#you know when you listen to something n you just feel like dumping an oil canister onto yourself

[maliby]

Ride ~ jjk (m)

↬ Pairing: Jungkook x Fem. Reader ↬ Story Genre: stripper!au, SMUT, PWP ↬ Warnings: explicit language, explicit sex scenes ↬ Word count: 5.2K   ↬ Summary: It all started with Jungkook inviting you for his new performance tonight. It all ended with you and Jungkook fucking like rabbits in the back room.

A/N: THIS is what Jeon Jungkook makes me do. I was in the middle of writing a new chapter for When the Night Comes and I just could stop my urges to destroy him in that fucking outfit. Anyways....hope all my fellow hoes enjoy <3

P.S.- If you want that extra umph in the strip scene, please listen to the song “Usher - Trading Places”, I promise you it’s double worth it ;)

You looked at the text message Jungkook had sent you as you were on your Uber to ‘The G Spot’. A wicked grin spread on your face as you felt your excitement grow with the thought of his performance.

You first met Jungkook when you were out drowning your sorrows in vodka. Your boyfriend of five years had dumped you because you spent too much time at your new job and you ended up spending the night in Jungkook’s bed. 

That night he told you he was a male performer of some sorts that went by the stage name ‘Rider’ at the famous ‘G Spot’ club. He’d do some sexy performances on stage (most of the time they were themed) but, some times, he’d also work as a gigolo. Clients would pay to take him to one of the back rooms and, if he was interested in the client and/or the money they were offering, he’d have sex with them. Since then, you’d become a pretty regular customer of the club and Jungkook.

“We’re here miss,” the Uber driver mentioned, interrupting your thoughts.

“Thank you.” You left the car and looked up at the big purple neon sign saying ‘The G Spot’. You took out your purse to retrieve your membership card and walked right in, immediately showing it to the bouncer that then confirmed your identity.

“Y/N!” The familiar voice of the owner Maria greeted you as soon as you entered. “Rider mentioned you’d be popping by,” she smirked.

“Hi, honey!” You gave her a quick hug and followed her to the bar, watching her start working on your usual vodka cranberry. “Sugar told me he had a very special performance and wanted me to watch.”

“And you couldn’t miss it,” she teased as she slid you the glass with your drink.

“Well, you’ve seen him,” you took a sip and hummed, signalling that you liked the taste of the drink.

“Oh, believe me, if I wasn’t his boss I’d definitely give him something to ride if you know what I mean,” you choked at her confession, sharing a good laugh with her.

“Right sweety, you better go sit, the show’s about to start.”

“Yeah, I don’t want to lose my spot. When is he coming on?”

“First Black Magic is gonna take the stage and Rider will be right after him,” Maria told you as she cleaned the balcony of the bar. 

The news came as a surprise to you. Usually, Jungkook would close the show since he was one of, if not the best, performers in the club. The news was especially weird since he said he had a new routine and normally when that happened he would always close the show.

“He’s second?!” The look of surprise on your face probably came as no surprise to Maria. In fact, you were sure it didn’t due to her expression of understanding.

“Yeah, I don’t know why either. He begged me to be second and usually, I’m really particular about the show but since it was him I accepted. That and V Jay and RoMeo have a special number prepared for tonight, so I let them be last.”

“Weird…” You both stood in silence for a few seconds before you remembered you had to go get your seat before someone else did. “Well, I’m gonna take a sit.” You pointed to the chairs and booths and gave her a small smile.

“Go, go, honey. Enjoy the show!” She waved you goodbye before she turned to get a customer’s order.

You sat down right at the front - as Jungkook had instructed - and waited for a few minutes while you sipped on your drink. 

About ten minutes later the show started. You had watched Black Magic perform before and even though he wasn’t as good as the other guys (seeing that he was quite new to this) he still managed to get you all hot and bothered.

Tonight he was doing his ‘Anaconda’ performance. He walked in dressed as a zookeeper with a fake anaconda on his shoulders and once his Anaconda remix commenced playing he started to slide the fake snake all over his body. Then he began to undress, revealing his delicious oily chocolate abs and climbed off the stage making his way to you. He put the fake snake around your neck and pulled you towards him so your face was right in his abs.

“Lick,” he ordered in a low raspy voice, getting you all hot and bothered.

You obliged. 

You licked him from the hem of his shorts up to his pecks, the crowd around you going wild. He tasted coconutty, and you were pretty sure he had spread coconut oil on his body before the show.

After making the rounds to a few more girls Black Magic went back on stage and that’s when he took his shorts off, standing in just his g-string and showing off the outline of the ‘Anaconda’ between his legs.

Soon, he started humping everything on stage, simulating sex in such an erotic way that had all the people in the audience in a complete trance.

He was good. You had to give him that, but he was not Rider. Rider could completely destroy you just with his eyes. Just those feral looks he gave were more than enough to make you hump the fucking chair.

You completely spaced out thinking about Rider and when you came back to it everyone was clapping, making you realize that Black Magic had finished his performance. When your eyes focused on the performer he was already leaving the stage, taking his money and clothes with him.

You called for the waiter and pointed to your empty glass, signalling him that you’d like another vodka cranberry - you needed to feel the buzz of the alcohol if you ever were planning on surviving Rider’s performance tonight.

The drink came and you immediately drank half of it, feeling the build-up of anticipation. You didn’t know why but you were starting to get nervous, your leg bouncing up and down. You decided you’d go check Instagram as you waited, but as soon as you opened the app the lights turned down and focused on one spot on the curtains.

“Ladies and gentleman, are you ready to have the ride of your life?” You chuckled at the announcer’s silly pun. The audience around you rilled up, already deciphering from his pun who was coming up next. Rider sure was a fan favourite. 

“Then I want to hear you scream loud and clear for Rideeeeer!”

The crowd went wild, but not as wild as your beating heart. Something about this performance was telling you you were about to be in for a crazy ride and when the song “Trading Places” by Usher started playing you knew you were absolutely right.

When Rider opened up the curtain and came onto the stage your jaw dropped. He was wearing a loose leopard print shirt that had a ‘v-cut’ so low you could see part of his defined chest and abs. On top of that, he was wearing a loose flowy red robe with black details that matched the colour of his pants, the latter ones though, being so tight you could see every little detail of his meaty thighs. His hair was loosely sleeked back, a stray piece of hair dangling right in front of his killer eyes. 

“Fuck,” you muttered as you took in the view.

Rider was handsome, there was never any doubt in that, but this fucking outfit? You were damn sure every single pussy in this place was wet just by staring at him.

Hey, I know what you’ used to We gon’ do something different tonight

Rider started walking to the centre of the stage as if he was a tiger ready to pounce. The lethal look on his eyes made you think of all the times he looked at you like that, like he was about to fucking devour you - which he did.

Now we gonna do this thing a lil' different tonight You gon' come over and pick me up in your ride

He spread his legs almost in a squat position, emphasizing his thick thighs, and ran his hand from his chest all the way down to his crotch. He grabbed his crotch and looked straight at the audience, making a ‘come here’ sign with his other hand - the crowd went wild. 

After this, he gave a little twirl and slid half of his dark red robe off (letting it stay in the middle of his arms) and started body rolling. Your throat got dry, making you swallow your own saliva.

Nobody body rolled like him. He was so fluid and sharp at the same time. The combination of his sinful body movements and his facial expressions being the added bonus. You could swear he could make anyone want him - you sure did.

Then everything stopped for you. He looked you right in the eyes and, at that same instant, you felt a wave of arousal slid past your folds and straight to your panties.

He smirked.

He knew the power he had over you. He knew he had you wrapped around his finger and all he had to do was to say when and where.

Then, he started to seductively walk towards the stairs - he was coming down to the audience.

He kept looking straight at you as he made his way down the stairs and you felt your heartbeat rise - he was coming in your direction.

You started to smile like an idiot until he walked right past you and went to the table right next to yours. The group of five friends on a bachelorette party went ecstatic (as you would) while you on the other hand felt nothing but annoyance. He was toying with you. Teasing was Rider’s favourite game, a game which he would often play with you and it drove you absolutely mad.

He made his way to the bride and practically straddled her, taking in her hands and making her feel his defined abs as he body rolled.

I'm always on the top tonight I'm on the bottom Cause we trading places When I can’t take no more, tell me you ain't stopping 'Cause we trading places

You shouldn’t be jealous, this was his job and you two had by no means a serious relationship but you hated the way he was toying with you. You also hated that your jealousy was exactly what he wanted.

Fucking Jeon Jungkook.

The bride’s screams got even louder as Rider got off of her and spread her legs. He supported himself on the chair’s arms and started to simulate sex with her, thrusting his hips towards her crotch.

Gon' get it, get it get it, get it get it, Gon' get it, get it get it, get it get it, Gon' get it, get it get it, get it get it.

Then, Rider got off from her and turned around, looking straight at you. Your heart jumped once more. He made his way towards you and this time he stopped right in front of you with a devious smile on his face. He straddled you, just like he did the girl before you and grabbed your hand, only this time he pulled his leopard shirt from underneath his pants and placed your hand on his bare skin.

You had felt up his abs a million times before, but the action never failed to make you all hot and bothered. His abs were a perfect six-pack, like a chocolate bar ready to be eaten up. You remember all the times you played with his abs as he has your fingers running up through each of his individual muscles. 

One, two, three, four, five and six.

He then runs your hand lower so you could palm his hard cock. 

You knew the dancers would pump up their dicks backstage so it would look extra big on stage and cause a better reaction, but by the way he was looking at you and biting his lip you couldn’t help but feel like he was horny because of you, and not some pump.

Then, he let’s go of your hand and rips his shirt wide open, now exposing all of his glossy defined muscles.

“Fuck.”

He removed his red robe and gave it a little twirl so the garment would become like a long scarf. He then softly ran the robe from your belly, straight between your cleavage and up your neck. The tingling sensation was so soft and arousing that you instantly felt your nipples perk up and the ache between your legs grow bigger, making you rub yourself on the chair.

He threw the robe onto the stage and got even closer to you, his covered crotch just centimetres away. Then, out of nowhere, and as a contrast to the soft movement of the robe, he grabs you by your hair and sharply hip thrusts to the sound of the music towards your mouth, simulating oral sex.

Gon' get it, get it get it, get it get it, Gon' get it, get it get it, get it get it, Gon' get it, get it get it, get it get it,

When you feel like you are ready to risk it all and suck him right there in front of everyone he lets go of your hair and turns around to go back on the stage. You let go of the breath you now realized were holding. This man was truly testing all your limits.

He got to stage and discarded his ruined leopard print shirt, now only having the form-fitting red pants on. He turns to the audience and mouths the line from the song: “Where you want me?”

The guitar starts playing and Usher starts moaning, and that’s when it all goes to shit. Rider does his signature move where he does a handstand and slowly comes down in a wave and starts fucking the floor.

Oh oh Oh oh You baby Give it to me baby Oh oh Oh oh

You cross your legs and can’t help but squeeze tight to alleviate the ache in your dripping core. The crowd was going wild, the screams getting louder but to you, it felt like you couldn’t even hear them; it felt like only you and Rider were there, and that he was showing off just for you.

The way in which his thrusts become more powerful, the way his veins on his muscular arms pop out, the way he imitates the moans at the same time as the vocalist’s were driving you insane and you were one step closer to just sneak your hand between your legs and play with yourself, not even caring about where you were.

After presumably making the floor pregnant, Rider changes positions and lays on his back. This time, instead of fucking the floor, he places his hands on an imaginary person on top of him and fucks the air instead, just as the song says:

You get on top tonight I'm on the bottom Cause we trading places When I can’t take no more, you say you ain't stopping 'Cause we trading places

As the instruments in the song start to quite down (signalling the ending of the song), Rider gets up and faces the audience with the most sinful grin. He teasingly pops the button of his pants and slides down the zipper, his bulgy dick expanding immediately under his white underwear. Then, he slides his hand under his underwear and shamelessly palms himself. If he wasn’t a professional who had all his angles studied, there was no way he could conceal his cock from the audience with just one hand, but he knew exactly what he was doing and you cursed him for it. 

The song was about to end and you were curious about the big finish. Whatever it was, you were damn sure it would leave you gasping for air.

Sure enough, you were right.

Just as the instrumental hits its last notes, Rider gives one last teasing smirk and as he takes his dick out of its confinement the lights go out leaving, quite literally, everyone in the dark.

“Fuck,” you cursed at the show you just witnessed and the erotic sensations it brought in you.

This was why he wanted you to come so badly? To fucking tease you? That motherfucker. There was no way you could just sit there and watch. There was no fucking way you could just sit there and go back to your normal life - and you wouldn’t.

Downing the last of your drink you grabbed your purse and made your way to the owner Maria who was currently behind the bar.

When you requested the back room with Rider to Maria you were surprised to find out it had already been booked in your name - the owner smugly telling you that Rider had booked it for you.

You were pissed. Not in a bad way, but still fucking pissed.

You couldn’t help but pace around as you waited for Rider in the back room - sipping on a glass of champagne that came with the package. Your mind was racing, thinking about how he had invited you here, teased you beyond belief and booked you the back room alone with him without telling you. He knew you were going to cave, he knew you’d want a taste and it drove you fucking mad that he could manipulate you like that.

The sound of the door opening made you snap your head in its direction.

The first thing you notice is his exposed torso, Rider only wearing the red pants and robe from the performance earlier. The second was the fucking smug look on his face.

“Hey baby, did you enjoy the show?” He asked in a velvety voice after he closed the door and made his way to you to give you a kiss - you dodged. If he kissed you now, it would be game over for you, and you needed to make him suffer just like he did you.

“What the fuck was that?” You poked his chest with an accusatory finger, but he was so strong that he didn’t move.

“Just my new routine.” He pretended that he didn’t know what you were talking about, but the look on his face told a whole different story.

“Just your new routine?” You scoffed before you continued. “You tell me to come and sit in the first row. Then, you come in dressing like that,” you look down at his outfit to show what you were talking about but immediately regret it once you notice the tent in his tight pants. “You tease me like there’s no tomorrow and then you book this fucking room for me?”

“Don’t be silly Y/N, I just wanted to show you, as one of my best clients, my brand new act.” He took a brief pause before he continued again, this time in a slightly different tone, “And if I recall correctly, you weren’t the only one I teased.”

He tried to sound breezy but you saw right through his act. If he wanted to play then that was what he was going to get.

“Is that so?” You asked in a knowing tone, him just humming in response. “Well then, if I recall correctly, you weren’t the only one who teased me. Maybe I should go book a room with Black Magic instead.”

His whole expression changed. The playfulness in him was now completely gone, only a dark jealous look remaining.

He took several steps forward cornering you into a wall, excitement pooling down between your legs. “Don’t you fucking dare talk about another man.”

Any other day and you’d completely sub for him, a look from him being enough to have you on your knees but today...today you were feeling like you wanted to put up a fight. “Or what?”

He moved in closer to your ear to whisper: “Or I’ll use your pretty little pussy like my personal cum dumpster and leave you here with a creamy cunt that didn’t get the chance to orgasm.”

You tried to remain calm but your erratic breathing gave you away, making him chuckle. “You’d like that?”

