no one's celebrating.” You continued. “Dom Pérignon, you brought it. No crowd of friends applauded. Your hometown skeptics called it champagne problems. You had a speech, you're speechless. Love slipped beyond your reaches. And I couldn't give a reason. Champagne problems.”

Tom furrowed his eyebrows as he slowly connected the lyrics together. Between the mention of the ring and the lack of celebration, Tom realized the song was about turning down a proposal. He knew you had never been proposed to before, so he wasn’t sure where the inspiration for the song came from. In the back of his mind, he began to panic. Especially since up in his room, carefully hidden in his sock drawer, was a ring. A diamond ring that he had bought specifically for the reason of asking you to marry him.

“What do you think?” You asked, pulling him out of his thoughts.

“Um, it’s really good.” He said slowly. “Interesting topic.”

“Yeah. I wanted to do something I’d never done before.” You smiled proudly and your fingered the keys.

“Interesting, interesting.” Tom nodded in fear. “Is there more?”

“Yeah. I’m really proud of this next part.” You grinned. “Listen closely.”

Tom gulped as you began to sing the bridge, something he knew you were skilled at writing.

“Your Midas touch on the Chevy door. November flush and your flannel cure. "This dorm was once a madhouse". I made a joke, "Well, it's made for me". How evergreen, our group of friends. Don't think we'll say that word again.” You shook your head as you sang. “And soon they'll have the nerve to deck the halls that we once walked through.”

Tom really began to panic at this point. He knew it couldn’t be a coincidence that you decided to write a song about turning down a proposal a few weeks after he bought a ring. He had one more week to go until he was going to propose, and he assumed you figured that out. Since you were as kindhearted and non confrontational as you were, there was no way you’d turn down Tom if he got down on one knee. You must have written the song as a way to tell him you didn’t want to marry him before he embarrassed himself by proposing.

“One for the money, two for the show. I never was ready, so I watch you go.” You looked into his eyes as you sang. “Sometimes you just don't know the answer ‘til someone's on their knees and asks you.”

“Oh God.” Tom gulped.

"She would've made such a lovely bride, what a shame she's fucked in her head, " they said. But you'll find the real thing instead.” You sang to him as he stared at you with wide eyes. “She'll patch up your tapestry that I shred. And hold your hand while dancing. Never leave you standing crestfallen on the landing with champagne problems.”

“Hm.” He squeaked.

“Your mom's ring in your pocket. Her picture in your wallet. You won't remember all my Champagne problems. You won't remember all my Champagne problems.” You played the last few notes before looking at him.

“So.” You smiled. “What do you think?”

Tom opened his mouth to say something, but found his mind blank. You were testing him, and he wasn’t sure how to respond.

“Um, it’s interesting.” He said softly.

“Interesting? Do you not like it?” Your face fell.

“Um, it’s not that.” His expression was just as sad. He appreciated that you wanted to let him down easy, but that didn’t make it hurt any less.

“Tom.” You noticed his solemn expression. “What’s the matter? Is it bad?”

“Do you...did you...”

“Did I what?” You asked when he trailed off.

“Did you find the ring?” He asked suddenly, making your head jut back.

“The...the what?” You laughed in confusion.

“You found the ring and wrote that song, didn’t you?” He asked sadly. “You wrote it and sang it to me because you didn’t know how to tell me you didn’t want to marry me.”

“Tom, what are you talking about?” You wondered as you stood up and walked over to him. “What ring?”

“The ring you found in my sock drawer.” He said like it was obvious. You stared at him for a long time, trying to understand what he was talking about.

“I didn’t find a ring in your sock drawer.” You told him. Tom’s face pulled back in shock as he realized he had jumped to an incorrect conclusion.

“Hm.” He nodded. “It appears I made an inaccurate assumption based on the information that I was given.”

“You weren’t given any information.” You said as you looked at him skeptically. “What’s going on?”

“I...I thought the song was your way of telling me no.” He sheepishly admitted.

“What?” You laughed, still thinking he was joking. “Why?”

“I don’t know. I thought you were sending me a subliminal message!” He exclaimed.

“I wasn’t! It’s just a song!” You shouted back. “And wait a minute, you have a ring in your sock drawer?”

“Yes, and?” He stood his ground.

“Yes, and?” You repeated in shock. “Did you seriously just say yes, and? Like we’re in the middle of an improv game?”

“It’s just a ring.” Tom shrugged it off to save himself from embarrassment. “What about it?”

“What about it?” You laughed in shock. “What kind of ring is it?”

Tom quieted down suddenly, at a loss for words in the middle of your screaming match. He realized he didn’t know how to answer your question, but he couldn’t leave you hanging, so he told you the best thing he could come up with.

“The finger kind.” He said quietly, making you let out a loud groan.

“I know it’s the finger kind.” You shouted. “But what’s it for?”

“Your finger?” Tom shrugged, making you hunch over to keep your composure. He knew he was dropping the ball so he quickly tried to redeem himself.

“I don’t understand the quest-“

“Were you going to propose to me?” You cut him off as you popped back up. All the other thoughts in Toms head went out the window as he remembered the original point of the conversation.

“Yes.” He said after a minute. “I was.”

“Tom.” You whispered through a smile. He smiled back, relishing in the happiness him proposing brought you.

“Hang on a minute.” He said before running out of the room. He returned soon with a velvet black box in his hand. You covered your mouth with your hands at the sight of the box, knowing exactly what it contained.

“I was gonna wait until our anniversary next week, but I guess the secrets kinda out.” He chuckled shyly as he walked up to you. You wiped a few tears away as you put your hands over his, rubbing his hand softly with your thumb.

“This wasn’t how I planned to ask you. I had a whole speech planned.” He said apologetically. “But I was never very good at keeping secrets. Seriously, there are like hours of content online just of me spoiling-“

“Yes.” You cut him off between sniffles.

“Yes?” He asked.

“Yes.” You repeated through a smile. “I will marry you.”

“You will?” His face lit up as his shaking hands struggled to open the box.

“I will.” You nodded repeatedly. Tom let out a shocked laugh as tears of joy streamed down his face. He finally got the box open and put the ring on your finger with trembling hands. You looked at it in admiration before pulling him into a long kiss. He instantly kissed you back, wrapping his arms tightly around your waist to keep you as close as possible. When you finally pulled away, you were both a mess of snot and tears.

“I got boogers on your face.” He grimaced as he wiped your face with the bottom of his shirt.

“It’s okay.” You chuckled. “I’ll be mad about it tomorrow, but I’m too happy right now. I’m so, so happy.”

“I am too.” He sniffled. “How should we celebrate?”

“I have an idea.” You smirked. “Champagne?”

Tag List 🏷

@awesomebooklover17​ @thebookwormlife​ @imanativeofswlondondahling​ @weirdr-artiest​ @serendipitous-amor​ @dummiesshort​

@foreverxholland​ @lavender-writer​ @michaela072796​ @whatareyouhidingpeter​ @takenbyheartstrings​ @ultrunning​ @imyourliquor-youremypoison​ @andreasworlsboring101​ @waiting-to-be-myself​ @letsloveimagines​ @peterparkoure​ @a-villain-vying-for-attention​ @justcallmehitgirl​ @jackiehollanderr​ @tiny-friggin-human @mara-twins​ @iamaunicorn4704​ @maryjanee23​ @geeksareunique​ @emmamarshmellow​ @unbelievableholland​ @flixndchill​ @sovereignparker​ @thisisthebiplace​ @spideydobrik​ @every-marveler-ever​ @undiadeestos​ @caelestii-e​ @eridanuswave​​ @itscaminow​​ @fiantomartell​ @solarxmoonchild​ @canyouevencauseicant​ @illwritetomorrow​ @thehappygrungelife​ @saysomethingspiderman​ @smilexcaptainx​ @quaksonhehe​ @kelieah​ @kickingn-ames​ @seasidecrowbar​ @lovelessdagger​ @love-sick-blues​ @electraheart-3174​ @unbelievableholland​ @yourtypicalhotmess​ @spideyanakin​ @horanxholland​ @thesuitelifeofafangirl​ @marshxx​ @heyheycharlatte​ @nooneinvitedfascistbarbie​ @tomshufflepuff​ @cookiemonstermusic258​

@maybemona​ @alexxcorona113​ @lethal-wisdom​ @xo-spidey​ @big-galaxy-chaos​ @pandaxnienke​ @theincredibledeadlyviper​  @thestylestour​  @officialsimppage​ @mrvelscaptains​ @peterbenjiparker​ @itsemohours​ @okkulta​ @parkerlovebot​ @jungkxxkk​ @friendlyneighborhood-mendes​ @whatthefuckimbisexual​ @olixerwxxd​ @starkbrain​ @creatorofthegalaxy​ @ilovefrogs1000​ @itstaskeen​ @itmatteredatthetime @wrendermeuseless​ @amazinggracy​ @iprobablyshipit91​ @magicalxdaydream​ @whereismytelephone​ @theonly1outof-a-billion​ @leilanixx​ @namoreno​ @bi-lmg​ @dracoswhore007​ @tomhollandloml​ @avengers-hamiltrash​ @sunshinepeterparkr​ @gh0stgurl​ @so-very-asleep​ @veryholland​ @white-wolf1940​ @spideycheles​ @firwproof-blog​ @fanficaddict13125​ @pinklxmonade​ @thebestqueenoftheworld​ @nowayhomeparker​ @willowestelle​ @imobsessedzs​ @spideyspeaches​ @bookfrog242​ @hihiweezing​ @mathletemadison​  @chipot-lol​ @mackenziejanine​ @dhtomholland​ @peterstommy​ @insomniac-nerd-posts-things​ @prancerrparkerr​ @aayaissaa​ @loudthoughts-softspoken​ @starknik22​ @hallecarey1​ @tom-holland-is-bae​ @adayasgeorgia​

#tom holland x reader #tom holland x famous!reader #tom holland x singer!reader #tom holland x you #tom holland x yn #tom holland fluff #tom holland blurb #tom holland fanfiction

[taliaromanovaswife]

Exothermic

Summary: Meet the original character, plagued by amnesia after an accident. But what if a certain deadly assassin is the cure for that? 

Warnings: softly NSFW... like, it could be worse? Little swearing

The sound of her own, slow footsteps was her only companion on this evening's stroll through the sterile, clean corridors. Though barely audible, the noise was almost deafening to her and yet it did not manage to stop her mind from reeling. Nothing around her seemed familiar, starting with her room and ending with the smell of the hallways. There was absolutely nothing that managed to jog her memory so far, and it irked her. Apparently, she was a member of the greatest team of heroes that walked the Earth, but every time she looked into their faces, her brain could not connect the dots. And worst of all, every Avenger had told her that they were not allowed to help her; that her amnesia had to fade on its own terms and that telling her the truth could make it worse in the end. So, here she was. Eight weeks after an accident where she had been thrown through a window on the first floor, discharged from the hospital because her wounds were healing nicely, yet she still did not remember anything from her past. Nothing, except for her name, age and powers, but even that information was given to her.

Alexandra, twenty-five, defender and healer – whatever that was supposed to mean.

Pressing her palms against her temple, she scoffed and rolled her eyes at herself. Nothing happened, just like nothing had happened since the day she regained consciousness. She had no clue how her powers actually worked, but if she was a healer, then why was she unable to heal her own brain? “You're so stupid”, she cried out, banging the balls of her hands against her already aching head. “Why can't you work? I just want to know who the fuck I am?!”

She rounded another corner, walking past half a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows when she stopped dead in her tracks. Something in the corner of her eye had caught her attention, something she was unsure had been there before. Nevertheless, it was something that spoke to her and for the first time in weeks, she felt a sense of familiarity warming up her insides.

Taking a chance, the tall blonde tried the door handle, happy to find it unlocked. After light brown eyes had scanned the area to make sure that she was alone, tentative feet slipped through a small gap, still wondering if her mind was playing tricks on her now. She had been walking these halls since she was brought home, but had never noticed a piano up here, or anywhere for that matter. Not even downstairs in the bar. ‘Too expensive’, the man who introduced himself as Tony Stark had said when she had asked. ‘The last one got destroyed by Ultron’, a muscular, tall, blond guy had added before receiving death glares from the rest of the group. Alexandra had no idea who Ultron was. How could she, if she was still unable to put the pieces of her own past back together? And what about her present? Did she even go by her full first name or did she prefer it was shortened to Alex? Or even Lexi? Did she like being an Avenger? How strong was her power, how strong was she? She did not know and they did not tell her. But she felt drawn to the piano, as if it was calling out for her and that feeling eased some of her frustration.

Carefully lifting the fall board and locking it in an upright position, shaky fingers pressed down a combination of keys that her brain did not remember, but her muscles certainly did. Muscle memory, she sighed. How could she remember this but not even the bare minimum of her life? Her most important muscle was not working the way it should. Slender hands pulled the matching black piano bench out from under the instrument and she sat down, her fingers gliding over the keys like second nature as her feet hit the pedals.

Suddenly, her mind flashed to a different time. A different piano was in front of her and perfectly manicured short, red-painted fingernails produced a tune she could not hear. But if Alexandra had to guess, she was reliving a tiny bit of her memory. Maybe, hopefully, this was the pivotal ingredient that she had been missing.

Closing her eyes, she allowed her fingers to work the way they knew how to, her vision not providing much help anyway. And as the melody filled the air and cautious fingertips became more confident of their skill, so did her feet. Alexandra was no expert in how muscle memory actually worked, but she could not explain what was happening right now any other way. Her mind drew blank on the names of the songs that she brought to life, and yet, somehow her brain knew what belonged together and when she transitioned to a new melody. So she kept playing, kept her eyes shut tight and let her emotions rage freely like a wildfire.

Alexandra was so lost in her creations, she did not register the other person entering the room, nor did she feel their presence. Her upper body leaned into the music, swayed with every crescendo and diminuendo. The music consumed her entire system, every nerve ending was accommodating to her trance as the cells in her brain sprang into action. Still, her fingers danced over black and white keys in the most beautiful pattern she had ever heard.

Natasha Romanoff was utterly captivated by the sight before her eyes, as mesmerizing and enthralling as ever. From the moment she had stepped into the room, she stood still and quiet, simply listening to the melody with a sad smile on her face. There was something magical about the way that Alexandra commanded the keys under the pads of her fingers and she was glad she had suggested buying a piano for the younger woman. It was minutes later that she slipped her ballet shoes on and tied the ribbons around her ankles, green eyes never leaving the figure behind the piano. Even as she pulled her red hair into a neat bun – years of practice making the need for a mirror unnecessary – her gaze was fixed on the musician, waiting. The assassin had noticed the slight change in the other hero's posture, the deeper breaths and the parted lips. She knew what was coming, long before Alexandra herself had figured it out.

Words formed in her head. If one were to ask her, Alexandra would say she did not know where they came from, her brain not remembering the song. But her heart did, even if it did not understand the meaning just yet. “Dancing around in the rain again.”, she sang, finding the lyrics to the accords she played. Her voice was soft and quiet, trembling with insecurity at first. 'Cause you said that I was my only friend. Playing with the flowers that I picked myself. Because I know they won't come from anybody else. Wrap myself up to warm my hands. From the biting ice that you made them stand.”

As her favorite voice filled the room, velvety and clear, Natasha began to stretch her tired muscles. Last week's mission had been tough on all of them, and the ache from multiple hits and countless falls still lingered in her bones. It could have been worse, but it also could have gone a lot smoother and with less injuries. Still, there was no pain that could stop her from being here, from dancing to Alexandra’s song. Not her bruised ribs and most definitely not her bandaged wrist – just a sprain, she told everybody.

Tears began to form behind her closed eyes. How could she remember songs but not her life? What kind of sick and twisted condition was this retrograde amnesia and why would it not let go of her? And while her fingers moved across the keys without any mistakes, and her feet operated the pedals below them, the first tears spilled down her cheeks. She just wanted to remember. “I'm still moving cities and I'm still causing storms. I don't know if you know this. But when I shoot I score. Took this pain inside of me, turned it into gold. I made this exothermic. Now watch my heart explode.”

Natasha's heart broke for the person, as it did every day since the accident. She had thought that the first few days had been the hardest, when no doctor was giving a clear statement whether or not she would wake from the coma. Then, when Alexandra did wake up but did not know who she was, did not recognize her, the agent's entire world fell apart. Adjustments had been made before the young Avenger had been released from the hospital, hushed conversations that would make everybody feel left out had become the norm around the blonde hero. But every look into Alexandra's sad eyes chipped away at the – usually put-together – assassin. Natasha shook those thoughts from her head as she carefully pushed herself onto her tip toes and raised her arms above her head, extending her index finger and pinkie into perfect position. Out of everything she had been trained in on her way to become one of the deadliest assassins in Russian history, ballet had always been her favorite and to this day, she still used dancing as a stress reliever.

Brown, teary eyes fluttered open and the music abruptly stopped. Her fingers halted over the keys, her mouth remained agape as she stared at the woman who was introduced to her as Natasha Romanoff. She thought she was alone, but there stood the beautiful Russian, dressed in tight black leggings, a matching form-fitting black bodice and a white silken skirt. “I’m-“ She pulled her fingers in, forming fists that slowly clenched and unclenched with every passing second, her heart rate speeding up to the same rhythm. Nervously chewing on her own bottom lip, she stared at her own hands and then back at the other woman. “Was I not supposed to be in here?”, she asked anxiously, Natasha’s intense green eyes seemingly staring right into her soul.

“Please don’t be scared”, the assassin replied. “This is your home, you can be in every room you want to be in, use everything you want or need.” Graciously lowering herself back onto her entire feet and resting her hands on her hips, the redhead tried reassuring her. “You should feel at home here.”

The words were mumbled, but Alexandra still caught it and scoffed. “And yet, everybody stops talking when I walk into a room”, the woman shot back, smoothing her palms over the long, honey-blonde braid and sighed. “I’m sorry. It’s not easy being me right now, whoever I am. But you did not deserve this.” Everybody around here had been nothing but amazing towards her, despite her condition. Sure, their conversations stopped or changed, but that did not mean that she was not included in whatever topic followed after. “I can go, if you want to-“

“Please don’t”, Nat said in a haste, stopping herself before she could say the name that lingered on the tip of her tongue. She took deep breaths, reminding herself that Alexandra’s memory was yet to come back. “Would you play for me?”, she asked quietly, her lips curling into a smile. “Your song was very beautiful and I would like to dance to it.”

The blonde eyed the assassin apprehensively. Was this a regular occasion? Did she used to sing for other people? “Damn it, you stupid brain”, she cursed under her breath, eliciting a light chuckle from Natasha. Thinking about the request for a moment, she finally agreed. “Only if I am allowed to watch you dance.”

“Always”, the redhead smiled, her body protesting slightly as she pushed herself into the releve pose. She steadied herself before finding Alexandra's eyes. “Ready when you are.”

As if nothing had stopped her in the first place, expert finger tips roamed over the keys, picking up where they had left off. Once again, the melody resonated in the air, but this time, Alexandra only had eyes for the gorgeous woman dancing for her. Every part of Natasha’s body appeared to be in sync with her music and somehow the blonde knew that this was not the first time she had twirled to this particular song. “Dancing around in the dark again. But I'm happier now than I ever was then. Feel my heart as it is ablaze. Making room for another in these better days. Days, days.” Forcefully pressing the keys into the instrument as the music became louder and more spirited, brown eyes followed Natasha’s every motion doing the same. She did not notice the two figures standing on the other side of the glass, staring and smiling at her.

Wanda sighed in content, listening to the sound of Alexandra's beautiful voice. She and Natasha always begged the young hero to sing for them, or at least play one of her favorite compositions for them. It helped with the stress after a long day of work. It eased their minds and both women knew that the same applied to Alexandra. “Do you think this will help her?”, the witch asked aloud, her Sokovian accent less prominent now that she was spending most of her time around Americans. Cocking her head to the left but never averting her eyes, she added, “Natasha could use a sliver of good news.”

Arms crossed over his chest, Steve observed as one of his oldest friends danced. He let out a long breath. “I really hope so. I don't know how long Nat can keep going like this. It's ripping her apart.” The super soldier truly admired the redhead for still walking tall. He was not sure he could do the same. “If this doesn't work, then I don't know what could, besides telling Alex the truth. And the doctor's strictly recommended not to do that. But-”

“But at this rate, our most deadliest and finest assassin is no use on missions”, Wanda finished his sentence with a soft nod while watching the Black Widow dance with an elegance unmatched by anything she had ever seen.

“I'm still moving cities and I'm still causing storms. I don't know if you know this. But when I shoot I score. Took this pain inside of me, turned it into gold. I made this exothermic. Now watch my heart explode.” Alexandra's vocal cords vibrated deep within her throat as her voice reverberated with every word she sang. Louder and louder. The keys molded to her every tap and she had to focus on keeping her eyes open. She never let Natasha out of sight, but as the song went on, it was harder and harder not to give in to the music and let her feelings take over. “Oh, watch me exo, o, o, o. Watch me exo burn this. I deserve it, ohh. I deserved this. I deserve it, oh! I deserve this, woah!”

The Russian's feet hit the parquet floor in a faster pattern now, her body spiraling with every pirouette. The position of her hands was immaculate, the satin skirt wafted with every turn and yet, every time she spun around, her eyes locked on Alexandra's. Watching the other woman play with such intensity, like nothing had changed in the past weeks, made her want to cry. But Natasha swallowed her emotions and danced until the blonde stopped playing. She came to a stop, her breathing ragged and the pain from her bruised ribs jabbing into her sides. Still, Nat regretted nothing.

Neither of them said a word or dared to move. The last notes had long since faded away, but they still felt connected through the music. An invisible bond both held onto, fearing that breaking the silence would involuntarily end this moment of peace.

It was Alexandra who moved first, carefully closing the fall board and rising to her feet. “This was nice, we should do this again.” The comment came with a smile. She had not felt this free in weeks and even though her memories did not return – she had hoped they would – the blonde felt a lot better. “Thank you for the dance, Natalia”, she said out of a habit she did not understand. Hearing the sentence, but specifically that name, falling from her own lips caused a chain reaction. She froze on the spot and went stiff as her brain was flooded with millions of memories from her past. Missions and fighting. Loki, Ultron. Iron Man, Thor, Captain America. The Hulk. Clint and Wanda, her brother Pietro. Vision. Her healing a gash on Natasha's temple. Natasha. Everything came back to her, and all at once. And as her brain completed the puzzle, everything began to make sense again. The last image she saw showed Natasha – her Natalia – in a simple white dress and with white flowers in her red, wavy hair as she was waiting for her on the grass behind the Avenger's compound. And then finally, she remembered her full name. Alexandra Romanoff.

Natasha gasped, her hand covering her mouth in shock. She had waited so long to hear her wife say her name again. No one ever called her Natalia, no one but Alexandra. “Sasha”, she whispered her lover's nickname, eyes filling with tears. With hesitant steps, she closed the gap between them. Soft hands cradled the blonde's face the second she was close enough. “I've missed you so much.” Her lips brushed against a tear-stained cheek, tasting the salt on the tip of her tongue. “Thank you, for coming back to me.”

Gently taking a bandaged hand in her left, Alexandra carefully lowered their limbs. Her wife appeared tough on the outside and would never admit to anyone how much pain she truly was in. But brown eyes saw right through the facade. It had been those very same eyes that had torn down Natasha's walls, stone for stone, when they had started dating all those years ago. A mellow light radiated from her, encasing both women in the warmest, white gleam. Her powers searched for every single one of Nat’s injuries, healing them one after the other. “I will always come back to you, моя любовь. Always”, she promised.

Just as she leaned in for a kiss, Natasha saw the two people outside of the room move slightly – of course her trained senses had picked up on their presence earlier, but she had chosen to ignore them. “FRIDAY? Please close the blinds”, she asked the Artificial Intelligence in her sweetest voice. A swoosh sounded through the room as the shades dropped from the ceiling almost all the way down to the floor, effectively blocking every curious onlooker. “Now we are alone.” Her voice was husky now, even lower than the usual rasp that was just so distinctively hers. “You didn't notice?”

Alexandra shook her head. “I was watching you.” Pale cheeks blushed a dark shade of red when their lips were mere millimeters apart, their foreheads touching. She chuckled. “Even when my brain was all chaotic and weird, I could not stop looking at you.” Nudging her partner's nose with her own, she inhaled Natasha's perfume. “I'm sorry it took me so long.”

The motion was barely visible as the red-haired woman shook her head. “It doesn't matter”, she whispered softly, stroking a few loose curls out of Alexandra's face and behind her ear. “What matters is that you remember now.” Finally pressing her lips against her wife's, she was immediately engulfed by the familiar warmth and love she had for the other woman. God, how much she had missed her.

Pale hands rested on either side of a slender hip, thumbs stroking the bone over the soft material of the dancer's outfit. The cutest little moans escaped her throat. This was what coming home felt like. Natasha was home. One of her hands slid lower, fingers fanning out over a firm bottom cheek as she smiled into the kiss. Tears of happiness ran down her cheeks.

“Don't cry, Милый”, Natasha whispered, wiping her lover's tears away with a gentle brush of her knuckles. “Please, don't cry.”

Swallowing the lump that had formed in her throat, the blonde reconnected their lips. A dire need to be as close as possible to her wife was all she experienced in this moment. “Happy tears”, Alexandra assured between kisses, pulling the assassin even closer into her body. She relished in these moments, remembering how the redhead never let her guard down around anybody but her. It made every moment of intimacy even more special. “I love you.”

Her wife's breathless confession caused her heart to pound even faster in her chest. “I love you, too.” Strong hands moved to her lover's behind, cupping a cheek in each of them to hoist her up. She felt legs wrap around her waist as a squeal left Alexandra's mouth, followed by the most precious giggles. Natasha had to crane her neck now, due to the change in height, but it had always been one of her favorite things to do. “I love you so much.” A couple of quick steps later, a slim back collided with the wall behind the piano.

The kiss grew more heated, tongues danced to an unsung melody. Their hearts beat in sync, wanton lust overtaking both women. It took all of her willpower, but when she felt full lips suck on her neck, Alexandra let out a frustrated groan. She knew she had to put a stop to this for now. “I think we have a more suitable... room for this, Natalia”, she moaned, her voice dripping with desire. “Our room.”

Natasha hated to admit it, but her wife had a point. Their reconnecting deserved more than a quickie in the newly appointed music room. She pressed their lips together in one last heated kiss before carefully lowering the blonde back onto her feet. Both inhaled deeply to regain some composure and smoothed over their clothes. “Ready?”, she asked, reaching out her hand for Alexandra to take, her other one holding her sneakers and sweater that she had picked off the floor.

Fingers intertwined, they exited the room with mischievous grins tugging on their lips as they walked past Wanda and Steve who were engaged in a conversation in the middle of the hallway. But the couple did not pay any attention to them anyway, too absorbed in each other's presence. Throughout the entire way to their room, neither spoke a word. Yet, the silence was not uncomfortable.

“Everything is still as I remember it”, Alexandra spoke when she entered their suite and took a look around. “Even my slippers are still where I kicked them off before we had to rush into the mission.” Her leather jacket – a birthday gift from a time when they were engaged – was still draped over one of the chairs. She smiled lovingly at Natasha when she noticed another detail. “I see you've been sleeping in my shirts.” She was not mad about this; she could never be mad about this. Because if the roles had been reversed, the blonde would have done the exact same thing.

Natasha blushed lightly, shutting the door behind them and locking it with a twist. “They kept me sane”, she explained. “Some of them still smelled like you.” And if they did not, she always imagined her wife's unique scent on them. Coming up behind the blonde, the dancer looped her arms around a slim waist. “You are what keeps me grounded, but you were not with me. So this was the next best thing.” The truth was, nothing could ever compare to the real thing. She tightened her embrace. Delicate fingers moved a honey-blonde braid out of the way before soft lips began to caress the back of a creamy neck.

Turning in her wife's arms and instantly missing the touch against her skin, Alexandra nuzzled her nose against her lover's cheek. Her fingers found their way to the hair tie, pulling lightly so red curls could fall onto almost bare shoulders. “I missed the feeling of your hair between my fingers”, she breathed, burying her hands in silken tresses as she claimed crimson lips in a fierce kiss.

The air was full of sexual tension as both women tugged and tore at each other's close until either of them was left in only their underwear. Natasha unhooked her own bra first, knowing how much her partner enjoyed the view. When the garment landed on the floor, nimble fingers fiddled with the clasp of the necklace that held her wife's wedding ring until she finally slid it back onto its rightful place. She smiled brightly. “Much better.” Wasting no more time, the red-haired woman unceremoniously undid Alexandra's bra before moving on to the matching pair of panties. “I missed all of you”, she husked seductively in her wife's ear before nibbling on the shell of it. “Every. Single. Inch.” And as her hands were busy getting reacquainted with the blonde's naked skin, she maneuvered them towards their bed.

Alex could not stop the moans as they spilled past her lips between kisses. She tried dipping her hand into her wife's underwear but remained unsuccessful before she was pushed onto the mattress. As brown eyes opened, the irises shone with a passionate hunger. “Come here”, she beckoned, ogling her lover while Natasha stripped herself of the last article of clothing. For a moment, she forgot how to breathe. “Natalia”, she groaned, growing impatient.

Knowing that teasing was not an option right now, and that it would ultimately cause both of them to suffer, the assassin climbed into the bed. Dainty hands wandered upwards, over pale ankles and satiny legs. Skipping her wife's sex on purpose and provoking a growl when Alexandra noticed what she was doing, the redhead did neither budge nor stop until she was once again face to face with the love of her life. “Hi”, she breathed against kiss-swollen lips as the pads of her fingers playfully fondled her wife's round breasts. Skillfully tweaking rosy buds into pebbled peaks, Natasha licked the blonde's full bottom lip, asking to be granted access.

Her mouth parted on its own accord, as did her legs to welcome the warm body on top of her between them. She let her hands rove over the smooth skin of Nat's back while the assassin played her body like an instrument. When wet lips encased one of her nipples, Alexandra arched even further into the touch, her own caresses never stopping.

Natasha hissed as she kissed a path from one boob to the other, certain that her lover's fingernails left crescent shaped marks on her right shoulder blade and neck. Her wife's nickname followed the next gasp, “Sasha.” Grinding her body into the one beneath her own, her slick center was mere inches away from Alexandra's. “Promise to never leave me again”, she pleaded, her voice barely audible against full lips.