When his hand touched your knee you couldn’t help but feel startled, his touch at this point turning you on beyond belief.

“You would. My little slut.” You couldn’t see his smirk, because his face was now buried in your neck, but you could definitely hear it in his voice.

“I can just imagine you fingering your creamy pussy just to get off,” his hand starts travelling up your exposed thigh and starts playing with the hem of your skirt, making you go wild. “If I close my eyes I can already see my cum overflowing and running down your perfect little asshole.” His other hand grabbed your right breast and started massaging it over your shirt, making you release a tiny little moan.

What was happening to you? He was winning. You couldn’t let him win. You had to do something now.

With the inner strength you didn’t even know you had in yourself you took a deep breath and pushed him away, your senses immediately clearing as you no longer felt his intoxicating smell so close.

He was shocked, and his shock only gave you that more strength.

“I think you’ll find that it’s actually the opposite Jungkook.” Usually, while you were with him in the club you would never call him by his real name, but this time you felt like it gave the moment a more serious tone, and you definitely wanted him to take you seriously.

“You think you’re some big shot?” You scoffed and made your way towards him, this time you being the one who backs him up against the big red leather sofa with the big red neon sign that said “Sex” just above it. You gave him one little push and he fell back, you towering over him for a change.  

“You are here for me to use. I pay you, so…” you lower yourself down and sit right on top of his bulge, your skirt hoisting up. “...I’m gonna fuck you until my pussy gets its fill and then I’m gonna leave you with a hard red leaky cock that’s aching to be milked dry.”

Jungkook’s expression didn’t falter, but he didn’t say anything either, giving you the courage to continue.

You pressed your core even harder on his cock and started grinding, a tiny hiss leaving both your mouths. “I can just imagine your frustrated face, fisting your cock as you imagine it’s my cunt. Going at it so hard and fast that your lungs can barely keep up. Parting your pretty little lips to moan my name…”

Jungkook bucked his hips upwards to feel you even better, the sensation driving you absolutely mad. 

You looked into each other’s eyes, tension building as you felt each other up. Your hands ran down his exposed chest as his squeezed your ass. You couldn’t help but look at his lips, those sinful lips that had made you feel extraordinary sensations so many times before - he chuckled.

“You’re cute when you try to be a dom.” He grabbed your chin and forced you to look straight into his dark lustful eyes, “are you going to fucking kiss me or do I have to beg for it?”

Feeling affected that he described your actions as “cute” you harshly slapped his hand away and grabbed him by his hair, pulling him forward so his lips could crash into yours.

The kiss was erratic. Hungry. Animalistic. Needy. Everything.

You slid his robe down his muscular biceps exposing his protruding veins and sexy tattoos and as soon as he was finished discarding the garment to the middle of the room he grabbed your white shirt by the cleavage and ripped it right open throwing the destroyed shirt to the place where his robe was.

“That shirt was expensive,” you say between breaths as he frees your mouth to kiss you down your neck.

“Fuck the shirt, I want you.” He bit a piece of skin on your chest and tugged on it with his teeth as he slid the straps of your bra down, your skin forming tiny little bumps from the sensation of his fingers running through it.

“Rider…” you moaned as his mouth got closer and closer to your breasts, your hips grinding on him harder.

“Call me Jungkook.”

“Jungkook…” you moaned as he moved your bra down, the rough seam bumping against your sensitive nipples. His lips immediately claimed one of your hardened peeks, the other one being left at the mercy of his tattooed fingers.

You picked up your pace and started dry humping like a madwoman, your orgasm getting closer and closer.

“I’m gonna cum.” Your announcement made Jungkook toy with your nipples harder, twisting and pulling until you were cumming undone, his name coming out of your mouth like a mantra.

Not having any time to breathe, Jungkook picked you up and threw you to the couch, the feeling of the leather on your bare hot skin making you slightly uncomfortable. Before you even had time to ask him what he was doing, he was pulling your panties down and diving in straight to your core, your legs closing in on his head due to the sensitivity.

“Jungkook, I wanna suck your cock…” you whined as he inserted one of his middle fingers inside of you.

“Sorry love, no sucking today. I just want to be buried inside of you.” He started to suck on your clit and after working his finger in for a little bit he added another. You could tell he was in a rush to fuck you and that turned you on even more.

He curled up his fingers inside you making you moan even louder and you thanked your lucky stars the room was soundproof. You were so wet that you could hear it perfectly clear, a sound so lewd that made your whole temperature rise.

Very soon you were feeling your orgasm building once more and, this time, you could tell it was stronger than the other. “Fuck baby, give me more…”

Like a soldier taking orders, he promptly added a third finger and at that moment you knew you weren’t gonna last much longer. In fact, all it took was 10 more seconds of him finger-fucking you while flicking your clit with his tongue and you were spiralling down in pleasure once more, this time on his mouth. “Jungkook...”

You lied there with your eyes closed for what felt like an eternity - the need to catch your breath and calm your heart way too big - but when you finally opened them, Jungkook was standing next to you all naked slowly pumping his cock.

“Sssss...Y/N, don’t fucking look at me like that or I’m gonna bust-”

Feeling your dom persona getting back into action, you got up and threw him down on the black fluffy rug - its fluffy texture being much more pleasant than the leather of the couch. You placed your legs on both sides of him and crouched down. His dick was so hard it was standing straight up, almost like it was waiting for you to sink down on it. So, not being able to resist it any longer, you simply grabbed it and sat right on top of him.

“Fuck, such a fucking tight cunt for me-” You shut him up by putting your hand on his mouth and started riding him like you were at a fucking rodeo.

You were feeling drunk on sex. His cock was hitting you on all the right places (like it always did), his hands were grabbing your hips so hard you were sure they were gonna leave a mark and the sight of his bulging muscles glistening with sweat was driving you into absolute madness.

You were fucking at a mad speed, even you didn’t know where all that strength had come from, but if someone saw you right now they’d probably think you had taken some drugs. Eventually, though, your body started to grow tired and Jungkook noticed that, so he let go of your hips and pulled you onto him. Your head nuzzled on his neck and he started to fucking drill you up.

“Oh shit, shit, shit…” You moaned into his neck, a mix of his cologne and sweat hitting your nostrils.

“Fuck, I’m not gonna last long baby.”

Hearing his confession you snaked your arm between your bodies and frantically rubbed your clit so you could cum at the same time. The work on your abused clit didn’t last long though, making you cum on his deliciously hard cock, “oh Jungkook.”

“Fuck, Y/N.” The clenching of your pussy eventually tipped him over the edge, him spilling his warm seed inside of you.

After a while of you two panting on the rug, Jungkook got up to pick a couple of tissues so he could clean you up, leaving you alone on the floor.

“Fuck me…” you said in a surprising sense at what had just happened as he kneeled between your legs.

“Again?” He looked up at you with a teasing smirk and proceeded to collect his cum with the tissues.

“You know what I mean,” you laughed, the mood feeling light.

Once you got up to put your discarded clothes back on you remembered what Jungkook had done to your shirt and turned to him with your hands on your hips. “How am I supposed to get out of here with no shirt Mr Jeon Jungkook?”

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” he apologized as he put his tight pants back on. “I brought a shirt under my hoodie today, I can lend it to you. Might not go with your outfit though…” He teased as he looked at your pencil skirt.

“I’ll take it,” you smiled at him and waited as he went to his dressing room to pick his shirt up. 

Once he returned not only did he bring you his shirt, but a stack of bills leaving you completely stunned. “Here you go,” he said as he handed you the shirt and completely ignored the money. 

“Thank you,” you put on his shirt since you were starting to feel kind of cold and looked at him with a questioning look. “Are you paying me for my services or…?”

He looked confused for a second before he followed your gaze to the money on his hands and laughed. “Oh no, this is hum... for the back room.”

“Jungkook, you don’t have to. I’m the client and I used your services, I should pay.” 

“Yeah but...don’t look at tonight like a service. I invited you, I teased you...it’s on me tonight,” he tried to place the money on your hands but you hesitated, eventually grabbing it and giving him a shy smile.

What this meant for the two of you you didn’t know, but you sure were excited to find out.

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[ribbononline]

team hcs lets go! lets go!

maxie;

Numel/Camerupt (Sandstone) ; Caught when having temporarily ran away from home as a child, the pokemon he's had the longest. She's very chill and just vibing most of the time- she loves to cuddle and she’s well behaved, Due to having been with Maxie all his childhood, she’s seen a lot of the… less then pleasant stuff, and will still fly into a panic if she ever sees anyone attempting to harm him physically. She’s very protective.

Poochyena/Mightyena (Granite) ; His parents owned a Houndoom and a Mightyena, who had two Poochyena pups together. When Maxie ran off in highschool he took them both with him. Granite's very lively, and out of the whole team has the most trouble fighting against Archie's team. She just doesn't get what happened between them. She listens well however, she just…. doesn’t get why she can’t hang out with her sister anymore.

Poochyena/Mightyena (Obsidian) ; The other Poochyena pup Maxie took from home, though she ended up as a part of Archie's team somewhere in highschool.

Zubat/Golbat/Crobat (Mercury) ; Obtained in Rocket, one of the Pokémon issued to almost all members. Mercury was a recent catch of the team, so while he was a little freaked out and untrusting, Maxie ended up winning him over fairly easily with some treats. He loves to sit on Maxie's head and/or wrap his wings around him. It doesn't make seeing easier but Maxie has never managed to get him to stop.

Weezing (Chalcantite) ; Obtained in college, from an old teacher Maxie got along with well enough. She was retiring, and wanted her Pokémon to be able to travel a while longer. So, Maxie took the Weezing over! Originally he'd never gotten a nickname- and even though Maxie technically gave him one, it's kind of a 50/50 chance if he remembers that thats his name and responds to it. His original owner died somewhere in the Rocket years. Chalcantite is fairly slow, but very enthusiastic. He's doing his best. Post-ORAS Maxie let's him retire to a Pokémon daycare since he's already getting old- but he still gets very excited whenever Maxie visits. He's living out his last days being spoiled by the employees of the daycare.

Gligar (Novaculite) ; Obtained post-ORAS. Once Maxie and Archie moved in together, they kept finding items around the house missing, and someone kept going trough their trash nightly. Eventually Maxie (literally) caught the culprit. He originally meant to release it, but Archie convinced him to try training it- Gligars don't normally live in Hoenn, so it probably got here by accident somehow and didn't know how to adapt to the environment, leading to the thefts. Training it would help it! Also it's a ground type come on Maxie you know you want another cute ground type let it join, It worked. A spoiled little thing that loves to constantly be held and cuddled and will demand attention if it's not given. Novaculite- or Nova, as literally everyone including Maxie as this point calls him- rarely joins battles, it doesn’t really enjoy them- but it likes to just hang around and watch, eating whatever treats it can get.

Trapinch/Vibrava/Flygon (Mica) ; Obtained post-ORAS, about a year after Nova. Originally found as a trapinch when Maxie was trying to research in the desert of route 111, apparently in the area this Trapinch called his territory. After days of fighting with the thing, eventually it just... didn't show up one day when Maxie got into the space it normally protected. Kind of curious (and slightly concerned) Maxie ended up looking around for it, finding it stuck under some collapsed desert ruin fragments it couldn't get out from again. Taking pity on the Trapinch he helped it out, and after that it started following him around. After a week or two when research was done, Maxie ended up taking it home, and that was that. Very brash and competitive, Mica loves to fight- and also loves to be praised afterwards for it. Having only recently evolved into it's final form, it's still not used to it's larger body and keeps accidentally breaking furniture.

Volcarona (Tephra) ; Obtained post-ORAS, the most recent addition to the team. Caught when on a vacation in Unova with Archie- Maxie kind of fell in love with the look of the Pokémon, and decided to take her home. Archie nearly got a heart attack when he saw Maxie with it. Tephra is very regal, very large, and (like most of Maxie's pokemon) very spoiled and pampered. She does not tolerate a no for an answer- though she never causes a fuss. If she disagrees with you she will just burn her path to whatever she wanted- very calmly, and very regally. She only listens to Maxie.

She's the one Pokémon on Maxie's team Archie can not figure out how to win over. She just... hovers there. Will she burn you? Will she just let you pass? You won't know until you walk past her. For your sake, have some treats on hand to bribe her.

archie;

Carvanha/Sharpedo (Dusk) ; Caught as a child with the help of his mom and one of his older siblings. They found it without the rest of it's school, and Archie was adamant he wanted it as his Pokémon, so they helped him catch it. Stubborn and kind of aggressive, it took forever to tame him- As a child Archie was just constantly covered in bites from it. He never gave up or was even discouraged though- this was his Pokémon!! He loved it!! Over time the Pokémon finally started feeling safe around him, and they got closer until it evolved. As a Sharpedo he honestly mellowed out a lot. It's very easygoing, and great with kids. It loves to be pet and cuddled- which Archie always indulges, despite the fact that Dusk very much has the rough skin ability.

Grimer/Muk (Pizza) ; Found as a child in a nearby trash dump- the Grimer was actually sitting in an empty pizza box. Being like 10 and thinking he was so smart it thus got named Pizza. Pizza's also pretty chill, and loves to eat and sleep. That said, when it is awake, it's very good at sneaking up on people. Maxie doesn't get how a literal goop of toxic waste can do that but Pizza is a toxic waste goop of many talents.

Poochyena/Mightyena (Granite) ; Obtained from Maxie in high school. Like her sister, she's very energetic and lively. Granite loves to run, and is pretty much always doing something. She listens very well though, and she’s mostly just a good girl. She’s a bit smaller then her sister. Much like her sister, she has the hardest time fighting Maxie's team in battle. She just doesn't get why they must fight <:[

Zubat/Golbat/Crobat (Fangs) ; Obtained in Rocket, one of the Pokémon issued to almost all members. The zubat had been caught a while ago, and had been passed from grunt to grunt- with some... not great owners inbetween. When Archie got him, the thing was incredibly skittish and aggressive with massive trust issues for humans. It took Archie forever to even get it to stop trying to bite him whenever it was out of it's pokeball, but he never gave up on the tiny Pokémon. Eventually managing to win it's trust, Fangs still has a lot of trust issues towards other humans. It tolerates Maxie, Shelly and Matt, but prefers not to be touched by anyone but Archie. Still, it loves him very much- and it's loved a lot in return. Fangs has the best life he can now, Archie always does his best to make him feel comfortable no matter the situation they're in. He also turned out to be a very strong fighter, despite being fairly weak (mainly due to mistreatment) as a zubat.

Mantyke/Mantine (Tidal) ; Caught just before somewhere in Rocket years. He met her on one of his walks along the beach- thinking over his life’s mistakes-with one of her fin being caught up in net. After helping her out she turned out very playful and he definitely could use something nice- besides, because of her injury she seemed to have lost her school and needed the company. So he ended up catching her! Once she evolved (somewhere in Aqua) she got trained to help rescue people- mainly in case a grunt ever got stuck in a rip current or something. As such , while still playful, she knows to be careful gentle and caring when it comes down to it! She's a good girl. While Maxie knew of her in Rocket he never saw her much, and she had the hardest time warming up to him after the teams reunited again. She doesn’t battle often. Archie takes her along sometimes when battling for fun or if he truly thinks he needs her- but usually he lets her do her thing. As such, she was not present in the deep sea cavern fight.

Castform (Missy) ; Obtained post-ORAS. A little pest who wants to get her way. The reunited team tried catching her to help study and watch out for lingering weather effects Kyogre and Groudon might've caused, but failed each time. Instead she got very good at ruining the equipment near the base or that was brought out on field missions. Eventually Archie literally made a deal with her to Stop Doing That in exchange for pokepuffs. It worked! She stuck around, and became a part of the team. She's no good at fighting and never battles, but she's very good at demanding attention. Plus, she ended up helping the team out with the research on lingering weather effects after all, so she deserves some extra treats for her hard work, she thinks. Archie has no idea how to deal with her, but she’s happy and helping out, so… he supposes he can deal with it.

Archie also has a bunch of Pokémon that are by no means actually his- they’re wild Pokémon that he’s helped along the way, and remember and recognise him. A lot will hang out with him, some follow him around, and a select few will happily temporarily join his team if he asks. The most notable ones are;

A Quagsire named Mr. Goop. She was found sickly from having been caught in an oil spill. After having been rescued and cared for by Aqua, she was mistaken for male for the longest time due to her large backfin. Once Archie found out she just had a larger fin then normal for females of the species but what still very much a girl, she’d already gotten used to the name of Mr. Goop, so Mr. Goop she stayed.

A Sealeo named Tundra. Found as a spheal without a group and living in waters to warm for it, Archie helped it migrate to a better environment. However, the thing never seemed to want to join another spheal pack, and as such just ended up traveling around with Archie for a long time. It was always however very interested in battling, and evolved soon enough- ending up strong enough to survive on it’s own fine. Tundra joins Archie’s team most often whenever he needs an extra fighter- Tundra loves the battles, and it loves the treats. Still, it appreciates being able to return to the wild seas again in the end.

A Lanturn named Siren. Found with her lightstem damaged, Aqua helped repair parts of it with prosthetics. Once she could hunt on her own again, she was released back to the seas, but still visits the base every few months and hangs around there for a couple of weeks.

#hc post long time no see…. finally had some writing energy again #magma leader maxie #aqua leader archie #team magma maxie #team aqua archie #hoenn #oras #FOR SOME REASON IVE HAD THEIR ADMIN AU TEAMS FIGURED OUT FOR AGES #BUT I NEVER FINALIZED THEIR MAINLINE TEAMS? #anyways. here . its done now.

[marichat-verse]

Mist Memories

Leo Valdez x reader for his birthday ahhhh (even though it's angsty) with a platonic/developing jason x reader cameo at the end (lmao im sorry i couldn't help myself 😭)

Based on this picture I found in pinterest + also [kinda] based on traitor by olivia rodrigo and omg i really recommend u guys listen to this edit because it reminds me so much of this fic that's been stuck in my head for MONTHS also kind of a run away with me prologue lol

Your POV

I nervously made my way across the forest until I reached a limestone cliff. I knocked on the iron door, not really expecting to get an answer.

My boyfriend has been shutting himself in Bunker 9 for the past few weeks. I stood there counting up to seven before knocking again. I knocked again two more times, until he answered in the middle of my last knock.

He removed his goggles and winced as sunlight hit his eyes. He'd grown thinner and paler, making the dark circles in his eyes more pronounced.

"Oh, Leo..." I reached out to brush a few strands of hair away from his face, but he moved away.

"What are you doing here?" He said in a monotone voice.

I moved to walk inside the Bunker, brushing off his hesitation to let me in. "I'm your partner, remember? And I'm really concerned because you're shutting yourself out lately. You know everyone's starting to worry about you. Percy asked me to check on you because you missed pegasus riding with him. Oh, and I'm pretty sure Jason's coming back from Camp Jupiter soon. I was hoping you and Annabeth could be with Piper while Percy and I hung out with Jason because it's been a little awkward since their breakup. Plus Piper wanted to tell you something—"

"Please," he said forcefully causing me to stop and look at him. "Just... Get out."

Normally, he'd shut himself from the world for a few days to work on an important project or because he was feeling really sad and he needed space. But this was getting out of hand. He had never locked me out of his life when I offered to help him. He was never this mean when he asked for space. I was not having this attitude of his.

"Okay, Leo. I tried to play nice. What is so important that you blow off all your friends for nearly a month that you can't even tell your partner, or maybe say hi to your best friend who's coming back from the other side of the country?"

He didn't say anything. He pursed his lips and avoided eye contact. I scanned he room for any signs.

It was messier than usual with all the crumpled paper scattered on the floor, especially on his desk. He could have been drawing up new plans. Something in my gut told me that something wasn't right. There were no new unfinished projects, indicating that he wasn't starting a new invention. Harley's helicopter lay on his bench in the same state it was weeks ago. Huh, not even his siblings could enter the Bunker.

I turned and Leo was already changing Festus' oil. I took this moment of distraction to pick up a few pieces of crumpled paper on the floor and on his desk. I had to process the words a bit longer—too long that Leo took notice. Damn dyslexia.

I heard footsteps speed up behind me, but it was too late. I read enough and got the gist of what he had been trying to do these past few weeks.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" He yelled at me. Small embers started to erupt between his curls.

I laughed dryly. "So this is what you've been up to?"

His fists tightened, further crumpling the paper in his hands. His eyes flashed with anger, despair and confusion.

I sighed and focused my eyes on his desk, not daring to look at him any longer. Under some pieces of paper were old photographs of him and Piper from Wilderness School. Yup, those definitely were the mist memories she had with Jason. I read the latest draft he'd been writing:

Dear Piper,

Remember the mist memories from boarding school with Jason? They were real, but they were with me.

I miss you. I miss when it was just us. I miss the night on the roof.

Yours truly,

Leo Valdez

I tried to keep my voice from cracking. "How long?"

I heard him sigh. "Three weeks."

I balled my fists. Tears started to fall and smudge the ink. I wiped them away as fast as they came.

"How?"

"In a dream," his tone softened now. "Hera came to me in a dream and told me to check an old drawer in Bunker 9. I found the photos and the memories came rushing back."

"How long were you dating back then?"

"Two weeks."

"Were you ever going to tell me?"

Silence; then a deep breath.

"No."

I shook my head in disbelief. "Why?"

"Because I knew you'd get upset like—"

"I meant why would you throw away months of our relationship for a couple of weeks of your relationship with her? And without even bothering to tell me? Gods damn it, Leo. We've been together since you've first arrived at camp. And what about those promises you made when we were sailing to Greece? You've been keeping these feelings away from me and you've been lying to me, making me believe that there's still something between us and—"

"Oh, calm down," he said with an annoyed expression and tone, which only infuriated me more, "it's not like I did anything were her yet! I didn't kiss her or tell her how I truly felt for her! She just got out of a relationship with Jason around the same time I had that dream. I had to figure out how to talk to her about it. I've been alone in this Bunker for three. Fucking. Weeks. I didn't cheat on you."

"Oh, and that makes everything better?" I countered. "Being in a relationship isn't about not cheating, Leo. It's about being honest and communicating with each other."

"Oh, like you've been communicating with me? After the war, you take go back to Manhattan for school, and you take a job. I haven't seen you much during the holidays because work has been keeping you in the city. And you won't tell me what you even do for a living!"

I took in a deep breath. "I told you I needed to have a life outside of camp! I needed to know first that I could handle myself in the mortal world as a normal human being. I needed this demigod part of my life to be separate as much as possible! I've been in two wars, Leo. I needed time to myself, too. And I was about to tell you guys in a few more days. But I guess now, I'm glad I've kept you out of that part of my life. At least I have an escape from all of this. And now, especially from you."

I took another deep breath and walked to the door, about to let myself out. I turned back again, both our tear-stained eyes meeting each other.

"If it makes you feel any better," I said softly, "I would've hated the idea of us breaking up. But if you really love her, if you really feel like you have this special connection to her and she makes you happy, then I won't get in your way. You could at least have had the decency to talk to me so we could have left on a good note."

He looked at me with wide eyes, clearly regretting his actions. I sighed and looked around the Bunker, possibly for the last time. Lots of memories were definitely created in this room; all just as grand and meaningful as the inventions they made here. But just like some of Hephaestus' contraptions, some of them were flawed and dumped in his scrapyard, no matter how much potential it could have had.

"Goodbye, Leo."

I sat on a rock on the beach that gave me a beautiful view of Long Island Sound. To my left, the sun started to set, casting an orange filter on everything. My heart broke, remembering how everything glowed orange in the Bunker. Leo always left the fires burning when he was working. The sunlight twinkling against the sea reminded me of how small bits of flame peaked through his hair earlier. I remembered how mad he was at me. Or maybe he was mostly mad at himself.

"Hey."

I jumped when someone sat—or rather, landed—beside me. I turned and smiled, seeing one of my good friends back at camp.

"Hey, you're back," I said weakly. "How long have you been here?"

He smiled at me, although he could maybe sense that something was wrong. "Half an hour, maybe? I saw Annabeth making plans to expand camp to have a city. She made me do an aerial inspection and I told her I'll get back to her tonight. That's when I saw you."

"Mhmm," I mumbled, not really knowing what to say. It was silent for a few minutes before I spoke up again, knowing he was just waiting for me to open up.

"I broke up with Leo."

His head quickly turned to me. I guess he wasn't expecting it to be that bad. "What?"

"Oh yeah," I laughed dryly. "Turns out the mist memories Piper had in Wilderness School with you? They were real. But not with you."

His eyes widened. "Oh... With Leo."

"He locked himself in the Bunker for weeks trying to write a letter. It was heartbreaking. Like, truly heartbreaking. He wanted to tell her how much he missed her and how much he missed them. Then he said how much he missed that night with her under the stars and... It hurt. Like hell."

"Oh," he said. "I guess Piper didn't tell me everything then."

"She knew all along?"

He shook his head. "Maybe not everything, but she told me she's been confused about her feelings lately and she'd been having visions or dreams of possible old memories that were messing with her head."

"I'm sorry about you and Piper," I said.

"Don't be," he said. "I understand her. It did hurt, though. But I think I can get over it some day. We're still awkward around each other, but at least we left on a good note."

I scoffed. "Leo couldn't even give me a good ending to our relationship."

"Hey," he said as he put a hand on my shoulder. "You're a great person, y/n. You've done so much, especially for him. It's his loss that he was stupid enough to let go of you."

"I know that."

"Do you really?"

"I do!" I said. "I'm a great person and I know that. But that doesn't mean what he did doesn't hurt me."

"I know," he said. "You'll find someone who'll treat you like the queen that you are. You're a great person, and I'm not just saying this to cheer you up. I truly think you're amazing."

I smiled at him. "Thanks, Jason. And you'll find someone great, too. Maybe not as great as me but, then again, who is?"

We both let out a laugh. The conch sounded in the distance, signaling dinner. I moved to stand up before hearing Jason speak up again.

"Hey, do you maybe want to just grab a couple of plates and eat out here?"

I smiled. "Yeah. That sounds good. I don't really want everyone else hounding me about the breakup right now."

I don't know how long it was going to take me to get over Leo. We really did gave something special. It was cruel how the universe gave me something so good, to make me have hope that something was finally going right, then have it yanked away from my arms just as suddenly as it came.

He never cheated on me, but that didn't mean he didn't betray every promise we made to each other. I should have known it was too good to be true. Life has always played cruel jokes on me.

Then again, who's to say that things won't turn out for the better, right?

•••

Tagging: @drvrslcense @bubblybubbubs @dreamerball @quteez @aesthetxcimagines @chasingpj @beingleft @wadewilsonsgreatestfriend

#heroes of olympus #percy jackson and the olympians #trials of apollo #hoo #toa #pjo #x reader #jason grace x reader #demigod x reader #percy jackson x reader #leo valdez x reader #piper mclean x reader #annabeth chase x reader #frank zhang x reader #hazel levesque x reader #nico di angelo x reader #hoo preferences #pjo preferences #toa preferences #rick riordan #riordanverse #leo x reader #leo valdez #leo valdez x y/n #leo valdez imagines #leo valdez imagine #leo valdez preferences #angst #jason grace #jason x reader

[kaijurakunsobs]

You will feel joy, one day

master list for this series

sorry for the wait y'all, I had to torture myself into listening to the same song to get the inspo I needed for this next chapter which is READYMADE - Ado (it has English subtitles btw)

Hope you guys enjoy this!

Summary: It's been clear from the start that you won't go down without putting up a fight, the tone in your voice and stand are nothing but infuriating for Heisenberg, just like his mere presence fills you with annoyance. The factory is enormous and whatever he's doing here could get you killed, but even in this kingdom of oil and rusted metal, there's a bit of kindness.

Right now, you would accept the title of naive, because you were when you thought this man would share his secrets with you, instead...he's giving you a fucking tour of the entire place, wildly pointing and all the doors and doing sharp turns, taking you up and down flights of stairs "I hope you don't get lost, darlin', we don't want you ending in the wrong place, right?" there's mockery in his voice as he speaks over his shoulder, halting to a stop and making you trip and crash against him.

"This is the boiler room, you might want to familiarize yourself with this place in particular" a snarky smile appearing on his lips

Peeking inside makes you go pale and sigh in frustration, it's a mess, you can see cables, crudely fixed with tape, more flammable materials, and so many oil spills on the ground, "I can also familiarize with the rest of the fabric because this dump could explode any day"

His smile falls and that expression of annoyance, that just seems to be for you, comes back in no time. Releasing a cloud of smoke he turns around and starts walking faster, slowly regaining his showman's voice and the exuberance of his movements renew with the occasional laugh, is enough to make you tune him out again, looking at whatever you find more interesting, nose scrunching up with whenever there's something that unsettles or makes you question this man's leadership and care for this place. If you do take the role of helping him, you know you're gonna exploited day and night.

He's not blind or stupid, he knows you are doing everything but listening to him, every time he looks over his shoulder to make sure you are following and paying him some god damn attention, he will always see you eyeing everything, dissecting the place, and doing a face that just speaks volumes of how unimpressed you are by his life's work, but it's not like he will tell you about his plans, it's too soon for that, what if you are just a little spy under Miranda's orders?

It rubs him the wrong way how adamant she was on you being under his orders, super-sized bitch didn't raised too much hell, which also puts him on edge, it just doesn't feel normal for him. In any other situation where Miranda has favored him over Dimitrescu, and it wasn't because "mother" gave her that heartfelt speech Karl being all alone on his iron tower, Moreau is the forgotten child of the bunch and has to beg for almost everything, Miranda is already pissed with Donna and her botanical gig, let alone, the way she uses her cadou to just make dolls move.

That left him in the position akin to a middle child, he's just there, occasionally remembered and rarely to give him treats or surprises. He's used to scavenging for materials, do the occasional grave robbing or take the corpses the other Lords leave behind.

So, why did she left you with him?

"Lastly but no less important! the living quarters"

You have been so lost in thought, you didn't noticed that his "fantastical tour" is over, and you are back to the front of the complex...shit, you didn't even paid attention to where everything is, you're gonna get so lost if you try to navigate this place on your own.