“Not willingly”, the blonde assured her and wrapped her arms around her wife, holding her close. She could not even begin to imagine how hard the last weeks must have been on the other woman. “Never willingly, my love.” With a gentle nudge – in a moment of Natasha's inattentiveness – she flipped them so that she was now on top. “My promise to you will always stand, my beautiful Natalia. I will always love you and I will always come back to you”, she said, reciting parts of her wedding vow as she kissed along a creamy neck and toyed with hardened pearls. “If you're lost, I will find you.” Natasha's body bowed below her when she let her fingers dance over her ribs. “I will forever be yours.” When she looked up, she found Natasha's watchful gaze staring right back at her. “And you will forever be mine.”

Sneaking her left hand between them as Alexandra's traveled past her stomach, both women moaned vociferously when delicate fingers flicked each other's clits the way only they knew how. The Black Widow relished in the fact that the blonde had ruined her for anybody else and that she had returned the favor with pleasure. “Let go for me, Sasha”, she whined just as two of her lover's fingers slowly entered her. Mimicking Alexandra's action, the redhead eagerly swallowed her wife's whimpers.

The blonde's orgasm was approaching quickly and she could feel the walls around her digits tightening as well. Rubbing her thumb over her wife's engorged, needy bundle of nerves, she quaked when the assassin did the same. “I'm close”, she warned, her voice merely above a whisper as she pressed her forehead against Natasha's.

“Me too.” She loved their slow dance of passion and lust. There was no moment that she got to spend with her wife that she did not cherish. But tonight weighed a lot more as both women felt like they were coming home after being gone for weeks. “Come with me”, Natasha groaned, capturing full lips with her own seconds before she tumbled over the edge and Alexandra followed suit right after.

As both came down from their climax, the blonde felt the light strokes of fingertips as they pushed loose strands of honey-blonde hair out of her face. A satisfied smile spread across her lips. Her body revelled in the afterglow, tingled all over with bliss and adoration for the other woman. Lifting her head, she got momentarily lost in her lover's green eyes. “I am so in love with you, Natalia.”

“You will never know how much I love you, Sasha.” 

#first marvel fanfic #natasha romanoff #natalia romanova #OC #soft smuft #exposing myself to the world #one shot #piano #dancing #amnesia #natasha romanoff fanfic #natasha romanoff is a softie #ballet #marvel fanfiction #black widow #black widow fanfic #more tags? #exothermic

[funkzpiel]

Another consideration (sorry) is if Jaskier did lose his voice permanently from the Jinn and Geralt feels guilty and doesnt stop trying to find a cure even though he knows there isnt one (or lies to Jaskier that he's trying to find one til Jaskier finds out)

He doesn’t sing again. That prickly part of Geralt that’s been traveling alone for most of his life gruffly thought he’d enjoy that result. After all, he did his level best to have the issue resolved. It wasn’t his fault that the bard got involved. He hadn’t invited him along – he had just wanted to fucking sleep for fucking once in his life, damn it. It had been his wish though, however unintentional, that brought the bard into this new life, this silent existence. A world without Jaskier’s singing.

It is like biting into a pie only to find it has no filling.

Those words haunt him in the lingering silence of Jaskier’s presence. They hang between him and the bard as heavily as any wraith might – leeching him just as much as actual conversations exhausted him. Jaskier, like the birds of the woods, was born to sing and talk and fill the world with the litany of his voice and his perspective and his life; and Geralt had taken part in shattering him.

Yennefer had, in her way, tried to heal him. They had released the Djinn – much to the mage’s dismay – and that should have been the end of it. Jaskier’s swelling went down, his bleeding stopped.

But when he opened his mouth to greet Geralt when finally he woke, nothing more than a wheeze passed his lips. In that moment, the witcher watched a part of Jaskier die. He saw it in the bard’s eyes – a small bit of the light that constantly filled him fading away like a cloud passing over the sun.

Jaskier stayed with him. Geralt doesn’t understand why. It was his fault, his words, his hasty and ill thought out wish that had crushed the bard’s vocal cords to dust. Jaskier should hate him, and yet he stayed. Geralt thought pragmatically that it was because alone, Jaskier would struggle. He was a man who had independently crafted a life and a career for himself off his voice, and now that was gone. He had his fingers, his lute, of course – but drunken pub-goers relished the bard’s songs, his lyrics, and with nothing to sing along to, it left Jaskier’s lute playing, while lovely, pale and hollow by comparison to what patrons expected to hear when they recognized who he was.

Geralt did that to him. So it was the least he could do to keep Jaskier by his side. To provide a safe place for the bard to sleep, coin for him to eat. And that must be why he stayed, he reasoned. Why else?

As they passed through villages, he asked for healers, for mages – anyone who might have insight into the bard’s situation. He even began to direct their travels in the direction of famous herbalists or sorcerers (or sometimes even creatures), all without ever making it plain, just in case they might stumble upon someone who might have a cure.

‘Sorry’ hung heavy on his heart, weighing it down between his ribs, pressing in on his lungs, strangling him. He spent his nights, already so prone to sleeplessness, on his back and staring up at the sky as though the stars might suddenly align and spell out the answers he sought. His eyes drifted to Jaskier, curled by the fire. Small and quiet. So fucking quiet.

Geralt was really beginning to fucking detest the quiet.

It made him admire Jaskier’s penchant for conjuring a conversation seemingly out of nowhere; particularly when he began to try and solve this problem of too much fucking quiet by doing what Jaskier could not: talking.

“Pleasant day,” he growled one morning, eyes on the meal he stoked above the fire as Jaskier silently worked on lacing up his clothing. Blue eyes sought him out over the fire. He could feel the weight of them, the surprise. But what else was there to say? His words had been efficient. The day was pleasant. What should he say next? Describe the color of the sky? Foolish.

He grit his teeth, hating himself for his blatant inability to provide even so much comfort as this. But he keeps trying. He practices. Only because when he does, Jaskier’s gaze falls to him – keen in a way those blue eyes had not been in some time since the silence started – and for a moment he feels as though his bard has returned again.

Jaskier, for his part, does not simply melt back into the stone of a garden wall like a shrinking violet. His voice was not what made him so lively, so vibrant; it was a side effect of all the life and sunlight and existence that the gods had seen fight to cram into a body as lithe as Jaskier. He learned how to speak with his hands and Geralt, a man who had only spoken through body language for so long, found it easy to listen. It was an act of communication that drew no end of curious looks when they went to villages. How could two men speak so silently? Some even began to suspect Jaskier was a familiar of Geralt’s – which made the bard wheeze silently, laughing.

Geralt couldn’t even be annoyed by that. It was good to see the bard laugh.

Jaskier’s hands grew more and more fluent as they travelled until he learned how to fill the silence in an entirely new way. And if Geralt’s attention were distracted, his eyes not on the bard, Jaskier found ways to grab his attention. A pebble to the shoulder, if annoyed. A hand to his side, to the small of his back, to his bicep if not.

But still, Geralt looked for a cure. He did not ask for forgiveness. He didn’t deserve it – not while Jaskier was still unable to say the words to pardon him for his wish. Wishes. How Geralt hated them, hated the word. His wish had driven Yennefer away. His wish had bound Jaskier to a life in which he could not do what he loved. Geralt didn’t deserve forgiveness. So he did not ask.

And then came the contract about the witches of the bog.

Ancient hags. Magical ladies. So old that Geralt wasn’t even sure if the word ‘witch’ truly befitted them anymore. He didn’t even know what to call them, what to research in his bestiary. Three witches of the bog. Complicated and powerful, hand in hand. Some of the village worshipped them. They kept the forest rich with game. They protected birthing mothers. They warded off those from foreign lands that might colonize their home, change it, urbanize it. It left the area like a capsule from another time; perfectly preserved.

Others hated them. Virgins tended to disappear now and then. Children too. Livestock would die, men would suddenly fall dead. Believers called it penance, divine and unknowable justice for deeds the public might never see or fathom. Nonbelievers called it terrorism at the hands of monsters. Geralt found himself stuck in the middle.

He insisted Jaskier stay in the village. This was beyond even his expertise. Even with normal monsters there was always the chance that he might fail, not protect Jaskier, however slim. Now? He would not tell Jaskier that he had a healthy fear for what laid ahead, but he made it known that for no reason should the bard follow him this time.

He approached the bog with his swords on his back but his hands nowhere near their hilts. Women as old as these, there was a chance he might be able to reason with them. Negotiate.

There was just as big as chance that he might offend them by trying.

His heart thumped in his chest as he kneeled in a dry spot in the bog. He set out the offerings the believers told him would attract the witches to him. He rested his hands on his thighs. Closed his eyes.

“Bog women,” he said, calling to them in a hushed, croaking voice, “Ladies of the North, Winter Women… I have no request but to parlay with you. I humble myself, I kneel, knowing I don’t deserve an audience. Would you speak with me?”

At first there was nothing. He wondered if the believers had lied, if the nonbelievers were far more stable by comparison. He was just about to stand, to leave, when a wind brushed the faint hairs not held back by his hair tie to wisp about his face. The willows around him swirled and sang a sorrowful tune. The fine hairs on the back of his neck and on his arms rose.

“What is a boy’s name?” A witch sung to him. A boy. Despite his years, he felt very much like a boy kneeling at the feet of those women.

He nearly responded. Nearly. But there was power in a name for folk such as them.

“You may call me witcher,” he said instead, careful in his wording. Another witch laughed, delighted.

“Clever witcher-boy,” the laughing witch chirped, stepping out of the fog. She was lovely. Her red hair hung down to her bottom. Her face was round like a peach, her cheeks pink like one too. She wore a gown unlike one he had ever seen before. She looked kind, her smile pleasant, but her eyes – if he looked too long, he could see the predatory glint in those eyes. Her glamor blurred around the edges and if he peered too closely, he could almost see—

His pupils dilated, huge and blown out as he tried to make sense of what he saw. Limbs, so many limbs. A body distorted with tumors; or what he thought might be tumors, but perhaps just did not know the right word for them. Too many mouths, eyes, faces. The punishing visage of those warped by black magic or simply the form of a god not meant to be seen or understood by mortal men? He didn’t know, but he did register something wet beneath his nose. Hot and dripping. His heart thundered. He wondered if it might burst when finally another woman came up behind him, bent over him, and gently rested a hand over his eyes.

“A strong boy with keen eyes,” the woman behind him hummed, “Few have seen past our glamor. Fewer still remained sane enough to tell the tale.”

The first witch cackled, having appeared from the fog as well, and sneered, “You steal our fun,” then said a name that made Geralt’s lashes flutter sickly. The name sounded more like the mad tumble of rocks down a mountain side that any human word. His stomach lurched. He was so fucked. “I wished to see how far a witcher-boy’s mind might bend.”

“A boy came to us in good faith,” the witch whose name sounded like falling rocks said. Her voice sounded like the voice of many women, but also, one woman. His mother. He wondered if that was part of the glamor as well. If that magic was seeping into his mind, collecting fragments and details that might sooth him, lure him into a false sense of security.

Too bad it was the voice of the woman who had abandoned him. It only served to wake him up.

He decided to call that woman Earth Mother. The name pinged something familiar in the far recesses of his mind.

“Laws of matronhood,” said the second to the first, naming her as well. He gritted his teeth against the sound of it – glass shattering, wolves howling. It made his muscles tense, ready to flee the jaws of a wolf. When the feeling passed, a human name appeared in his mind seemingly from nowhere: Beast Mother.

“Aye, I know the laws,” said the Beast Mother, then a final name. Geralt’s stomach dropped sickly like missing a step on a staircase. This name sounded like the wind – both tame as the first warmth of spring thaws the fields, and wild like the storm that punishes a village. Sky Mother, his mind supplied.

Geralt bowed his head as those final, hind-brain instincts washed over him and eventually dulled. He felt suddenly exhausted. Word thin by the mere presence of these women.

“What does a witcher-boy call to women such as we for?” Asked the Sky Mother.

“Does a witcher-boy come to kill us?” Laughed the Beast Mother cruelly, and even with the third woman’s hand over his eyes – cool and soothing and dark – Geralt knew the Beast Mother was grinning with too many predatory teeth. More teeth than any human mouth should have. Teeth and teeth and teeth—

“The village placed a contract on you,” Geralt forced himself to say. “But I’m quickly realizing this is no monster hunt.”

He was in the presence of gods, or at least as close to gods as reality might ever get. Every story, every religion, stemmed from something after all. These land spirits, these witches, these women – they were so much more than a contract to be hunted. They owned the land, the wood, the swamp, and all inside it. Fuck.

“If you know this, then why come?” The Earth Mother asked gently.

“Some of the villagers are suffering,” Geralt explained, “I’m here to help. To parlay.”

“Life is to suffer,” laughed the Beast Mother cruelly.

The Sky Mother said instead, “And what can a witcher-boy offer us? How can a witcher-boy help?”

The Earth Mother was against his back, matronly and kind. He felt like a boy hiding behind a mother’s skirts – or more accurately Vesemir’s legs. It felt both nostalgic and sickening at the same time, his mind peeled apart like an onion so easily in their presence.

“I am nothing and no one to you Mothers,” Geralt acknowledged, “But I cannot turn my back on suffering. If I do so here, I have no right to my namesake.”

“A witcher-boy wanted to be a hero,” cackled the Beast Mother, fangs gleaming in his mind’s eyes, pearly and wet with hungry spittle.

“A witcher-boy is kind,” whispered the Mother blinding him with her mercy, her hand.

“A witcher-boy is doomed,” offered the Sky Mother clinically, but not dispassionately.

“What did the village ask?” The Beast Mother spat, “Did they whine about their lost babes? Their disappeared virgins? Their dead men? Their cows?”

“The milk had spoiled in their udders, so we killed them,” the Sky Mother said simply.

“The men had raped and stolen and marred the virtue of our lands, so we removed them from the grace of our hospitality,” the Beast Mother growled.

“The virgins sought escape from abusive homes, sought freedom and peace, so we guided them to happier places,” the Earth Mother hummed.

“And the babes would have died a painful death from winter, from illness, from genetic deficiencies – so we lured them to that better place in peace instead,” the Sky Mother finished.

“Life is cruel,” the Beast Mother growled like the sound of hooves on earth, pounding in chase after the fox, “But we are not. A witcher-boy cannot fathom our motives, so we pardon him once, but question our intentions again and a witcher-boy will understand punishment for himself.”

Geralt bowed his head intentionally this time, hands in tight, humbled fists on his knees.

“Apologies, Mothers, I knew not what to expect.”

“As we said, a witcher-boy is pardoned,” the Sky Mother said simply.

“We know a witcher-boy,” the Earth Mother sang behind him, her voice the laughter of a babe’s first smile, the song of a mother kneading dough in the morning. “A witcher-boy withholds his name, but we know him.”

“White. Wolf.” The Beast Mother is grinning with too many hungry teeth again. Geralt shivered.

“You helped a Godling not far from here,” says one.

“Spared a group of trolls in the eastern mountains,” says another.

“Helped a succubus escape the fires of the cities and the purge of daft men who put their faith in nonsense,” says the last.

“The list is long,” the Earth Mother says, her other hand stroking through his hair now. She’s untied it, let it fall loose around his ears. She tsks and says, “At least a witcher-boy tried to bathe for us. You need fine oils for hair such as this.”

He feels disoriented, exposed. Unsure of his footing.

“I will explain to the village—” he begins, but clicks his jaw shut audibly when the Beast Mother howls, “We were not done, witcher-boy!”

He swallows dryly. His very bones shiver. The Earth Mother shushes his fears and continues to pet him like a dumb, beloved dog warming her feet. It feels… nice. He has to shake his mind awake not to fall for that glamor, that lulling sense of safety. There is no safety. Safe is an illusion.

“Clever witcher-boy,” the Earth Mother says proudly, fondly.

“You’ve helped people and creature alike on our land,” the Sky Mother said.

“But you’ve also taken justice into your hands, as if we were not suitable to maintain it,” snarled the Beast Mother.

“What are three Mothers to do with their witcher-boy, their kind hearted wolf, their man of stone?”

They might kill him. They were not wrong, he had taken their affairs into his own hands unknowingly when fulfilling contracts in these lands. If their territory extended as far as he thought it did, he had only done so twice perhaps. Maybe thrice. A werewolf that had gone mad, slaughter their family. A cockatrice that had been spoiling the hunt for another township, killing the best of their providers. A wraith left behind by a widow spurned.

“We would have gotten to them in our own time,” the Beast Mother said, answering his unspoken question of why, if they protected these lands, had they not handled it?

“Or perhaps we did handle it in our own right,” the Earth Mother offered with a chuckle. Working through him, he realized. A pawn in their ways just as he was a pawn to fate. He shuddered helplessly, a little flame of offense rising in his gut as it always did at the concept of ‘fate’. She brushed his hair back in apology, stroked his cheek. “You need a shave.”

Disoriented didn’t begin to cover it.

“Spoil sport,” the Beast Mother snorted. So that had been it, then. He had acted as unwitting representative for them and their will.

“You are a trustworthy wolf,” the Sky Mother said, “Good in intention, civil in mercy.”

“You will go to the village,” the Earth Mother continued. “You will explain the way of things. Those who cannot abide by those ways can flee freely or be dealt with accordingly… They will not pay you, witcher-boy. Their hearts are selfish and easy to see reason why they should keep their coin despite your bravery, despite how you put yourself between we women and their cowardly souls.”

“For this, for the works you’ve already done unintentionally in our name and for the works you will later do intentionally in our name, we women shall pay you instead.”

He stiffened. Every bone locked in his body like rusted hinges on a door, painful and tight. That was a dangerous offer. He could not deny it and live. But one wrong word would spell a world of pain unending. He swallowed.

“You are too kind to someone as undeserving as me,” he managed to croak.

The Beast Mother laughed cruel and amused, high like a harpy’s screech and low like a bear’s roar. He shuddered visibly. The Earth Mother smoothed down the hackles that rose on the back of his neck like a master calming a spooked dog.

“Correct, we are too kind. Wise of you to notice,” the Beast Mother said.

“What does a witcher-boy want?” The Sky Mother asked.

Geralt clenched his jaw, feeling more like a mouse caught between a cat’s paws than a witcher. It was an uncomfortable, greasy feeling, and he hated it.

“I require nothing –”

“—Ha! A man says he requires nothing from gods!” The Beast Mother howled like a pack of wolves.

“You would spit in our eye and refuse our gift?” The Sky Mother asked diplomatically.

“Do not let them frighten you, witcher-boy,” the Earth Mother hummed, stroking his hair again. “We Mothers are unused to debt.”

He could ask for a token from them; small enough so as not to ask too much, but enough to appease their debt. He could ask for some tidbit of knowledge; the location of a cache in their lands, perhaps. He could ask for hospitality in their woods; safety and peace whenever he visited. But as their champion, which he was quickly coming to find that he was unknowingly, he inherently knew he need not ask for any of this. They had always provided for him, had always shown him the way. He never went hungry or thirsty in these woods. The birds called when anything deigned attack him, warning him. He slept here. To ask for what they already provided would be turning a blind eye onto their gifts – a dangerous thing.

He should find something else – something small, something humble. And yet…

“My friend… what would it cost for you to heal him?” Geralt finally asked.

“Aaah,” the Beast Mother crooned, “A witcher-boy does not love silence after all.”

“A witcher-boy did not know what he had until it was gone,” the Earth Mother said, her voice if possible even more fond.

“Witcher-boys tend to be clever, and yet dumb as rock trolls,” the Sky Mother said blandly.

“Please,” Geralt said, leaning into the cradle of the Earth Mother’s hand which blinded him, protected him. She hummed soothingly behind him.

“We women are powerful and old. We saw the mountains form and the rivers fill. We were there for the first storm, the first wind that graced the ground, the first sprig of grass, the birth of the first land beast,” said the Sky Mother.

“But alas, this boon you ask for is not as simple as you think,” the Earth Mother said sadly.

He nearly asked ‘so you can’t help’ before he caught his tongue. What a stupid way to die, offending gods. The Beast Mother cackled. She knew what he had almost asked.

“It is not that we are not capable. You ask for something more than what we owe,” the Beast Mother said, fangs glinting, her words the framework of a hungry maw in his mind’s eye, waiting for an excuse to eat him. A merry chase, a dangerous game. It thrilled her to chase him like a rabbit through their laws and customs and loopholes, waiting for him to trip and yet hoping he might not so the game would continue. “And you cannot afford a cure outright.”

“What is the cost of an outright cure?” He asked. He had to know. Maybe he could—

“Souls. Innocent souls. Blood. Flesh. Creation and death. You request to overwrite a Djinn’s will, witcher-boy. That sort of magic by human means, by the means in which you could pay us, would change you fundamentally. You’d no longer be worthy as champion of our will. We have no intention of warping a witcher-boy and losing a pawn such as yourself. Too dull, too boring. Too simple. A witcher-boy offends.”

He hung his head again. His debt to his friend was more expensive than his morality, the makeup of his being, than his use to the world and to these witches, these gods. His stomach became a stone inside him. There was no outright cure…

His head rose a little.

“What cost for his voice?” He asked. Not a cure. A voice. The Earth Mother stroked him approvingly. The Beast Mother smiled with impressed fangs. The Sky Mother considered him.

“A steep price,” the Sky Mother said, like spring rain.

“A generous price,” snorted the Beast Mother, like boars stomping in the brush.

“A fair price,” hummed the Earth Mother, like the sound of a gentle hands guiding a plant into fresh soil.

“Name it,” Geralt said, something unidentifiable to his knowledge of himself in the edges of the words, though he recognized it in others. Pleading.

They named it.

He agreed.

“But first,” said the women with too many voices, “What is a witcher-boy’s name?”

They already knew it. Geralt knew that they did. But he hadn’t given it to them. There was power in giving a name.

Geralt paid.

–

He returned to town feeling exhausted, hollowed out and reed-thin, and yet he held the light of dawn in his chest, weightless and hopeful. He carried it with him over the hall and down the path that led to the village, leaving behind him his Ladies and the offerings he had placed on their humble altar.

He followed their instructions precisely.

He went first to the village alderman – a believer – and the man who had posted the notice – a nonbeliever. He explained that this village was not in fact their home, but the home of the women, and it was by their mercy that their crops flourished and their lives went by in relative peace. When the nonbeliever questioned him, cheeks red with rage that Geralt had not done as he was tasked, Geralt merely offered precisely what the women had told him to say.

“If you do not like living in the lands of the Ladies, you are free to relocate somewhere with no matronage. But if you stay and presume to keep calling the lands your own, and living outside the laws of matron and guest, there’s nothing I can do to spare you from them. This was their land first. They’ve upheld every law, provided every mercy. Live by their terms, live somewhere else, or find out for yourself why men have disappeared from among you by becoming another face on a flier.”

They had bid him not over explain. There was no faith to be had otherwise, no trust, and the Ladies asked for little more than that from their guests. To explain would be to condemn these villages to eviction. So he left the nonbelievers’ fate to themselves. Heed, flee or perish.

They didn’t pay him, just as the women had warned. The nonbelievers accused him of solving nothing. They called him a charlatan and a cheat. The believers claimed that they had not asked for help in the first place – and honestly, that was fair.

He didn’t need their payment anyways, not now. He would not go hungry or thirsty while in their wood. They’d tide him over until he left their lands in pursuit of his next contract. That was more than enough.

He brushed off their accusations, their thanklessness, like kicking dirt from his shoes. He wondered if that was what endeared him to the Ladies, or at least part of it – for both he and the god women understood thanklessness despite service.

He went to the inn, carried himself up to the room he had left Jaskier in. He could hear his lute from halfway up the stairs. It was a pleasing sound, something cheerful to wake to – it’d have to be, not to received complaints from other patrons also guesting at the inn.

The moment he walked in, he found Jaskier seated on the window sill, face to the early morning sun like a plant soaking in daylight as he played with mindlessly fluent fingers. Geralt leaned against the doorframe and enjoyed watching the dance of those fingers over the strings, plucking, always searching for the next note. He let himself bask in that moment, in the portrait of his bard in peaceful domesticity. Then, knowing the Ladies would not wait forever, rapped two knuckles against the doorframe, drawing Jaskier’s attention.

The bard let his song lull to a stop, his face lighting up at the sight of him returned unharmed. There was relief there, plain and naked as Jaskier was in most ways; unabashed and quick to feel, to express. He set his lute aside with the same sort of care that Geralt might give one of his swords and immediately his hands went into action, his whole body speaking to Geralt as easily as he once did with words.

Well, what happened, don’t keep me waiting? Were they in fact witches or something more nefarious? Well? Come on, Geralt, these stories don’t write themselves!

He smiled. There was a weight in his chest he hadn’t realized he had been carrying until now as it slowly lifted, so close to resolution as he was. He stepped forward without a word, amber eyes locked on his bard, his traveling companion, his friend, his partner. It drew Jaskier’s hand to a stuttering motion not unlike ‘um’ or ‘uh’ or ‘what’s going on?’.

“Months ago, I stole your voice from you,” Geralt finally said, standing in front of the bard, close enough to touch him – but not yet. A puzzled look spread across Jaskier’s face.

I don’t understand.

“I wished for peace not knowing I already had something better. Already had peace in my hands. I was just to blind to comfort, to kindness, to know that I had it.”

Jaskier gave him a baffled look that both said ‘well aren’t you chatty today?’ and ‘who are you and what did you do with my witcher?’

Geralt did not know this language, this new tongue he was trying to learn: intimacy, apology, love. He reached to cup Jaskier’s jaw and paused nearly there feeling foolish, blushing, because words and intimate touches had never been a language of his. It felt foreign. Like a crude imitation, rusty and weak for what he was trying to convey. But Jaskier just watched him patiently, brows drawn into a curious frown as he met him halfway and nestled his jaw into his calloused hand.

‘Geralt?’

He brushed a thumb over Jaskier’s smooth jaw, freshly shaven and smelling of sweet oil. Memorized the lines of Jaskier’s face, the soundless paragraphs of his expression, and tucked it away in his mind for later.

“I am sorry knowing me left you silent,” he finally said, croaked, hushed, admitted.

Jaskier’s brows drew tight, his mouth a strange line. He shook his head.

“I understand if you cannot forgive me,” Geralt looked away. “I should have apologized the morning you first could not speak, but it felt wrong to ask when you could not answer. But now… Do you trust me, Jaskier?”

There was still that expression – anger, grief, confusion, all deserved. He’d leave him after this, no doubt. Geralt had pushed too far, presumed too much. But he pressed on. He had to see this through. Then he’d let Jaskier return to his normal life. Let him make his choice. Set him free.

He thought he heard a womanly sigh.

Jaskier’s hand came up to cradle Geralt’s on his jaw. In his touch and in his face, Geralt heard him: Of course I trust you, you daft excuse for a witcher.

Do or die.

He leaned down. Watched as Jaskier’s eyes widened. Watched until he was too close to see anymore. Got closer until their lips brushed – his so chapped against the bard’s meticulously cared for lips, soft and pleasant. The bard felt like a canary in his hands, all fluttering energy; fragile with hollow bones, more melody than flesh. He pressed, then swiped a tongue across trembling lips to ask permission.

Jaskier let him in. He sealed their lips together. Let his hand move from the man’s jaw to cup the back of his neck, crush him close without actually crushing him. Then he felt it. It began in his throat, behind his Adam’s Apple, and slowly crawled up – warm, not unpleasant but certainly not normal. It rose. When it met his tongue it tasted of night and bestiaries; earthy and deep. His voice. It passed by his teeth, slipped through their lips, then felt Jaskier jump in his hands. He leapt as though stung, or perhaps shocked like walking with socked feet and touching a door knob – surprising, sharp and fleeting. Then settled in his hands.

Geralt pulled away to mumble three words against Jaskier’s slack mouth, his own stomach twisting when no words actually bloomed despite his tongue and mouth doing what needed to be done to make words. He was mute. It had worked. The price had been paid.

He should have said it before he lost the chance to, and yet, there was a pathetic sort of comfort in murmuring the words soundlessly against Jaskier’s lips instead – like hiding behind a mask, bold because he could do so secretly.

Jaskier pulled away, speaking on instinct out of shock, “Geralt, what’s wrong with you—” then he stilled, eyes owlish. His hands shot to his throat. Patted and fluttered and searched for something that might give away what was going on.

Geralt smiled. His throat vibrated as it would if he had chuckled, but no sound followed.

“My voice,” Jaskier croaked, pale from shock and relief and all manner of emotions he wore as plainly on his face as he did his clothes. “How?”

Geralt felt relief bloom in his own belly: that weight lifting fully now that he had made amends, had fixed his wrongs. Relief that Jaskier’s voice was his own and not Geralt’s because that was a level of weird even the witcher couldn’t handle. He tapped his own throat with his fingers and looked at Jaskier pointedly.

Color leeched from the bard’s skin.

“You gave me yours?”

Geralt nodded, then blinked – confused – when Jaskier suddenly sprung to his feet, all pent-up nervous energy, and slapped faintly at Geralt’s chest with a sharp, “Take it back!”

Geralt’s brows drew tight, his lips pursed, utterly baffled.

“You lummox! Don’t you give me that look! You can’t—I can’t—this is too much!”

Geralt shook his head.

‘I had to make it right’ he said, using his hands, with his face, with his body; a pale imitation of Jaskier’s fluency.

“It wasn’t yours to make right! The Djinn did it, not you!”

‘My wish—’

“Was an accident! You thought the Djinn was under my control anyhow, it hadn’t been intentional. I honestly don’t recall if you even wished for it or said ‘I just want some damn peace!’ – you had warned me it was dangerous! If I had just listened—”

Wait. Wait.

Geralt shook his head. How had this spun away from him so quickly?

‘This wasn’t your fault.’

“It was no more yours than mine or mine than yours!” Jaskier pointed out, as if that had been his intention all along. He threw his hands out to his sides, pacing quietly – quiet, he hadn’t expected that, as if it had become a habit. He watched as the bard fluttered nimble fingers against his lips, eyes darting to Geralt distractedly, and mumbled, “Lovely kiss, by the way,” and when Geralt smirked he continued haughtily, “Which we will further discuss later, you oaf!”

Geralt chuckled without chuckling.