After entering the brute closes the door behind you and goes to the left office, you can hear him mumbling under his breath and things being moved around, you don't know how long he's going to be in there, so you turn your attention to the rest of the room.

From everything you have seen, this place is the cleanest one and it makes you think of the layout in your family's factory. It looks like he repurposed what used to be the waiting area, there's a kitchen in the right corner, a couple of sofas that had seen better days, a lot of blueprints have been left on the coffee table. To the left, it's the main office, a lot bigger and the tinted glass on the door has the name Heisenberg hand-painted on it, classy, you suppose that that's his room? you don't care, opting for getting close to the blueprints, his handwriting is atrocious and there are notes everywhere, how interesting, one of the workers used to say that was a sign of a brilliant mind.

"You are not allowed to go there, a'right?" hearing him so close makes you jump, when did he come back? from the tone of his voice, you might be right, it's either his bedroom "This one, however! this one is just for you" he says oh so sweetly when pointing at the smaller office to the right opening the door rather unceremoniously.

Now you get why the rest of this area is so clean and clutter-free, motherfucker pushed all the trash and old furniture in there, it's dusty and the air, somehow, is stale only in this place, you can see cobwebs "Since I'm being kind enough to let you sleep on this side and not in the cellars, I think is fair that you take care of the mess, don't you think?"

"Can't I just sleep in one of the couches?"

"Of course not, we don't want my precious mechanic to get sick, right?" condescending asshole, he even smiles at you, showing you his teeth in what you identify as an act of intimidation

"Of course we don't want that, my Lord! but, I do must say, you have been ill-mannered, showing me around your domain yet...you haven't told me your name when introductions were supposed to be made long ago" it's your turn to give him teeth flashing smile, his going a bit forced

"Well you see sweetheart, I would have done it earlier, but I came encountered a disrespectful brat that decked me in the face as soon as we met"

"Really now? Perhaps, this brat was done with being manhandled and reacted accordingly to how they felt" the sardonic smile on your face grows and you can see how much it pisses him off, and that shouldn't make you proud.

The man is looking, more like attempting, to look down on you, clicking his tongue loudly and in a dissatisfied manner, with complete derision, he gives you, the closest thing to a respectful bow "My name is Karl Heisenberg and I'm one of the four Lords working under Miranda's orders"

In response, you give him a curtsy and use your best sarcastic tone, just for him "It's such an honor to meet you, my lord. I must say I'm no noble but I do HOPE you may remember the name of this pheasant girl, Y/N, L/N Y/N"

He doesn't appreciate the way you talk to him or how you don't even try to hide how little you respect or fear him, but he needs you alive to accelerate and optimize the factory's production, under other circumstances? he would have thrown you down to let the Sturm have some fun, but he won't, at least for now.

"So, Miss Y/N...let me give you a...welcoming gift" he's harsh when trusting a bundle of crumpled clothes and old boots into your arms, pushing you back hard enough that you almost lose your balance "I don't expect you to always wear my hand-me-downs, this is a momentary arrangement"

"Oh my! so generous of you, to clothe this poor village girl with your own garments, I am so thankful for this, however, if I may ask for a tiny favor...can I know where your bathroom is? I don't what to soil this fine fabric with my dirty body"

You don't like the way he smiles at you, with one hand he grabs your shoulder and with the other he opens the door, pushing you towards what used to be the employee's showers, there's mold and broken mirrors, a lot of the shower heads are gone and the only one that seems to be functioning is leaking.

"Serve yourself, princess, just know this...there's only cold water, the hot water stopped working years ago and I haven't felt like repairing it, I hope you enjoy your shower!"

And with that, he leaves you, finally alone but unnerved on how easily he could come back and just stare at you like a creep. But you need a shower, there's grime and dirt caked to your body and it's starting to get disgusting and itchy. So you swallow your pride and leave the borrowed clothes over the small wall separating the showers from the rest of the place and brace yourself to what might be the worst moment of the day so far.

Later you are cursing him as loud as you can, he didn't lie when he said that only the cold water worked, but you would say it was freezing, his clothes are uncomfortably big on you, and smell of faint sweat and like these were left tucked away for a long time, the boots are the best part, these have been broken in nicely and they fit you...who are you kidding? the damn things are falling apart and you feel like a clown with how big they are.

That has left you with the shining crown of the shit show that's been this whole day! the trash in your new room, you had to box so many useless papers, look everywhere to find one measly broom, and use the remains of the gown you came in with to keep your hair out of your face and as a bandana to cover your nose and mouth.

From all the old furniture in the room, the only useful stuff is the old desk, a sofa that somehow survived without being eating by termites but might be infested with cockroaches, and a lamp. It's not much, but it's something.

All this moving around now has brought a new problem.

You are starving.

You can't remember when Miranda took you, let alone when was your last meal or if you were fed during your time in the cell. But Heisenberg's fridge is empty, there's only a handful of onions and those have roots and sprouts coming out already. There's nothing substantial in the cupboards or anywhere for that matter.

You doubt there might anything to eat in this place, but, you better give it a try, better die trying than going to sleep with a grumbling stomach, right? But, you didn't learn jackshit from him and you can't remember anything from the directions Heisenberg gave you.

Fuck it.

Slowly you creep out of the small apartment and peek outside, looking around assures you that the coast is clear. This could be a great learning experience! no matter how much of a dick this man is, there's something of value in his words and maybe, just maybe, you should pay more attention when he talks...MAYBE.

The place is a labyrinth of stairs, broken walls turned into hallways and sealed doors, you do have half a mind to remember which doors and areas he pointed as "out of bounds" for you, which is a surprise, seeing how massive the place is.

Under the stench of grease and smoke, you notice, the tasty scent of stew...close, very close, your poor stomach twisting painfully and mouth rapidly filling with saliva, you start following the heavenly aroma until you reach an old cargo lift, a large man sits there and for a moment that makes you stop in your tracks.

The man is surrounded by bags and crates filled with stuff from fruits to what you guess are various pieces of machinery and other objects hard to identify in the low light "Aaaaah...a new customer perhaps? You must be Lord Heisenberg's new assistant, are you not?"

He smiles with true kindness and something similar to pity, meaty hands adorned with gold rings beacon you close "Come come, miss...?"

"Uuuuuuuh...I'm Y/N, nice to meet you..."

"Pleasure to make your acquaintance miss Y/N, you may call me The Duke"

There's something infectious in him that makes you relax your shoulders and walk closer to him "So...what do you do here Duke?"

"What? well, I'm nothing but a humble merchant, occasionally I set up shop here in the factory, especially when I have a delivery or things that may spark Lord Heisenberg's interest, and now that you are here, I will make a note to bring stuff you could use too"

"I...I would appreciate the gesture, thanks" the small sincere smile in your face drops when your stomach decides to grumble loud enough to be heard by the Duke, the man laughing at the sound, making your embarrassment worst.

"Would like to accompany me with dinner, dear? I have made plenty and this could be a small...celebratory feast for you"

"Celebratory? no offense, but...there's nothing to celebrate"

"Aren't you alive and able to walk?" he's so careful when serving some stew in a bowl, making sure not to spill a drop "I think that surviving whatever happened to you, is worth celebrating"

The bowl is warm in your hands and the smell is just divine, you take a seat on the floor waiting for the Duke to serve his bowl and then you dig in, sighing in appreciation when the rich taste of the broth fills your mouth, the softness of the meat and the carrots. You can see the Duke smile with pride when you compliment his cooking, enjoying each spoonful to the fullest.

"It's getting quite late Y/N and Lord Heisenberg is one to rise early, I suggest you go to bed or you end up feeling too tired tomorrow"

"Yeah...thanks for the meal Duke, I really appreciate it"

"Don't mention it and remember, the Duke's Emporium is here to satisfy all your shopping needs!"

You bid the man farewell and do the trek back to your room, taking time to memorize the way to the lift and the living quarters, the man might be a merchant but you want to get to know more about him, he seems nice, he's been the nicest one so far.

The living area feels cold and so terribly empty, there's no sign of Heisenberg anywhere, which you are thankful for. Only after entering your room and laying on your "bed", waiting a bit to hear any sound that might belong to the Lord, when only the sounds of the factory echo back to you do you dare to cry.

It starts slowly, your eyes fixated on the ceiling, then the flood gates open and you start to sob and scream, tears running down the side of your face to get lost in your hair leaving wet patches in their wake. But your crying evolves into fear, panic, raged breathing, and asking hands, all the weight of what happened today swallows you whole.

You don't know where to start, the way you growled at Heisenberg in the church, HOW he was able to move heavy metal without touching it? and all those corpses suspended ton hooks...the howls and things banging against the doors, the cruelty in how Heisenberg tossed you around and screamed in your face. How do you even managed to put and kept that brave face on when you were so scared is beyond you, you did it and that's enough.

The rapid and irregular movement of your chest does nothing but make your side hurt, the pain shoots up and down your body, making you curl on your side to alleviate the pressure if only a bit.

You want to die...but not like this, not terrified for your existence, not at the hands of a volatile man that can crush you with his hammer any day.

You want to live, but to live with your life depending on how well you perform your role? that's not a life at all.

Exhaustion and fatigue eventually take you away into a dreamless sleep, your last thought is...what's going to happen tomorrow?

You don't know, but as the Duke said, you survived whatever Miranda did to you and you will survive this too, no matter what, you will live.

#karl heisenberg #resident evil village #karl heisenberg x reader #re8 #x reader #the duke

[myclownjunction]

Karl Heisenberg x Reader Steampunk Love pt1

!!WARNING!! MIGHT GET NSFW LATER SO KIDS ADVERTISING TO STAY AWAY AND FAR AWAY FROM THIS FILTHY AS THE FACTORY OF LORD HEISENBERG BLOG UNLESS YOU'RE 18+

It was a damned day you have prepared yourself so much and in the end this asshole, this jackass has dumped you at this forsaken village. You hated him with your all heart as same as loving him the first time he said that he loved you, you were walking around the streets still shaken from this assholes' words holding your jacked tighter around you, you needed to get the hell out of this village. As you walked closer to the outskirts of the town you saw a rather huge and dark factory that was still working 'Why there's a damn huge factory in this small village, well whatever I need help!' you thought to yourself as you decided to walk in and have your head somewhere else but not with this idiot maybe the owner of this factory will be kind enough to help...big mistake-huge. You walked into it and looked around as you were greeted by the smell of oil, metal scraps, and something metallic a rather huge robot-like was stumbling around as if being broken, you stood like deer in headlights 'What the Hell was that thing?". "I need to get to the door as fast as possible!" you rushed to the factory door as carefully as possible not to make noise avoiding the metal scaps as you closing on the door a rather loud roar made you blood run cold "What the actual FUCK" you screeched adrenaline pumping in your blood as you ran even faster hearing the running behind you "I wanna kill this asshole for putting me through this bloody hell!" you reached the door running through it as you were panting and slammed it shut. You decided to walk inside fastening the locks as the banging at it was loud so were the growls. Walking inside as you decided to stay in one place was a rather dumb idea the factory inside was so huge and monstrous the roar of the machinery, the smell everything was so big that you gawked for a moment but shaking yourself from the trance-like state you cautiously walked from your standing place. The radio static was replaced with a rather deep and gruff voice as if the person was a smoker but it was a rather attractive voice you might say, 'Maybe it's the owner of the factory, how interesting' as you watched the machines turn their gears sweating oil and grease, you somehow were entertained you enjoyed everything connected with the machinery gasping and awing with each new thing you saw in your rather calm walk through the factory as the voice you heard before barking commands now sounded seductive and dangerous aimed at you "Well, well, well what do we have here, what a precious little thing has entered my factory to pay me a visit?!" upon dimming the lights, you gasped looking around frantically as you heard a deep laugh coming from the com you looked up at the siren and licked your lips not aware that there are cameras around the factory as Lord Heisenberg was enjoying your childish awe at this creations. "Who are you Sir?" you asked as sweet as possible, well because you were trespassing and you better be on the good side of this man there was a silent moment before the speaker came to life "Awww but where are my manners. Name's Heisenberg, Lord Heisenberg sweet cheeks!" You smiled and bowed you head, you didn't know he was a Lord "You have an amazing factory Lord Heisenberg it's truly unique!" you chirped out as he laughed through the com entertained by your naivety as you tilted your head the com came to life once more "You know sweet cheeks why not introducing myself in person that would be better I think!" you heard a click and the radio was silent. You stood in one place not moving looking around you as you heard walking on the metal platforms. As you stood he walked on the platform hammer in hand and you felt the buzz, the electricity turning around to face a platform you saw this man his dark glasses, hat, huge hammer and boy he was a sight to behold a true description of Owner of this factory you stared at him gawking making his smile widen in one moment you caught his eyes they were so green like a green emerald and just in one moment there was a flicker of gold you gasped as he smiled and winked at you making you blush and avert your gaze as he walked down ever so slowly. 'Oh boy he's so damn hot, damn look at him he's like damn craft god and his body, Woah Y/N hold the reins you still need help and cover from this thing outside!' you thought as you saw him getting closer leaving the hammer on the ground and tipping his hat towards you "What a nice sight to have beyond all this meat and scarps, so we finally meet!" he smirked, damn you were swooning over him already, like a dog in heat "But!" he paused looking at you up and down "You pumpkin haven't told me your name?" he winked as you blushed like a schoolgirl "My name is  Y/N!" he licked his lips "Such a beautiful name suiting a beautiful creature like you!". "Tell me little pumpkin what let you roll into my big scary factory at nighttime?" you sighed and decided to tell him everything about your ex, about the creatures and the robot that looked like a human, he listened closely considering his plan as he was a man, after all, that Bitch called his "sister" was taking all the maidens into her castle, he needed some fun and you just dropped in time but it was about to change. "Damn poor little one, as I can tell you everything about this village but I believe you'll be scared of me then, you'll judge me as many others did!" you looked at him sadly you didn't want to judge fast enough as you took a step closer to him "Please Lord Heisenberg tell me about it I promise I won't judge you! " he smiled as he was standing facing the wall, he would tell her everything even if after she ran away he wouldn't judge her as he began telling everything about being kidnapped, being tormented, being used as a toy by the Bitch Miranda, you listened every world never interrupting. When he was done he was ready to turn around and see you gone or run away screaming instead, you were sad as you took a step closer to him and said "I'm so sorry for what had happened to you Lord Heisenberg this is so unfair and heartless towards you, no one in the worlds deserves such faith as yours. I am truly sorry you never deserved to through this by yourself! " she smiled as Heisenberg was out of any comeback or anything to say. He exhaled the breath he didn't think he held in and on strange unknown emotion he stepped closer and swept you into his strong hands, you yelped quietly and hugged him back feeling his huge form caging you in the so needed hug after all these years of torment he felt a soul that cared for him! You were enjoying this hug so much his strong body and the heat it was radiating made you feel sleepy and dizzy, he smelled of tobacco,pleasant perfume and a bit of whiskey as you saw with a corner of your eye flying metal parts around you you gasped making him break the hug a bit concerned "Have I pressed you hard pumpkin?" he was panicking not to hurt you as gawked in awe at the flying metal parts earning a loud chuckle from him as he extended his arm his hammer snapped from the wall into it "That's not the only thing I could control!" he winked! He took you to hand as you told him about your love for machinery and building stuff, he has fallen for you that was it he wouldn't let that Bitch Miranda and anyone else lay a finger on you he walked to his room as you were like a little child enjoying everything you say he wanted to admit something he had in his heart for you...

To be continued...

#re8 #karl heisenberg #karl heisenberg x reader #kalr heisenberg x you #kalrheisenbergxreader #kalr heisenberg x reader #resident evil village #resident evil 8 #karl heisenberg resident evil #daddy heisenberg #x reader #x so #x you #myclownjunction posts #myclownjunction posts shit #myclownjunction writes #my fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #eventual smut #to be continued

[fbfh]

light up the dark [VI] - leo x reader

genre: mid adventure domestic fluff overture, romance, smutty lemony bit towards the end

word count: 3k

pairing: Leo x gothy!child of eros!fem reader

requested: very much so, yes

warnings: magic manipulation powers, feelings are hard and weird and scary, some innuendos, the phrase hot gusher out of context, the word dirty talk, trying to "proposition [someone] in front of two for one cookie crisp", brief credit card theft, jason thinks ketchup is spicy and gets clowned on for it, one use of the word lube in reference to mechanical lubricant, shirtless leo remember that one piece of shirtless leo viria art?????? remember the caption?????, your facade is beginning to crack, deadpan joke about being dead in space, making out, whole lotta sexual tension, brief mention of a boner, teeny tiny bit of grinding, getting interrupted, c*lypso

summary: after an extensive shopping trip, you, Leo, and Jason settle into your airbnb and wait for the others to arrive. Jason takes a nap, and Leo helps you dye your hair. You return the favor by helping him make dinner which leads to two things; a well timed boner, and a poorly timed visitor.

listen to: power and control - marina, 100 bad days - ajr, all I ask - adele

a/n: let's play spot the zack and cody reference within the first paragraph

also surprise the series isn't dead!! a shock to all but mostly me!!

as with all smexy smutty nsfw content, all characters are aged up to 18+

Standing in front of a wall of hair dye taller than you are should have been exciting. It would have been, except for the fact that all the colors were various shades of honey mist auburn. You really don’t want to have to make a separate trip to a beauty store for hair dye. Your eyes land on a firetruck red box, and gratefully, you realize you won’t have to.

“Perfect,” you muse, throwing it into your cart, along with the other stuff on the list you’d divided between you. You grab a few other things from the beauty section while you’re there; some makeup, eyeliner, a glass nail file, and a tiny pair of oil slick cuticle scissors.

Nearby is a guy a little older than you in a varsity hoodie and sweatpants squinting at a two in one shampoo label.

Perfect, you think, beginning to approach. You work your magic - literally - and within a few minutes you have his credit card. It takes way less time than it used to. You also didn’t have to smile and flirt nearly as much as you used to. You’re relieved that you don’t have to fake enthusiasm around rich douchebags the way you used to, and a new inky drop of fear begins to stain the corners of your mind. You can’t even bear to admit it to yourself, but you’re kind of scared. Before you can begin to question if you know what love is and if you’re capable of experiencing it without the influence of your divine heritage, you shove it all away. Not the place, not the time. You speed up a little, passing an endcap of candy, and knock a box into your cart.

On the other side of the store, Jason checks off items from their half of the list as Leo tosses items in the cart, talking along the way. Of course, you came up in conversation rather quickly.

“She’s… a real piece of work.” Jason says, treading lightly.

“You said it, man,” Leo agrees, sliding a pack of coke onto the bottom of the cart. Jason thinks for a moment before continuing.

“She seems to,” he tries to figure out how to phrase their dynamic, “not hate you as much as everyone else.” Leo laughs at the accuracy of the statement. He can tell Jason has something else to say, so he’s quiet while putting paper plates and napkins into the cart.

“Hey, Leo?”

“Yeah?”

“Just… don’t let her hurt you, okay?”

He stops for a second. He’s so lucky to have a friend like Jason, one that will genuinely look out for him, but sometimes people caring for him still catches him off guard. Really off guard. With no idea how to begin to verbalize that complicated mess, he takes a split second to collect himself.

“Thanks, man.”

His smile is sincere.

Don’t let her hurt you. Can he just do that? Not let someone hurt him? Especially someone like you. He’s only had a few long term crushes before, all just out of reach and only getting further away. Only one had amounted to something - not that he could call what he had with Calypso ‘something’. She certainly wouldn’t. He looks around, trying to shake off the sting. He starts to get that unsettled, itchy feeling when he focuses on stuff like that for too long.

‘At least I got some good stories out of it,’ he thinks, messing with the back of his hair and fixing his hoodie strings.

“Here.”

He turns around, coming face to face with you, holding out a box very close to him.

“Hot gusher.” You say softly. What? His cheeks heat up, pulse speeding up suddenly. He glances at Jason, who’s at the other end of the aisle asking an employee something. Are you implying something? Are you trying to proposition him in front of two for one cookie crisp? He’s unable to look away from your gaze, intense and striking. You couldn’t possibly mean what he thinks you mean. Your fingers brush and he’s struggling to find an elegant way to say ‘hey, maybe the grocery store isn’t an ideal place for dirty talk’.

“W- uh, sorry, what?” he says, laughing in an equally hushed tone, needing to make sure you meant what he thought you did. You glance down, then back up.

“They’re spicy gushers. I thought you’d like them.” the feeling is gone in a split second, the same time it took to arrive, and is replaced with relief. He looks down at the box, realizing he’d taken it from you at some point. He laughs at the ridiculousness of his previous panic.

“Thanks,” he says, a reflective smile on his face.

You realize how comforted you are to see him smile, really smile, when you catch yourself having to keep a neutral face. One of the first times your resting bitch face has been intentional. Before you can say you’re welcome, Jason comes back over. You hand him the card.

“Pin number’s 0401.”

They both stare at you, skimming the label of a granola bar, completely unperturbed.

“How…”

“Credit card theft.”

The logical part of Leo’s brain starts to speak up, telling him to raise his guard, that his stomach should be twisting. If you can just take someone’s credit card without a hint of remorse, who knows what the hell kind of damage you could do to him if he got closer to you? And he really wants to get closer to you.

“Oh,” you pull a small pop top tube out of your cart and hand it to Leo, “this is for you too. You know, since you don’t like coffee,” you trail off as he reads the label. Caffeine and electrolyte drink tablets, red berry rampage flavor. He looks up at you, feeling warm and… something else, something ineffable, at the gesture.

You stare at each other, eyes locked, surprised at the strangely intimate feeling stirring in both of you.

“What are those?” Jason asks, snapping you out of whatever that was.

“Spicy gushers,” Leo says, smiling again, “I didn’t even know they made those.”

“Hot mango,” Jason reads from the side of the box, “that actually sounds pretty good.”

“No way dude, you can’t handle spicy food.” He starts to protest, and Leo continues, “You think ketchup is spicy!” He looks shocked.

“Okay, that was one time! It was a weird brand and there was way too much pepper in it!”

You bite back a giggle at their bickering, taking note of how much better Leo seems to be doing and finding surprising comfort in their banter.

It doesn’t take long to get to the airbnb and get set up. You all dump your bags in your rooms, bring in the groceries, and shove everything into the cabinets in a reasonably organized manner.

Jason heads upstairs to unpack and call Piper, announcing a few minutes later that they should be here in less than two hours.

“Perfect,” you pull out your hair dye from the last bag. It’s not exactly the manic panic wildfire red you’d initially wanted, but it’s definitely better than nothing. You stare at the box for a second, then up at Leo who’s trying to get one more bag of chips to fit in with the others.

“Hey,” you say, just loud enough to get his attention, “do you… can you get the back of my head?” He looks at you, questioning, and you hold up the box dye. He smiles, once again noting your softened edges around him.

“Yeah,” he agrees, and minutes later you’re in the bathroom, adorned in a big tee shirt covered in all your previous hair colors. He’s staring at your shirt, eyes dancing over the swirls and splatters of color. It reminds him of a painting he’d seen once, unable to remember the name.

You shake the bottle, skimming the instructions again, then start speaking to him, eyes still on the box.

“Take a section of hair, about this much,” you demonstrate, holding out a section of hair, “rub in the dye like this…”

You hand him the second bottle of red dye, and he starts on the back. His fingertips start separating out a section of your hair, and you still, a shiver running up your spine. He hesitates for a moment, then continues, and you hope he hadn’t noticed. His breath fans your ear, and you can feel the heat radiating off his chest. Your lungs are shallow suddenly, squeezed tight like a bouquet clutched in a shaking hand. You find it almost impossible to focus on dying the front half of your hair.

You don’t want it to stop, you realize. His fingertips dancing along your hair, the glimpses of his incredibly focused face in the bathroom mirror, the way he’ll gently turn your head to make sure he didn’t miss a spot.

“Shit,” he leans back, hunching forward. You look behind you, eyes landing immediately on the spot of red dye on his shirt.

“Shit,” you echo. He looks back at you, waiting to see how he’ll react.

“Oh, it’s all good - no worries. I already have a ton of motor oil and lube - lubricant… machine grade, petroleum based engine lubricant-” he laughs, “stains on this shirt anyway. Don’t sweat it.”

You almost laugh. A giggle bubbles up from your chest and stomach, but catches in your throat. Before it can come out, he slips off his dye stained gloves, and tugs off his dye stained shirt from the back. It seems to happen in slow motion. In a mere moment, your eyes engraving every detail, every line and curve and freckle to memory.

There’s really no delicate way to put it; he’s fucking jacked. Deceptively so. You’re frozen in place, cheeks flushed. You suddenly wonder what it would be like to be wrapped up in his arms, held so close to him.

You snap yourself out of the thought, all of that occurring in just a few seconds. He leans past you, setting the dye stained shirt carefully on the counter, glancing at you intensely.

“Are you checking me out?”

You make yourself roll your eyes and turn away, replying, “I’m sure you’d love that.”

Angled away from him, you momentarily reprimand yourself, squeezing your eyes shut and mouthing oh my god. You turn back to him, not recalling the last time you had to deliberately keep up your aloof front around someone like this.

“So, are we finishing my hair or just gonna leave it like this?” you ask rhetorically, motioning to your half done hair.

He watches you do this, confirming his suspicion that you’re really not as cold as you let on. A smile blooms on his face, and he doesn’t think he’s ever seen anything as… cute as that.

“Yeah,” he replies, slipping his gloves back on. The things you do around him seem to mean more now. He notices the way your eyes flutter closed for a moment when he plays with your hair, working in the dye, or the way you still for a split second when he gets a little too close to the side of your face, checking that he didn’t miss a spot.

He doesn’t want this to end either. But eventually, your hair is fully saturated with dye, the timer on your phone counting down slowly. There’s still some dye left. He sits on the closed toilet.

“Your turn. Do me.”

“What?” you laugh.

“Yeah, a little streak - up here.” He leans forward, sectioning off a part of his hair.

“Seriously?” you ask.

“Yeah. Unless you don’t want to match…” he muses. Your eyes get this dreamy look for the briefest second, then you’re turning back to shake the bottle some more.

“I guess… I mean there’s too much dye to throw out, we might as well do something with it.”

It’s his turn, now, to feel the warmth from your body, your hands running through his hair. His eyes want to close, and bask in the feeling, but he refuses to miss out on the view of you so soft, so close to him. It doesn’t last nearly long enough for either of you, and much too soon you’re pulling away and throwing away the gloves and empty bottles.

By the time you finish cleaning up and throw out the garbage, it’s time to rinse your hair. Hanging your head over the tub, you let the water flow over your head until Leo tells you it’s running clear. He does the same, and you point out too late that he only had to rinse the dyed part, not his whole head.

You both laugh as you wrap a towel around your hair, teaching him how to do the same.

“Sweet, I’ve always wondered how to do the spa snail towel thing.”

“The spa snail towel thing?” You try in vain to fight another laugh.

“Yeah, you know… cause it looks like a snail, and they do it at spas…”

“Oh… my gods…” you laugh, exiting the bathroom and heading down the hall, “I”m going to get changed.” you call.

“Am I wrong?” he asks after you, and you bite your lip to stop yourself from laughing. He heads to his room to do the same.

A few minutes later, you’re carefully pulling on your top, when he calls through your door.

“Hey, I’m gonna be in the kitchen, come down when you’re ready.”

“...Okay,” you agree.

You check your outfit in the mirror. You can still feel his fingers brushing your neck. Your head tilts at the memory. Snapshots of him pulling off his shirt in slow motion flash in your memory.

You realize how much of an affect the last hour has had on you. Your stomach drops.

You can’t possibly be falling in love. No way. Not a snowball’s chance in hell.

You’re not the falling in love type. At most, you’d hook up with someone a couple times on the rare occasion you thought they were hot, too.

Oh, you decide, that must be what’s happening. I just think he’s hot. I mean, duh. Of course he’s hot. Did you see him in there?

That’s all you have to do; hook up with him once, maybe twice, then you’ll get over it. It’ll make his ex jealous, and they’ll get back together. It will go just like it always has. Then you can move on to whatever the next crisis is.

You take a breath, resolving to follow the plan, exit your room. You throw yours and Leo’s old clothes and towels in the hamper, and head down stairs. He greets you, and pulls you into the kitchen.

“I have something to ask you.” Your brow furrows.

“...Okay.”

He takes your hand in his, the other behind his back.

“Will you…” he looks at you, gaze piercing, “...be my sous-chef.” he finishes, holding out an apron, matching his.

You study him, a hopeful, surprisingly confident look on his face. His hair is still damp. You’re sure yours is, too. You wait a beat, before replying slowly.

“Yes. But I’m not wearing that.”

“That’s fair,” he says, setting the apron on the counter, “I will have to dock your pay for being out of uniform, though.” You let out a puff of air from your nose, biting back a laugh. He pulls out a skillet, bowl, and oil, and begins preheating the pan. You watch him pull out more ingredients, and begin to set things up.

“Right now we’re waiting on that,” he says nodding at the stove. You nod, inspecting a bottle of seasoning he’d pulled out, and settle into a comfortable silence.

He thinks back to the last time you had time like this - playing twenty questions at your apartment. A pit forms in his stomach as he remembers the conversation veering to Calypso, as it always seemed to. He shoves it away. Not this time. He steadies his nerves. “So, you want to play twenty questions?”

You agree, coming closer to him.

“If you could go anywhere, where would you go?”

Your eyes flick over to the clock. You have a solid hour, hour and a half before the others are supposed to get here. You stare at him, brushing hair out of his face.

“I’d be dead in the endless void of deep space.”

He cracks a smile at how on brand that response was. Your fingertips trail down to his neck, rethen shoulder. The smile doesn’t leave his face, not completely. Your heart beats loudly in anticipation.

“My turn. Do you want to make out?”

His head snaps up, eyes locked with yours, trying to tell if you’re serious or if this is another example of your distinct sense of humor. But he can tell it’s not - there’s something a little too close to the surface in your eyes.

“Yeah. Yes, totally-”

You grab his collar, pulling him in for a kiss, and leaning back against the empty counter.