“You are,” Jaskier said slowly, finally stopping his pacing, “Insufferable. Your hero complex will see you into the ground one day, I swear, and no one will even know now because you can’t talk.”

Geralt gave him an obvious, deadpanned look. This? This felt right. Natural. Things had always been this way. Jaskier just hadn’t realized that yet.

‘You have always been my words.’

Jaskier stilled. In the lines of his body Geralt saw the quiet sway of wind through a garden well cared for; buzzing with bees, home to all manner of flowers, beautiful and soothing to its guests. So alive, so open. Jaskier was a garden. Geralt had merely returned the birds that had lost their way.

He waited. Waited for the inevitable. He had taken Jaskier’s voice, then made parlay for it without his permission. Surely the bard would leave him. He no longer needed the witcher, after all, and in his silent days had seen more than enough journeys to sing about for the rest of his life. Geralt waited.

“You bloody imbecile,” Jaskier breathed, his face going slack with subdued outrage and realization. “You daft man, you uncommunicative bastard!”

Geralt looked away. He didn’t need his voice. It was better suited in the bard. He didn’t need Jaskier. He had been on the road alone for years before him, and he could do it again.

But there was something in his chest – heavy, prickly and unfamiliar. Want.

He swallowed. He didn’t approach him, but also did not shy away when Jaskier stomped forward and reached for his face. He waited for the slap, for the slam of a door.

Jaskier guided his gaze back down to him.

“Don’t belittle my affections by presuming I stayed because you were convenient. I do not need my voice to live a comfortable or enjoyable life. I need you.”

He felt like shattered glass in a repair man’s palms, all his broken edges grinding together in wrong ways.

“What’s done is done,” Jaskier finally said, his hand reaching back to cup the back of Geralt’s neck as he had done to him not long ago. “And… you’re right. We’ve never needed words to speak and they have never been a tool you enjoyed using. I shall be your words. I’ve been with you long enough to know how to explain your creatures to townsfolk and gods above know I am a better haggler than you – you let that bastard swindle you into this contract for 250 crowns, for gods sake, Geralt! I was dying – ahh,” he shook his head, refocusing, “Nevermind. Point is, we’ve always made it work. We’ll make this work too. But for the record, I wasn’t broken, Geralt. Not with you.”

He pressed a chaste kiss to the witcher’s mouth, smiling and soft at the sight of Geralt’s baffled look, his inability to collect himself to react in the face of such an unexpected confession. Jaskier was the one to whisper into his lips this time between kisses, “Not that I don’t appreciate your sacrifice. The songs I’ll sing about the gift you’ve given me, Geralt – gods above, I’ve missed singing.”

‘I’ve missed it too,’ Geralt thought, perhaps said with his touch and the way he leaned into every peck Jaskier gave him, every breath against his lips.

“Fucking knew it,” Jaskier said, grinning against his mouth, “Filling-less pie, you emotionally constipated dog. And don’t think for one moment I didn’t hear you. We’ve been talking without talking for too long for me to have missed it, you know.”

Geralt felt heat rush to his cheeks and crawl up his neck, making a home in the tips of his ears. He turned away to hide it as Jaskier pulled back, but it was too late. The bard chuckled fondly and when Geralt finally chanced looking back at him, he grumbled embarrassedly – silently.

“It’s not the first time you’ve said you love me, Geralt,” Jaskier said, smiling with all his teeth, skin aglow like dawn breaking the night. “You’ve been saying it for ages.”

Jaskier drew his face back to him when Geralt tried once more to look away, bristly and unsure of himself and self-conscious that all this time he hadn’t been half as secretive – or aware himself – as he thought.

Jaskier took his time looking him over. Memorizing his face, Geralt realized, as he had memorized the bard’s when he found him on the windowsill. He felt exposed as he had at the Mothers’ feet. Known.

He leaned into Jaskier’s hand. Enjoyed the brush of a thumb over a sore scar on his cheekbone.

“I don’t need words,” Jaskier said gently, “But I am grateful to have them. Thank you, Geralt. I’ll use your voice wisely.”

The witcher leaned in, loose like a puppet with his strings cut now that it was finally done, and pressed his forehead to the bard’s. Power thrummed between them, the magic of being known and kept.

Silently, love spoke for them

#the witcher #geralt of rivia #jaskier #gaskier #prompt #wtf do I even tag this #i don't think I've ever written so much back to back fluff as I have for this fandom #who am I? #witcher writing

[alpacaparkaseok]

Where you should be

Chapter 3: Nemesism

Genre: Hobi x oc

Warnings: this series contains stalking, blackmail, and similar stressful/fear inducing situations. Also unrequited love, which is perhaps the most terrifying of all.

Word Count: 3.8k

Guys! Last chapter was a bit of a downer lol. I wish I could say that all of this gets resolved quickly and easily, but that’s no fun. So enjoy!

Nemesism (n.) frustration or anger directed against oneself

The next morning I hardly see Hobi. He eats early, making me a smoothie and leaving it on the counter with my name.

Well, with a sticky note that says ‘Sunny’.

I can hear his music blasting from his room where he’s getting ready, it’s loud enough that he doesn't hear my loud breathing as I close my eyes and try to focus on just getting through this morning.

When it’s time for us to leave Hobi walks out into the living room to find me standing awkwardly before the window, staring out of it like I just might flee the scene before he can see me.

“Do-yun sent a car for you, it should be outside.”

They’re the first words he says to me all morning, and they have me turning around from where I stand before the window, the meaning behind his words enough to rake through my already shredded heart.

“Hobi-”

Just as I begin to speak he turns away, starting to walk from the room. A heartbeat later finds me striding toward him, throwing caution to the wind.

“Jung Hoseok, don’t you dare do this to me. Don’t you dare,” I jump in front of him, putting a stop to his escape. He keeps his eyes trained on the hallway beyond. “You’re going to start being all weird and distant, and I can’t...I can’t-”

My voice breaks a little until I’m suddenly drowning in tears. I’m just as shocked as Hobi is, and I bring my hands up to my face, trying to stop the flow.

“I- Ha-rin, I didn’t mean to-”

My face is burning with embarrassment as I realize that I have no right to be bawling like a baby in front of the man that just confessed his love to me last night. He has every right to be distant and angry, yet here I am sobbing before him.

But I want him.

I want him so bad. And he’s standing less than a foot away, that sad expression swimming in his eyes as he brings me into his arms, his cheek resting atop my head.

Don’t ever let me go.

“We’re a mess, aren’t we?” Hobi mumbles.

I laugh through the tears, melting into his embrace as Hobi laughs along. How can we still be laughing even after we’ve put our hearts through so much pain?

Standing there with my face pressed up against his shoulder, crying and laughing at the same time, the realization of my feelings for him hit me hard and fast. Sure, the foundation has been laid for a while now, but standing here with my heart in pieces and completely unable to pick up Hoseok’s shattered heart, I know what I feel.

There’s a difference between wanting someone and loving someone.

If I just wanted Hoseok, I would have bailed out on any sort of integrity I have left and told him right then and there that I was an idiot. That I couldn’t stand not being around him. That I want to be his, and I want him to be mine.

Yet, I love him.

Which is exactly what has me extracting myself from his arms, apologizing, and heading straight out the door.

I only allow myself to look back once as I close the door, clutching my things in my arms. There he stands, still facing the hallway. Clinging to his sweatshirt in his fists as though it’s the only thing keeping him on the earth.

Sitting in the back of the black SUV, I wonder how I can feel such different emotions at once. There’s peace knowing I did what I had to do.

And there’s loneliness, cursing my name for throwing away what was sure to be a cure.

♟

June 2019

“That sounds great,” I say into the mic. “Come out here and listen to it, then we’ll go from there.”

Soobin, Hueningkai, and Beomgyu exit the recording booth and head into the studio. They crowd around me, leaning in to listen to the latest version of the song.

We’ve been in here for about an hour now, going over a rough version of a new song for them. It’s been nice to have them around, I’m usually pretty alone in my studio. Other than the occasional visit from Dohyeong or Pdogg, I tend to have my space.

Space is...good.

We’ve just started listening to the recording when there’s a knock on my door. Swiveling around in my chair, I grin as I see who the visitor is.

“Well well,” I muse. “Look who decided to drop in.”

Dohyeong smiles back at me, saying hello to the other boys. “How’s it going?”

I shrug. “Good. We’re just working on some stuff. What’s up?”

“I was actually coming to steal you away for a bit. I need a second opinion on something. Unless you’re busy…?”

Glancing at the other boys, they wave me away. “Will it take long?”

“No, not too long.”

Getting up from my seat, I laugh as Hueningkai immediately takes the vacant seat. “Take your time,” he croons, enjoying the seat of power. The other two boys instantly start bickering over the chair, making me roll my eyes endearingly at them.

“I’ll be back soon. Don’t delete anything.”

I follow Dohyeong out the door, taking the stairs as we head up to the next floor where his studio is.

“So how’s it been going?”

Dohyeong is one of the only people I ever really see around the Bighit building these days. Other than TXT and a handful of other producers, it’s a ghost town on my floor of the building.

I guess I never noticed how little traffic there was on my floor before. I always had one visitor popping in.

Ever since February, Hoseok has been scarce. While he didn’t seem to be angry anymore, he certainly hasn’t gone out of his way to seek me out. I can’t say I blame him.

It’s made it a little easier, I think. Not seeing him everywhere I go has allowed me to buckle down and get to work without feeling sorry for myself.

“It’s been good. Pretty steady. What are you working on that you wanted me to look at?”

We’re just entering his studio as I finish my question, and I nearly fall flat on my face as we walk through the door.

It would appear that Dohyeong was not working alone. In fact, the entire rapline is here with Pdogg.

Namjoon paces back and forth on one side of the room, hardly even noticing my presence when I walk through the door. Yoongi sits in a chair beside Pdogg, chatting with him about the track.

Hoseok sits on the sofa in the back of the room, his elbows on his knees as he stares forward, lost in thought.

His hair is black now, so different from those honey-brown highlights I swooned over a few months ago. Now he looks much sharper, like a force to be reckoned with.

He looks dangerous.

“Really Dohyeong?” I try to keep my tone light as everyone in the room turns to look at me. “Second opinion?”

Dohyeong shrugs, moving to sit before his computer. “If I told you I needed your opinion, you would’ve told me to ask Pdogg or something.”

Pdogg chuckles, nodding along knowingly. “Nice to see you, Sunny. You never come around anymore. Too cool for us now?”

It takes every fiber of my being for me to not look at Hoseok.

“Just been busy,” I mumble, coming to stand beside Dohyeong’s chair. “How’ve you been?”

Pdogg shrugs. “Same old same old.”

Namjoon strides forward, never one to get bogged down with awkward small talk. Not when there’s work to be done. “Hey, Sunny. Would you mind listening to this for us? I think we’ve all been listening to it for so long that we can’t get a fresh perspective on it.”

I nod, settling down into the chair beside Dohyeong and slipping a pair of headphones on. “Anything I need to know going into it?”

Yoongi chuckles from behind me, causing me to turn about in my chair. In the process, I can’t help but peek over at Hoseok.

He’s looking right at me already, every bit of his attention honed in on me. My eyes graze his, and the momentary eye contact leaves me sparking with electricity.

“Well, Hoseok wrote most of this, so it’s his fault if it sucks.” Yoongi smirks at his friend, earning himself a glare in return.

I force myself to laugh along with everyone else, wincing internally as Hoseok leans back against the sofa and crosses his ankle over his knee.

Has he somehow become better looking over the past few months?

“Good to know,” I mumble, turning back to the screen. Dohyeong nods at me, starting the track.

From the corner of my eye I can see that everyone else has gone back to pacing or chatting, so I take the time to lean back against my chair and close my eyes, really taking it in.

I can definitely tell that Hoseok inspired a lot of this track, it sounds like him. RM starts it off, his voice gruff as he delivers the lyrics, painting a picture in the way that only he can.

Suga joins in on the chorus, and I frown. His voice is nearly drowned out from the heavy drums in the background. I make a mental note to tell them as much.

It’s not until the bridge that J-hope makes an appearance.

My heart begins to pound in my chest, and my eyes fly open as I stare at the monitor. I watch the small numbers counting down until the end of the song, begging them to pick up the pace. Hoseok’s voice lodges itself into my mind, and for a moment the words end it before it can begin are replaced by the phrase he keeps spitting out again and again.

You moved on before I could move you.

You moved on before I could move you.

You moved on before I had a chance to move-

My knee hits the bottom of the desk as I rip the headphones off my head, tossing them onto the desk before launching out of my chair. Everyone freezes where they sit, looking at me with various levels of confusion.

Hoseok is the only one in the entire room that has yet to react to my sudden actions. He keeps his eyes down, picking at something on his sleeve. His chest doesn’t move as he refuses to breathe.

“Drums are too loud in the chorus, Yoongi.” I bite out the words, ripping my attention away from Hoseok. “They’re drowning out your voice.”

Yoongi nods slowly, his mouth hanging open as he stares at me. “Ok.”

Namjoon steps forward, hands outstretched as though trying to grasp the situation. “You didn’t even finish the song, though. Isn’t there anything else?”

I’ve already taken several steps toward the door, Hoseok’s voice ringing through my mind unceasingly. Turning to shake my head at Namjoon, I feel as though somebody set me on fire. “No. Sounds great. Sorry,” I lie, I really couldn’t care less. I have to get out of here. “I’ve got to go check on the boys.”

The door gives way and I’m out into the hallway, striding toward the elevator like my life depends on it. I decide against it once I get there, heading into the stairwell beside the elevator and making it down a total of five steps before I collapse and sit with my head between my legs.

You moved on before I could move you.

The walls are caving in on me as I sit in the stairwell, and I close my eyes tight against them. Eventually it becomes too much to handle, and I find myself launching up and climbing up the stairs.

I’m not completely sure how tall the Bighit building is, but it’s definitely tall enough that I’m a panting, sweaty mess by the time I clear the final floor. Staring at the door, I push through it and find myself in an empty hallway.

The sound of music coming from what I assume are training rooms at the end of the hallway meet my ears, and as though in a trance I gravitate toward the sound.

The music gets louder and louder as I approach the room. The door is closed, so whoever is inside must be blasting it. Leaning up against the wall just outside the room, I close my eyes for just a moment.

The bass vibrates through the floor, accompanied by the persistent music that seems to know just how horrible I’m feeling inside.

For the first time in my life, I understand why people say that there’s only a thin line between love and hate.

Standing here with my back pressed against the wall, I feel so much hate. It’s overwhelming, overtaking my senses as I clench my fingers into fists. If my eyes were open, I’m sure I would be seeing red.

Instead, I’m picturing my contract in my mind. The music swells as I picture signing that contract over and over again, laughing at the thought of ever getting to know any idols past a purely professional level.

There’s so much anger in me as I think over the past few months, remembering all those hours spent alone in the studio. Staring at my monitor, the same scene from Hoseok’s apartment playing over and over again in my mind as I try to pretend like nothing happened. The way I held my breath every time I heard footsteps coming down my hallway, some pathetic piece of my praying that it would be Hobi, coming with a bag of food and a sheepish smile, telling me that being friends was enough for him.

I should know better by now; I live in a world where Hoseok is a stranger to me now and I’m back to taking the bus.

Still, in those slower hours in the studio I find myself wondering what it would be like if I could tell him that I do love him. I love him still, four months later. That all of this was some horrible rule I had to follow in order to save us both.

But even in this world how could I look him in the eyes that once gazed at me so softly and tell him that he’ll move on? That he’ll find someone that is free to love him?

Hate is an addicting feeling, I realize. Hate is so much safer than love. Love requires you to make the right decision, even if it means you’ll come out lacking.

The music stopped.

My eyes open to find myself almost in another world. The hallway hasn’t changed at all, but the absence of the booming music almost makes it easier to breathe. Suddenly I’m no longer drowning in my feelings, but rather observing them.

The sound of someone nearly hyperventilating has me pushing off the wall, rushing over to the closed training room and throwing it open before another thought can cross my mind.

Even though the door flying open should have alerted the occupant to my presence, they don’t notice me as I stand in the doorway.

Hoseok sits with his back against the far wall, his knees pulled up to his chest as he runs his hands through his hair and over his face. He’s still wearing the same clothes as he was less than fifteen minutes ago in the studio downstairs, but it’s clear he was just working out in them. Most likely dancing, if I’m going to make a guess.

How did he get up here so fast?

Frozen in the doorway, I go over my options. They’re quite simple, seeing as there’s really only two.

First, turn and leave. Run away before he sees me. It’s tempting, especially because it already looks like I’m invading his privacy.

And second.... “The song wasn’t that bad.”

Hoseok’s head shoots up so fast that I’m afraid he hit it against the wall. His eyes are wide and he looks quite frankly exhausted. I wince at the look he gives me.

“What...” his voice is raw and I wonder how it got like that. He shakes his head, looking down at the floor.

I take one step forward, then one step back. Hoseok’s eyes shutter as he watches my uncertainty, but he makes no move to say anything else.

So tired.

He looks so drained. Like someone took a giant spoon and ladled out all of his leftover emotions, leaving him a drained well that is just waiting for another rain.

Suddenly the thought of me hiding in my studio and replaying this entire awkward experience in my head seems more horrible to me than talking to Hoseok, so I take another step inside the room. His eyes never leave the floor.

“Is everything...” I shake my head, trying to gain some courage. Did my heart always beat this hard around him before? “Is everything alright?”

Hoseok chews on the inside of his cheek as he ponders my stupid question. Then, almost as if changing clothes, his expression changes. Brightens, almost.

I can still see the dark storm clouds hovering over his head, though. No matter how brightly he smiles at me now, those rain clouds aren’t far behind.

“Fine.” He brushes his hair away from his face, reverting back to the meticulous Hoseok I know. “Did you see...?”

I frantically shake my head, earning a look of profound relief on Hoseok’s part. “No! No, I was just-” I pause, not entirely sure of what to say. Running from my undying love for you and the hate of what we’ve become doesn’t seem very appropriate.

Hoseok raises his brows, rising to his feet but remaining on the opposite side of the room. “Just what?”

“Just...going for a walk.”

“A walk?”

“Yep.”

I cringe as Hoseok takes a long look at me before turning away and heading toward the speaker system in the corner. “Do you have a tendency to take walks to the top floor?”

Is that worry I’m sensing? I realize with a start that perhaps Hoseok spends a lot of time up here, and I think that the lack of visitors on this floor might have something to do with that.

“...no.” Watching Hoseok’s back, which remains visibly tense, I take a step backward. “I should probably get going.”

He nods once. “Ok.”

“I…” Why can’t I form a proper sentence around this man? “Sorry. Bye.” Turning on my heel, I stride out of the room as quickly as possible, keeping my eyes ahead of me as my heart nearly pounds out of my chest. Throwing the door to the stairwell open, I don’t stop moving until I’ve returned to my studio.

Beomgyu jumps out of my chair when he sees me come in, his smug victory smile wiped off his face.

“Is everything alright?”

Well isn’t that the question of the day. “Yep. Did you guys listen to the track?”

Soobin steps up. “Yeah, it sounds great. We were just going to pass it along-”

“Perfect. I’ll export it to your project manager right now.”

In my peripheral I can see the three boys exchanging glances, but I pay them no mind. Perhaps tomorrow I’ll be mortified and apologize, but right now I would really like for them to leave.

They shuffle out, mumbling their farewells. Hueningkai turns around at the last moment. “Do you want me to leave the door open or close it?”

Swiveling in my chair, wave him off. “Closed, please.” He does just as I ask, and suddenly I’m alone in the studio listening to their retreating footsteps.

Closing my eyes, I gather the strength to get up and lock the door. Something tells me that I won’t want to be interrupted for a while.

I’ve just risen from my chair when an envelope slides under my door, making my breath catch in my throat. Hurried footsteps rush down the hallway, but I don’t bother to open the door to see who it is.

Picking up the envelope from off the floor, I frown when it isn’t labeled. It’s simply a white, blank envelope. Ripping it open, I unfold a piece of notebook paper.

I know who you are, but do you know who I am?

Bighit can’t save you now, Jung Ha-rin.

Instantly my heart rate kicks up as I read those words over and over again. Rushing to my door, I pull it open to see who left this horrible note only to find the hallway empty. Standing there in the middle of the corridor, I fight the urge to rip the note to shreds and cry in a corner.

The sound of me barging back into my studio and slamming the door shut reverberates throughout the entire floor, but the sound of my heart pounding drowns out the noise. I hold the note back up to my eyes, practically panting as I read it again.

“What is happening?” I whisper.

♟

When I leave later that night, I still have no idea what’s going on. I leave earlier than usual, although it’s still dark. Mentally cursing myself, I decide to just hope for the best. With my luck today, I’ll be kidnapped or something before I can even make it to my apartment. 

I sent a picture of the note to Bang PD along with a short explanation of what happened. He told me that he would review the security cameras to get a look at who it was that delivered the message, but advised me to catch a ride with someone rather than taking the bus.

So naturally I’m taking the bus.

Sulking at the bus stop while keep my eyes and ears open for any suspicious activity, I can’t help but laugh a little.

Today sucked.

Just as the bus pulls up, I feel my phone vibrate. Scrambling onto the bus and sitting in the first available seat, I pull my phone out and nearly choke when I see what message I just received.

I can’t help the sound that comes out of me upon seeing his message - it’s a mixture of a groan and a sharp intake of breath, resulting in a coughing fit. The people closest to me glare and scoot farther away but I don’t care.

Staring down at his message, I have to breathe slowly and deeply in order to stop myself. As much as all of this is a dream...the note I carry in my pocket reminds me of all that’s at stake here.

Bang PD’s words accompany the note, repeating themselves over and over again in my mind as I punch out a reply. 

End it before it can begin. 

Shoving my phone back into my pocket before I give into temptation, I jump off the bus as my apartment complex comes into view. Keeping my head down, I hurry up to my apartment. 

As soon as I enter the apartment I’m rushing to my room, grabbing a box from under my bed and rummaging through it until I find what I’m searching for. 

“There you are.” Holding up a staff photo from when I first started at Source entertainment, my eyes zone in on one of the male staff members on the far end. 

Now just add a hood, a bit of scruff, and crazy eyes. What is my old co-worker doing hanging around my apartment complex? And if my hunch is correct, what was he doing in the Bighit building today?

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[litwitlady]

Omg I just know you’re gonna write the hell out of these sleepy prompts haha 37 or 3 for Malex :) can’t decide!

#3 - ‘Don’t be nervous, you can come closer.’

On the radio, a twangy country superstar sings about lost romance and broken hearts. Dirt and debris soaking up most of the sound. It’s midday and the junkyard is quiet. Michael is bent over a brand-new Silverado, engine already wrecked. He swears as he cuts his finger on a jagged piece of metal jutting out where it doesn’t belong. Sucks the wound between his lips and wipes the sweat from his brow. It’s only 10am but the day has already gone on for far too long.

He tosses his wrench onto his workbench and reaches down into his beat up cooler. His fingers glance across the long neck of a cold beer before settling around a half-frozen bottle of water. Twisting the cap off, he gulps down the entire bottle, eyes never leaving the beer. The day stretches out even further ahead of him, sober and sun-drenched.

Back beneath the truck’s hood, Michael cranks away at the broken, jangled mess. After all these years, the work is monotonous. Dull enough to let him loose inside his own head. He tries to drown out his hectic thoughts by humming along with the current song floating faintly from the radio. The same twenty-five song playlist in rotation damn near every day. Except on the weekends which are dedicated to decades past – golden oldies Michael considers the soundtrack to his youth. Lonesome melodies haunting the empty, loveless houses he’d once passed through.

He hums through two more songs, getting lost in his work. So lost he doesn’t notice when he starts to sing under his breath. So lost he doesn’t notice when the lyrics no longer match those echoing out from the radio.

Would you meet me in the middle, could we both stop keeping score

Michael sighs and presses his knuckles into his eyes. Alex’s song sneaks past his defenses at least once a day. And he’s found no cure. Not screaming along at the top of his lungs. Not biting his tongue bloody. Not refusing to listen to music for days on end. Nothing has worked. It always finds him no matter where he hides.

Resting on the truck’s bumper, he pulls out his phone and thumbs through his contacts. Leaving grease smudges behind. He stops on Alex’s number and sits staring – wondering what might happen if he actually went through with the call. Behind him, a soft whining breaks through his thoughts. He ignores the tiny noise at first. The junkyard is filled with whines – bad engines, metal signs blowing in the wind, the rickety roof shifting above the makeshift workshop. But the sound continues, and Michael decides to go investigate. He could use a good distraction.

What he finds is a blue-gray pitbull puppy inside a rusty yellow VW Beetle – windows all busted out and flowers growing wild through the wheels. Little paws propped up against the door, tongue swatting up at his nose. Michael approaches slowly – the puppy trembling and clearly terrified at his presence, disappearing into the car’s footwell.

A dog is not what Michael needs. He sighs and turns his back. But the puppy starts to cry again – more desperate now, lonelier somehow. He spins on his heels and yanks the door open, puppy scrambling away.

‘Don’t be nervous, you can come closer. Not going to hurt you, little bit.’ He reaches down and wraps his fingers around the dog’s soft belly. Picking him up and cradling him against his chest. He’s warm and still shaking, but he nuzzles into Michael’s t-shirt anyway.

A dog is not what Michael needs. He finds an unused crate and lines it with newspaper, tossing in a couple of clean shop towels for good measure. Places the pup onto the improvised bed and watches him squirm around, sniffing at his new home. His temporary new home. Because a dog is not what Michael needs.

He tries to climb out, tumbling over backwards. Tries again with the same results. Michael finds himself smiling – almost laughing. And he forces himself to look away. Digging around in his toolbox for the screwdriver he needs to keep working.

But it’s no use. The puppy keeps mewing and Michael’s heart can’t stand the pitiful noises. He hoses off a dusty hubcap and fills it with clean water. Grabs his phone and dials Maria’s number.

‘Guerin.’

‘DeLuca.’

They haven’t talked much since the hospital breakup. Polite hellos and sad smiles whenever Michael enters the Pony. But she’s the first person he thinks of when he considers his current predicament. ‘Do you have any dog food – or something a puppy could eat?’

He hears her whisper something over her shoulder and then, ‘What – a puppy? When did you get a dog?’

Michael sighs. ‘I didn’t get a dog. But there’s a puppy out at the junkyard. He needs to eat and I’m working. All I’ve got is some stale breakfast bars.’

‘Call Isobel. Or a vet. I’m working.’ She hangs up. He supposes it was too early to start asking favors.

But she’s right – he should call a vet. Or, better yet, drop the dog off at a vet and get back to his very simple, not at all complicated mutt-free life.

He calls Isobel instead.

‘Michael, make it quick. I’m at the Women’s Action Committee luncheon and about to give a speech.’ Other people might sound flustered before public speaking. Isobel sounds like she’s at a day spa.

‘Would you mind swiping some leftovers a puppy could eat and heading over to the junkyard after?’ The puppy in question starts to yip. Finally hoisting himself over the side of the crate and splashing headfirst into his new water bowl.

‘Oh my god, Michael. You got a dog?’ He can barely hear her over the clatter of the luncheon.

‘There is a dog temporarily in my care. That’s all. Can you help me or not?’

‘Not until later tonight. I’m meeting with the mayor about the abandoned UFO museum. We’re hoping to start a women’s shelter. Call Max.’ Someone shouts her name. ‘Gotta go, Michael.’ She hangs up.

The puppy’s ears are soaked. Dripping in the sand as he busily noses about. Tail wagging so happily his entire body wiggles. That’s the first moment Michael knows he’s in trouble.

Against his better judgment, he phones Kyle. ‘Valenti, you’re a doctor. Help me.’

‘I’m not a vet! And I’ve got surgery in thirty minutes. How did you even get my number?’ He hangs up.

Michael refuses to call Max on principle.

That leaves him exactly one option. One terrible choice. He scrolls back up to Alex’s number. But he can’t make his finger press the call button. No matter how hard he tries.

He plops down in the dirt and pulls the puppy to him. He nips at Michael’s fingers playfully and chews a hole in his threadbare shirt. Michael likes dogs – he does. Has always wanted one, but never had the ability to properly take care of one. Having barely been able to care of himself most days. ‘Wonder where you came from, little guy?’ He scratches the puppy behind its ears. ‘Where all your brothers and sisters wound up? Probably safe and sound in warm homes.’ He swallows, hating the emotion that has crept into his voice. ‘Snuggled tight in the arms of some little girl or boy.’

The puppy licks his chin and Michael hugs the puppy closer. ‘But you got thrown away. Or maybe your ran away, huh?’

Scrambling out of his arms, the dog hops back to his water and continues splashing about. Michael returns his attention to Alex’s phone number. ‘He probably won’t answer anyway.’ The puppy ignores him. ‘He has a boyfriend now.’ He rolls in the dirt, little feet pawing at the air. Michael leans back against the Chevy and closes his eyes.

He hasn’t seen Alex in weeks. Has worked tirelessly to avoid seeing Alex for weeks. But he has seen Forrest. Fucking everywhere. The hardware store – the minimart – the gas station. Back at the library and even at the grocery store late one night. In the goddamn cereal aisle.

‘Guerin.’

‘Forrest.’ Michael’s heart beating so hard it breaks.

‘See you around. Enjoy the cereal.’ And Michael had smiled tightly. Watched Forrest leave and imagined him driving straight to Alex’s and crawling into bed beside him.

When he reopens his eyes, the puppy is gone. The junkyard far too silent. Sun so hot everything looks hazy. ‘Where’d you go?’ Michael calls, panic bubbling up in his chest.

That’s when he hears the frantic yapping. He climbs to his feet and jerks around the corner of the Silverado. Eyes scanning the yard as quickly as possible. But the puppy is fine. Better than fine, even. Locked safely in the arms of none other than Alex Manes. Barking and licking at whatever bit of skin is closest.

Alex grins down at squirming puppy and then back up at Michael. ‘Hey.’ The dog barks and bites at Alex’s ear. ‘Is he yours?

The sight is overwhelming. Too much for ordinary afternoons at the junkyard. Michael’s eyes soften. ‘He is.’

#malex #malex fic #sleep prompts #Anonymous #more of the cozy side of the prompt lol

[dream-a-little-bigger-x]

Chapter 6 -- Perfect Harmony | Charlie Gillespie

Summary: Emily Fox is a talented 17-year-old with a passion for all things music. Her dream is to become a successful singer-songwriter one day. But to achieve that dream, she needs to get into one of the most prestigious music schools in her district – it’s all been part of her plan since she was six. Sadly enough, those schools cost a ton of money that her parents don’t want to invest. They don’t even want her to pursue her dream. So, now Emily’s hustling, working at the music store to save up to get into college. That’s until she meets Charlie, an annoying seventeen-year-old boy with the same dream as her. The only difference is, he’s just doing it. He doesn’t need a fancy college to pursue his dream to become famous with his band. He just writes his songs and books small gigs here, there and everywhere. Will meeting Charlie defer her from her dream college, or will he actually help her achieve the dream?

Pairing: Charlie Gillespie x OC (Emily Fox)

Warnings: mentions of death, sexual assault

Important note: the characters of Charlie, Owen, Jeremy and Madison are based on the characters they play on the show and i do not own their names, only OC are mine. The songs aren’t mine either, they’re all from the show except for one.

Chapter six 

~|Charlie Gillespie|~

To say I’m nervous is an understatement. I haven’t been back to the Music Store since Monday. Too scared Emily might actually kick me out because she doesn’t want to see me. Too scared if I don’t practice enough, I might totally flop on Saturday and risk a contract or Emily not joining our band. It does make me wonder if she ever missed me. If she’s been searching for me. If she’s listening to other music while cleaning instead of listening to me play the guitar. If she’s been thinking about me as much as I have been thinking about her. Whether it’s been her tiny little smile betraying her tough façade or her voice blending in with mine or belting out the lyrics, she’s been on my mind non-stop. “Another practice after school, boys?” Owen suggests when we’re at Jeremy’s locker, waiting for him to be ready to get to our first class. Jeremy and I both nod in agreement. We all need as much practice as we can get. Owen watches me tentatively, then says, “I went to the Music Store again last night, to make sure they got our name written down.” I don’t notice my eyes widening at this. “How was she?” I blurt out without thinking. “She seemed a bit off, actually. Easily startled, that one,” Owen chuckles, and I do too but I don’t know why. “I found her at the guitars, she was tuning one of the acoustic guitars when I walked up to her and tapped her shoulder. She jumped about five feet high before registering who I was,” Owen keeps his eyes on me tentatively, making sure he’s not overstepping because he knows how I’ve been feeling in the past week. “And when I asked her about the Open Mic Night, she had no clue what I was talking about at first, but then she checked the documents and she had us written down.” I can’t help but smile a little at his story. Sounds about right. That’s the Emily I’ve been keeping my eye on for the past two weeks. “She had us written down as Sunset Cure, but I made sure to change it.” “Sounds like her,” I mutter. Jeremy and Owen both chuckle and then the silence falls over us like a soft blanket until the bell rings and we all split up to get to class. I’m nervous with everything I do. Paying attention in class is hard because I can hear her voice singing that song she sang to the girl in the Music Store mixed in with the song we sang together. Then it makes me wonder if she’s been working on that and if she’s finished it. I left the piece of paper with the bridge on the piano, I hope she’s seen that and hasn’t thrown it out. Then my mind jumps to the question whether she was off yesterday when Owen saw her because she hadn’t seen me, but then again, that would be ridiculous. She’s pushed me away. Why would she think of me when she doesn’t even like me? “Charlie?” A voice shakes me awake from all my daydreams about Emily. When I look up, I find out every student in my class is staring at me, including the teacher. “Can you tell me the answer to the question I just asked the class?” I rack my brain trying to figure out what we were talking about. What class am I even in? “Pay attention, please, Charlie.” I simply nod my head in response but sulk back into Emily-thoughts the second the teacher turns away from me. This day is going to be hard. Tomorrow is going to be even harder.

“You’re still here?” Owen asks on Saturday morning when he finds me still in Jeremy’s garage. We’d been rehearsing until late last night, writing some more songs until we find the perfect one to perform tomorrow night at the Open Mic Night. We’d promised to pick it back up in the morning, but I never left. I’m not even sure if I slept at all. I kept singing Emily’s song. “Did you even sleep at all, bro?” Jeremy questions as he picks up his bass. His eyes are still squinty, meaning he hadn’t slept too much either. “I’m not sure,” I shrug. Owen sits down next to me on the sofa and I’m sure I’m getting the infamous Owen-pep-talk. Even though he’s solely interested in men, he does give some killer advice on women too. “I’m not telling you to forget about her, Char, but maybe don’t get your hopes up too in case she really, really doesn’t want to be a part of Sunset Curve.” He gives me a sharp look. “Then again, judging from how out of it she was Thursday, I think she kind of missed her favorite returning customer.” My heart swells up at the thoughts of her missing me. I push the feeling down because Owen is right. I can’t get my hopes up too high. “Can we rehearse Now or Never?” I ask, getting up from the sofa to pick up my electric guitar, “I think that one gives us the most chances.” Jeremy and Owen both hum in agreement and get to their instruments. While Jeremy grabs his bass, Owen settles behind his drums. “1-2-3!” Owen counts us in, clapping his sticks together in the air and off we go. Even though we’ve practiced this song the most out of repertoire, it’s still a bit rough and not good enough for any music execs. Or Emily.

We spend a good portion of the day rehearsing the song, having minimal breaks for food and toilet visits. I think my bandmates might already be sick of me saying “it’s not good enough, it needs to be perfect!”. I’m not sure if I care about what they think. “We’re doing it one last time, Charlie. If it’s not perfect after that, I think you might just have to take the odds and hope it’s good enough for the music execs,” Owen says an hour before the Open Mic Night. He’s a great friend, but he can’t hide his annoyance from me. “Or Emily!” Jeremy adds, a bit too excitedly, pointing to me for emphasis. “Yeah, sure, or Emily,” Owen agrees with an eyeroll. “Fine, one more time.” I grumble and put all I have into the song. We’re definitely going to need a shower after we’ve packed everything up to get to the Music Store. If I say the nerves are really kicking in, I mean my heart is nearly thumping out of my chest and I’m very near death. I don’t get this nervous for any other gig we’ve ever had.

“Alright, let’s pack up!” Jeremy claps his hands when we’re finally done and lifts his bass over his head to put the instrument in its case. Even though I think we could do with one more try, I follow his example and place my electric guitar into its case. “Oh, no! Emily actually told me we could use the equipment they have there,” Owen informs us right on time. “Let’s just all go home, take a shower, get dressed and meet each other there, okay?” Jeremy and I glance at each other, place our instruments in their cases anyway, and then leave the garage. Once I’m showered and dressed for tonight; my grey ‘RUSH’ muscle tank and black skinny jeans will do. Or should I make a proper effort since I’m seeing Emily again? Then again, I’m going to sweat my balls off during the song, so it’s not like I’m actually going to look hot. No. This will do. In attempts to boost my confidence a little bit, I comb my fingers through my hair and mess it up a little bit, looking up into the mirror. I never wanted to be that person that gives myself pep-talks in a mirror, but here we are. “You can do this. Whatever happens, it’s good exposure for the band.” After taking another deep breath, I grab the stuff I need and leave the house. Once I get to the Music Store, something inside me stops me from going in. Something is holding me back. I’m not sure if it’s the nerves of the gig or the nerves of seeing Emily again. All I know is that I can’t go inside. “What are you waiting for, Char?” The familiar voice of Jeremy’s relaxes me a bit. I look through the window of the shop, immediately spotting the girl I’m afraid of seeing again. She has a smile on her face as she sweeps up the shop, getting it ready for the Open Mic Night. I think she’s talking to her co-worker. “Ah! That girl! I’ve given her a three cent tip the other day. I think she appreciated me.” I turn my head to look at Jeremy for a moment, wondering what’s going on in that head of his. That’s when I notice someone else has joined us too. “Do you want us to go in first?” Owen asks. He’s halted behind me and Jeremy, looking at what we’re looking at. “Yes, please,” I squeak out, then cough, “Yes, please,” I repeat in my normal voice. Owen and Jeremy head inside while I trail behind them. I’m not sure if I’m hiding or just don’t want her to see me straight away. “Oh, hey! You’re the Three Cents tipper!” Her happy voice sounds so much prettier than the one she uses on me when she puts up that tough façade. Not prettier than her singing voice though. “I didn’t know you guys were in a band together.” “I’m Jeremy, I play bass.” It’s silent for a moment, probably as she’s figuring out how a bass player and a drummer would form a band by themselves. “Where are we playing?” he doesn’t leave her the time to think about who’s missing. He knows that if she thinks about it long enough, she’ll know I’m the third member of the band. “In the back,” she points to an open double door at the back, “Ash will show you. I’ll be in in a minute.” How is she so abrasive whenever she’s with me but a completely different, sweet person when talking to them? What did I do wrong? I follow Owen and Jeremy, who are following after Ash. In my mind, I’m praying Emily wouldn’t recognize me from the back, but as soon as I take a step, I hear the voice she’s reserved just for me. “Thought it would be you.” I turn to face her with my best apologetic smile plastered on my face. “You were hiding from me, Charles?” She points to my bandmates, who’ve left me to my devices. “Uhm… Not technically… I just stood behind them and they’re taller than me, so…” I hope my excuse is plausible enough for her to believe. Then again, she’s not stupid. “Haven’t seen you stalking my store too much this past week.” Her voice is somehow softer. Somewhere between how she sounds when talking to Owen and Jeremy, and how she sounds when talking to me. “Yeah, no… Uhm, I’ve been busy… You know, writing songs by myself and stuff.” I don’t mean for it to come out so passive-aggressive, but I can’t help it either. “I mean—” I want to correct myself, but Emily interrupts me. “It’s fine, Charles. I don’t care,” that stings, “Don’t you have a soundcheck to get to?” “Uhm, yeah… I guess…” I look at her one last time for just a second before trailing behind my bandmates who are already settled behind their instruments. At least we had that.

By the time soundcheck is over, the room has filled up to the brim with people. Some of them look very professional, others are really here for just the music. My lungs clasp together due to the nerves now even more kicking in. “Ready, Char?” Owen claps his hand on my back. “Nope, I think I might die,” I would never be able to hide these nerves from the boys. “Let’s hope you come back as a ghost then,” Jeremy jokes – I think, “Ooh! Maybe we could start a ghost band!” I can’t help but chuckle at that, and neither can Owen. “Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to our monthly Open Mic Night!” Ash says into the microphone, her voice booming off the walls and filling the entire space. The crowd claps and cheers, but I doubt it’s because they know who’s coming. This is all Ash’s applause or maybe just excitement for some music. “First up, we have an up-and-coming band from our very own Los Feliz. Give it up for Sunset Cure!” I slowly turn my head to Owen, who’d told us he had made sure he changed the name. “I swear, I told her to correct it!” he says, holding up his hands in defense. When I look into the crowd and spot Emily in the back with the most mischievous grin on her face, I’m sure she did it on purpose to mess with me. As the three of us make our way onto the stage, surrounded by the excited cheers of the crowd, I glare at Emily at the back, but I can’t help but let a smile shine through. If this was her attempt to get rid of my nerves, it’s working because I’m distracted by all the questions about why she’d do this.     “It’s actually Sunset Curve,” I say into the mic, not taking my eyes off of Emily. The mischievous grin isn’t going away anytime soon, I think. And for some reason, it makes her even more sexy. I strum my guitar a little, and so does Jeremy with his bass until Owen counts us in and we start rocking out. All of the nerves that had built up inside of me have subdued. Mainly because I don’t take my eyes off of the girl standing at the back, looking at us with her arms crossed and the mischief still persistent on her face. “Take off, last stop Countdown till we blast open the top Face first, full charge Electric hammer to the heart” Jeremy and Owen join in for backing vocals on the next part of the verse. “Clocks move forward But we don't get older, no Kept on climbing Till our stars collided” Jeremy and Owen now stop, leaving me to sing the next few lines by myself. “And all the times we fell behind Were just the keys to paradise” The chorus is for all three of us, our voices blending together nicely. “Don't look down 'Cause we're still rising up right now And even if we hit the ground We'll still fly Keep dreaming like we'll live forever But live it like it's now or never” While singing, I don’t tear my eyes off of Emily. I think I even caught a smile during that chorus. “Hear the noise, in my head It's calling out like a voice I can't forget One life, no regrets Catch up, got no time to catch my breath” I throw her a wink when Jeremy walks up to me to sing the pre-chorus with me into the same mic, as we do pretty much every show. It gets the most cheers, most of the time. “Clocks move faster Cause it's all we're after now, oh Won't stop climbing Cause this is our time, yeah” I push him away from me, focusing on Emily again. “When all the days felt black and white Those were the best shades of my life” We lapse into the chorus again and the crowd gets up from their chairs to dance along with us. Emily, however, stays put in the position I saw her in when the song started. Besides the occasional head-bop, she just stares with that mischievous grin and her arms crossed. “Don't look down 'Cause we're still rising up right now And even if we hit the ground We'll still fly Keep dreaming like we'll live forever But live it like it's now or never” As Owen takes the bridge, I walk to the edge of the stage to interact with the crowd. “We ain't searching for tomorrow” “Tomorrow,” Jeremy echoes. “'Cause we got all we need today” “Today” goes Jeremy again as I walk back to my microphone. “Living on a feeling that's been running through our veins,” I sing. “We're the revolution that's been singing in the rain,” Jeremy’s high note sends shivers down my spine, and I almost forget to move away from the microphone to do my favorite part. Owen and Jeremy move from their mics too, and all of us stop playing the instruments, shouting the first part of the chorus into the crowd whilst clapping our hands. Thankfully, the crowd obeys and claps along with us. “Don't look down 'Cause we're still rising up right now” We pick up our instruments and move behind our microphones again, finishing up the song. “And even if we hit the ground We'll still fly Keep dreaming like we'll live forever But live it like it's now or never It's now or never.” The crowd erupts into explosive applause and cheers. But all I see is Emily, slow-clapping her way towards us, but stops when she reaches the last row of the crowd. I can’t help the smile tugging at my lips as Owen and Jeremy join me for a bow. “That was explosive, you guys!” Ash says into the mic as she runs up the stage again. “Sunset Curve, everybody!” The applause doesn’t die down yet, instead, it just grows louder. “Tell your friends!” Jeremy yells, earning even more cheers from the ladies on the first row. The three of us walk off stage as Ash announces the next artist. The second I walk into the crowd; my eyes are scanning ferociously for any sign of Emily. “Sunset Curve,” a stranger approaches us, “My name’s Bob, I’m looking for hot new talent such as yourself,” he shakes hands with all of us, but I’m only half there. Emily is in the store again, cleaning up and sorting through stuff. It’s when I realize I don’t care what Bob over here thought. I need to know what Emily thought. “Yeah, yeah, just a second, Bob,” I say, not even looking at him and making my way to the store without saying another word or waiting for a response from Bob or any of the guys. “Hey,” I greet once I’ve approached the girl in the Music Store. It feels exactly the same as it did when I first met her, and she just sang that beautiful song. The nerves kicking in again, my hands getting clammy and my throat closing up. Exactly like that first day. “Ah, Rockstar,” she mumbles, not even awarding me with a glance. She does recognize my voice, though. That’s a plus. “That wasn’t half bad out there.” I raise an eyebrow at her. “Half bad?” I ask, “Ems, me and my band rocked it out there.” If she’s surprised by the nickname, she doesn’t show it. I’m surprised myself that I used it. “Eh.” There’s that mischievous grin of hers again. Something tells me that means she doesn’t mean a word she says. I follow after her like an obedient puppy as she walks towards the piano again to sort through her sheet music. From over her shoulder, I can see my crumbled up paper sticking out of the bundle. “I think you liked our song, but you’re just too shy to tell me,” my mouth says without permission of my brain. She turns her head to me, giving me a sharp glare. “Sure, you tell yourself that, Charles.” I shake my head at her while she walks away from me again. “Can I help you with anything else? I still got work to do.” I bite my lip to make sure my mouth doesn’t go off without permission of my brain again. Because there are so many things I want to tell her. “Hey Emily!” Owen’s voice sounds from behind me, and when I turn my head, I find both bandmates standing beside me. Emily turns her head at the sound of Owen’s voice, a smile immediately turning her scowl reserved for me upside down. “Oh hey boys! You killed it out there!” My mouth drops open as I glance from my bandmates to Emily and back. “But—you,” I point to Emily, “W—me, Huh? What?!” All I get from her is that mischievous grin again. I knew she liked the song. Why can’t she just tell me the truth? She’s messing with me. “Thanks, girl!” Jeremy says with the widest grin on his face. “She’s nice, isn’t she, Char?” He pats me on the back, pointing to Emily for emphasis. “Yeah, very nice,” now it’s my time to scowl at her. “We just wanted to thank you for giving us a head’s up about this Open Mic thing,” Owen chimes in to simmer things down a little. “We had a very important guy talking to us just now.” I know the snarky emphasis on his words are directed at me, but I can’t be bothered to care. I just want to know what Emily’s deal is. Why can’t she warm up to me like she did to Owen and Jeremy? “Oh, that’s so good! But if it’s Bob, don’t believe him.” The boys and I glance at each other with wide eyes. “It was Bob, wasn’t it?” All three of us nod our heads in response. “Yeah, he’s a scammer. We try to keep him out, but he always manages to weasel his way back in.” “That’s why Ash came between us,” Owen now realizes. “Yeah…” Emily trails off, “Sorry, guys.” “Oh, it’s fine! At least you liked our song!” Jeremy says excitedly, “So much so you might join our band? Charlie over here tells us you’re an amazing singer-songwriter.” He pats my shoulder again. Emily’s smile falters, her eyes growing sadder with the second. She glances up at me. “I’m sorry, guys. I can’t do that. I – uhm… If I told you I had a really decent reason that I can’t talk about, would you believe me?” At least this answer is a bit less harsh than what she’s given me the other day. “So she is a witch!” Jeremy whispers with wide eyes. “What?” Emily’s sad face makes room for a confused face. Exactly the face Owen and I pull every day at least fifty times. “She’s not a witch, Jere!” I tell him off with an eyeroll. “We believe you have a good reason not to join our band,” Owen replies to Emily, “If you change your mind, we’ll welcome you with open arms.” His words seem to put that gorgeous smile of hers back on her pretty face. I sometimes forget how beautiful she really is until she smiles like that. With her long, dark hair pulled up into a ponytail that cascades alongside her neck, and her magical dark eyes with a fleck of green. I think she might just be the most beautiful girl I ever did see. “Thanks, I’ll try to remember that.” She glances at me and for once, her smile doesn’t turn back into a scowl. There’s a fuzzy, warm feeling in my chest. One that calms my heart down. One that seems to solve all of my problems at once. “See you around, Emily,” Owen taps the counter and turns around to make his way to the door. Jeremy throws up a peace sign whilst muttering a “Bye” and following behind Owen, leaving me with her. “Thanks for telling us about the Open Mic,” I tell her, pointing to the now closed double door with the music streaming out of it. “I guess I’ll see you around.” I raise my hand in a wave and turn around to go and find my bandmates again. “Hey,” her voice stops me halfway there, “Don’t be a stranger, okay?” I turn my face and get rewarded with an actual, genuine smile from Emily. It even turns the corners of my mouth upwards. “See you, Charles.” Still calling me Charles. “Right, yeah,” I wave again, “See you, Ems.” I still catch a glimpse of a blush before I head out the door to find my bandmates waiting for me. “She liked our music?” Owen tries to cheer me up, even though that’s not necessary. I’ve been rewarded with the most beautiful, genuine smile from the most beautiful woman on this planet. I don’t need cheering up. “I’m sure she’ll join our band in no time,” says Jeremy with a reassuring smile. Even if she does, she’s not that abrasive towards me anymore. She even gave me a smile. A smile. From Emily.

Taglist: @parkeret​ @lukeys-giggle​ @hannahhistorian92​

Lemme know if you want to be on my taglist for this story/any of my other works!

#julie and the phantoms #julie and the himbos #charlie gillespie #charlie x oc #oc emily fox #jeremy shada #owen joyner #madison reyes #luke patterson #reggie jatp #alex jatp #julie molina

[cafeaulater]

ooo oooo about the wip title: tell us about the courage of stars and/or infinity x infinity!!! (if you’d like!!) 🤩

Of course! (I’m realizing now that maybe I should stop titling fics after Sleeping at Last lyrics but I can’t help myself!) I’ll share both in this post - Courage of Stars first, then Infinity x Infinity. 😊

The Courage of Stars started out as a holiday fluff fic but somehow ended up being a nightmare hurt/comfort. Here is an excerpt that I’m proud of:

The proximity of Gon as they slept (well, as Gon slept and Killua pretended to sleep) was about more than intimacy for Killua. It was like having an anchor. As Illumi found his way into Killua’s dreams, as his family ridiculed him from afar by haunting every second of peace he sought out, the only thing keeping him from completely losing his mind was waking up and immediately becoming aware that Gon was still there. Gon was within physical reach and he was safe and Killua was safe and everything was okay. 

Killua shifted onto his side to stare at the man he loved more than anyone in the universe. He was surprised when, perhaps in response to his own movement, Gon immediately turned over and blue eyes met gold. Gon smiled at him, but there was concern - or maybe sadness - in his expression. Killua stared for a long moment before Gon broke the silence. 

“You didn’t sleep at all, did you,” he said as a statement rather than a question. 

“I- I slept,” Killua lied. “I woke up ten minutes ago.” 

“Killua,” Gon groaned with a yawn. “It’s easier to tell when you’re lying when you’re tired. Did you know you don’t blink when you lie, but only when you’re super tired.”

“That’s bullshit,” Killua huffed. He made a point to turn to his other side, putting Gon to his back. He hoped that Gon read it as him being playfully annoyed and not as him trying to pull himself together as pressure built behind his eyes and his lip began to tremble. He hated being this emotional. This is a weakness, Illumi’s voice whispered at the back of his mind. He pressed his palms to his eyes hard enough to see stars, hoping it might force his past back where it belonged: behind him.

Gon’s arm came up around his shoulders. He hesitated when Killua flinched. He muttered a ‘sorry’ under his breath and his arm retreated. Killua wanted to kick himself. 

“No, Gon, I-” Killua rolled over again to face Gon. “I’m sorry… I just-” He breathed in deeply and let it out in a long exhale. Gon waited patiently. He was always so patient. Killua felt his eyes getting wet again. “It’s been so long,” he finally said in an almost whisper. Gon didn’t say anything, so he continued. “All of the pain and the manipulation and the torture are so long ago, but sometimes, it just hits me again. And I feel safer being awake with you next to me than being asleep in whatever nightmare is waiting for me. I know it’s stupid but-”

“It isn’t stupid.” Gon’s voice was firm and a small crease had formed between his eyebrows. 

“Not stupid,” Killua repeated, though he wasn’t fully convinced. “But I can’t control it, and I should be able to because it’s a part of me! And it’s not even real. I’m too weak…” A trail of hot tears freed themselves from his eyes and rolled down his face. He was too tired to hide them this time.

“Killua.” Gon’s hand lingered by his shoulder for a moment, giving Killua an opportunity to push it away, before it gripped his arm with a reassuring pressure. “You are not weak. I know it’s not easy to remember that, but you are one of the strongest people I know. Terrible things happened to you in your past - things that should never have happened to you - and them being in the past doesn’t change the fact that they happened. They were real and terrible and if I could change it so that they never happened to you, I would, but please, Killua, if you let anything I say right now stick, let it be that this isn’t your fault and that you are so strong and I am so happy that you are here because of how strong you are.”

Now! About Infinity x Infinity! This is my first au that I’ve been writing that isn’t based on an existing universe (to my knowledge). 

The premise is that the Chimera Ant War left the leader of the Hunters Association severely injured. When Pariston expresses an interest in replacing Netero, Ging Freecss announces that he knows how to save their leader and avoid a succession conflict. The infamous Zoldyck family offers a secret service of healing magic that should be good enough to save Netero. Ging will send his own son, Gon, to meet the Zoldycks and return with the healing solution, thereby avoiding direct interaction between the Zoldyck family and the Hunters Association. 

With the Association in mutual agreement, Gon sets off and comes to find out that the service provided by the Zoldycks is temporary purchase of their son, Killua, who was born with healing magic. Gon wonders if maybe Killua can also help his friend, Kite, who is comatose in a hospital following the war. What Killua hasn’t told him is that his magic isn’t simple. Anything he heals, he will absorb himself. If he cures Kite, Killua will end up comatose. Despite this, and without telling Gon, Killua promises he will do what he can to help Kite. 

Ging did not expect Gon and Killua to fall in love, and, when Gon comes to realize Killua’s stipulations, he decides he and Killua will run away together. It’s the perfect plan until Killua realizes he must go home to save his little sister. Meanwhile, Ging goes to the Zoldycks with accusations that they kidnapped Gon - though he makes it clear he is more interested in saving Netero than getting his son back. What will happen when Killua gets back to the mansion? With so many stakeholders involved, there is sure to be a conflict of interest. But most importantly, will Gon and Killua ever get their happy ending???

[lady-divine-writes]

Good Omens - “Tricked and Treated” (Rated G)

Summary: Aziraphale and Adam bump into an intriguing man and his son while out Trick or Treating. Of course, it is Halloween, and nothing is quite what it seems ... (3415 words)

Notes: This is one of two stories I wrote for A Big Spooky Fan Zine. Be sure to check the rest of the collection for some amazing spooky works from other wonderful fandom creators :)

Read on AO3.

Knock-knock-knock-knock!

“Trick or Treat! Smell my feet! Give me somethin’ good to eat! If you don’t, I don’t care. I’VE GOT PURPLE UNDERWEAR!!”

The chorus of tinny voices dissolves into giggles as a multitude of pint-sized monsters, ghouls, and superheroes wait for the door to open. If it doesn’t … they won’t do anything. Not a one of them is older than nine, and their parents are standing a few feet behind them. But the song is tradition, even if they do tweak the lyrics a bit every year.

Last year, the preferred modifier for underwear had been ‘dirty’, and even though that isn’t age-inappropriate, per se, the parents are thrilled the quorum decided upon a color this year instead.

The group falls silent when they hear heavy footsteps approach from the opposite side. The brass knob turns, and the door pulls in. The children know what to expect, but still, they take a tentative step backward. It’s an old house, but a familiar one; that always has carved pumpkins on the patio at Halloween and handmade wreaths on the door at Christmas. A house that generations of children have run up to on October 31sts past and knocked on its door. Those children grew up and bring their children here to visit the same bubbly lady who never seems to age, always has a smile on her face, and a tray of homemade caramel apples wrapped in wax paper at the ready.

The door creaks open.

The children gasp in anticipation.

Then, she is revealed: a red-haired woman in a flowing, floral kaftan beneath a cozy pink peacoat steps out with her gentleman behind her, dressed in olive drab and menacingly pointing, of all things, his right index finger, as if he thinks it will protect him from the beasties gracing their porch. The woman looks at the crowd of masks and made-up faces surrounding her and gasps in mock fear.

“My goodness!” she says, putting a hand to her mouth. “Look at all these frightful goblins and ghouls at my door tonight! I don’t suppose any of you like caramel apples, hmm?”

“I do! I do!” Hands shoot up, eager to be seen. The woman smiles.

“Mr. Shadwell! Put your finger away and bring me that tray!” she scolds, grabbing up apples on their sturdy wooden sticks when they come her way and handing them out one at a time, receiving a grateful and excited, “Thank you!” with each one.

“I do believe everyone’s parent is present,” she says with a glance towards the ring of adults manning her garden gate, “but if they’re not, you let them know that these apples came from Tracy Shadwell’s own kitchen, so they’re safe to eat.”

“Yes, ma’am!” the kids answer obediently. Most everyone in the neighborhood knows Mrs. Shadwell and her famous caramel apples. For those who don’t, she ties a pink tag at the base of each stick with her name and telephone number embossed on it in gold, should anyone want to verify.

And while she hands out her wares, she looks over each child and comments on their costume – the hand-crafted along with the store-bought – with nothing but the highest praise. As the crowd thins, two boys approach, patiently awaiting their turns. Mrs. Shadwell spots the first of the boys and hands him two caramel apples. She knows him - and his chaperone - very well.

“Why, Adam Young!” she coos at the boy dressed in white satin brocade. “What a stunning costume! Another one from your grandfather’s collection?”

“Yes, ma’am,” the boy replies proudly. “French Revolution era. I’m a political prisoner, about to get my head chopped off!” He drags a finger across his throat in a slicing motion, tilting his head to one side and sticking out his tongue for greater emphasis. His eyes pop as he remembers the best part. “Look! Here’s my head!” He fishes around in his candy bag and pulls out a childishly executed but morbid prop - a bleeding papier-mache head on a stick. It vaguely resembles Adam, having the same hair color and skin tone, but drenched in fake blood and with X’s over the eyes. “I wanted to slather blood all over my neck, but my grandfather said no.”

“I can understand why!” Tracy chuckles. “That costume must be expensive! It looks quite handsome on you.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Shadwell,” Adam says with a dignified bow.

“You’re very welcome.” Her gaze lands on the boy standing beside him. “And you! Another scary vampire!” The corners of her mouth tug down as she struggles for a name. “I can’t seem to recall your name, dear. Would you be so kind as to help an old lady out?”

“I’m Warlock,” the boy says, speaking with a pronounced lisp and spitting his consonants, courtesy of the plastic fangs crowding his mouth.

“Here you go, Warlock.” Mrs. Shadwell hands him two apples as well. It wouldn’t be right to give him only one since he’s seen Adam get two. Besides, thanks to her husband’s help, she has a whole army of apples sitting in her kitchen, waiting to be doled out. “Thank you for stopping by so I could see your costume. Give your parents my fondest regards.”

“Yesh, ma’am,” the boy slurs, trying his best not to spit again. “Thank you, ma’am.”

The boys wave politely as Mrs. Shadwell closes her door. They turn together, stepping down from the porch, eyeing one another’s costume as if the two of them are catwalk rivals.

“That belongsth to your grandpa?” Warlock asks, looking Adam’s shimmery outfit up and down.

“Yup.” Adam holds his head high and gives the boy a spin so he can view it from all sides. “Your costume is cool, too. Did your parents buy it? Or did someone make it for you?”