His lips are soft and warm, moving gracefully with yours. You barely register that the first kiss ends before you dive back in. You angle your head, deepening the kiss. He plants one hand on the counter, the other making its way to the small of your back. You flick your tongue past his lips, and his grip on your waist tightens. You clutch his collar tighter, other hand moving through his hair, still damp at the ends.

You can tell he’s enjoying what you do by the way his mouth quirks up ever so slightly at the corners, and by the way he starts to harden beneath you. You roll your hips into his, and he falters, sighing, breath fanning your lips. Not quite a moan, but you’re getting there.

The front door opens before you can.

Leo pulls away reluctantly, very reluctantly, and turns off the stove.

“That was fast,” he says, panting slightly and still very flushed. They’re not supposed to be here for a while, still.

A tall girl enters the kitchen, dark strawberry blonde hair pulled over her shoulder. She looks between you and Leo with a sour expression on her face.

“Calypso,” Leo says.

"...Hi."

#leo valdez #leo valdez x reader #heroes of olympus #heroes of olympus x reader #percy jackson #pjo #lv light up the dark #is that the right tag #lutd #light up the dark #boy howdy is shit about to hit the fan #this isn't even the worst of it yet #the longest part to write was the making out at the end #I kept distracting myself #you know that scene in the princess diaries movie where mia is watching josh and lana kiss #that's how I felt #no thoughts head leo #o o f #just called myself out wow #anyway #enjoy this #pls rant to me in the tags and ask box about it teehee #i personally believe that pjo calypso and hoo calypso are two diffrernt peopel #hoo really ruined her character #i cast antagonize #i mean it #is believable ig #we just didn't get a transition #anyway yeah here's this

[ladywinterwitch]

Run Away (Ten - Strangers)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Avenger! Reader

Summary: You and Steve complete each other. Your love is that strong and devoted kind of love that pushes people to things like marriage, making a family. You couldn't imagine that a baby would be something you really wished, until the possibility wasn't your choice anymore.

Warnings: pregnancy talk, fluff, A N G S T, I think that's it??

Words Count: 3739

A/n: Next chapter is longer and INTENSE

Series masterlist , main masterlist

(GIF not mine)

Y/n and Steve ended up falling asleep, which was a bit embarassing especially on his part. In the end tho they woke up around two in the afternoon and were starving. You also thought about the fact that Helen must've already set in by now. After cleaning up a bit and getting redressed the two actually went to separate directions, Steve to the gym because he had a bunch of new recruits to train by three sharp, while Y/n was heading to the kitchen.

-FRIDAY, would you call up ms Simon for me?- she found Tony, Vision and Thor in the common room so she quickly greeted them.

-Hey guys, taking a break?- she smiled when Thor got up to greet her properly. He was such a physical and affectionate person. He reminded her of a golden retriever; huge, with long hair and a heart of gold. Your smile widened when he bent down to press his ear to her belly.

-Well yes darling, do you forget that aside from kicking some ass every now and then we're basically jobless?- Tony joked. Both he and Vision were looking at you two.

-How is your pregnancy going, Y/n?- Vision asked in his posh and polite manner. She tilted her head to the side. Thor still touching the smooth and round surface. She didn't mind at all.

-It's going smoothly, thank you. Tho if I have to be honest I can't wait to at least give birth. I love my belly but it's so complicated to live with. I also miss actually moving around and exiting the tower. I don't think I've ever been so still and babyed in my life.-

-If it was an easy job, God wouldn't have gave it to women.- they all turn around when you hear an unfamiliar voice, which they soon found out to be Helen's. Thor stands straight in all his tallness and gets in front of her protectively.

-Who are you?- he asks suspiciously. She put a hand on his arm to calm him down.

-It's okay, Thor. This is Helen Simon, she's my new midwife. The one me and Steve hired this morning.- her head turns quickly to Tony then back to Helen. Tony stands up, fixing the invisible fold in his tracksuit pants and smugly walks to the older woman.

-Stark. Tony Stark. I actually hired you, but I'll let the happy couple have the glory.- he joked and you shook your head amused. They shook hands and then Vision introduced himself as well. Thor just acknowleged her with a nod. It's not like the God of Thunder had to introduce himself.

-Okay guys, see you later. I'm starving so.- you decided to cut it, but obviously Tony had to sneak in a joke. Had to.

-I'm sure cap worn you out.- Thor, which didn't know what timing was, bless his heart, decided to burst out laughing. You rolled your eyes not looking back.

-Jealousy doesn't match with your shoes Anthony.- you clapped back, still hearing Thor laugh and Tony calling him out.

A few feet down the corridor there was the kitchen, and when Y/n finally tought that her and Helen could have a minute alone, they found Wanda intently reading a book while she mover her finger around to spin the teaspoon in a mug. She looked up when they entered the room. Her finger stopped working and so did the spoon, the faint magenta colored aura disappearing.

-Hello?- she said, tentatively. Y/n ignored her cold stare and walked to the fridge taking out the leftover chicken and some salad to mix.

-She's Helen, the midwife me and Steve talked about.- there was a subtle warning in Y/n's voice. She thought 'Be nice' in her mind, and when Wanda sighed she knew she read her mind.

-Nice to meet you. If you'll excuse m- - Wanda was about to get up from the stool but the old woman's voice stopped her.

-You aren't eating that chicken cold are you? How old is it?- she walked closer, grabbing the plastic box from her hands. Both her and Wanda were a little taken aback by her bluntness, and shared a look.

-Uh..Yeah? I was actually going to put it in the salad. And it's..I'm not sure, a couple of days old? Still perfectly fresh and untouched.- she answered trying to reassure her, but she wasn't having it at all.

-This isn't eating healthy. If you want a healthy baby you need to eat properly. I'll take care of your meals from now on. - she stated, putting the box aside. - The non pregnant teammates can risk getting sick with that chicken. - Wanda's gaze darkened and her eyes took a light shade of red.

-What's that supposed to mean, old lady? - Y/n saw her fingers starting to move around with the corner of her eye and put her own hand on hers.

-Helen didn't mean anything, Wanda. She just meant that I have to be extra careful in comparison to the rest of you, ok? Don't you have to be somewhere right now?- she asked in the most calm way. The last hting she needed was Wanda yeeting Helen out of the tower on the first day. Wanda closed and picked up her book and mug, walking towards the exit of the kitchen.

-I mean, I'd like to go to the terrace to chill, but I can't.- Y/n frowned while sitting on a stool. Meanwhile Helen had already started to inspect their whole frige.

-I can feel Bucky and his girl going at it so yeah, I did not plan to watch a live performance.- she choked on water and the old lady turned around with a rather disgusted face. Wanda just shrugged and left them. The girl turned towards the older woman with an awkward smile.

-Welcome I guess.- the short fake laugh was over as soon as Helen sat in front of her, her hands conjoined in front of her.

-This isn't good.- the girl shifted uncomfortably, then uncosciously starting to rub her belly as a sign of comfort.

-What isn't?- the lady sighed. -First off, there are way too many people here. This place is chaotic, the people aren't giving you the peace that you need. This isn't a baby-space. At all. I just looked into your frigde and there isn't a single thing ready or 100% healthy probably except vegetables. Y/n if you want to be a good mother and be healthy for your baby you need to change a few things.- her words at first irritated her, setting off her protectiveness towards the people she called family, but then as she went on, she made her feel little. Like a little girl who wasn't good enough. She sighed silently.

-What would you have me do then?- she asked. Helen shrugged, still mantaining her perfect posture.

-I'm not gonna suggest you to buy a new place, because where you'll live after the baby is born is your business, but..- she paused, -I can offer you to come live at my place for these last two months or so. I have a nice, peaceful place a little outside New York. I already had eight of my patients do this, it's not so absurd.- she explained like it was the most normal thing in the world. Y/n was listening, but she wasn't convinced. She decided that she had to think about it first. She had to know for sure that she was professional and competent.

-I don't know, Helen. I'll admit that it isn't the most tranquil place to live, but...these people are my family. They have always been by my side, pregnant or not. And what about Steve? The father of my firstborn?- she marked the last phrase, tilting her head to the side. A little habit she probably took from Wanda.

-Because they care about you. But in truth, tell me, aren't you feeling like a burden? Like you get into their business?- she mirrored the young woman's expression. Y/n didn't answer at first.

-You're really not going soft on this are you?- Helen released a dry laugh. Shook her head and paused before talking.

-Yes. I began working as a nurse unofficially when I was 13 years old, during the Prague Spring reforms in '68. The hospital was in short of nurses so.- she explained, -That time wasn't easy. Not that the one before it and after it wasn't, that is. You either grow a thick skin or you don't survive.- Y/n felt for her, as she had a very similar destiny. First she doesn't know how she ended up in an orphanage, and then when she was fifteen and nobody took her, they kicked her out. She was homeless for a year until SHIELD recruited her, and the rest is history.

The older woman got up and took some vegetables, washed them and then placed them down to slice them. Y/n got up as well and started helping. She eyed the fresh eggs, so she guessed that Helen wanted to make a quick frittata.

-How did you end up in America? As midwife, nonetheless.- she asked.

-Why most foreign people come to America? Certainly not the food.- The woman responded with a slight hint of irony. The girl chuckled.

-Touché.-

-In any case, I've been here more than half of my live, moved many states mainly for my own choice. Being a private midwife pays decently.- she paused to dump the sliced vegetables into a pan with a little oil and salt.

-I became one because I was fascinated by the whole process that the woman's body goes through both before, during and after birth. I assisted two of my older sisters, and in the end ended up doing it as a job.- Y/n nodded, listening.

-That's actually amazing. But if I can ask, you do not have kids yourself?-

-No. Didn't have the possibility at first. Then decided that just it was my profession but not my future. No regrets.- she answered even tho the girl could sense that something was off. She decided not to intrude.

Silence fell between them while they were cooking, and the younger woman took the popularity to think about what she said. The woman was practical, a bit harsh maybe. But she also had a lot of experience. She didn't like the thought of leaving her family, but she had to admit that she often felt like a burden lately. More than once someone stayed behind to look after her, and even tho they didn't seem to mind at all, she did. She wasn't used to being so pampered and looked after, and sometimes she almost felt suffocated. Guess that spending many years of your life having to take care of yourself takes a toll on you.

She didn't want to decide anything without talking it out with Steve first. And it wouldn't be permanent, just for the last couple months or so, until she had the baby. If she really thought about it maybe she needed some time to reconnect with herself, to learn how to take care of her baby in the best way possible. Even the stupidest thing like cold chicken could potentially make her sick, and it was such a small thing. But that doesn't change the fact that she didn't knew. She wasn't one of those moms who surrounded herself with books teaching her every do's and don'ts, but at this point insecurity was kicking in. The last thing she would ever want was to be a bad mother even before actually becoming one.

-

Between a baby shop and another, and a whole new diet including an embarrassing amount of tea, Y/n finished her eight month of pregnancy. She was feeling as tired and as big as ever. Helen actually helped a lot both with the cooking, the health tips and with the shopping. She actually sobbed when they bought the crib. Both because she was emotional, a bit because hormones and also because Steve was again away on a mission. The whole team was actually. They had new leads in the Hungarian case and another completely different mission in South Korea, a tough one. So it required the whole team split up. That was the fist time Y/n was left alone since she knew she were pregnant. It all went smoothly, the tower actually felt quiet for once.

Y/n and Helen had found a nice dynamic, and most of the time spent time in a comfortable silence, each doing their thing. A downside that she wasn't realizing was the distance that was slowly creeping from her to the team. They didn't really like the midwife that much, Wanda, Thor and Bucky especially didn't like her at all. But Y/n felt for her, she felt like she knew her better than them so she often took her side, which hurt them back.

Steve on the other hand wasn't realizing it almost at all. All he cared about was his wife being healthy and that she got along with the midwife. They didn't sleep together often anymore, due to the fact that he was often away and she was constantly tired. Bruce did warn her at the beggining that this 'enhanced' baby would've probably tired her out, and it did at first but then she was feeling very well. She and Helen both blamed it on the tiredness of the pregnancy as a whole.

The last straw was when some of the guys, specifically Sam, Thor and Peter, whom didn't live at the tower and was rarely involved in missions because of Tony, went to see them and in some way, nobody actually know how, they made a whole ass hole in the floor above the library. Fate wanted that Y/n and Helen were reading just a few feet away. If they were just a bit closer to the door, they would've been hit by the pavement pieces.

Helen gasped and jumped out of her seat, book still in her hand by the corner. The younger woman on the other hand was more mad than anything.

She rose from the armchair, struggling a bit and marched towards the now destroyed door. The damage wasn't so bad, but it was still damage and it could've been way worse. She was fuming.

-Y/n! Shit are you okay? - Sam yelled from above. The three guys looking down from the hole they created.

-I'm so sorry it wasn't me! It was Thor! - Peter joined in and caused the God to respond, and from that a whole lot of mess arose.

The people who weren't on a mission, which were Wanda, Bucky and Tony, came running.

Y/n didn't know where to look and all of a sudden started felling a bit suffocated. She brought a hand to her forehead, distubed by the chaos arouns her.

-Stop! Fucking stop it! - she yelled, groaning from frustration. Everyone stopped talking while the girl started to feel her eyes prickle with tears of frustration.

-Why is never, ever a single day if peace in here? There's always someone around, making a mess, making noise, complaining- - she almost stumbled on a piece of ceiling that had fallen, but Bucky and Tony were right behind her and helped her stabilize herself, but she shoved them off.

-Leave me be!- she exclaimed frustrated. She huffed, trying to take a deep breath. -I'm moving out.- a chorus of 'What' arose. Bucky stepped forward and grabbed her wrist gently.

-What are you talking about?- his eyes showed confusion and panic.

-And when would have you decided this stupid thing?- Tony crossed his arms and went straight up 'Tony Stark' on her. Y/n rolled her eyes, ignoring both questions and walked out of the now damaged library. Helen followed suit.

-At least wait for Steve to return!- Wanda said. Thor jumped down, through the new hole in the ceiling and followed her like the others.

-Y/n, we're sorry! Look, I'm gonna fix the ceiling myself okay? Please don't go- Y/n's ached to see them upset, but she was tired. Too tired. She was afraid that if she had stayed more than she could withstand, their relationships could've been ruined. That was the last thing she wanted. She didn't knew exactly what was that overwhelmed her so much. She felt constantly tired and in pain, all the noise, number of people..it had become just too much. She needed to finish this pregnancy alone, or at least in a more quiet place.

She stopped in her tracks and exhaled silently. Her eyes passed through everyone in the room. Even in that moment, they were decimated because of the mission, yet there were still eight people in the room. When normally it would've been around 15. That's too many people.

-It's not your fault. It's not anyone's fault, specifically. I just.. I feel overwhelmed. There's too much going on here at the tower. And for me it's like seeing life go on without being able to do anything. I need some space, okay? It won't be forever. Hell, if everything goes well it's gonna be a month, at best. But I really, really need a break. I am going to pack and leave by afternoon, when Steve returns, just send him to the address that I'll leave for him. Okay? I love you guys, you're my family and I wouldn't be where I am today without you. Its just temporary.- she smiled softly, trying not to get emotional. Wanda was visibly upset, on the verge of crying. The others just looked sad, maybe disappointed. But nobody said anything, so she turned her heels and went straight to her room.