“It’sth vintage,” Warlock explains, tongue tripping over his teeth. “It wasth my father’s when he wasth a boy.” He holds the ends of his cape out wide, flapping the wings it creates.

“Awesome!”

“That’s right, Warlock,” a tall man says, receiving both children when they reach the wooden gate. “It belonged to your ancient, elderly father.”

The man standing beside him chuckles, reaching a hand out to Adam as the boy walks through.

“Well, despite its interminable old age, it really is a smashing costume, Mr….”

“Crowley,” Warlock’s father supplies, extending a hand in greeting. “Anthony J. Crowley.”

“Aziraphale,” Adam’s grandfather answers, taking Crowley’s hand and shaking it. “Aziraphale Fell. This is my grandson, Adam.”

Crowley nods at the boy who is less concerned with the subject of adults’ names as he is with comparing his haul with that of the boy beside him.

“I believe we’ve lost them!” Aziraphale laughs as Adam and Warlock dive into their sacks.

“Bound to happen,” Crowley concurs. “We’re nowhere near as entertaining as chocolate. At least, I’m not. Not to be rude or anything but aren’t you a little young to be a grandfather?”

Aziraphale grins hard enough to make his cheeks ache. “That’s very kind of you to say, but I am much older than you might think.” He narrows his eyes at the man tousling his son’s black hair - suspicious considering his own hair is red. Flame red. Of course, that could come from a bottle. Not that Aziraphale is judging. It looks rather fetching on him. “Forgive my saying so, but I don’t think I’ve seen you or your son around here before.”

“Is that so strange?” Crowley asks, his grin growing tight, but not terribly.

It seems Aziraphale may not be the first person of the evening to mention it.

“No, not really. But we’re a tiny hamlet. Everyone here knows everyone else.” Aziraphale leans in a companionable inch. “All their secrets, too.”

“Ah, well, we’re not from around here,” Crowley admits with a sheepish grin.

“Gotcha.” Aziraphale winks. “It’s no secret that we’re one of the few neighborhoods around that gives out full-sized candy bars by the handful and real popcorn balls – not that stale, store-bought crud.” Crowley’s lips quirk, in shame it seems, and Aziraphale rushes to elaborate. “Not that we mind visitors!” he says, waving his hands as if to wipe away any doubt. “As long as the children have a pleasant time, that’s all we care about. It’s nice to see some new blood around here.”

Crowley stares at Aziraphale, his face blank for a second. His lower lip quivers. He sputters, then he laughs out loud (harder than necessary, Aziraphale feels).

“What?” Aziraphale asks self-consciously.

“Nothing,” Crowley says, reining in his laughter with a snort that Aziraphale can’t help but find adorable. “It’s just been a while since I’ve heard that term. But to be honest, we’re here strictly to socialize. We don’t eat candy.”

Adam, totally engrossed in his conversation with Warlock, catches that last part. His head snaps up, jaw dropping to the ground, utter disbelief written on his face.

“Don’t eat it?” he moans with regret on his new friend’s behalf. “Why not?”

“I’m on a special diet,” Warlock says, looking down at his pregnant bag of sweets.

“A special diet?” Aziraphale looks from Warlock to his father.

“I adopted Warlock from a hospital overseas,” Crowley explains, distracted momentarily by a new wave of Trick-or-Treaters headed their way. “He has a rare blood-borne illness that they were ill-equipped to handle.”

“But … is he okay now?” Aziraphale gazes at the boy’s face, particularly his large, sleepy eyes, dark circles underneath made all the more prominent by his pale skin. Crowley watches the way Aziraphale looks at his son, examining him with an expression of genuine concern, and smiles.

“There is no cure, but we’re managing it the best we can.” Crowley puts a hand on Warlock’s shoulder and gives it a squeeze. “It helps when you don’t have to worry about trivial things like money. Heartbreaking for those parents in dire straits who don’t have an excess of disposable income. A lot of tough choices to be made when you find yourself in that position.”

“Aren’t you the lucky one?” Aziraphale teases, knocking Crowley playfully on the shoulder.

“It’s old money,” Crowley replies, that sheepish smile from before making a comeback. “I like putting it to good use.”

Aziraphale looks up when Crowley does and meets his eyes – boundless amber eyes that catch the surrounding street lights and flickering Jack-O-Lantern candles in a mesmerizing way, as if with a single blink he could read Aziraphale’s mind.

Or hypnotize him into doing his bidding.

They don’t look human. Snake-ish, more like - slit pupils and all. They can’t be real. They have to be contact lenses. Fake or not, there’s something about them that makes Aziraphale shiver. Crowley notices, grinning devilishly. Aziraphale laughs.

He’s letting the magic of the evening get to him.

Or the magic of this charming man.

From the corner of his eye, Aziraphale catches Adam yawn. He fishes his watch out of his pocket and checks the time.

“Oh my goodness!” he exclaims. “Look at that! When did it get so late?”

“We’re not going home now, are we?” Adam asks, whining the way tired children do while fighting back a yawn.

“I’m afraid so, my dear,” Aziraphale says. “You’re just about dead on your feet, and I can’t carry you all the way back to the house. Besides, I promised your mother and father I’d have you tucked in before they got home.

“We’d better be heading out as well,” Crowley says, wrapping an arm around his son’s thin shoulders and holding him close.

“Do we have to?” Warlock asks, sulking into his father’s embrace.

“I’m afraid so.”

“All right.” Warlock turns to Adam, who yawns again, shaking his head to dislodge the exhaustion from his brain. “It was nice meeting you, Adam.”

“It was nice meeting you, too,” Adam says.

“Do you guys …?” Aziraphale starts, not eager to see this captivating man disappear so quickly. “I know you said you aren’t from around here, but …”

“We’re in Mayfair,” Crowley says, anticipating Aziraphale’s question. “About two hours give or take, as the bat flies.”

“Ah.” Aziraphale casts his eyes down dejectedly. “That’s quite a distance to travel for conversation and candy you can’t eat.”

“We’re also visiting family. Family that we’ve been looking into visiting more often, maybe even moving closer to, so who knows? You could be seeing us around?”

Aziraphale nods because if that question implies what Aziraphale hopes it does, the answer is definitely yes.

“Who knows?” he echoes, hoping Crowley catches on to the fact that he’s flirting. It’s been a while, and he was never very good at it to begin with. “We might end up neighbors.”

“Maybe,” Crowley says, the word a vague promise but a promise nonetheless. It leaves Aziraphale with the feeling that if those plans to move fall through, he may still see Crowley again. “I could take you out for a bite?”

Aziraphale smiles, cheeks flushing red and not from the chill in the autumn air.

“I’ll take you up on that.” Aziraphale reaches into his pocket and pulls out his business card. “You can reach me at this number. I have a bookshop in Soho. I’m there most of the time … even if the sign on the door says closed.”

Crowley takes it, slipping it from between Aziraphale’s fingers and sliding it into his inside breast pocket. “Clever of you, really. Who wants to be bothered by a bunch of busybody customers anyhow?” He smooths down the front of his jacket, patting the pocket keeping Aziraphale’s business card safe.

That subtle touch of his palm to the spot makes Aziraphale tingly inside.

“Here …” Warlock, watching the exchange between the two men, holds out his bag of candy to Adam “… I want you to have this.”

Adam’s eyes grow big as saucers, his face lighting up at the offer of a sack of sweets as big as his own. “No way! Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Warlock says with a sad, one-shoulder shrug. “I wasth gonna hafta throw it out anyway.”

Adam looks up at Aziraphale, eyes pleading. “Can I?”

“I don’t see why not. It would be rude to turn down such a generous gift.”

“Yes, it would,” Adam agrees, reaching for the bag and taking it reverently. “Thank you, Warlock.”

“Don’t make yourself sick eating all that candy in one night,” Crowley says.

“Oh, I won’t!” Adam assures him. “I’m going to share it with my three best friends! Hey! If you come back, I can introduce you!”

“You would do that?” Warlock asks.

“Of course! There’s always room for one more in our group.”

“Now, you see, you must come back,” Aziraphale says when he’d meant to say ‘We’ll see, boys. We’ll see.’ He doesn’t want to appear pushy. He doesn’t regret it an inch, though, when he notices the new look in Crowley’s eyes - the one that says he’s prepared to move heaven and earth to make that happen.

If it’s because of the promise of new friends for Warlock or to see him again, however, remains to be seen.

“I guess we will,” Crowley responds.

“Have a safe evening, Mr. Crowley. Warlock.” Aziraphale raises a hand and waves good-bye, backing away, pulling Adam along with him.

“And you as well, Mr. Fell. Adam.” Crowley waves back, turning down the street with Warlock in tow.

Crowley and Warlock weave through several pods of children racing up to houses and knocking noisily on doors. They walk against the flow of revelers, ending in a dark street with no lamps lit, no decorations on the porches, no Trick-or-Treaters anywhere to be seen.

“Did you have a good time?” Crowley asks.

“Yesh.” Warlock reaches up and spits out the false teeth that had been covering his fangs, glad to be rid of them at long last. “That was a blast! Adam and his granddad are really nice. Don’t you think they’re really nice?” Warlock asks, vibrating with the enthusiasm of … well, an eight-year-old on Halloween.

“Yes,” Crowley agrees, turning one last time, using his supernatural vision to find the man and his grandson walking down the street. Crowley doesn’t believe for a minute that Aziraphale is that boy’s grandfather, but he couldn’t get a read on him … as in he couldn’t read Aziraphale’s mind like he can with other humans. Adam’s neither, which makes the two of them that much more enticing.

Aziraphale looks over his shoulder and bites his lip as if he knows he’s being watched. Crowley eyes the dent his teeth make in his skin, lingering on it and licking his lips. If his heart were still beating in his chest, it would be racing out of control by now. “They were great. With any luck, we’ll be seeing them again.” Crowley puts a hand over the pocket with the business card hidden inside and smiles. “So,” he says, clapping his hands in front of him, “are you ready to give it another try?”

“Yes.” Warlock sounds confident, but he looks ready to puke. “It’s just … I’m not as good at it as you are.”

“It takes practice,” Crowley says, and with a snap of his fingers (which is entirely unnecessary - he does it solely for dramatic effect), he changes - shrinks down, sprouts wings, keeping only his serpentine eyes and a tuft of his red hair.

Crowley transforms effortlessly.

Warlock manages the feat with a little less finesse and a frantic snapping of fingers, but even though he’s only done it about a dozen times, he makes a handsome young bat. Father and son circle the neighborhood once to stretch their leathery wings and then rise high into the air. From this height, they can see everything, the whole of London stretched out beneath them. Crowley manages to spot Aziraphale and Adam one last time, then heads towards the ocean, disappearing into the night.

***

“Here we are, Adam,” Aziraphale says, opening the door to the Young house and ushering his charge inside. “If you hurry, get yourself washed up and into your nighttime clothes, you can sort your candy until your parents get home.”

“Can I have a piece or two?” Adam asks, gripping hard to the handles of his bags. “Or seven?”

“Three,” Aziraphale counters.

“Five?” Adam negotiates hopefully.

Aziraphale bobs his head back and forth, taking his time on purpose.

“Four,” he decides. “Final offer.”

“Deal!” Adam takes it. No need to tempt fate any further. He races off towards the staircase, burdened by roughly sixteen pounds of sugar weighing down his arms, but stops at the bottom step. He looks at Aziraphale thoughtfully for a moment before he speaks.

“Aziraphale?”

“Yes, Adam?”

“Warlock and his dad … they’re vampires, aren’t they?”

Aziraphale smiles to himself and nods. Crowley and Warlock are as much humans as he and Adam. Aziraphale is an angel, tasked by the Almighty Herself to care for the Antichrist, ensure he never comes into his power and brings about the end of the world. He’s been on the lookout for demons since Adam was born.

Which should make striking up a conversation with a vampire inadvisable.

But Aziraphale doesn’t believe Crowley meant to do them any harm. He didn’t come across as the dangerous sort of evil. For one thing, he didn’t seem to recognize Aziraphale and Adam for what they are at all. And a vampire adopting a son? Aziraphale has never heard of such a thing. Vampires tend to be opportunists. What could Crowley possibly have to gain by doing that? Still, Aziraphale can’t let his guard down, not for a minute. He isn’t sure what Crowley was trying to pull, but he hopes he gets the chance to find out. “Yes, I believe they are.”

“Cool,” Adam says with an awe-consumed grin. “I hope we see them again.”

Aziraphale pictures Crowley in his mind: his fair skin, his steep nose, his red hair, and his snake-ish eyes. Aziraphale has seen his share of demons, but they’ve all been wretched. Not Crowley. Crowley takes pride in his appearance, that’s for sure. It reminds Aziraphale of the sad state of his wings. He must groom them as soon as time permits.

“So do I, Adam,” he says, planning for later tonight when young Adam is asleep. Wing grooming is a messy business, one he’d prefer to do in private. “So do I.”

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #ineffable husbands #ineffable lovers #crowley x aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley #aziraphale #crowley

[thirsty-x1]

Walking In The Winter | Kim Wooseok

Request:

Can I request a Wooseok scenario in which the reader is a single parent and both of them have known each other for a long time. Wooseok starts to get closer to the reader as well as the child gradually and the once suppressed feelings of both the reader and Wooseok, towards each other start to return stronger than ever. Fluff please ^_^

↬ Pairing: Wooseok x fem!reader.

↬ Genre: Fluff, super slight past Angst?

↬ Warnings: Wooseok being too fucking cute?

↬ Word Count: 4.3k

↬ Song Recommendation: “Walking in the Winter” by Yun Ddan Ddan. Originally I was going for another title but after reading the lyrics it fit too well... plus Wooseok is obsessed with this song and that’s adorable.

The tiredness spread on every inch of your body, the pain making itself notice with each step you took while going upstairs, the view of the hall becoming slightly comforting as you searched for the keys in your purse. Before unlocking the door, you took a deep breath, trying to put on your best face and getting in to be greeted with a walking Wooseok that constantly shushed the asleep kid in his arms. When your friend heard the door closing, he turned around to give you a small smile, pointing a few times towards your child.

“Thank you for taking care of him today…” Leaving everything by the entrance, you silently went to him, extending your arms to grab your son and quickly taking him to your room.

As soon as you made sure he was sleeping comfortably and kissed his forehead, you went back to the living room. You were about to grab your wallet when Wooseok stopped you.

“How many times do I need to tell you that this isn’t necessary?” His hands were gentle as he put the money down. Just then was that you noticed the small cut under his right eye.

Getting closer to examine it, you held his chin. “What happened to you?” He blinked a few times, the words not coming out and making you notice the rushed action, instantly pulling away while muttering an apology.

“Ah, I must have gotten it with him… he really likes to play with my face.” Wooseok let out a small laugh as he tapped his skin a few times and checked his fingertips.

“Must be because you have such pretty eyes.” He lowered his gaze, hiding the light blush on his cheeks. “Wait here, I will go look for something to cure it.”

There was no place for him to deny your offer this time as you left him alone, grabbing the first aid kit you kept close just in case and telling him to sit down on the couch. Imitating him, you faced him, cleaning the tiny wound and blowing on it when the alcohol made Wooseok flinch, your expression distracting him from the stinging. He would be lying if he denied that his heartbeat got faster with your every touch, so lost in the moment that it almost surprised him that it was over so soon. Now he felt the bandit on the place and held back a laugh as you took a picture of him and showed how it looked, the Doraemon design making a fun contrast on his usually serious face.

“Thank you.”

“I think it might leave a scar though…”

He scoffed at the mention. “It’s fine, really, don’t worry about it.” His phone rang and right after he picked up his stuff. “Ah, I think it’s pretty late so I should get going–”

A sound coming from the bed room interrupted both of you, making you sigh as you got up. Of course you missed sharing more time with your kid, but it became a bit hard to do so when you came after work, your body and mind not being ready to handle with it even if that’s what you wanted with all your might.

“You can go Wooseok, thank you so much–”

He shook his head. “Let me help and then I’ll go, you look too tired.” Ah, so he noticed. His pace got quicker towards the bedroom. “Besides, you don’t need to thank me every time, it’s been two months already.”

With a slight chuckle, you dragged your feet behind him, laying down next to the small body of your son and playing with his hair as he let out a few cries. Apparently, he had a nightmare and since he was alone, he got scared.

“What’s your plan?”

Your question made Wooseok roll his eyes as if it wasn’t obvious, a sweet melody filling the room as he sang the lullaby you knew well. He was making some arrangements to the song, the beat becoming slower and somehow sadder, but it seemed to work nonetheless. However, like this you got to pay more attention to the lyrics, your sight fixed on his expression and how the feeling seemed to be completely different from other times he had sang it, but Wooseok stared at the way the kid’s eyelids started to close again at the sound of his voice.

When he finished, he looked your way, only to find you sleeping soundly just like the child next to you, the resemblance striking him as funny. He stood up, trying to not disturb you as he put a blanket over you and left the room, flicking the lights off. Grabbing a pen, he scribbled a message on one of the notebooks he had used to color with his new favorite person and grabbed his keys, more like the ones you had given him in case an emergency happened and left the apartment.

The cold breeze reminded him of the song, scoffing annoyed at the lyrics. Well, he wasn’t annoyed at the song itself, but rather the memories it brought to him. It hadn’t been long since you two got in contact again… Years had passed since he heard your name, but three months ago that had changed when he crossed paths with that asshole. No, it wasn’t his intention to listen to his conversation, but he couldn’t quite help himself when he started talking about you with his friends, laughing at the mention of how he had cheated on you and you asking him to leave. After that, he tried to somehow find you, knowing that you would most probably need someone’s help, and at the time he didn’t think about others being able to lend a hand. Maybe it was because he wanted to be the one to be there for you, to fulfill the promise he made when you two were young, or maybe he simply wanted an excuse to see you again. He wasn’t quite sure, even to this day.

But he didn’t need to understand it. He tried to convince himself about it. Letting go of you had been extremely painful for him, and now that he was able to be with you again, he didn’t want to ruin it. So, he didn’t need to understand his feelings now. It wasn’t the time to be selfish.

Ignoring the freezing cold, he put on his air pods and hit the play button, scoffing once again as his healing song started playing. Without putting much resistance, he started walking, humming to the melody while doing it so.

When you walk, your heart will tell you. Wooseok didn’t need to understand, but he really hoped his heart would tell him whether he was doing the right thing or not this time.

It was one of those miraculous days where you got to go home early, your mood brightening even if there was still some tiredness in your system. The reason? Because you would be able to spend some time with your beloved son, and maybe get to spend some time with Wooseok, invite him to have dinner now that you got the time to prepare it, just as a way to thank him for all the help he had provided you the past few months.

You weren’t expecting his call that day, nor any other day, if you had to be honest. It had been some years since you last saw him, things between you not ending well and that weighed you, but there was nothing any of you could have done to avoid it. After your ex and father of your son left, you felt a little bit lost, almost instantly regretting your decisions when the screen of your phone lit up with an unknown number. Slightly scared of it belonging to him, you picked up, your eyes filling with tears as the familiar low voice greeted on the other side of the line, wondering if it was your phone number. Of course he went silent the second you said yes, the awkwardness lingering in the air before he proceeded to ask how you were, and since then none touched the topic about what had happened once a long time ago.

Maybe because both of you knew what happened, and understood each other and your reasons to have done that. You were pregnant, and at the moment you thought about prioritizing family… how were you supposed to know that the man next to you would turn out to be an ungrateful asshole? And although kicking him out pained you, in the end you hoped to have taken the best decision, both for you and for the future of your son, but even then the thought of him asking for his father someday hunt you every day.

Reaching for the doorknob, you breathed in, collecting yourself as you opened the door and heard a cheering scream followed by tiny steps running towards you. The bags on your arms almost fell to the floor as you picked up the overjoyed kid, not caring about the paint in his small hands staining your clothes and kissing his plump cheeks. Wooseok stood up from the floor, giving you a small nod as a greeting before he helped you out with the groceries, taking them to the kitchen and starting to put everything in its place. The subtle detail made you smile; nothing had seemed to change between you two, and it made you happy. It was as if you had never stopped being friends, as if he had never left, making himself comfortable in your apartment after the six months you had shared together.

“Thank you for babysitting him again.” Wooseok sighed frustrated but shook his head the same way he had the last two months, giving up telling you to stop doing that.

The kid in your arms held your face, his fingers leaving a trace of paint along the bridge of your nose before laughing hysterically. “Hyung and I have been painting! Want to see?”

You giggled at his enthusiasm, getting closer to the table where a spectrum of different drawings were spread. Your son pointed out the fox, the cat and the wolf that he drew, ignoring what seemed to be panels that told a story in a similar way to a comic, the style reminiscing you of the drawings that Wooseok used to make when you were young. Right as you were about to read it, delicate fingers covered the paper, your friend coming back just in time to have you more intrigued about the story.

Trying to ignore it, you complimented the rest of the paintings. “You did so well! Aren’t you a whole artist? I think you deserve a prize…” His eyes got bigger waiting for it. “A thousand kisses!”

The whole room was filled with his vibrating chuckles as you snuggled and pressed your lips to his cute face, Wooseok smirking as he saw you two, warmth spreading through his body before remembering he was staying more time than what was needed.

“I should go now–”

“Hyung deserves kisses too!” The innocent demand made you both stop. “He also drew a lot and he’s good, right?”

How to explain this to a four year old? “Well, yes, but–” You could already sense the grumpy expression coming and that usually was followed by a waterfall of questions, so you simply leaned in and pressed a kiss on Wooseok’s cheek.

“That was one kiss.” What a witty kid. “And you should do it like in dramas!” His body stretched to grab one of the drawings by the older to show you an example, but what was pictured made your cheeks burn.

It had been a memorable day for him too, apparently.

“Those kisses are for special people!” Wooseok’s voice got high pitched as he snatched the paper as delicately as he could in order to not scare the kid. “Friends don’t give those to each other.”

The frown on the child’s face grew. “But mom said you were someone special for her.”

“N-no, I didn’t say that–”

“Yes, you did! After the first time hyung came home!” His memory was a blessing when you were forgetting to take something to your work, but right now it was closer to become a curse than anything else.

“Playtime is over, go wash your hands so that you help me cook, yes?” Sighing in defeat, he ran to the bathroom as soon as you put him on the ground, the mention of food distracting him enough to forget the recent argument.

You walked to the kitchen, ignoring Wooseok’s lingering gaze as you ran the water in the kitchen and scrubbed the rests of paint off your hands.

But he had to clear his throat. “So I’m a special person to you, huh?” That was something you wished had changed: his teasing nature.

“Uh, yeah…” The hesitation in your voice was obvious as you turned around to face him, not expecting him to be that close. “Am I?”

By the way his eyes started shaking, you could say he wasn’t ready for a comeback. Even if he hadn’t changed much, you did, and it appeared as if he was noticing it just now. However, his actions didn’t waver as he took a few tissues behind you, dampening them with water and pressing them against your face, cleaning what your son had left.

“You always were.”

It was hard to breathe if he stared at you with such intensity that made you forget how to even pronounce words, the sincerity sounding too real for you to brush it off as a joke. Thankfully, his phone received a message, giving you the perfect opportunity to turn around and hide the blush in your face while grabbing what you needed to cook.

“Hyung, will you stay for dinner?” The small voice caused you to close your eyes, slightly cursing at yourself for not having asked that to Wooseok before.

“Ah, I don’t think I can tonight, buddy… maybe next time, yes?” He ruffled the little one’s hair before grabbing his stuff and walking to the door. “Sorry to leave so hurriedly but I have to be somewhere, is it–”

“Yes!” It wasn’t your intention to raise your voice like that, but the mix of emotions inside you was hard to control. “I mean, yeah… it’s totally fine, don’t worry.”

“I’ll come back tomorrow.”

“Mhmm.”

If you tried to talk again, you were almost sure that you wouldn’t be able to hide anything, so the only option was to give a short, simple answer. You could sense his hesitation but still the door closed behind you, the air becoming much lighter.

A sigh caught your attention. “I wanted hyung to stay…”

You smiled picking up the kid and handing him the plastic mixing bowl he liked to play with. “Me too, baby, me too.”

After that day, none of you exchanged more words or looks than necessary. He would get home right on time for you to go work, and as soon as he came he would say goodbye. The atmosphere had somehow became more awkward than the first day you met each other again, and it was hard for you to figure how to change it. Each time you were about to ask if he wanted to stay, he had already left the apartment, your anxiety increasing. You didn’t want him to think that you were merely using him as a babysitter, although you had to recognize that it helped you out quite a lot and even more during holidays.

The couch welcomed your body as you flipped the pages of one an album, the unusual silence making you feel lonely and causing you to come up with ways to find comfort, old photos apparently doing the work. You had asked for the day off and it was also the birthday of a friend of your kid, so you dropped him there early and now a good few hours awaited… but it had been so long since the last time you had an opportunity like this that you weren’t sure what to do.

Getting overwhelmed with the nostalgia, you left the photo album on top of the small table and went to your room, taking off the old pajamas and instead trying on a dress you hadn’t worn in a long time. It looked nice… and it also felt nice. You tried fixing your hair in different ways, laughing when you realized you had been making faces in front of the mirror for the past ten minutes.

A knock on the door interrupted your fun, nervousness starting to settle in your system while you tried to remember whether you had told Wooseok that he didn’t need to come today or not. When you got to the door, taking a glance through the peephole was enough to confirm your suspicions: you hadn’t. Hiding behind the door, you opened, him walking right inside with a heavy bag, stopping a second to take off his shoes and then continued, slumping down on the couch.

“I brought the games you asked for, kiddo, better come here before your mom leaves or… Wow.” His eyes finally looked your way when you closed the door, his mouth dropping open before he cleared his throat and stared at the bag he had. “Where is–”

“He had a birthday party today.” He froze. “And I have the day off.” You could see his posture change. “I forgot to tell you, I’m so sorry–”

Not a second later, he stood up, picking up the bag and walking to the entrance. “That’s fine, don’t worry, I’ll leave right now.”

This was your chance, and it was slipping right between your fingers, so you took it. His steps came to a halt, the grip on his sleeve making it impossible for him to move and you made the biggest effort to get over your fear.

“Would you like to stay?” Wooseok didn’t say anything. “You already came all the way here… and I’ve meant to thank you for these past months.” What a ridiculous excuse.

As if he could read your mind, he turned around, giving you a half smile. “I would like that.”

It was your turn to freeze, appreciating the small distance that separated both of your hands before waking up from the trance to go to the kitchen. “Coffee?”

“Mhmm.”

The silence prolonged, although the weird feeling that was present the other days had vanished. You weren’t sure if something changed, but it made you feel relieved. Quickly, you prepared a cup for each, smiling to yourself when you noticed you still remembered the way he liked it. When you turned around, he wasn’t behind you, but rather checking the album you were flipping through before on the couch. You handed him his cup, cautiously analyzing his expression when he took a sip of it and feeling warm when he smiled.

“Glad you like it.”

You sat next to him, getting comfortable as you peeped over his shoulder to see the picture he was staring at fondly, your heart tumbling seeing it was you and him years ago, the dress you were wearing looking more alive than now. And the look in your eyes was different too, even if it wasn’t evident because you were staring at Wooseok laughing, one of the few pictures you had of him doing it.

“You looked beautiful that day.” It seemed as if he was talking to himself, studying the picture and comparing it with his drawing. “Just like now.”

Taking compliments wasn’t your biggest talent and he knew that, flipping the page and stopping abruptly at the envelope that rested in the next one. The edges were worn out from the amount of times you had opened it to read the letter inside, the words in it becoming your healing song whenever you faced a hardship in the past.

“Ah, that–”

“I can’t believe you kept it.” His eyes looked sad as his fingers caressed his own calligraphy spelling your name on the front.

You had to swallow before answering. “It’s precious to me.”

“My confession letter?” He laughed, shaking his head in disbelief. “It was so bad.”

Even if he was talking about himself, it made you feel offended, grabbing it and holding it close to your chest. “It’s not!” Wooseok stared at you wide eyed. “The only bad thing was the timing.”

He couldn’t hold back his laugh. “You are right there… I don’t know what was I expecting.” He scratched the back of his head.

“The truth, I guess.”

“What?”

Was there any use in lying about it now? “Well, I liked you too… but I was already dating with–”

“The asshole.”

You chuckled. “Yeah.”

The silence grew between you two, but this time Wooseok was the one to cut it.

“You never told me.”

Shrugging, you caressed the letter. “When I had made up my mind, you had left and I was pregnant, so… I thought the right thing was to move on.”

Wooseok’s piercing gaze was fixed on you, but the confessions were too many for you to face him while saying it out loud, so you kept fidgeting with the end of your dress, remembering how he had complimented you back then during your birthday party and how later his hands had been on the exact same place when you shared your first kiss. The next day you pretended nothing had happened, afraid to ruin the friendship, and it wasn’t until a year later that the paper between your hands confessed that he had done the exact same thing for the exact same reason. But it was too late.

“And what do you think is the right thing now?” You raised your head, finding Wooseok just a few centimeters away from you.

“I don’t know…” Your eyes dropped to his mouth. “I don’t think it matters, either.”

Just like that, his lips were on yours, the same feelings that invaded you that one time making themselves notice again. The electricity itched in your fingertips as the letter slipped of them, his hand resting on the back of your neck to bring you closer, stealing your breath right after you recovered it over and over again. You lost track of time, your chest welling up with all the repressed feelings as he held you between his arms, feeling weightless under his touch and becoming conscious of the burning sensation that his fingers left on your skin as he traced senseless figures on it.

When he finally pulled away, both shared the stupidest grins.

“That felt right, at least.”

Maybe it was the dress, or the kiss, or the situation, or simply Wooseok, but for the first time in years you laughed the way you did back then, and he did the same. Silently, you thanked to the objects next to you for helping you recreate a new cherished memory, although you were sure you wouldn’t need anything to remember this one.

The coffee went cold as the two of you kept talking about the past, confessing each other small secrets, some reminiscing of ancient times while others were incredibly recent, like him saying he was really happy when you cured the small wound on his face, or you telling him that you really loved his voice when he sang and that you wanted to hear it again since that night, or him explaining that the reason why he always left was because he didn’t trust his friend Seungyoun to take care of his apartment not one bit (sometimes threatening him to move his whole studio there).