-

By five pm she and Helen were already gone. The older woman called them a cab, the driver took care of their stuff and then they were gone. Y/n was silent during most of the trip, both because of the extreme tiredness and sadness. She never changed home since she moved to the tower. She also thought about what she would tell Steve. She knew she couldn't contact him, so she didn't. They had left two days prior, so it was a bit early to know when he'll be coming home. But she knew a hundred percent that he would've gotten to her even before going home.

The two women were headed to the older one's house, which was in Avalon, New Jersey. Helen had told her about her beach house, quite far from the city. Y/n did actually fall asleep after the first hour or so, they had around three in total so she didn't worry about not waking up. By her surprise though, she did sleep throughout the whole trip, and yet, she was still tired. In those days her head gave her particular discomfort, so any noise at all really disturbed her.

Helen woke her up gently when they arrived, the she helped her get out of the car. Meanwhile the driver, which was a quite young man, probably around her age, which was 27, with curly black hair, stubble and dark green eyes, took their luggage off of the trunk.

-That's all. Have a nice stay.- he smiled slightly. Y/n frowned, what about the money?

-How much do we owe you?- she asked sweetly. He waved his hand dismissively, going back in the driver's seat.

-The lady already paid me, I'm ok. Bye.- he waved goodbye and drove off. Y/n and Helen dragged the luggage insider her villa, by which the girl definitely was taken aback.

-You didn't tell me that you live in a Villa?-

-Maybe, but I did tell you that being a private midwife pays well. I also need space if I want to take people living with me.- she explained. The first thing that you could see was the huge open space which showed a not exaggeratedly large living room with a window door on the right, on the left there was the kitchen and in the middle a staircase.

It wasn't very decorated, but the light palette of the whole place defines had a calming effect. Y/n was so used to the high rise and high technology of the Avengers tower that she had almost forgot how nice and intimate a normal house could be.

Helen showed y/n around a little, then ended up in the spare room, which had a large bed, a balcony and some essential forniture pieces such as a wardrobe, a vanity, a full length mirror, an armchair.

-This is really nice, Helen.- she smiled tiredly, caressing her big belly while she walked around. But as she was walking towards the balcony, she had a slight attack of vertigo, and her knees buckle for a second. The woman was at her side in a few seconds, helping her onto the bed. Y/n huffed, the back of her hand on her eyes.

-Why am I so shitty? I was pretty good until a few months ago.- she whined, and Helen shook her head while she stroked her arm.

-Every pregnancy is different, Y/n. You're just tired, from the car and that chaotic place.- the disdain in her voice didn't really pleased Y/n, but she didn't say anything. She didn't have the strength and besides, it's not like she was particularly liked at the tower anyway.

-I'll get you a tea, be right back.- Y/n chuckled.

-I drank more of your Hungarian tea than water in the last months.- Helen pulled a tight smile.

-Well, it is a traditional recipe for pregnant women. Not that you seem to mind it either.- the girl relaxed her eyes and discarded her sneakers to the ground.

-No, it has a peculiar taste but not bad.-

-Good.- and with that she left the girl alone. Helen went down the stairs, and turned on the stove to warm some water. She then opened a drawer, forcing the wood layer to come up by using her fingernails, pulling out an old fashioned phone.

She went to the contacts and dialed the only one there was. She waited a few minutes, when someone picked up.

-Igen?-

-Közeledünk. Készülj fel.- she said, hanging up.

************

Translation from Hungarian: ‘Yes?’ ‘We’re close. Get ready.’

Hiii, this is quite a short chapter but I wanted to end it with ✨ suspense ✨ the next one tho is gonna be way longer. Lastly, friendly reminder that my taglist and my ask inbox are open!

***********

Taglist : @polarcrystall @a--1--1--3  @jessyballet​

#run away series #run away #steve rogers x reader #steve x reader #steve rogers fanfiction #Steve Rogers #Bucky Barnes #Ladywinterwitch #thor #wanda maximoff #marvel #marvel fanfiction #marvel characters #mcu au #MCU #Marvel MCU #captain america #Winter Soldier #Black Widow #steve rogers smut #steve #captain america civil war #Avengers #avengers imagine #avengers x reader #marvel series #vision #tony stark #Avengers infinity war #avengers endgame

[starshavegoneastray]

Perfect Lovers

Angst // h.hj

Inspired by Félix González-Torres 'Untitled (Perfect Lovers)' 1991; an installation art.

CW // loss of a loved one

1,923 Words

IT has been a while since Hyunjin came out of his apartment. The door to his unit creaked louder than he anticipated, but couldn’t blame the lack of new oil it required in order to work. Green carpet under his soles felt a little different from the last time he mindlessly trudged and tumbled into his cold unit. Newly painted hall greeted him, and before he knew it, he was waving politely at the landlord as he stepped outside of the building.

His blonde hair, caught by the wind as cars passed by, had gone longer than the last time he locked himself, reaching just above his shoulders in a half up half down. For sure it hadn’t been long, but the new stores that opened up right next to the bakery he visited often made it seem like he’d missed at least three months.

That was enough time for Hyunjin to get cooped up inside his tiny living space, free from any pain he had to endure. It was just the right number of weeks for him to be by himself, to look for some sort of interest in order to get his mind off the unpleasant thoughts hunting him for the past weeks.

Painting was one of the things he did, recalling the amount of oil paints and canvases littering across his apartment floors. He’d given up on sketching because the only image running around his head was you. The outcome made him light a match and let it eat the paper into ashes. A similar occurrence happened the last time he painted, but instead of setting the building on fire he decided to dump a whole bucket of lightning blue over it, then left it as it is in his work room.

Part of him wanted to rekindle that passion again, to get his brush going across the canvas and start over. But he lost the spark to ignite his flames, and morning came to replace the light he lost. Leaving him to scout for some sort of exit during the darkening night. He’d doused himself in bottles and bottles of booze the other night, and woke up the next morning with a booked ticket to an exhibit downtown on his laptop.

Hyunjin took his time wandering amongst the crowd, feeling the warmth of the room as people gathered around a few installations placed along the way, and paintings hung up on walls. Some visitors came in batches of elementary students in their orange uniforms, there were groups of (possibly) art students admiring another philosophical work, then there were the interested couples. He came alone in his cream knit vest, black cross bag and a pamphlet in his hands.

There was a mini map of the exhibition inside the neatly folded paper between his fingers, and he began at the very first spot his eyes landed on which were the paintings. Hyunjin stared at a few fancy frames, before moving along to the next in hopes of catching a glimpse of interest within the colors, the shapes, perspectives, anything.

He looked at his pamphlet again then proceeded to the next part of the exhibit. Sculptures in many shapes and sizes stood on white pedestals, behind glass boxes, and even stood on their own to showcase its amazing heights. More people took pictures here, seeing this is a perfect spot for such activity. Hyunjin, after looking around at the people pulling their phones and posing for the camera, fished for his own from the pocket of his jeans and snapped a clay statue that he thought looked like a memorable piece. A smile crept up his full lips, chuckling as he slid his fingers across the screen at the picture he took.

Y/n would love this.

Hyunjin’s lips faltered slowly. Just when he thought he could put down the weights from his shoulder, he couldn’t. Not now. Not even after three whole months. Every time he gets a little happy, he thinks of you. And you were the reality he’s not ready for. With a push of a button, his screen turned void and he shoved his gadget back from where he took them before walking to the next part of the exhibit.

Nothing caught his eye. Not the paintings, not the statues, not the impressive wall art on one side of the building. For starters, he never really frequently visited an exhibit. He started going to some back in the day because of someone’s influence. Someone who would go out of their way to get two entry tickets and accompany him despite their responsibilities and schedule. The same person who would be the first to point out an artist’s work and the meanings behind the intricate strokes, dents, parts, and smudges. The very individual who taught him how to paint.

He kept glancing back and forth towards the pamphlet once he realized he’s stepping into the installations exhibit; the field of art he’s having trouble understanding. Nothing ever makes sense in his eyes, as his steps progress deeper into more stacks of cups, papers, possibly metals displayed on the floor. His eyes jumped from one installation to the other, and all he could process were the odd-looking mismatched objects glued to one another. But he knew for a fact it was because he did something wrong, not because the language doesn’t click.

Take your time, the three words lingered like an aftertaste of a bitter coffee in the shape of your voice. That was what he did as soon as his eyes landed on two clocks hung up on a wall side by side. Félix González-Torres was written on a card right next to the installation, under the title that named the art:

‘Untitled (Perfect Lovers)'.

Take your time, and it’ll all make sense.

Two of the same clocks ticking by the same exact time like what they are and what they’re intended to do; to tell the time. Their needles ticked by the number ten, then ran past eleven. Hyunjin chuckled after the hour hands slightly moved closer to the number seven simultaneously as the seconds morphed with the minute hand on twelve. Upon closer inspection, it was his first time seeing an hour hand move. Nothing fascinating, but now that he thought about it, he’s a quick-paced guy; he never stopped for once to take in the smallest things around him.

Different from how you were. He could almost see it, you would probably stop on your tracks as well, and stared at the two clocks which bore a deep meaning that only few could understand. Installation is a language that took some time to perceive, it’s a different concept of relaying opinions, messages, or a story. The language of art isn’t just from how visually pleasing it is, but also how the message behind it resonates with the people who interact with it. It’s not what you see in it, but it’s how you feel when you see it. Because it captures emotions and memories that exist without a visual form.

Hyunjin never got that idea through his head, especially when he encountered the particular abstract movements. But perhaps his perspective changed once he noticed the right clock began ticking a little slower than the left, gradually falling behind and out of sync; as many clocks do.

Eventually one of them would stop working as the exhibit went on.

For many reasons, you were the very first person he thought of. Fights were a repetitive occurrence but it never tore you apart from each other. And even when disagreements filled the gap, somehow you both found a way to come to terms with it. Your dynamics brought the best out of him, even he was surprised himself. And the both of you had the craziest idea of holding onto each other, until time did their worst and pulled you apart from his grasp on one spring.

Despite the green hues covering his steps, the grey morning he returned from your funeral was one of the hardest things he had to do. Walking back out was another hell he didn’t want to live in, so he locked himself in where he could succumb into an indefinite amount of sorrow and grief at the loss of the love of his life.

Perhaps the harsh reality pushed him at his worst, locking you up in his attic, only to have you drip down the ceiling and he could only see you, you, and you. Even in his dreams, all he saw was you.

The only argument he couldn’t come to terms with was the fact that you’re not here to hold onto him anymore.

But the title still remains ‘Perfect Lovers’. Even when the two hands fall from each other, going their separate ways, or stop dead on their tracks, they were the best for one another. His heartbreak was the evidence of your unconditional love. A mark that will forever be remembered as your beautiful life that collided with his at the imperfectly perfect timing. Despite the circumstances, despite the abrupt end to your chapter with him, you remain as his perfect lover.

**

It was a small flower shop that opened right next to the bakery Hyunjin stopped by. Warm scent of croissant filled up the air as he leaned back onto the white chair, scrolling back through his phone as another warm loaf met his full lips.

“Did you visit the exhibition?” A voice made him crane his neck to see the owner of the little bakery in his white apron pulling a chair to sit next to Hyunjin. He nodded as a reply, munching slowly at the warm bread while letting his friend see the pictures he took.

“You know, Minho,” Hyunjin began to speak, putting down the goods on the plate as he did so, “I thought my time would stop the second hers did.”

Minho listened intently, not too sure where he’s going with the conversation. “But I guess, even soulmates aren’t synchronized.”

Hyunjin looked around the afternoon sunlit streets. Orange hues kissing the autumn leaves that fall from their respective trees adorning the chalkboard sign he drew an hour ago for the bakery. Minho exhaled, taking Hyunjin’s phone gently and swiping a few pictures until he stopped at one with two store bought clocks that was supposed to be deemed an art.

“Is that another philosophy you learned for today?” The question made the blonde boy lean back on his chair, crossing both arms on his chest and said, like it’s a matter of fact, “It’s a new language I learned.”

A tiny small pulled the sides of Minho’s cheeks at his friend’s little banter, it has been a while since he’d last heard of Hyunjin’s sassy remarks. Pinching and zooming the photo, Minho asks again, “And what do you think about it?”

“I think…”

He thought of your eyes, the crinkly ones every time a smile adorn your face at the paintings he finished, or the paints he threw your way, coloring a few strains of your hair. And the way you cried in front of an art you resonated with the most, as if the world you see was filled with the same frequency of affection, despair, desire, sadness, or happiness that none could muster or perceive. Your heartfelt emotions that never fail to make him fall harder every day. And he knew definitely how you’d feel if you’d come along.

“…Y/n would have loved it as much as I do.”

#imagines #stray kids #stray kids fanfic #stray kids imagines #hwang hyunjin #stray kids hwang hyunjin

[lonelyreputation]

Trouble in Canada • TWO

A/N: Thanks for your patience & thanks for all your support 🥰 Only 3 months late with this 🥴 Can’t believe I’m posting TiC2 AGAIN wow I’ll forever love this series bc of you all 🤧🤧

THANKS A MILLION A MILLION FOR ALL YOUR KIND WORDS!! I love you all with all my heart 🥺🤧

TROUBLE IN CANADA PT. 1 | MASTERLIST | LET’S CHAT 🥂

Warnings: Arguing, angst, few swear words here and there

WC: 10.1K // Angst

“We need to talk.”

The cup of tea you held slipped through your hands and shattered.

Normally when a glass shattered in your apartment, Shawn would always rush forward.  He would always push you back, no walking around without shoes, he would say out of care as he kneeled down to pick up the minuscule shards of glass, don’t want you getting glass stuck in your foot.

But the two of you just stood there, looking at each other with different emotions swimming in your eyes, as the ceramic mug lay destroyed at your feet.

You had never seen your husband lack emotion in his eyes.  His eyes were always your favorite aspect of him, they were one of the first things about him that you fell in love with.  His eyes that normally held love, care, and compassion were now dark, empty, and held a hint of anger.

While his eyes held negativity, you felt the back of your eyes prick with tears, throat tight with sadness.  But you were looking at him with eyes wide of desperation––full of questioning and heartbreak–––because why on earth wasn’t he wearing his wedding ring.

You knelt to the ground, getting to work on picking up the broken mug, because you didn’t want him getting glass stuck in his foot.  It felt as if you were getting a glimpse into how this conversation with your husband was going to go; you trying to pick up the remnants of your heart that you could already feel breaking.

Once you got the small pieces together, you walked over to the trash can with Shawn’s eyes following you with every move.  You brushed the pieces in the bin and took the broom from the closet to dispose of the larger breaks.  You held eye contact with him as you walked back out into the entry area of your apartment.

His eyes trailed your every movement with skepticism, like he didn’t trust you.

You bit the inside of your cheek, trying to keep your emotions at bay, as the broken pieces of the mug made a clanking noise when you swept them together.  You looked up at Shawn through your eyelashes and saw his eyebrows pulled together as if he was thinking of what to say.  

Frankly, you didn’t think you were able to say anything.  He was the one who said that the two of you needed to talk, you had no idea what you wanted to talk about. You figured that you would be listening to more of his side of the conversation than talking.

When did he take off his wedding ring?