A familiar melody caught your attention, making you grab your phone and pick up the call ignoring Wooseok’s mocking faces (“that’s my song”), nodding a few times before hanging up.

“The party is about to finish… do you want to walk with me there? It’s not very far away from here.”

“Sure, but under one condition.” You hummed for him to continue as you got up. “Keep the dress on. It really looks pretty on you.”

If it weren’t because you were in a rush, you would have called him out on his cheesiness, but secretly you appreciated it. “Shut up.”

Not ten minutes later you were already walking down the street, close to each other without being able to erase your silly grins from your faces. As you got close to the address, you saw your son running towards you, immediately blabbering about all he had done during the day and greeting Wooseok as if nothing. A few blocks later, he was complaining about walking, saying he was too tired for it and demanding to be picked up and of course Wooseok gave in immediately, the child falling asleep on his shoulder in record time as you continued walking. You felt a small touch on your hand, turning to see the male’s fingers hitting yours on purpose while pretending to look away until you finally held his hand, intertwining your fingers with his.

“You know…” His voice was soft as if to not wake up the toddler. “I could get used to this.” His eyes dropped to your hands and then to his other arm holding your kid. “If you agree on it, of course.”

The tightness in your throat didn’t let you answer, just like the day he had handed you the letter, but this time you simply nodded and kissed the back of his hand, ignoring the pressure in your chest. “I would like that.”

Wooseok pressed his lips together, his eyes becoming small as he tried to hide his happiness.

“I would like that too.”

A sleepy voice added its opinion: “Me too!”

I’m... quite proud of this one. Yes, it’s fucking long for the kind of stories I tend to write but it just;; happened;;; I really hope you enjoyed it tho kasjkdjks. I was going to try and make the child gender neutral but since I wanted them to interact plenty with the kid I just went for he/him pronouns to fit the gif ^^;

~Nani

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#YES THE GIF IS TOO FUCKING CUTE #kim wooseok #kim wooseok scenario #kim wooseok one shot #kim wooseok fluff #kim wooseok angst #kim wooseok imagine #kim wooseok x reader #wooseok #wooseok scenario #wooseok one shot #wooseok fluff #wooseok angst #wooseok imagine #wooseok x reader #up10tion #up10tion one shot #up10tion fluff #up10tion angst #up10tion imagine #up10tion x reader #x1 #x1 one shot #x1 fluff #x1 angst #x1 imagine #x1 x reader #x1 scenario #wooshin #wooshin scenario

[averagesmw]

DC Girls x Reader- Christmas time! (1/3)

DC Comics (Comics, not the movies)

A/N: This is a small one-shot collection, with the theme being the holidays!

I don’t own any of the images, they’re just so you can identify the characters easier

CHARACTERS:

- WONDER WOMAN/ DIANA PRINCE

- GREEN LANTERN/ JESSICA CRUZ

- BLACK CANARY/ DINAH LANCE

This is without a doubt, the most wholesome thing I've ever written. I hope you enjoy it and please let me know what you think! -----------------------------------------------------------------------

Diana Prince/ Wonder Woman

When it came to telling the truth, there was no one like Diana. She literally had a lasso to make others unable to say otherwise

But this day, in particular, she couldn't be more cryptic

It was December 21st, the Amazon had pretty much sent you the coordinates that led you to a snowy forest at a very specific time. The only part that was not a bunch of numbers was the message itself that read:

"It is important to me that you make it here, I will explain everything"

Fortunately, the place itself wasn't so far away, so you took a truck to get there. It didn't take long to find her seeing as she was the only one there, not wearing her armor, but a winter coat.

Next to her was a big pile of branches carefully placed and surrounded by rocks. She has definitely piqued your attention and when she laid eyes on you coming out of your vehicle, she smiled

"You made it"

She hugged you once you were close enough. For someone so strong, her hugs were so soft and kind

When the embrace was over, you looked at the makeshift fire she had built

"Of course, now mind telling me what's this?"

"This is why I asked you here. I want to celebrate with you"

She saw the puzzled expression on your face and with that same warmth, she chose to explain herself, as she had promised

"You see, Y/N, in Themyscira we don't have Christmas, but there is the winter solstice. Hence why I called you a couple days earlier"

"Right, and this is how you celebrate"

A torch had been finished while you talked, and Diana picked it up

"Without the wine and song, but yes"

She finished the torch by igniting it with a match, the fire quickly grew

"Unfortunately, I can't go home and celebrate with my sisters, so I chose you"

She handed you the torch and together, you ignited the fire. It was ironic, all your life you had been fighting fire, but this time, you started one

As you did so, she began to chant something with her eyes closed. It was not something you had heard before, but you remained silent to respect her tradition

From inviting the forces of nature and various spirits to join you to dancing and chanting, her ritual celebration was much more than igniting a fire. It truly felt like something from a land past your era, but that also gave it a sense of mystery and, unironically, wonder

Diana herself guided you through the whole thing, holding your hand (although you weren't sure if that was out of kindness or love) and even if you weren't used to it, you were able to adapt with some surprising ease

The perks of having such a dynamic job, perhaps

But when it concluded, she sat on a log near the fire and tapped a spot next to her, asking you to come over. And now, you were watching the fire together, also getting to rest from everything you had performed with her guidance

She was the first to break the silence after a couple of minutes of staring at the fire

"Impressive work, Y/N. It was quite gratifying celebrating with you"

"It was something, alright"

You said between breaths, a bit more tired than she was, but chosing not to make the gap between words that big

"But...it was nice, certainly something new to try"

"And for good reason. This festivity is a sign of rebirth, new light, and renewal"

Even now that the ceremony was over she continued to illustrate you on the meaning behind, well, everything

"Huh, well that explains a lot... I just got one question, though"

She looked away from the fire and into your eyes, intrigued

"Why me? I mean, I'm really grateful that you invited me, but I'm sure there's a bigger reason behind it"

This caused Diana to giggle, soon realizing that while she might have explained the activities, she was so into it that never actually explained the purpose of the whole thing

"As I said, this is a welcome to the new light that appears around this time of the year"

Then, she gently placed her hand on top of yours while the explanation continued

"But for people like us, who have a more intimate relationship with darkness, we stand guard against our own darkness..."

Her fingers soon found yours and in a swift, almost natural motion, she intertwined them with yours, making you look at her only to be met with the warm smile and bright eyes that only she could give

"As this reminds us that the light always comes back eventually"

So many things to say, ways to reply to that but...none came through, just her words echoing throughout your mind. Even if told last what was the ritual about, there was no denying that helping the flame burn, and fighting to maintain the light, it felt right

Perhaps your line of work isn't the same as hers, but the dangers that you face were still threats, and it would be so easy to simply stop answering the call, but if you were to answer just one emergency at the time, just one day at the time...it suddenly didn't felt all that bad

And who better to remind you of that, than Diana herself

You leaned closer to her and gave her a peck on the lips before being pulled by her for a sideways hug, resting your head on her shoulder soon enough

"I-I don't know what to say other than...thank you, Diana"

You felt her head softly touch with yours, chuckling. For a moment, not a word was spoken, the strongest source or noise were the fire burning strongly, and the wind blowing upon you

...Or at least until something else came to mind

"So...you mentioned earlier that you didn't have the wine or the dance to go along with this event"

The Amazon separated from you with one of her eyebrows raised

"Yes, what of it?"

A mischievous smile appeared on your face, being asked just the right thing

"Well...I might have brought some wine for you"

Diana stopped for a moment only to laugh at this incredible coincidence

"You just make everything better, don't you?"

Jessica Cruz/ Green Lantern

This year had proven to be quite an eventful time to be a lantern. Ending a war between two races, repelling a massive attack from the reds, curing a plague and even bringing down a maniacal dictator

And all that without mentioning the missions for the Justice league

Jessica found this to be overwhelming at worst, but she always had a certain someone to help her cope through everything and give her a boost... sometimes literally

However, it was during times like this where she really needed her partner, she needed you

But you were assigned to teach the new members of your core while she...well, laid down on the couch

It was weird, the JL had actually invited her to assist to a party in the watchtower but for reasons she couldn't explain, she turned them down

Maybe she felt like she wasn't as big of a hero as the other attendees...or maybe she just wanted to be away from the whole superhero life, at least for the day

The girl looked to her left to find the empty dining table, a sigh left her lips as the memory of her past emerged

Before becoming a Green Lantern, Jessica used to hang out with a group of people she proudly called her friends with whom she might have spent this holiday as well. But it all changed one faithful night

The same night their trip to the woods was highjacked by the wrong people, claiming not only the lives of her friends but also Jessica's very own

A grim moment that will forever be considered as life-changing and horrifying, but now, it served as a reminder

A reminder that she was alone, maybe by choice this time, but as she sulks in her own apartment

Jessica's previous life might be gone forever, but this new one that took its place also had its benefits, and one of them had just made it home

...with the sound of jingle bells

Not only did this strange sound stopped her previous train of thought, it sounded quite close to her, so close in fact, that it might as well have landed just outside her apartment

Intrigued to find the source of the noises, Jessica put on a leather jacket and opened the door to leave her place

What she saw, however, was both the weirdest thing she'd ever seen and the greatest:

She saw you on a blue energy construct resembling a sleigh with a small bag of presents on the back. Pulling it, were a bunch of reindeers so lively it was easy to forget they weren't real

Oh, and a Santa hat that wasn't a construct

She was about to ask the reason behind this unusual entry when you just winked at her before getting off the "vehicle" while saying:

"Jessica Cruz of Earth, you have been chosen..."

The tone used for this announcement was meant to parody the speech of the rings you worked with

From the sleigh, you pulled out the only other object that was real: a small box, wrapped like a gift and gave it to her

"...to have a merry Christmas"

Jessica was baffled by this, everything you did spoke volumes to her. It was almost enough to make her cry

But she didn't, instead, she immediately wrapped her arms around you for a tight hug. One that you gladly returned

"You came, you actually came"

Her voice riddled with joy and surprise as she buried herself closer to you

"I wouldn't miss it for the universe... literally"

She giggled at this, enjoying the embrace for a few seconds before taking a step back to look at you

"Thank you, Y/N, really"

It would take a while for the girl to process the rush of emotions you just caused her, but she was surprised the most by the smile on your face, the one that told her you were up to something

"And it's just the beginning"

You took her hand and guided her back to her own apartment, continuing to talk without looking back

"Come on, I've been aching to butcher the lyrics of a song with you"

Only after this did she realize that even if she had lost people before, she had gained someone who made her entire new life worth it. Someone who, even if busy on the other side of the universe, will still make some time for her and would even make her excited for what could tomorrow bring to the table

She was still afraid, there was no denying that, but if there's something that can overcome fear, is willpower, and if there's something that can fuel it

...is hope

Dinah Lance/ Black Canary

Differences are okay, they were what helped maintain individuality amongst the people, but the problem was when they wouldn't tolerate each other because of it

It was true, folks didn't come together as much as they used to. Yes, they would agree in some things but would never actually unite unless a catastrophe took place

Fortunately, there was another thing that would make them put their differences aside just for the sake of enjoyment. Such special times, were the holidays

This cheerful ambience more than compensated staying the whole day at the bar as you were asked to do

You were currently serving orders along the other bartender, pouring drinks left and right

Even the manager helped deliver them

"Nothing quite like a full house, eh?"

"You said it, sir"

"I don't know if I should punch or kiss you, Y/N"

Your coworker joked while she finished a drink, of course, catching you off-guard

"What? Why me?"

She wrapped her arm around your shoulders, stopping only to make you look around

"C'mon, a good part of these folks came to see you"

You got a view of the customers, chatting and drinking, giving you all sorts of smiles when they spotted you

You had a good relationship with them, going as far as letting them take the stage when they wanted to try something. As wonderful as it was, it wasn't all you

Yes, there was someone else who helped spark this harmony, and if you were to be complimented, it only felt right that your partner did too

"If that's the case, then it's not just me, y'know? They'd also be here for-"

"Dinah!"

The customers cheered in unison at the blonde entering the bar, visibly tired, but moved by this welcome

"Talk about the devil"

You shared a laugh before going back to your jobs, though it didn't take long for Dinah herself to join you by taking a seat as if she were a customer on the counter

"Hey, Dinah, busy day?"

"Not as busy as yours, it seems" She remarked with a chuckle

A couple signs of exhaustion didn't stop the girl from being herself around you, jokes included

Half an hour later, you were done and were finally able to get a drink, serving the last two drinks for Dinah and yourself as you took a seat next to her

"I don't know how do you do it"

"Do what?"

"This, pouring drinks non-stop for hours and still have that smile across your face like nothing happened, especially today"

She took a sip from her drink before looking at you

"Really, how do you?"

"Well, just look at them"

With this new breath of fresh air, she looked at the crowd, this time in more detail with your guidance

The regular crowd shuffled in, but it wasn't only them, a lot of new faces were present in the establishment and in some cases, even some celebrities

Regardless, they were all here, under the same roof, getting to forget about life for a while along both friends and strangers alike

People starting relationships, romances and even getting to know each other for the first time, and the best of it all: not single frowning face

Then, you paused to drink and concluded

"I do it just to see them all getting along. I don't know how bad is it for them, but watching them shake it off and have a good time makes it worth it"

There was no answer to that, You just saw Dinah stare at you with worried eyes and eventually, a smile

"Come here" She ordered softly

So you leaned close to her and she quickly held you closer to make your lips touch. Seeing as words failed at the moment, you felt her opinion about it when she intensified the act briefly

Dinah broke the kiss shortly after, still staring at you and smiling upon regaining her breath

"This world doesn't deserve you, Y/N L/N"

Before anything else happened, you heard one of the customers yelling from across the room

"Come on, Dinah, sing us a song!"

You chuckled together, being reminded of where you were

"Looks like you're needed"

You told her with a smirk, but then another voice chimed in

"You too, help the lady!"

This time Dinah was smirking, you were even now

"Looks like I'm not the only one"

She stood up and offered you a hand

"Now let's give them the show they deserve"

Nodding, you took her hand and together you got on the stage, much to the crowd's joy

"Let's start with one that you all know, better sing along with me!"

#dc comics #jessica cruz #dinah lance #diana of themyscira #Wonder Woman #green lantern #black canary #reader #christmas

[zahra-kha]

Sing Me to Sleep

[This is the dream Zahra had the night after journal entry 6 that she can’t remember].

There was silence in the yurt. Gone were the familiar scents of home. The lingering sharpness of grass, mama’s garlic and other assortment of herbs hanging above their makeshift stove. The distant smoky scent of seasoned meat being cured in the smoke house. Even the soft but unpleasant scent of unwashed animals were being overpowered by the acrid and metallic tang of blood.

In the dimly lit room resided a larger than normal storage bin. A thick, heavy lock kept it closed. Goosebumps prickled her skin and ice ran down her spine as an annoying prickle at the back of her mind told her she knew what this was. What it symbolized.

Go ahead and open it.

Zahra took a few tentative steps forward, but nothing jumped out at her, only silence continued to greet her. The bin before her remained completely silent and for some reason she found that unsettling. Wrong.

♪Wait a second let me catch my breath Remind me how it feels to hear your voice...♪

She approaches the bin and kneels down, reaching for the lock. Despite how heavy it looks, upon closer inspection she realizes it’s old and rusted. Upon her touch the hook nearly crumbles to dust, leaving the rest to fall to the ground with a heavy thud. Zahra looks around and suddenly the yurt is empty. Gone is the stove, the bedding, the rugs that had decorated what had made their (who is they?) yurt feel like home. There’s only the walls and now this bin.

With trembling hands, Zahra reaches and lifts the wooden bin. The stench hits her before the sight of the child does. Urine, feces, and blood intermingled for a noxious combination slam her senses. Completely unprepared, she can’t fight back the urge to gag and turns away. Somehow, she manages to fight down the urge to empty the contents of her stomach and turn back to the bin. Blinking through the tears, her burning eyes catch onto a figure inside.

Knees pressed against their chest, the child could not be much older than four or five. A little xaela girl whose hair had once been cut in a beautiful pink bob was now dull, matted, and horribly tangled. She was covered in her own filth, likely unable to escape due to how small (no wait, hadn’t the bin been bigger earlier?) the bin was. Zahra could see one of the child’s hands and started - the fingernails had been ripped off and her fingers were raw and bloodied. Had she been...clawing at the inside?

Slowly, as if deliberately, the girl’s head rose and their gazes met. The silence turned into a deafening roar as Zahra’s heart pounded in her chest. She knew this child, she knew those eyes. Vibrant amethyst glowed with a heated wide-eyed stare that was filled with so much unbridled hatred and fury that it made her second guess herself. This was her, but it wasn’t...she’d never...seen herself like this. The child’s cracked lips parted, her hands clenched against her legs and Zahra wanted to - she wasn’t sure. Leave? Get away from this...child that looked like her but clearly wasn’t?

♪Your lips are moving I can’t hear a thing Livin’ life as if we had a choice...♪

A piece of the yurt became black. It was as if an entire strip of reality had been consumed by darkness. And while Zahra found it difficult to look at this...feral child, not once did the young girl’s gaze waver from the older version of herself.

<“....hate...me...”> the voice came in cracked and hoarse, as if she was no longer used to using it. And while it was clearly xaelic, for some reason Zahra could suddenly understand it. <”They hate me...”>

“What?” Immediately, Zahra fought back every instinct against approaching the young girl, be it from the stench or from the child’s intensity, and leaned in. “No, that’s not true. No one hates you.” with a shaky smile she reached in, lightly patting the girl’s matted hair. “No one could hate a cute little girl like you.”

Another sliver of the yurt was engulfed in darkness.

<”Mama locked me in here.”> the child’s voice trembled, she could hear the watery notes in her tone, but Zahra saw no tears. <”She told me to be quiet, and I was. I listened, and Mama never came. Papa never came. Jargal never came. Even when I cried and cried, kicked and screamed. Mama locked me in here. In the dark. They all hate me.”>

Why didn’t that feel right? Yet, she didn’t want to argue it. A powerful part of her didn’t want to argue this child’s logic.

They left me in the darkness.

Still, it broke her heart to see a child tormented. She tried to comfort the child, pushing back her hair. “I’m sure that’s not true. Let’s get you out of that bin, okay?”

<”NO!”> she slapped Zahra’s hand away, putting her hands over her horns. <”They hate me, they hate me! They left me here! I HATE THEM I HATE THEM I HATE THEM I HAT-”>

The moment their skin touched Zahra was assaulted with images, sensations, and emotions. Memories.

<”Let’s play a game, alright Odval? Can you do that for mama? I just need you to wait here and don’t make a sound. It’s very important. You’ve been so good so far, I’m so proud of you.”>

<”Sorry little sapphire, you can’t come with me. You have to stay here with mom and dad.”>

Images of a young xaela boy. Older than her, with rich red hair and piercing amethyst eyes. There’s a deep sense of love and affection. He dotes on the child. Another image of a woman, strong and loving, she gives little Odval kisses and tickles. They play games and she helps with house chores. She always tells Odval she’s a good girl and she’s proud of her.

But those images are frayed, torn and fragmented beyond repair. What remained and overpowered those memories was the gnawing of overwhelming hunger eating at a young child. The sensation of one’s tongue feeling as if it was swelling so much she could barely swallow. Flesh scraping against wood, cracking as nails shatter and break in futile efforts to escape. There is nothing but pain. Gnawing pain that tears at the insides, rips apart the mind, destroys all sense of rationality, until there is nothing left but rage and primal instinct.

♪Anywhere, anytime I would do anything for you Anything for you...♪

Zahra is snapped out of the child’s mind and brought back to herself. Trembling, her breaths come in great gasps of air. She reaches for her stomach but no, there’s no sensation of her stomach feeling as if it were about to collapse on itself. Her throat is fine, it doesn’t feel like parched sandpaper. And while she does feel dizzy, the sensation of darkness...

Of darkness....

The yurt is almost completely gone. There is only a small section remaining, a piece just behind the bin that leads to the outside. Everything around her is pitch black. Zahra fights down the rising panic threatening to grip her throat in a vice and focuses on the child. Her memories, their memories, this is what was being locked away. Reaching down, she touches the lock. Had the spell done this? Was this little girl the manifestation of her past that she had forgotten?

♪Yesterday got away Melodies stuck inside your head A song in every breath...♪

<”They abandoned me...”>

<”They hate me...”>

<”It hurts...”>

<”I’m so hungry...”>

<”Please save me...”>

<”I’ll be good, so don’t leave me alone. I’m scared.”>

The child-like voices rang from all over, spoken throughout the darkness. Odval was still screaming her mantra of hatred, shaking her head as she sobbed. Angry tears rolled down her dirty cheeks, but Zahra understood it was fueled by confusion and pain, it wasn’t actually hatred.

“Come here.” she reached for the child and this time was not turned away. Zahra collected the tiny version of herself into her arms, wrapping her arms tight around the sobbing girl and cooing softly. “You don’t hate them, we just didn’t know any better. We were hungry, hurting, and scared.”

Zahra waited. She waited, rocking slowly while stroking dirty matted hair until the child’s sobbing calmed into soft hiccups and sniffles. When little Odval had finally calmed she pushed back her hair and pressed a kiss upon her forehead.

“It’s okay not to remember this.” Zahra finally says. “One day, a beautiful family will come and break you out of this darkness. You’ll have a wonderful life, you’ll meet wonderful people. You’ll fall in love a few times, go on adventures, join a dance troupe, get hurt, laugh, cry...it’ll be a full life. So you don’t have to remember this painful part of the journey. It’s okay to close and lock this box. Odval is gone. You’re Zahra.”

With a nod, the girl hugs Zahra close as she reaches over and closes the storage bin. The yurt disappears, leaving only Zahra’s voice to ring out in the darkness.

“♪Sing me to sleep now Sing me to sleep Won't you sing me to sleep now? Sing me to sleep...♪”

(Lyrics: Sing me to Sleep by Alan Walker)

#ic #zahra's dream

[taliaromanovaswife]

Exothermic - SFW version

Summary: Meet the original character, plagued by amnesia after an accident. But what if a certain deadly assassin is the cure for that?

The sound of her own, slow footsteps was her only companion on this evening's stroll through the sterile, clean corridors. Though barely audible, the noise was almost deafening to her and yet it did not manage to stop her mind from reeling. Nothing around her seemed familiar, starting with her room and ending with the smell of the hallways. There was absolutely nothing that managed to jog her memory so far, and it irked her. Apparently, she was a member of the greatest team of heroes that walked the Earth, but every time she looked into their faces, her brain could not connect the dots. And worst of all, every Avenger had told her that they were not allowed to help her; that her amnesia had to fade on its own terms and that telling her the truth could make it worse in the end. So, here she was. Eight weeks after an accident where she had been thrown through a window on the first floor, discharged from the hospital because her wounds were healing nicely, yet she still did not remember anything from her past. Nothing, except for her name, age and powers, but even that information was given to her.

Alexandra, twenty-five, defender and healer – whatever that was supposed to mean.

Pressing her palms against her temple, she scoffed and rolled her eyes at herself. Nothing happened, just like nothing had happened since the day she regained consciousness. She had no clue how her powers actually worked, but if she was a healer, then why was she unable to heal her own brain? “You're so stupid”, she cried out, banging the balls of her hands against her already aching head. “Why can't you work? I just want to know who the fuck I am?!”

She rounded another corner, walking past half a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows when she stopped dead in her tracks. Something in the corner of her eye had caught her attention, something she was unsure had been there before. Nevertheless, it was something that spoke to her and for the first time in weeks, she felt a sense of familiarity warming up her insides.

Taking a chance, the tall blonde tried the door handle, happy to find it unlocked. After light brown eyes had scanned the area to make sure that she was alone, tentative feet slipped through a small gap, still wondering if her mind was playing tricks on her now. She had been walking these halls since she was brought home, but had never noticed a piano up here, or anywhere for that matter. Not even downstairs in the bar. ‘Too expensive’, the man who introduced himself as Tony Stark had said when she had asked. ‘The last one got destroyed by Ultron’, a muscular, tall, blond guy had added before receiving death glares from the rest of the group. Alexandra had no idea who Ultron was. How could she, if she was still unable to put the pieces of her own past back together? And what about her present? Did she even go by her full first name or did she prefer it was shortened to Alex? Or even Lexi? Did she like being an Avenger? How strong was her power, how strong was she? She did not know and they did not tell her. But she felt drawn to the piano, as if it was calling out for her and that feeling eased some of her frustration.

Carefully lifting the fall board and locking it in an upright position, shaky fingers pressed down a combination of keys that her brain did not remember, but her muscles certainly did. Muscle memory, she sighed. How could she remember this but not even the bare minimum of her life? Her most important muscle was not working the way it should. Slender hands pulled the matching black piano bench out from under the instrument and she sat down, her fingers gliding over the keys like second nature as her feet hit the pedals.

Suddenly, her mind flashed to a different time. A different piano was in front of her and perfectly manicured short, red-painted fingernails produced a tune she could not hear. But if Alexandra had to guess, she was reliving a tiny bit of her memory. Maybe, hopefully, this was the pivotal ingredient that she had been missing.

Closing her eyes, she allowed her fingers to work the way they knew how to, her vision not providing much help anyway. And as the melody filled the air and cautious fingertips became more confident of their skill, so did her feet. Alexandra was no expert in how muscle memory actually worked, but she could not explain what was happening right now any other way. Her mind drew blank on the names of the songs that she brought to life, and yet, somehow her brain knew what belonged together and when she transitioned to a new melody. So she kept playing, kept her eyes shut tight and let her emotions rage freely like a wildfire.

Alexandra was so lost in her creations, she did not register the other person entering the room, nor did she feel their presence. Her upper body leaned into the music, swayed with every crescendo and diminuendo. The music consumed her entire system, every nerve ending was accommodating to her trance as the cells in her brain sprang into action. Still, her fingers danced over black and white keys in the most beautiful pattern she had ever heard.

Natasha Romanoff was utterly captivated by the sight before her eyes, as mesmerizing and enthralling as ever. From the moment she had stepped into the room, she stood still and quiet, simply listening to the melody with a sad smile on her face. There was something magical about the way that Alexandra commanded the keys under the pads of her fingers and she was glad she had suggested buying a piano for the younger woman. It was minutes later that she slipped her ballet shoes on and tied the ribbons around her ankles, green eyes never leaving the figure behind the piano. Even as she pulled her red hair into a neat bun – years of practice making the need for a mirror unnecessary – her gaze was fixed on the musician, waiting. The assassin had noticed the slight change in the other hero's posture, the deeper breaths and the parted lips. She knew what was coming, long before Alexandra herself had figured it out.

Words formed in her head. If one were to ask her, Alexandra would say she did not know where they came from, her brain not remembering the song. But her heart did, even if it did not understand the meaning just yet. “Dancing around in the rain again.”, she sang, finding the lyrics to the accords she played. Her voice was soft and quiet, trembling with insecurity at first. 'Cause you said that I was my only friend. Playing with the flowers that I picked myself. Because I know they won't come from anybody else. Wrap myself up to warm my hands. From the biting ice that you made them stand.”

As her favorite voice filled the room, velvety and clear, Natasha began to stretch her tired muscles. Last week's mission had been tough on all of them, and the ache from multiple hits and countless falls still lingered in her bones. It could have been worse, but it also could have gone a lot smoother and with less injuries. Still, there was no pain that could stop her from being here, from dancing to Alexandra’s song. Not her bruised ribs and most definitely not her bandaged wrist – just a sprain, she told everybody.

Tears began to form behind her closed eyes. How could she remember songs but not her life? What kind of sick and twisted condition was this retrograde amnesia and why would it not let go of her? And while her fingers moved across the keys without any mistakes, and her feet operated the pedals below them, the first tears spilled down her cheeks. She just wanted to remember. “I'm still moving cities and I'm still causing storms. I don't know if you know this. But when I shoot I score. Took this pain inside of me, turned it into gold. I made this exothermic. Now watch my heart explode.”

Natasha's heart broke for the person, as it did every day since the accident. She had thought that the first few days had been the hardest, when no doctor was giving a clear statement whether or not she would wake from the coma. Then, when Alexandra did wake up but did not know who she was, did not recognize her, the agent's entire world fell apart. Adjustments had been made before the young Avenger had been released from the hospital, hushed conversations that would make everybody feel left out had become the norm around the blonde hero. But every look into Alexandra's sad eyes chipped away at the – usually put-together – assassin. Natasha shook those thoughts from her head as she carefully pushed herself onto her tip toes and raised her arms above her head, extending her index finger and pinkie into perfect position. Out of everything she had been trained in on her way to become one of the deadliest assassins in Russian history, ballet had always been her favorite and to this day, she still used dancing as a stress reliever.

Brown, teary eyes fluttered open and the music abruptly stopped. Her fingers halted over the keys, her mouth remained agape as she stared at the woman who was introduced to her as Natasha Romanoff. She thought she was alone, but there stood the beautiful Russian, dressed in tight black leggings, a matching form-fitting black bodice and a white silken skirt. “I’m-“ She pulled her fingers in, forming fists that slowly clenched and unclenched with every passing second, her heart rate speeding up to the same rhythm. Nervously chewing on her own bottom lip, she stared at her own hands and then back at the other woman. “Was I not supposed to be in here?”, she asked anxiously, Natasha’s intense green eyes seemingly staring right into her soul.

“Please don’t be scared”, the assassin replied. “This is your home, you can be in every room you want to be in, use everything you want or need.” Graciously lowering herself back onto her entire feet and resting her hands on her hips, the redhead tried reassuring her. “You should feel at home here.”

The words were mumbled, but Alexandra still caught it and scoffed. “And yet, everybody stops talking when I walk into a room”, the woman shot back, smoothing her palms over the long, honey-blonde braid and sighed. “I’m sorry. It’s not easy being me right now, whoever I am. But you did not deserve this.” Everybody around here had been nothing but amazing towards her, despite her condition. Sure, their conversations stopped or changed, but that did not mean that she was not included in whatever topic followed after. “I can go, if you want to-“

“Please don’t”, Nat said in a haste, stopping herself before she could say the name that lingered on the tip of her tongue. She took deep breaths, reminding herself that Alexandra’s memory was yet to come back. “Would you play for me?”, she asked quietly, her lips curling into a smile. “Your song was very beautiful and I would like to dance to it.”

The blonde eyed the assassin apprehensively. Was this a regular occasion? Did she used to sing for other people? “Damn it, you stupid brain”, she cursed under her breath, eliciting a light chuckle from Natasha. Thinking about the request for a moment, she finally agreed. “Only if I am allowed to watch you dance.”

“Always”, the redhead smiled, her body protesting slightly as she pushed herself into the releve pose. She steadied herself before finding Alexandra's eyes. “Ready when you are.”

As if nothing had stopped her in the first place, expert finger tips roamed over the keys, picking up where they had left off. Once again, the melody resonated in the air, but this time, Alexandra only had eyes for the gorgeous woman dancing for her. Every part of Natasha’s body appeared to be in sync with her music and somehow the blonde knew that this was not the first time she had twirled to this particular song. “Dancing around in the dark again. But I'm happier now than I ever was then. Feel my heart as it is ablaze. Making room for another in these better days. Days, days.” Forcefully pressing the keys into the instrument as the music became louder and more spirited, brown eyes followed Natasha’s every motion doing the same. She did not notice the two figures standing on the other side of the glass, staring and smiling at her.

Wanda sighed in content, listening to the sound of Alexandra's beautiful voice. She and Natasha always begged the young hero to sing for them, or at least play one of her favorite compositions for them. It helped with the stress after a long day of work. It eased their minds and both women knew that the same applied to Alexandra. “Do you think this will help her?”, the witch asked aloud, her Sokovian accent less prominent now that she was spending most of her time around Americans. Cocking her head to the left but never averting her eyes, she added, “Natasha could use a sliver of good news.”

Arms crossed over his chest, Steve observed as one of his oldest friends danced. He let out a long breath. “I really hope so. I don't know how long Nat can keep going like this. It's ripping her apart.” The super soldier truly admired the redhead for still walking tall. He was not sure he could do the same. “If this doesn't work, then I don't know what could, besides telling Alex the truth. And the doctor's strictly recommended not to do that. But-”

“But at this rate, our most deadliest and finest assassin is no use on missions”, Wanda finished his sentence with a soft nod while watching the Black Widow dance with an elegance unmatched by anything she had ever seen.

“I'm still moving cities and I'm still causing storms. I don't know if you know this. But when I shoot I score. Took this pain inside of me, turned it into gold. I made this exothermic. Now watch my heart explode.” Alexandra's vocal cords vibrated deep within her throat as her voice reverberated with every word she sang. Louder and louder. The keys molded to her every tap and she had to focus on keeping her eyes open. She never let Natasha out of sight, but as the song went on, it was harder and harder not to give in to the music and let her feelings take over. “Oh, watch me exo, o, o, o. Watch me exo burn this. I deserve it, ohh. I deserved this. I deserve it, oh! I deserve this, woah!”

The Russian's feet hit the parquet floor in a faster pattern now, her body spiraling with every pirouette. The position of her hands was immaculate, the satin skirt wafted with every turn and yet, every time she spun around, her eyes locked on Alexandra's. Watching the other woman play with such intensity, like nothing had changed in the past weeks, made her want to cry. But Natasha swallowed her emotions and danced until the blonde stopped playing. She came to a stop, her breathing ragged and the pain from her bruised ribs jabbing into her sides. Still, Nat regretted nothing.

Neither of them said a word or dared to move. The last notes had long since faded away, but they still felt connected through the music. An invisible bond both held onto, fearing that breaking the silence would involuntarily end this moment of peace.

It was Alexandra who moved first, carefully closing the fall board and rising to her feet. “This was nice, we should do this again.” The comment came with a smile. She had not felt this free in weeks and even though her memories did not return – she had hoped they would – the blonde felt a lot better. “Thank you for the dance, Natalia”, she said out of a habit she did not understand. Hearing the sentence, but specifically that name, falling from her own lips caused a chain reaction. She froze on the spot and went stiff as her brain was flooded with millions of memories from her past. Missions and fighting. Loki, Ultron. Iron Man, Thor, Captain America. The Hulk. Clint and Wanda, her brother Pietro. Vision. Her healing a gash on Natasha's temple. Natasha. Everything came back to her, and all at once. And as her brain completed the puzzle, everything began to make sense again. The last image she saw showed Natasha – her Natalia – in a simple white dress and with white flowers in her red, wavy hair as she was waiting for her on the grass behind the Avenger's compound. And then finally, she remembered her full name. Alexandra Romanoff.

Natasha gasped, her hand covering her mouth in shock. She had waited so long to hear her wife say her name again. No one ever called her Natalia, no one but Alexandra. “Sasha”, she whispered her lover's nickname, eyes filling with tears. With hesitant steps, she closed the gap between them. Soft hands cradled the blonde's face the second she was close enough. “I've missed you so much.” Her lips brushed against a tear-stained cheek, tasting the salt on the tip of her tongue. “Thank you, for coming back to me.”

Gently taking a bandaged hand in her left, Alexandra carefully lowered their limbs. Her wife appeared tough on the outside and would never admit to anyone how much pain she truly was in. But brown eyes saw right through the facade. It had been those very same eyes that had torn down Natasha's walls, stone for stone, when they had started dating all those years ago. A mellow light radiated from her, encasing both women in the warmest, white gleam. Her powers searched for every single one of Nat’s injuries, healing them one after the other. “I will always come back to you, моя любовь. Always”, she promised.

Just as she leaned in for a kiss, Natasha saw the two people outside of the room move slightly – of course her trained senses had picked up on their presence earlier, but she had chosen to ignore them. “FRIDAY? Please close the blinds”, she asked the Artificial Intelligence in her sweetest voice. A swoosh sounded through the room as the shades dropped from the ceiling almost all the way down to the floor, effectively blocking every curious onlooker. “Now we are alone.” Her voice was husky now, even lower than the usual rasp that was just so distinctively hers. “You didn't notice?”

Alexandra shook her head. “I was watching you.” Pale cheeks blushed a dark shade of red when their lips were mere millimeters apart, their foreheads touching. She chuckled. “Even when my brain was all chaotic and weird, I could not stop looking at you.” Nudging her partner's nose with her own, she inhaled Natasha's perfume. “I'm sorry it took me so long.”

The motion was barely visible as the red-haired woman shook her head. “It doesn't matter”, she whispered softly, stroking a few loose curls out of Alexandra's face and behind her ear. “What matters is that you remember now.” Finally pressing her lips against her wife's, she was immediately engulfed by the familiar warmth and love she had for the other woman. God, how much she had missed her.

Pale hands rested on either side of a slender hip, thumbs stroking the bone over the soft material of the dancer's outfit. The cutest little moans escaped her throat. This was what coming home felt like. Natasha was home. One of her hands slid lower, fingers fanning out over a firm bottom cheek as she smiled into the kiss. Tears of happiness ran down her cheeks.

“Don't cry, Милый”, Natasha whispered, wiping her lover's tears away with a gentle brush of her knuckles. “Please, don't cry.”

Swallowing the lump that had formed in her throat, the blonde reconnected their lips. A dire need to be as close as possible to her wife was all she experienced in this moment. “Happy tears”, Alexandra assured between kisses, pulling the assassin even closer into her body. She relished in these moments, remembering how the redhead never let her guard down around anybody but her. It made every moment of intimacy even more special. “I love you.”

Her wife's breathless confession caused her heart to pound even faster in her chest. “I love you, too.” Strong hands moved to her lover's behind, cupping a cheek in each of them to hoist her up. She felt legs wrap around her waist as a squeal left Alexandra's mouth, followed by the most precious giggles. Natasha had to crane her neck now, due to the change in height, but it had always been one of her favorite things to do. “I love you so much.” A couple of quick steps later, a slim back collided with the wall behind the piano.

The kiss grew more heated, tongues danced to an unsung melody. Their hearts beat in sync, wanton lust overtaking both women. It took all of her willpower, but when she felt full lips suck on her neck, Alexandra let out a frustrated groan. She knew she had to put a stop to this for now. “I think we have a more suitable... room for this, Natalia”, she moaned, her voice dripping with desire. “Our room.”

Natasha hated to admit it, but her wife had a point. Their reconnecting deserved more than a quickie in the newly appointed music room. She pressed their lips together in one last heated kiss before carefully lowering the blonde back onto her feet. Both inhaled deeply to regain some composure and smoothed over their clothes. “Ready?”, she asked, reaching out her hand for Alexandra to take, her other one holding her sneakers and sweater that she had picked off the floor.

Fingers intertwined, they exited the room with mischievous grins tugging on their lips as they walked past Wanda and Steve who were engaged in a conversation in the middle of the hallway. But the couple did not pay any attention to them anyway, too absorbed in each other's presence. Throughout the entire way to their room, neither spoke a word. Yet, the silence was not uncomfortable.

“Everything is still as I remember it”, Alexandra spoke when she entered their suite and took a look around. “Even my slippers are still where I kicked them off before we had to rush into the mission.” Her leather jacket – a birthday gift from a time when they were engaged – was still draped over one of the chairs. She smiled lovingly at Natasha when she noticed another detail. “I see you've been sleeping in my shirts.” She was not mad about this; she could never be mad about this. Because if the roles had been reversed, the blonde would have done the exact same thing.

Natasha blushed lightly, shutting the door behind them and locking it with a twist. “They kept me sane”, she explained. “Some of them still smelled like you.” And if they did not, she always imagined her wife's unique scent on them. Coming up behind the blonde, the dancer looped her arms around a slim waist. “You are what keeps me grounded, but you were not with me. So this was the next best thing.” The truth was, nothing could ever compare to the real thing. She tightened her embrace. Delicate fingers moved a honey-blonde braid out of the way before soft lips began to caress the back of a creamy neck.

Turning in her wife's arms and instantly missing the touch against her skin, Alexandra nuzzled her nose against her lover's cheek. Her fingers found their way to the hair tie, pulling lightly so red curls could fall onto almost bare shoulders. “I missed the feeling of your hair between my fingers”, she breathed, burying her hands in silken tresses as she claimed crimson lips in a fierce kiss.

#first marvel fanfic #natasha romanoff fanfic #natasha and oc #exposing my work to the world #sfw version #one shot #piano #amnesia #romanoff fanfic #dancing #natasha romanoff is a softie #ballet #black widow #marvel #steve rogers #captain america #wanda #scarlet witch #exothermic #song fic #kissing #making out #no smut

[plumblossomkun]

𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝟸: 「𝚆𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝙸 𝚋𝚎 𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚎𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗? / 𝙰𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚎𝚗𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚓𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚎𝚢?」

word count: 4.2k

setting: student!Taeyong x writing assistant!Female Reader, University!AU

chapter summary: in which the thought of what Taeyong did no longer takes y/n’s breath away, but we still don’t know what happened, and it’s been years since that fateful night when everything changed.

[also, featuring the first appearance of insta-model-frat-boy!Jaehyun from @starxblossom‘s In Real Life! Read it here!]

a/n: didn’t expect Chapter 2 to be this long! and that i’d have to make a Chapter 2.5 because i *need* to release the other part of this chapter so it has the same weight as Chapter 1 did. well, anyway, here you go! surprise! ♥

warning[s]: none, but brace yourself for Chapter 2.5... seriously.

reminder: i will italicize flashbacks in their entirety & indicate any changes in scene or point of view in bold. and if you’re wondering where the chapter titles are from, they’re lyrics from the songs on the playlist below.

tags: @starxblossom​, @nsheeteesmain​, @cutehardcore​, @bunny-doyounq​​ ♥ send me an ask if you would like to be added!

moodboard | playlist | main masterlist | a map of the campus | extras | fun facts

previous | next

4 years ago, but from y/n’s eyes—

— Ocean Beach, San Francisco.

Taeyong’s eyes are fixed on the shimmer of distorted moonlight on the horizon line, but you know he’s not really paying attention when you glance back over your shoulder and find him gnawing at the fingernails of his left hand.

You reach down from your seat atop the stone wall, overlooking the sloping sand, and swat his hand away. “Don’t do that.”

He looks up at you sheepishly. “I thought you were looking at the stars.” Still, he slips his hands back in his pockets obediently.

“Doesn’t mean I can’t hear you nibbling on your fingers.” You tug at his left earlobe gently, and a rose pink hue blooms across his cheekbones as he giggles. In the reflection of his eyes, the moon sparkles with pearlescent light, and with his hair bleached white as baby powder— the first impulse hair-dying of his you hadn’t witnessed firsthand—  there is something different about him that you can’t quite pin down.

Except there are also shadows dipping into the space between the hollows of his cheeks that you don’t remember being there before. As you study his features more closely, you discover a chapped and bitten bottom lip, and a silver ring in the cartilage of his right ear that also hadn’t been there the day before.

You frown. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“What do you mean, ‘what’s wrong’?” He doesn’t look away from the retreating tides. 

You spin so your legs hang over the other side of the wall, the sea and its waves to your back. “You bite your nails when you’re thinking about something that worries you.”

Taeyong flinches at that, and the chill of the night breeze whirling over the grains of sand. He’s always been more sensitive to the bite of winter than you. “No, I don’t. Nothing’s wrong.” 

But his hand sneaks back to his mouth within seconds.

Scoffing, you pull at his sleeve. “Really?”

He rolls his eyes. This time, he makes a show of placing his hand flat on top of the wall, pale palms up and quivering. “There. Happy?”

“No,” you huff, holding out your hands. “Give.”

He knows what you want without you voicing the whole sentence, but smirks and tilts his head in mock confusion. “Give what?”

“Hands,” you demand. “Or you can stay cold while we’re out here. Your choice.”

He tips his head back and laughs, and offers his hands to you without further resistance, which you take and fold into your own.

It definitely terrifies you a little, that coming into contact with any part of him is like capturing a piece of the moon, a bit of radiance to light the dark and melt the frost lying just beneath your skin.  But that idea doesn’t make your head spin nearly as much when it’s under the guise of sharing warmth. It almost feels normal.

After kneading the blood back into his long fingers, you start drawing circles in his palm, eyes sliding out of focus as you listen to the music of the wind dancing through your hair and past your ears. Like a junkie finally getting your high, you inhale the cold and crisp air giddily.

“Happy?” he asks. You don’t dare meet his eyes, because you won’t see the stars in them, only yourself, and the embers of a fire you’ve never dared stoke.

“Content,” you correct him, shifting the movements of your fingers from lazy circles to an aimless, quick scribble when you remember why you’d lured him into your reach in the first place.

He covers his mouth with his free hand as he doubles over, repressing his hiccupy giggles. “Y/n, that tickles, stop it—”

“Good,” you grumble, gripping his arm with your other hand to maintain your hold on him. “This is what you get for not telling me what’s wrong.”

“What do you mean, good?” he squeaks, flustered. “H-hey, stop!”

“Only if you tell me what’s worrying you and stop lying to me.”

“I’m not lying to you!” 

You roll your eyes. “Guess I’m gonna keep tickling you, then.”

Taeyong yelps. “Wait, wait, wait, hold on.”

You give him a second, and study his expression as he deliberates. His eyes are watering, and his chest heaves as he tries to compose himself and pretend he’s not a ticklish mess. “So, are you gonna tell me what’s wrong?”

“There’s nothing wrong,” he insists stubbornly. 

You inhale sharply. “Lee Taeyong, I know you. You’re worried about something. It’s not fair that I rely on you all the time, but you don’t feel alright with leaning on me too.”

He falls silent for such a long moment that you think you’ve said too much. When he lifts his head and meets your gaze, the laughter is gone. And if you weren’t rooted to the spot by his touch, you’d recoil.

You’ve seen him look at you strangely before, like you’re some sort of rare bird that might fly away if he comes too close, like you’re too exotic for him to dare hold within his hands. That was how it had been yesterday, and the day before that, and the weeks and months before that.

Now, it’s much more dangerous. He stares at you he’s been starved of warmth, and you are the first rays of morning light.

You’ve never wanted to run away from him like this before. Never felt more afraid of the unspoken, the between-the-lines, and all its wild implications. You want to dive into the sea and hide beneath the pale froth of the rushing tides instead of confront the alien emotions surfacing inside you.

It’s that, or drown in him.

He looks up at the twinkling stars, then at the crashing waves, then back at you. He swallows, then shakes his head with a slow finality, like the truth he wants to tell you is too heavy to pass through his lips. 

“Let’s go back to your apartment,” you hear yourself say. The words don’t sound like yours when they pass through your lips, some heavenly ghost possessing your body to save you from yourself before you press him any further. The lie comes easy, in the face of the things you might say with all the stars and sky to witness them. “I’m cold.”

He doesn’t argue. In fact, on the drive back, he doesn’t say a word. 

You’re not sure you want him to, either.

Taeyong sits on the edge of his bed, chest falling and rising so slowly you’re afraid he’s going to faint from lack of oxygen. He watches you pull apart your braid in front of his mirror, hair spilling over your shoulders in loose waves, and strip the makeup from your face. He keeps makeup wipes on his desk for you, because the last time Ten drew on your face when you were napping on the couch, he used waterproof eyeliner, and neither he nor Johnny had anything to get it off.

When all traces of your lipstick are gone, you turn, place your hands on his shoulders to brace yourself, and climb into his lap. His hands slide up your thighs and grip them tight, but go no further, just steadying you. 

This is nothing special. You’ve been in his lap before, slung your arms around his neck like this before, buried your face in his neck before like this. He’s held you like this, too, no intimacy, just closeness. Just for warmth.

You swallow. The window is ajar, letting in a single ray of moonlight that doesn’t quite light up the room, and a thin breeze whispers past you. His face is mostly in shadow, and you can’t tell what he’s thinking, only that his breathing hitches as you touch the stubble running along his jaw. “Taeyong?”

He clears his throat, but his voice still comes out as a hoarse rasp. His dark eyes blaze into yours. “Yeah?”

You falter. “S... staring is rude.”

He chuckles, and his fingers reach up and thread their way into yours. For the first time, he squeezes your hand in his, pulses mingling into one song. It feels more right than you want to admit, so you don’t pull away, not even when his voice thickens coarsely, and he leans closer to you, foreheads barely touching. “I know.”

“Taeyong.” It’s a warning, but he pays it no mind, using his free hand to tuck a stray hair behind your ear. From there, he traces the line of your jaw, wandering down until his thumb strokes across your chin, scalding the skin he touches.

“Y/n,” he whispers, face impassive, “tell me you want to go, and I’ll drive you home.”

“No.” You inhale deeply, willing yourself not to back out. If you were still at the beach, you’d be far past the shallows, wading into the unforgiving rip current. “Are you afraid?”

He stills. “Of what?”

Of the thing that you’re not telling me. 

Of me. 

Of this, whatever this is. 

“The future.”

“Yes,” he admits, lifting a hand to your cheek and cupping your face so gently, you barely feel his warmth. You get the feeling he’s not talking about school, or work, or any of that. The same feeling tells you he’s offering his heart up to you, asking whether or not it should keep beating, and this is the moment where you choose.

He exhales shakily as you stare into his eyes. You don’t think this is the right choice, giving into the flames, but it calls to you, mesmerizing, a cure for the winter that has always throbbed within your veins. And if you push him away now, something between the two of you will surely shatter.

“Do you want me?” The words tear themselves from your throat before you can stop them.

He laughs, and though it should be a jubilant sound, it’s heartrending. “I always have.”

“Can you show me?”

“...show you?” You can feel the weight of his eyes regarding you curiously as you continue to brush your fingertips across the lines of his face, feeling the curve of his cheeks lift in a smile.

“I don’t know.” You will your hands to stop trembling against his skin, but they don’t. At the same time, your heartbeat thrums so loudly you can barely hear yourself talk. “I don’t know… anything about this.”

“Y/n,” he murmurs, lifting your chin so you can meet his glittering eyes. He understands what you don’t want to say. He always has. “Can I kiss you?”

You nod. 

Taeyong reaches up to cradle your neck in his right hand and draw you down to his level. When your noses brush, and you flinch, he gives you one last chance to save yourself.

“Are you sure?” he breathes, dropping a chaste kiss to your forehead, scarcely brushing his lips against your skin. You tighten your hold on his hand, and nod again, closing your eyes.

Then he seals his lips to yours, and Lee Taeyong is kissing you. 

After two years, your closest and dearest friend is kissing you.

The thought makes you shiver, but you couldn’t be any further from being cold. In fact, the second he angles his head to continue the kiss, lips plush and soft as satin, fitting like a puzzle piece you didn’t know matched yours, he’s set you alight, warmth diffusing through your chest, filling every part of your bloodstream.

It only lasts a few seconds before he pulls back, and you remember that you have to breathe, taking a long, slow breath to appease the pleasant warmth that has become an aching burn in your lungs. Every place where your skin is still in contact with his is smoldering with heat.

“Okay?” he asks, holding your face in his hands, which are, like yours, trembling uncontrollably. From what you can see of his expression, his eyes are wide, pupils blown. He looks as shaken as you feel. Despite that, a small smile like the crescent moon remains on his face.

“Again,” you complain, and he obliges with a soft giggle, this time with a slow, open mouthed kiss that leaves your lips singed. Breathing him in, he tastes sweet, from the peppermint gum he’d offered you on the drive back, and faintly salty, like the spray of the sea. 

And as the two of you fall back onto the bed, laughing in tandem, his warmth sparks something inside you, too. You think, perhaps, being on fire isn’t all that bad.

Now, from y/n’s eyes—

Santa Clara, CA [still]

— just another ordinary but beautiful day in Claradise.

[11:51] J 💘: hey, angel ♥

[11:53] J 💘: where are you? i’m by o’connor

[11:54] J 💘: don’t tell me you forgot you’re grabbing lunch with me and bought food already...

[11:55] J 💘: alright, if you’re not here in the next 10 minutes i’m taking Xuxi instead

[11:56] You: wait wait wait! i’m coming

[11:56] J 💘: i knew it! you forgot 🤬

[11:57] You: nooooo i’m on my way

[11:57] You: i was at the library writing 😭😭😭

[11:58] You: i’m trying not to get run over Jae oml don’t rush me

[11:59] J 💘: do you want to pass by the dining hall? i was joking, Lucas wouldn’t be able to come anyway since he’s working

[11:59] You: yeah why not

[12:03] J 💘: okay! you have two minutes left, by the way

[12:04] You: omg i almost tripped over someone

[12:04] J 💘: one minute!

[12:05] You: i’m hERE

O’Connor Hall

Winded, you lean on the railing leading up the steps to the back entrance. The 11:45 classes have already settled in, and the polished stone floors and arched hallway are silent except for the thrum of your heart, which is in overdrive from the three-street marathon you’d just run. “I hate this weather. Why can’t it be cold?”

“There’s my favorite girl,” comes a soft drawl from the top of the stairs, and it’s Jung Jaehyun smiling down at you, a cup of coffee in hand. With his still-damp hair raked back across his forehead, which is a color somewhere between lilac purple and ashy gray, he’s a daydream in denim and cotton, all flower petal lips and satin skin. “Almost late, as always. What are you doing, talking to yourself?”

Squealing, you pounce on him, throwing your arms around his waist and burying your face in his chest. He manages to put down his coffee so he can wrap himself around you, too, enveloping you with his woody cologne, all lavender and rich myrrh and beautifully familiar. 

“How are you, Jae?” you giggle, leaning back so you can grab the mochi-soft skin of his cheeks and squish them, cackling in delight when he makes a face. “I missed you. Were you bored without me this summer? Surely you couldn’t have any fun without me around.”

“No, I was fielding calls from agencies left and right,” he hums, shaking his head vigorously to free himself from your grasp. When he does, he finally dimples, grinning from ear to ear. “I was very, very busy, running my Instagram and looking for internships. I didn’t miss your stupid jokes, or your koala hugs.”

“Oh, I’m sure, mister Instagram influencer,” you tease, pinching his nose. “Who took that picture of you last night, the one where you’re pretending to be asleep?”

“Johnny took it last night, after he finished his segment and caught me asleep in the office again. Not pretending.” He untangles his arms from yours so he can stoop to pick up his coffee again; you take one curious sniff of his iced americano and mostly-fake a gag, which he rolls his eyes at. “Anyway, what happened to you and that guy you were dating? What was his name?

“Kenneth.” You wave your hand dismissively. “The same old excuses. Blah blah blah, I wanna focus on school, I don’t want to lead you on…”

Jaehyun grimaces. “Classy. You know, anybody who would rather spend 3 hours in the gym than 3 hours with you is insane.” He grips your shoulder and stares into your eyes. “Are you good, though? You seemed really into him last time we talked.”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just made the mistake of dating another boy instead of a man.” You wrinkle your nose at his expression of disbelief. He doesn’t believe your bullshit excuses, unlike most of your friends, but you’re not ready to talk about it yet; it feels like there’s stones lodged in your ribcage any time you so much as think about it. “Really, Jae.”

After a second, he nods, though he doesn’t seem convinced. “To Benson, then? Xuxi probably just started his shift.” 

“Yeah, let’s go. I hear they have an actual waffle station now, instead of just those goopy machines.” You snake your arm around his waist and start down the stairs, but bounce back when he doesn’t budge. “Jae?”

Jaehyun knocks his head into yours. “I missed you too.” His ears are a little red, and he tugs at a lock of your hair amiably.

You laugh and brush his cheek with the back of your hand affectionately as he slips his free arm around your shoulders. “That’s what I thought.”

Not that you’ve ever really thought about him like that, but Huang Xuxi— more popularly known to his frat brothers as Lucas, since most people can’t pronounce his name right—  remains the most attractive man you’ve ever met. 

Just like Jaehyun, he can rock a number of piercings and fashions that would look unattractive on a lesser face, one that isn’t flawlessly sunkissed and home to the brightest smile this side of the Bay Area. Even the unflattering maroon polo and black apron combo that the dining hall employees have to wear can’t diminish his six foot [183cm] frame.

“Xuxi, how have you been?” Jaehyun offers him a hand, and they bump shoulders, laughing.

“Good, man. I had a pretty chill summer,” the taller of the two chuckles.  His low voice peaks in a squeal of excitement when he turns to you, and basically leaps over the counter of the Mission Bakery and Café to smother you in his arms. “Oh, my god, y/n!”

“Hello to you too, Xuxi,” you say, voice muffled by his bear hug of an embrace.

“How was your summer? Still dating the gym rat?”

“Nah, he dropped me in June.”

He clicks his tongue and pulls back to hold your face in his hands and declare, “You deserve better, baby. If you want me to hook you up with a D.K.E brother or something, you tell me or Jaehyun.”

You laugh. “I don’t know about dating anyone again any time soon, let alone a frat boy, Xuxi, but thanks anyway.”

“Hey, we’re not that bad,” Jaehyun protests.

Giggling, Xuxi makes his way back to his station. “What are you in the mood for today?”

Jaehyun tosses his drink, glancing at his phone when it dings with a notification. You don’t miss the small smile that flashes across his face when he unlocks it. “Another iced americano would be great.”

Xuxi nods to the other worker behind him, who starts on the drink. “Coming right up, man.”

“Seriously, do you really need more coffee, Jae?” Giant brownie squares, poppy seed bagels, assorted sandwiches, and fluffed croissants gleam in the glass display to your right—  they’re tempting, but overpriced, and you don’t want to start depleting your dining points this early into the academic quarter. “Xuxi, what do you recommend?”

“We have a passionfruit and peach iced tea we just added to the menu. No caffeine.” 

“Mm… maybe not for me. Peach syrup tastes too much like medicine.” 

“Real peaches only. Noted.” He jots that down. “How do you feel about mango?”

You pat his cheek. “You know I’d kill for a drink that uses real mango.” 

“Got it.” He scribbles some more, crosses out a couple of things, then grins triumphantly, snatching up the piece of paper. “Okay, be right back!”

“No peanuts or peanut products,” Jaehyun reminds him automatically, as though all of you haven’t been friends long enough for Xuxi to remember your one fatal allergy. He sounds breathless, and there’s a laugh right at the edge of his voice; when you glance at him, he’s chuckling softly to himself with a silly smile on his face. 

Interesting.

You lean back to peek at his phone screen and catch a glimpse of a girl posing in a familiar leather jacket before he gasps and holds his phone up high, where you can’t reach it. “Hey! Nosy, much?”

“Isn’t that the same jacket your designer friend gave you for clout?” You hop up on your tippy toes, trying to reach for his phone or even his wrist to tug the screen back down so you can see. 

When he doesn’t relent, not even when the other café worker hands over his second iced americano, you gasp. “Wait a second… Jae, when was the last time you looked at a girl that wasn’t me?”

“First, don’t say it like that. That makes it sound like I’m interested in you,” Jaehyun huffs, pocketing his phone with a shudder. “Second, you’re like a brother to me. I could never see you like that.”

“Wow. I don’t know if I should be offended or touched, but same, thanks?” 

You consider pushing the topic, but Xuxi signals that your drink is done and slides a large cup towards you, and you lose your train of thought as you uncover it. 

The drink, which is decently warm but not burning hot to the touch, is milky-yellow in color, with swirls of what looks like chocolate syrup on the inside of the cup and on top of the tiny peak of whipped cream crowning it.

You take a sip. The liquid slides down your throat, pleasantly warm and foamy, and you tilt your head as you try to identify its components. It’s light, but the taste is also rich and sweet. “What is this?”

Xuxi watches you take another sip and giggles, face crinkled in glee. “A latte.”

“No, I got that.” You offer the cup to Jaehyun, who takes a swig of it and immediately double-takes. 

He pushes the cup away as if it’s offended him. “That’s super sweet.”

“It’s not that sweet.” You pull the lid off again and sniff. “Chocolate…? And there’s coffee in here somewhere, but the mango kind of cancels it out…”

“Do you approve?” Xuxi prompts you, pressing his fingertips together and bouncing on his heels. “There’s a bit of coffee in the syrup. Barely a shot.”

“Oh, nice.” You sip from your drink again and offer your free hand to him for a high-five. “Yeah, this is a good one. Add it to the list.”

Xuxi accepts the high-five with a squeal of joy, then applauds himself, a little smattering of his hands that makes you laugh. He writes down the recipe on a Post-It with a flourish, and slaps it onto the small but growing rainbow of Post-Its he already has behind the register. “Thanks for stopping by, guys.”

Jaehyun slurps at his drink. “We’re gonna go grab some food— you want anything?” 

“I’ll text you when we decide what we’re getting,” you add. “So you can decide later. See you later, Sushi.”

“Yeah, just text me.” He chortles at the nickname as he fist bumps Jaehyun. “I’ll see you at the meeting later, hyung. Bye, y/n.”

Blinking in the heat of high noon, you step out into the sunlight, licking chocolate from your lips. “So, are we getting sandwiches? Because I’m craving sandwiches.”

“Sure, where?”

“The one in San Francisco, on Taraval.”

He frowns. “That’s… a long drive.”

“We can take some good pictures at the path by Crystal Springs on the way back,” you offer. “Lots of sunlight by the reservoir. Plus, traffic doesn’t even pick up till 3. It’s 12:15.”

Jaehyun groans, but you know he can’t resist a photoshoot in the middle of nature, or the thought of the perfect dutch crunch bread at the café in the city. You lace your fingers with his and point out with a pout, “When else am I going to agree to take your photos without complaining?”

He laughs, and lets you lead him down the path, shaking his head. “You’re not wrong. Let’s go.”

Briefly, you feel the tingle of eyes on your back, but when you look over your shoulder, you don’t see anything out of the ordinary, blocked by the hanging branches of the trees above and the glint of the burning sun. You don’t see Johnny ordering a coffee from Xuxi, and you certainly don’t see Taeyong frozen at his side, watching you run off with another boy’s hand in yours.

a/n 2.0: so, what do you think? i want to know if i left you on a cliffhanger, or if you think you know where this is gonna go. i love all sorts of feedback! ♥

#nct #nct fics #taeyong fics #taeyong smut #taeyong #lee taeyong #nct smut #nct imagines #taeyong imagines #taeyong x reader #taeyong x female reader #nct fanfics #taeyong fanfics

[searchingwardrobes]

Your Love is a Song

Happy Birthday, @let-it-raines ! For anyone who doesn’t know, Raines is an amazing writer and an all around sweet person. I was honored to have her as my Captain Swan Secret Santa, not only because she gifted me with an absolutely perfect fic but also because chatting with her was a blast. I am so blessed to have come to know her as a friend. I hope you have a fantastic day, Raines!

I got a prompt on Ao3 from a reader with the user name Adidas. Sweetie, wherever you are, I hope you read this because I don’t know your tumblr url or even if you have one. Anyway, the prompt was that Emma used to be into music but stopped. Then she meets musician Killian, and her family notices she’s started playing again. I wasn’t sure I could do the prompt justice since I am only a lover of music and not a musician myself, but then I was listening to the Switchfoot song “Your Love is a Song,” and this came to me. I was also working on Raines present, and it just all seemed to come together!

Summary: Emma Swan is having a pretty horrible night when she hears the voice: gravelly, sultry, with a touch of melancholy, accompanied by an acoustic guitar. She’s never heard the song before, but after that night, she won’t be able to get it out of her head. Or the dark haired, blue eyed man singing it.

Rated M, but only for brief mentions of nudity. It’s really light M with no smut, but I wanted to ere on the side of caution.

Words: 4,500 or so

Also on Ao3 and part of my Fandom Birthday Playlist

Tagging the usuals: @snowbellewells @kmomof4 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @kday426 @winterbaby89 @teamhook @bethacaciakay @thislassishooked @tiganasummertree @snidgetsafan @delirious-latenight-laughs @jennjenn615 @optomisticgirl @wellhellotragic @welllpthisishappening @branlovestowrite @shireness-says @distant-rose

Emma is bone weary, her dress is too tight, and she broke a heel chasing her latest skip. She’s walking barefoot through downtown Boston, which can’t be good. She had to run three blocks to catch the guy who – oh yeah – spilled wine all over her only nice dress. They were only a block from the nearest precinct, so she’d cuffed him and hauled him in on foot. Only now she’s trudging four blocks barefoot to get back to her Bug.

She’s leaning against the nearest storefront to massage her aching feet (they weren’t particularly happy with the stilettos in the first place) when she hears it. A voice; gravelly, sultry, with a touch of melancholy, accompanied by an acoustic guitar.

The dawn is fire bright against the city lights. The clouds are glowing now. The moon is blacking out.

The lyrics catch her attention too: poetic and speaking of a hope that’s belied by the tortured voice of the singer. He’s good too, whoever he is, with a voice that is powerful and melodic. Like a sailor drawn by a siren, Emma follows the music into the small, smoky bar. It’s one of those places below street level, the type of dive bar that locals swear by and tourists don’t know about. The source of the music is there, alone, in the corner of the bar. The place is too small and unpretentious for a stage, the crowd thin even for one in the morning on a weeknight. With her small clutch in one hand, and her broken heels in the other, she slides on to a stool at the bar, eyes glued to the dark-haired man singing in the corner.

When the bartender approaches, she asks for a beer and stays only long enough to finish it and hear one more song. She worries it’s the type of place where the bartender tries at being a part time therapist, but he leaves her alone. He can probably sense she’s not having the best night: her attire and the smell of wine saturating her dress screams bad date. Of course, who has good dates on a Wednesday night?

On second thought, maybe the bartender thinks she’s a hooker in her honey-trap dress. Oh well, like she ever cares what people think. (And it shows just how much of an idiot her skip was that he didn’t stop and think why a woman would be willing to hook up on a week night.)

She finishes her beer, pays the bartender, then rises to leave. The last notes of Pearl Jam’s “Better Man” linger behind her as she leaves, yet it’s the song that drew her into the bar in the first place that keeps haunting her mind. Even after a warm bath and her soft bed. For some reason, it fills up her apartment with a lonely cry.

********************************************************

Emma’s not entirely thrilled when Graham calls her the next day with some bull shit about paper work for the night before. She’s pretty sure it’s a thinly veiled excuse to ask her out. Again.

It is.

Prickly as she is, Emma still doesn’t take pleasure in turning the man down yet again. He’s nice and all, but . . . well, that just might be the problem. At any rate, she’s dragged herself out of bed for no purpose but to stomp on a nice man’s heart.

So maybe that’s why she stops in front of the bar. Maybe. She knows it probably won’t be open yet, and it isn’t, but she can at least scan the posters of musical acts littering the door. She startles when the door swings open.

“May I help you? We don’t open until after lunch . . . “

It’s the bartender from last night, and he’s narrowing his blue eyes at her with suspicion. She wonders if he recognizes her.

“Of course,” she says with a wave of her hand, “I was just looking for a musician on your posters. I stopped in for a beer last night, and he was really good -”

“Oh, . . that’s just my brother,” the man tells her. “Killian fills in on weeknights. We’re just a local dive, you know, and we can’t afford to pay for acts every blessed night.”

She realizes then he has a British accent, and she assumes his brother does too. Funny how you can rarely tell a person has an accent when they’re singing. Country music notwithstanding.

At least the bartender’s smiling at her now. “I remember you. Red dress, right?”

“Yeah,” Emma chuckles, tugging at the ends of her hair, “it had been a long night.”

He nods, humming in solidarity. “We all have those from time to time. It’s what bars are for, am I right?”

“One reason I guess,” Emma says with a shrug of one shoulder.

“Well, come again,” he says, easing back into the doorway, “on another week night if you like my brother.”

She opens her mouth to clarify that last statement, but the door is already closed.

*******************************************************

Emma tries to stay away from the bar, she really does. Especially because of the way the bartender could have meant the whole “if you like my brother” comment. If he actually mentioned her to said brother, it would be all kinds of humiliating.

Yet here she is, nursing a beer at one in the morning again. The brother – Killian – is indeed once again strumming his guitar in the corner, playing “Pictures of You” by The Cure. She tries not to stare, but the intense way he closes his eyes as his lips practically caress the microphone is too mesmerizing. She practically jumps when his brother addresses her.

“Another beer?”

“Oh,” Emma mutters, flustered as she gazes down into her empty mug, “uh, yeah.”

He regards her with almost amusement as he takes it, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth as he fills it at the tap.

“I didn’t mention you, if that’s what’s worrying you,” he tells her.

Her eyes widen and she feels warmth creep up her neck. “Um . . . thanks.”

He’s chuckling and shaking his head as he walks away, and Emma begins to wish she’d never come. Until Killian transitions to another song – the song.

I hear you breathing in. Another day begins. The stars are falling out. My dreams are fading now, fading out.

It’s all she can do not to close her eyes as the words wash over her. Though she does find herself humming as she finishes her beer and the song winds to a close. Killian says into the mic that he’s taking a break, and that jolts Emma out of her reverie.

She’s out the door before his guitar is back in its case.

When she gets home, she strides to her bed, not a trace of hesitation within her. She gets down on her knees and reaches underneath to pull out the hard case, running her hand longingly across it before flipping open the latches. She lifts the lid and exhales long and slow, just gazing at the acoustic Epiphone nestled in red velour. She takes it out almost reverently, settles on to the floor, and situates it on her knees.

The first strum is like a flame flickering back to life.

********************************************************

Emma comes to a complete stop in the middle of the bar the next night, frozen in place amidst the Friday night crowd. Friday night – shit, she’s an idiot! His brother said he only played on weeknights, and everyone knows Friday night kicks off the weekend. So of course, Killian is behind the bar, smiling at a flirty brunette, and over in the corner are a pair of women with guitars doing their best Indigo Girls impression. Emma thinks of turning and fleeing, but before she can, Killian turns in her direction, and his eyes meet hers. If she were the type, she would swear it was one of those moments in rom-coms when everything else in the room gets fuzzy and time slows down.

But she isn’t. The type, that is.

Leaving would be too obvious, though, so she gives him a nervous smile and approaches the bar. Up close, he’s even more handsome, and she can now see that his eyes are blue. Extremely blue. His brother’s were blue, so she should have figured, but Killian’s eyes. Damn. They make his brother’s seem colorless by comparison.

“So we finally meet,” he says, extending a hand. “Killian Jones.”

“Emma Swan,” she tells him as she takes his hand. And maybe there’s a spark, but again, she’s not that type. “Your brother told me he didn’t say anything.”

Killian cocks his head. “Liam?”

“So that’s his name.”

“Aye, but – why would he say anything?”

Emma’s face is on fire, and maybe leaving wouldn’t have been so bad. “You know – about me showing up Thursday morning looking for your music flyer.” She gestures in a ridiculous way towards the door.

“You did?” His broad grin makes her feel slightly less idiotic.

“I did,” she admits, “but you didn’t have to know that embarrassing detail, did you?”

He leans on the bar and chuckles. “I noticed you Wednesday night.”

“You did?”

“Why do you think I played Better Man?”

“Um, I don’t follow.”

“You came in with your heels in your hand, a wine stain on your dress, and a scowl on your face. Anyone who would leave you in such a state is clearly a jerk or an idiot or both. So . . . Better Man.”

He stands then, crossing his arms over his chest, and Emma notices how toned they are. She’d noticed as he strummed his guitar, but up close it looks even better. His head is cocked, one eyebrow raised, and a smirk tilts his lips. The cocky bastard.

“Let me guess,” Emma deadpans, leaning across the bar. His gaze flits to her cleavage, and she flashes a smirk of her own, “you’re that better man?”

“I could be,” he quips, his tongue swiping at his lower lip.

She rolls her eyes. “Well, I hate to devastate your ego, but you’re not the reason I keep coming back.”

Now he waggles those eyebrows, and she can’t help the brief chuckle that escapes her lips. “Oh no?”

“No. It was the song.”

He leans close again. “Which one, love?”

“Not your love. And it was the one you were playing Wednesday night when I first came in.”

“Aww, I see. And what’s it worth to you?”

She props her chin in her hand. “You do know there’s this thing called Google.”

“Yet here you are.”

She presses her lips together in a thin line. “You didn’t seem so full of it when you were playing your guitar.”

He laughs then, completely self-depracating, and she hates how it makes her heart flip. Then he tilts his head at her and pouts like a five-year-old, and that makes a traitorous smile fill up her face.

“Just that you’ll come back next time I play, Swan, that’s all I’m asking.”

She rolls her eyes again. “Fine, done. Now – the song.”

“It’s a Switchfoot song,” he says softly, all trace of flirting gone as he leans against the bar again, “one of my favorites. It’s called Your Love is a Song.”

Her breath hitches involuntarily at the intensity in his eyes. Someone yells for the bartender, and Killian yells back for them to wait a damn minute.

“You better go,” she tells him in a breathy whisper. She’s really piling up the rom com cliches tonight.

He sighs, but goes to serve the customer. The second his back is turned, she’s gone without evening ordering a drink.

When she gets home, she pulls out her guitar, this time settling cross legged on her bed. She finds the song online, with the chords, and starts to pick out the tune. She stays up most of the night before she gets it, her skills a bit rusty.

I’ve been keeping my eyes wide open. I’ve been keeping my eyes wide open.

*******************************************************

She waits until Monday night to return to the bar, and Killian is once again in the corner with his guitar. His eyes find her as she walks in the door, and he winks even as he continues to croon Free’s “All Right Now.” Instead of sitting at the bar, she takes a booth in his line of sight, and orders a beer once again from a red headed waitress. She could say she isn’t giving him sex eyes over the rim of her mug, but she’d be lying.

“This one’s for the blonde in the corner.”

And it’s her song. Your love is a symphony. All around me, running through me. She can’t help singing along under her breath, and when it ends, he stands.

“Sorry folks, but it’ll have to be the jukebox for the rest of the night.”

She can’t help the beaming smile that fills her face at his words, and her heart beats triple time when he puts away his guitar and saunters over.

“May I?”

“You may,” she says with a flip of her hair over her shoulder, and God, could she be any more cliché?

“How are you tonight, Emma?”

She shrugs coyly. “I’m better now.”

“Now that you’ve heard your song?”

She nods as she takes a sip of her beer. “I learned it last night. Took me hours, but I did it.”

His eyebrows raise in admiration. “You play?”

“It’s been awhile,” she says, “but yes.”

“I would be in a dark place if not for my music.”

She looks into his eyes, so sincere and intense. It’s as if he’s opened a door, inviting her in, fully

knowing she might not take it.

“When I was sixteen,” she begins slowly, running her finger through the condensation on her mug, “my foster mother bought an Epiphone for me from a pawn shop for Christmas. No one had ever done that for me before.”

“Bought you a present?”

Emma nods, the understanding in his voice giving her courage. “Not only that, but actually asking what I wanted for Christmas to begin with and then actually listening. She even payed for lessons.”

“I started playing around the same time,” Killian says, leaning back in the booth, “it helps during lonely adolescence, doesn’t it?”

Emma smiles and shrugs. “Cheesy I guess, but yes.”

He laughs lightly, and Emma finds that she loves the sound.

“Anyways, Ruth, that was her name, she encouraged me in my music. She and my foster brother David came any time I did talent shows and stuff. Then, when I put together a horrible garage band, they came to all our gigs.”

“So why did you stop?”

“Someone told me it was dumb, and I listened,” Emma lifts one shoulder to brush it off, though Neal’s biting words still echo in her mind. “He was right in a way. I wasn’t good enough to make a career out of it. And I’m good at what I do now . . . I like it -”

“Emma,” Killian cuts her off gently, placing a hand over hers, “just because art isn’t your career doesn’t mean its dumb or that it can’t be part of your life. If playing brings you joy, then play. Don’t let anyone stop you.”

His words are like a warm bath on an icy cold day. Ruth and David, even Mary Margaret and Ruby, have told her the same time and again. But for some reason, coming from Killian, a man with such talent in his voice and in his hands, it means so much more.

They continue to talk over drinks, the time going by much faster than Emma can believe. Before they know it, it’s closing time. Liam is berating Kilian for flirting instead of playing, but the smile on his face tempers his words.

Killian walks her to her car, and when he kisses her, she practically melts against the side of the Bug. Her hands tremble with want as she slides them up his chest, past his shoulders, finding stability when she digs her fingers into his hair. The melody of her song plays in her ears.

“Will you go to dinner with me,” he whispers against her lips.

She can barely collect herself enough to speak, but she does say yes. The next two weeks go by in a haze of bliss, with both lunch and dinner dates, and many hours at his and Liam’s bar. And any time she isn’t with him or working, she’s finding solace with her guitar.

************************************************

Emma is leaning against the sofa in her living room, her guitar once again on her lap, her tablet propped up on the coffee table as she strums through the chords of a new song she’s learning. It’s another one Killian had played at the bar. The verses are giving her trouble, but once she gets to the chorus, she belts it out, her eyes closed. When she gets to the next verse, she opens them to glance at the chords and screams when she sees a figure looming out of the corner of her eye.

“Shit, David,” she gasps, pressing a hand to her heart, “you nearly gave me a heart attack!”

“Well, you weren’t answering your door,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest in that pose of brotherly intimidation.

“And you couldn’t hear me playing?” she grumbles, putting her guitar back in its case and rising to her feet. “I gave you that key for emergencies only.”

David gives her a side hug and a kiss to her temple. “Well, you not answering the door classifies as an emergency.” Then he grins broadly, setting his hands at her shoulders. “But you’re playing again, that’s great! What changed?”

She bites her lip as she feels a traitorous blush rise to her cheeks. “I just . . . felt like it was time.”

He narrows his eyes at her. “Mhm, right Emma. And what else?”

“You know,” Emma says, stepping around him, “MM and Ruby are waiting for us at the restaurant.”

*****************************************************

“Emma’s playing again.”

The table falls silent as her friends turn to her with joyful expressions.

“That’s great!” Mary Margaret exclaims.

“But she won’t tell me what inspired her,” David adds, “and I know something’s up with her.”

“Why would you think that?”

“You haven’t been around much lately.”

“He’s got a point,” Ruby says, then her eyes widen and she gasps. “You met someone, didn’t you?”

“I . . . um . . . why would you think that?”

Ruby points at her, “Aha, see! You’re stumbling over your words, and your face is bright red.”

“Okay, so I did, but it’s not a big deal.”

“Oh Emma,” Mary Margaret breaths, “that’s wonderful!”

“Now slow down, MM, it’s only been a few dates.”

“How’s the sex?” Ruby asks, and David groans.

“There’s only been kissing,” Emma clarifies, shooting daggers at her blunt friend.

“What’s his name? How did you meet?” Mary Margaret is much too giddy, her chin resting on her fisted hands eagerly.

Emma sighs and tells them the whole story, starting with hearing him singing in the bar and not being able to get the song out of her head. Ruby and Mary Margaret are practically swooning while David is scowling.

“I need to meet this guy.”

Emma rolls her eyes. “Don’t go all overprotective on me, David.”

“Well, I’m your brother, it’s part of the job description. “

“What was it?” Mary Margaret asks, ignoring her husband.

“What was what?”

She rolls her eyes. “The song. What was it?”

“It’s by Switchfoot. Your Love is a Song.”

Mary Margaret lets out a little gasp and presses her fingers to her lips as tears well up in her eyes. “Oh, that’s so beautiful! It’s fate!”

Emma eyes her warily as she hands her a tissue. “Slow down, MM, this isn’t a rom com.”

She waves her hand in front of her face as she dabs at her nose with the tissue. “I’m sorry. Pregnancy hormones.”

And suddenly the table erupts in another round of emotions with Emma and Ruby trying to hug Mary Margaret at the same time. Thankfully, the attention is off Emma. For now.

********************************************************

There’s a knock at Emma’s door the next night, and she’s surprised to see Killian standing there with grocery sacks in his arms. She tilts her head in confusion.

“I thought I was meeting you at the bar.”

“Aye, that was the plan,” he looks at her hesitantly, “until your brother showed up a little while ago to give me the third degree. You never mentioned he was a detective with the Boston PD. A mite intimidating.”

Emma groans. “Oh my God, I am so sorry! He gets a little . . . overprotective.”

Killian chuckles. “I can relate. Liam tends to be the same. At any rate, David parked himself in a corner booth and informed me he would be staying there to keep an eye on you. All night.”

Emma liftes her hands to her temple and massages her brow. “For the love of God, David!”

“So, I thought we could either hang out with both our big brothers watching, or I could come over and cook you dinner. In privacy.”

A flirtatious grin fills Emma’s face. “Now that sounds like a plan.”

With an eager smile of his own, Killian comes in and heads for her kitchen. She closes the door and sags against it, watching him unload the ingredients he brought over. It’s so domestic, and feels so right, and suddenly words to the song – their song runs through her head.

With my eyes wide open, I’ve got my eyes wide open, I’ve been keeping my hopes unbroken.

That’s the feeling sweeping through her – hope.

*****************************************************

As Emma stumbles backwards into her room and almost trips on a pair of shoes in the middle of the floor, she vaguely thinks that maybe she should have straightened up in here while Killian was cooking. But he doesn’t seem to care about her mess as he kicks the shoes out of their way and maneuvers her to the bed. Emma giggles against his lips as she falls backwards. He catches himself before he can fall on top of her, his hands braced on either side of her. He’s grinning wider than she’s ever seen, almost goofily, his hair a riotous mess. And in that moment, she knows.

She grasps his biceps lightly, caressing the muscle with her thumbs. “I love you,” she says, amazed that it doesn’t terrify her.

He waggles his eyebrows. “I know.”

She groans and rolls her eyes, more giggles falling from her lips. He swallows them with more kisses.

“That was so cheesy, Killian.”

“Was it?” he mumbles as he kisses a path down her neck. She digs her fingers into his hair and tugs so she can look into his eyes. They’re dark blue with desire. He nuzzles his nose with hers and speaks against her lips. “I have loved you since the moment you walked into the bar.”

“There’s no such thing as love at first sight, Killian.”

“Well I hate to tell you love, but that’s how it happened.”

She laughs again as she tightens her arms around his neck.

*****************************************************

“You still haven’t played for me,” Killian mumbles against the bare skin of her back, trailing kisses as he speaks. They are both sated and content, Emma wrapped up in his arms, her back to his chest.

“I can’t,” she protests, distracted when he lifts her hair to kiss the nape of her neck, delicious tingles running down her spine.

“Why not?”

She turns in his arms and buries her face in his chest. “Because you’re too good, and I’m . . . not.”

He kisses the top of her head, then lifts her chin gently. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

He kisses her once more on the forehead, then rises from the bed as if it’s decided. He goes to the corner where her guitar is propped up, then brings it back, holding it out like an offering. She sits up in bed, the sheets pooling at her waist.

“Do you think the offer is more appealing because you’re stark naked right now?”

He gins salaciously. “Perhaps.”

She shakes her head, messy curls falling across her forehead, but she reaches out for the guitar nonetheless. “Should I put some clothes on?” she wonders before she settles the guitar in her lap.

“Please no,” Killian pouts, “a beautiful woman playing the guitar in the nude has always been a fantasy of mine.”

Emma laughs, shaking the hair out of her face. “Okay, that’s rather specific.”

“Humor me, Swan.”

She winks at him, and his answering smile calms the butterflies in her stomach. Still, she closes her eyes and breaths in through her nose, her nerves still on edge. Her eyes fly open.

“What should I play?”

“Our song, of course,” he tells her softly.

“Right.”

A peace steals over her as she strums the first few chords. She closes her eyes as she begins to sing: I hear you breathing in. Another day begins. The stars are falling out. My dreams are fading now, fading out. I’ve been keeping my eyes wide open. I’ve been keeping my eyes wide open.

When she begins the chorus, Killian joins her, and the harmony of their voices together is more breathtaking than she ever could have imagined.

Your love is a symphony. All around me. Running through me. Your love is a melody. Underneath me. Running to me. Your love is a song.

Killian goes quiet again as she sings the second verse, but now she’s singing out strong, with power. His belief in her, his support of her, giving her voice strength.

The dawn is fire bright against the city lights. The clouds are glowing now. The moon is blacking out. I’ve been keeping my mind wide open. I’ve been keeping my mind wide open. Your love is a song.

By this time, tears are streaming down her cheeks, and she isn’t sure why. Killian gently takes the guitar out of her hands, and sets it carefully on the floor by the bed. Then he takes her in his arms, lowering her to the bed, and kisses all of her tears away. He cups her face tenderly as her eyes flutter open, her tears spent.

“I love you, Emma Swan. And you’re bloody brilliant, amazing.”

A year later, they sing the song – their song – at their wedding in exchange of vows. It may not be traditional, but in the lyrics is the very story of their love.

Your love is as symphony.

Your love is a melody.

Your love is a song.

#cs ff #captain swan #cs modern au #musician Killian #brothers jones #brothers jones own a bar #fandom birthday playlist #for raines #on her birthday #your love is a song

[bottomsupremacist]

~ carolmaria playlist ~

so this playlist is only songs from the 80s since tht was the primetime of their relationship but im also making other playlists. my idea for this is basically all the songs describe their relationship but also are music carol and maria would listen to. it’s based off the popular headcanon tht they were in a relationship before carol crashed but also my personal headcanon tht they decided to have a child together through artificial semination and there was NO MAN INVOLVED romantically or sexually in maria’s life :) enjoy!

im gonna write descriptions of each song’s placement but if you don’t wanna read them here’s the links ->

spotify: https://open.spotify.com/user/houstontc22/playlist/48cAcNa5q2uLCFflAGhSx4?si=hb9lDE6ZTTOEiw_nRxAjOA

apple music: https://itunes.apple.com/us/playlist/carolmaria/pl.u-LgYrU2Ka6J5

yearning for your love - the gap band

this is about tht good mutual pining bby!! before they told each other about their feelings

time will reveal - debarge

them both hoping tht, as times moves on, the other will realize how in love they are

for your eyes only - sheena easton

in the official prequel book set during maria and carol’s time in the a*r f*rce academy, carol and maria discuss how much they understand each other b/c they’re so similar and how neither of them have ever met someone else who they could be their true self around so this song is about those moments of them being able to open up to one another and be vulnerable with each other

the woman in me - heart

going off the energy of the previous soing, about how at-home they feel with one another along with mutual! pining! and their desire thts about to burst out

kiss me deadly - lita ford

i mean..we all knw why this is on here. it just captures their essence perfectly when they hang out and sing karaoke and shit

the way you dance - the go-go’s

maria and carol go out for drinks and maria gets up to dance to some song she rlly likes. carol watches and tries not to stare too much but she’s a goner with the way maria is moving. maria eventually feels carol’s eyes on her so she amps it up a bit to pull carol further into a trance until carol finally gets up to dance with her

walking on sunshine - katrina & the waves

after they’ve told each other about their feelings and the extreme bliss they experience in the period afterwards. i feel like this song could also go later on the playlist after carol’s return but i put it here b/c these lyrics go well with the period of time tht they’re in a relationship but not living together yet

secret love - joan jett & the blackhearts

i feel like this perfectly describes their situation of not being able to let anyone knw about their relationship due to issues like worrying about being kicked out of the a*r f*rce and safety concerns with it being the 80s. just ignore the “but im with him and you’re with her” line lol

every little step - bobby brown

my heart bursts thinkin about how domestic maria and carol were in captain marvel so my fluff-loving gay mind imagined a scene to go along with this sdkjfdlk okay so picture: they’re in a bar after maria tells carol she wants a child and to show her support and dedication, carol gets up in front of everyone and sings this song to maria

you - gladys knight & the pips

how maria feels about carol’s personality and demeanor

your love is king - sade

any time i get to put my fave sade song on a playlist im happy! this song perfectly encapsulates their love

don’t disturb this groove - the system

they fuckin! 

the sweetest taboo - sade

plain and simple. about how carol slangs tht STRAP! but if we go deeper, also about how maria sees carol as a force tht came into her life and made it bttr. the prequel book about their time in the a*r f*rce academy says as much

never too much - luther vandross

about how joyfully in love they are. i imagine around this time they’ve already had monica

outstanding - the gap band

my fave gap band song! another song about how in love they are, specifically from carol’s point of view

pictures of you - the cure

there’s a post on here talking bout how maria must have spent many nights explaining the stories behind the pics in the box of carol’s stuff to monica, as if they were bedtime stories, in order for monica to know those stories front-to-back when showing the pics to carol after her return. so.. britney_yeah.gif.. this song is about tht and maria looking at the pics by herself :’(

tell me if you still care - the s.o.s. band

from maria’s point of view after carol’s return. she’s wondering if carol remembers their relationship. carol feels a deep connection to maria but doesn’t fully understand what it is and maria is a little frustrated but she understands tht it’s not carol’s fault

sweet love - anita baker

in those moments before carol flies off to be a deadbeat dad when maria is fighting the urge to tell carol about their whole history and on the edge of begging carol to stay with her family. like in the scene where they’re all sitting at the dinner table after the battle and those Looks maria gives carol, this song is what she was feeling

the flame - cheap trick

after carol leaves to help the skrulls and since i refuse to believe tht carol didn’t give maria some type of communication device like she did with fury, i imagine this song to be about whenever maria feels especially lonely and calls carol so they can video chat. maria promises carol tht she’ll always be there for her and tries to help her trigger some memories

forget me nots - patrice rushen

maria praying tht her wife not completely forget her and monica forever and instead remember and fly back from space to them

ain’t nobody - chaka khan

after carol has finally gained some memories back about their relationship and returns to earth for a few months out of the year to fully restore their connection. carol is enamored with maria and how quickly and easily it was for her to fall back in love with maria again and she is upset tht she missed out on feeling this love and tht she can’t remember most of it. also about how happy maria is tht she has her wife back

come back - luther vandross

about how maria feels during the times carol is off-planet. she just wants carol home permanently b/c she misses her so much and wants to get their life back to normal

right here waiting - richard marx

more about the angst and pain tht maria feels when carol is off-planet. maria is not the type to just sit around and be gloomy and somber all the time but she’s promises carol tht there will always be a place in her heart for her

wish you were here - fleetwood mac

as she remembers more and more memories, carol is lonely on whatever planet she’s on and wishes maria was there to hold her in her arms

time after time - cyndi lauper

during her adventures in space carol is trying to remember more about her and maria’s relationship before the crash while maria hopes she’s okay and safe wherever she is

wait for me - joan jett & the blackhearts

carol worries tht her off-world trips will tire out maria too much (which they do) to the point where she ends their relationship so she reaffirms their love and begs maria to trust in it

the one i love - r.e.m.

i imagined up a lil scene to go along with this song as well. so picture: carol is at some space bar tht has a stage where random ppl can go up and perform if they want to so she gets up there with her guitar and emotionally covers this song while thinking of maria and monica

#carol x maria #carolmaria #danbeau #carol danvers #maria rambeau #captain marvel #wlw #lissen..i knw this is long i forgot how long old songs can be sometimes ldjfdkjf