“That was the mug I got for you on our second Valentine’s Day together,” his words were only slightly louder than the broken pieces falling into the bin, his voice cracked, “And you––you’re throwing it away?”

You stopped dumping the glass pieces into the trash, and looked up at him with sad, questioning eyes, “It’s…broken?”

Placing the dustpan on the counter, you walked out from the kitchen and stood in front of Shawn, and for the first time since before you started dating all those years ago, you didn’t know what to say.

“Are you not even going to try and fix it?!”

The pain behind his voice sounded like he was talking about so much more than a broken mug.

Cautiously, you took a step forward, eyes glancing down at his bare hand, then stared into his fuming eyes, “Why…” You gulped, eyes returning down to where his wedding ring should be.

Why was he not wearing his wedding ring?

In theory, the question shouldn’t be a hard one to ask him.  He was your husband, there were no secrets between the two of you in the decade you’ve known each other.  There were no secrets between the two of you as you slept next to each other at night, his arm thrown around you to keep you safe; there were never any secrets.

But now? Now you didn’t know.  You didn’t know the words to string together in order to ask him why he took off the ring you slid on his finger the day you promised to love each other for eternity.  

The nausea built up in your stomach slowly, bile churning with each thought that passed through your mind.    

What made him not want to wake up with you every morning?

Nothing was settling right in your stomach.  Nothing about this was a case of, oh, sorry I forgot to return your calls I was too busy.  He had dodged your calls, purposefully avoided you––his wife––and now he was standing in the middle of your home not wearing his ring.

Your house didn’t feel like much of a home anymore.

For a moment you pushed your doubts aside.  You tried not to focus on the pain in your heart as you shifted your focus on something else you needed to discuss with Shawn; your cooking instructor.  

The thought of Ethan had been weighing down on your mind ever since your last lesson.  You lightly touched your wrist, remembering the way his hand tightly circled around your wrist that day.  The glower of possessiveness he held in his eyes when he looked at you caused you to shudder at the memory.  The feeling of embarrassment flooded your entire body as the phantom pain of hot oils dripping down your back as the whole class stood and watched.

You wished you had confided in Shawn about the uncomfortable actions Ethan demonstrated during each lesson.  

Pushing your crumbling heart to the back of your mind you took a deep breath, anxiety crawling up your throat, “I need to––um––I want to tell you something.”

Feeling nervous in front of your husband wasn’t uncommon. Everyday you had spent with him felt like the day of your first date; on your toes, giddy about what the rest of the day would bring––excited to spend the day with him.  It’s what made you fall in love with him at a rapid pace.  But while you were accustomed to the affect of your heart skipping a beat whenever you were around him, this was a different kind of nervousness.

This nervousness felt more like knowingly walking into a trap instead of a blissful evening with your husband.

With another deep breath, you looked down at your sock clad feet, not wanting to see his reaction, “There was um––Something happened when you were on tour–––”

“Can’t even look me in the fucking eyes when you say it?”

You whipped your head up, eyes wide, and for the first time you were frightened of your husband.  His tone was lethal, words sharp, as his jaw was set, “I would’ve thought you could at least do that when you tell me––”

You took a step backward, “Tell you what?”

For a second the animosity he held in his eyes fell and was replaced with desperation, “Don’t,” his voice cracked for the second time as he sniffled, “Don’t make me say it.”

While you felt your heartbreak at the hopelessness in his tone, he sounded exactly how you felt on the inside.

“Shawn,” you said his name carefully, afraid that if you said one wrong word he would explode like a time bomb, “I––I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He let out a scoff, “Okay, then,” he crossed his arms over his chest and sent you a glare so strong it felt like you were slammed into the wall behind you, “Go on.”

You knew this was something important you had to share with him.  He’s your husband, you thought to yourself, he’s here to protect you––to keep you safe––you should tell him.  But everything about him seemed off.  His stance was guarded, arms stiffly crossed over his chest, as he coldly stared at you.  

“Um, well,” you nervously twisted your sweaty hands together in front of you, “When you were on tour there was this…guy,” you shuddered at the thought of Ethan, ‘And he––There was a situation––”

“Just fucking say it,” He sounded tired, but his words were still powerful, “Fucking say it and then we can be done.”

His words felt like a dagger piercing your chest.  All of the oxygen left your lungs as you were left breathless, hand pressed against your chest to shield you in any way from his dismissive tone, “What?” You gasped out, “Be done with what?”

“You know.”

“I don’t––”

“You,” his hand reached into his over the shoulder travel bag and pulled out a magazine, “Know.” His voice was laced with venom as he threw the magazine at the floor in front of you, “You fucking know.”

Gently, you bent down and picked up the edgeworn magazine, and it automatically opened up to an article.  The pages looked crinkled as if someone had read these pages until they had the words memorized. The top right edge of the glossy paper looked like it had been folded over repeatedly. And you didn’t miss the tear stains that smudged some of the inked words.

You read the bold headline––Trouble In Canada–-over a few times before your eyes darted around the two page spread that contained an article and blurry pictures of you with Ethan; specifically on the last day of class where you were pressed up against him.  The angle of the picture made you look guilty of an act that you never thought of committing against your husband.  Your breath, along with your heart, stopped beating as you glanced up at Shawn before skimming the article.

He misses Y/n––Below, pictures of Y/n and a mystery man have appeared––Everyone around him knows how much he loves his wife––Noticable changed––It’s not going to end well.

It’s not going to end well.

You clenched the magazine in your hand, “Who’s the source?”

“That’s what you’re concerned about?!” Shawn let out a laugh, “Not that I had to find out through my mother texting me a link to an article about how my wife was having an affair?!”

Your eyes widened as the magazine dropped to the ground.  

An affair.  He thought you had an affair.

Your eyes darted back to Shawn’s hands.  He nervously rubbed his thumb along the underside of the finger where his wedding band used to take up space.  He thought you were having an affair with a person who made your skin crawl.

“Who––”

“Does it matter?!” He threw his hands up as he yelled before his voice quieted down, repeating the question under his breath, “Does it matter?”

You shook your head rapidly as you walked forward, wanting to reassure him that the article had it all wrong, “Shawn, that’s not––It’s a shitty tabloid, Ethan isn’t––”

“Don’t,” You stopped walking forward and started walking backward as Shawn angrily pointed a finger at you, words laced with malice, “Say his name.”

You felt your eyes begin to water, chest heaving up and down as your worst nightmare was slowly starting to become a reality, “He’s not––That isn’t––Those pictures are not what it looks like.”

“They seem pretty self-explanatory,” His voice fell in sadness, “I would wait hours to call you––”

“Shawn, listen––”

“Hours,” he cut you off, bottom lip quivering, “to hear about your day.  I would wait hours to hear your voice calm me down because touring is stressful and you were the only person who was capable of calming me down––”

“Were?”

“––Only to find out that you’ve been running around with someone else!”

“You stopped picking up my calls!” Your voice was pleading with him, “I stayed up for hours at night wondering what I did––”

“You were having an affair!” He matched the volume of your yells, “Why would I want to talk to you?!”

He wasn’t listening to you.  It seemed as if he was so caught up in the narrative he created in his head that he didn’t want to listen to you.  He thought it was better to believe the heartbreak of you running into another person’s arms while he was the one who was left in the dust.

“Were you that lonely,” Shawn narrowed his eyes, voice gravelly low, “That you went to someone else? Christ––We have the money that you could’ve used to come out and see me! Or have you had enough of me?”

“Do you even hear yourself––”

“Was being married to me too much?” He let out a sarcastic laugh, “After years together, you can’t even handle a single year of marriage. What ever happened to for better or for worse––”

“I didn’t have an affair!”

You stomped your foot on the ground as if you were a little girl throwing a tantrum.  Your voice was high, throat scratchy from trying to hold back your tears as Shawn threw countless accusations your way.  But when Shawn accused you of making a mockery of your wedding vows to him, that’s when he crossed the line.

The room was silent, your words ringing through the apartment just as loud as the ringing in your ears.  Shawn looked shocked, mouth slightly agape and eyes wide at your outburst.  Never once had you screamed about something so desperately.  But this was your marriage.  This was your marriage to the person you thought would love and trust you until the end of your life.  And you thought he would love and trust you until the end of his life.

“I didn’t,” your bottom lip trembled as you sucked in a breath, a few tears leaking from your eyes, “I would never,” you hastily wiped away the falling tears on your cheek with the heel of your palm, “Do you honestly think that little of me?”

Shawn opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out.  His cruel words still floated around in the air.  After all the love songs he wrote about you not once did you think he was capable of saying words as degrading as the ones he yelled at your face.

“That guy,” you closed your eyes and brought your hands up to your forehead, trying to subdue the raging pain in your forehead from all the yelling, “Was the cooking instructor Jessie and I had for our cooking lessons.”

“I don’t want to know––”

“He,” you cut Shawn off before he could find another way to belittle your feelings, “Wasn’t very…helpful as a teacher.” You bit the inside of your cheek, mirroring Shawn’s position and crossing your arms across your chest as you bounced your leg, “Sometimes he would––”

“God,” the pain in Shawn’s voice struck a chord with you, “Do you really think I want to know what you two did together?!”

You stood there frozen, not being able to wrap your head around the situation you found yourself in with Shawn, as the two of you looked into each other’s eyes with opposite emotions.  

Your eyes were wide as they overflowed with desperation, terrified that your marriage was about to come to an end; they poured over with hurt from the devastating allegations Shawn proposed.

Shawn’s eyes were narrowed at you as they seethed with aggression, on the edge of becoming unhinged at the thought of someone stealing the love of his life right under his nose; they overflowed with untrust.  

But both of your eyes were both filled to the brim with love, not understanding how the person they vowed to love and to treasure for the rest of their lives, could hurt the other so viciously and carelessly.

“He––I’m your wife, Shawn,” you choked on a sob, “I’m your wife and you’re not listening to me!”

“You haven’t said anything!” His eyes were red as he cried right back at you.

“How am I supposed to tell my husband that another man made me feel uncomfortable when he’s accusing me of sleeping with them?!”

Shawn looked like he had more hatred to spew planned out in his head, but once the truth to your story came out, he was at a loss for words.  His shoulders dropped as fast as his face and an audible noise escaped his throat.  

A new wave of tears threatened to spill over as he looked at you, “That’s––What did––What?”

You bit your bottom lip, nodding your head as your eyes refocused on the lack of his wedding band on his finger.  You toyed with the diamond of your engagement ring, “But apparently I had an affair.”

Since the first time he had come back, Shawn was silent.  He was as silent as the moment he walked through the door and said words that shattered your world; we need to talk.  

He was as silent as the day of your wedding, speechless as you walked down the aisle more than ready to spend the rest of your life with him; I love you, he had said through tears, I’ll love you with all my heart until my last breath.

And as you stood in front of him, at a loss of words for yourself, you still wanted him to love you even after accusing you of the most heinous act in a marriage.

Another pregnant pause; your teeth clattered together as you failed to hold back your cries while Shawn’s fists shook at his sides.

Wordlessly, you brushed past him and picked your phone off the counter rushing to the door.  You threw on your converse, only having time to tuck the laces under the tongue, not wanting to spend anymore time in Shawn’s presence.  It felt as if the walls of your marriage was collapsing -––Your lungs were collapsing as you felt sobs blocking your airway––And with each step you took further away from Shawn, you felt your world crumble a little bit more.

You plucked a random jacket from the coat rack and before you even registered Shawn trying to call out your name, you slammed the door shut.  You dug your hands deep in the pockets as the brisk Toronto air hit your face.

Your rings were burning a hole into your skin.

A twenty minute walk on the streets of Toronto would normally relax you, but normally your hand would be hooked around Shawn’s arm as the two of you laughed on your way to a restaurant.  The streets were tainted with memories of him as you rounded the corner of a familiar street.

“Y/n?”

You sniffled as you spoke into the callbox, “Hey–Jessie? Can––Could you buzz me–me–In?”

The sound of the door unlocking brought more comfort to you than your husband had in the past month.

Not being able to stand still in an elevator by yourself, you opted to walk up six flights of stairs.  You had spent countless days at Jessie’s apartment whenever Shawn was away on tour; from when you first started seeing each other, toward the end of his Illuminate Tour, you had spent countless nights sleeping over at her cozy Toronto apartment.  The two of you would stay up late with ice-cream as you scoured every update account to get a glimpse of the boy who would text you after every show saying how he wished you were with him.

You knocked once on the door before it swung open to show a confused Jessie in a bathrobe and facemask, she tilted her head, “Lover’s quarrel?”

You brought a hand up to cover your mouth, but no amount of muffling could cover up the sound of your uncontrollable cries of grief.  Jessie’s eyes widened as she ushered you into her apartment and quickly shut the door as you fell into her arms before she turned the lock of the deadbolt with a soft click.

You stood in the entryway of her apartment, staining your best friend’s shirt with tears, as you gripped onto the back of her shirt for dear life.  Because the lifeline you normally had in your husband was thrown overboard.

Forming a coherent sentence was impossible with the sobs that tore through your chest.  You tried your hardest to say that; no, this wasn’t just a lover’s quarrel, it was something bigger.  It was something bigger than Jessie realized until she was able to decode a sentence that you kept repeating out loud until it became as familiar to you as a prayer.

He doesn’t want to be married to me anymore.

///

A few days had passed since you hastily made an exit from your apartment.  You thought the sinking feeling would leave once you were away from your husband’s presence, but instead, your heart only ached more.

Shawn didn’t have much time left in Canada before he had to head back on the road, and it caused your chest to tighten up every time you thought of him leaving you again.

But why did it matter; you thought to yourself as you were wrapped up in a blanket, knees tucked up to your chest as you leaned on the far side on Jessie’s couch.  Your hands cradled the lukewarm tea, it being the only thing that gave you warmth, he doesn’t want to be married to me anymore.

You’ve only moved from your position on the couch to go walk to the bathroom, your socks gliding on the hardwood floor because you didn’t have the energy to pick up your feet.  

It was lunch time, and just like all other three meals throughout the day, Jessie brought over the meal she prepared you and softly placed it on the coffee table with a meek smile and somber eyes, “Tomato soup.”

You nodded your head and glanced at the soup in the yellow bowl.  You took another sip of your tea.

“Y/n,” Jessie breathed out your name, trying to get your attention, as she knelt down in front of you.  But you continued to stare past her shoulder, eyes focusing on the window as the pitter patter of rain softly hit the glass

She repeated your name once more, a comforting hand on your knee, but you slowly shook your head with a wobble of your chin.  The only time you had spoken to Jessie was when you first arrived at her place and fell into her arms as you sobbed about your ruined marriage.

You were silent, just like Shawn’s communication with you since you fled your home.  

He came home without wearing his wedding ring.

Your hands tighten around your mug, tea now cold, as you bit the inside of your cheek until you tasted something metallic.  You had no verbal answer for her, just a shake of your head as you held your breath, trying to rid yourself of the lump in your throat.

The all too familiar sting behind your eyes crept back like an old friend.  You shut your eyes tight as you gasped out for a breath.

“He’s going to divorce me, Jess.”

Her hand on your knee fell limp as you brought a hand up to cover the choked sob that escaped past your lips, “I love him so much and he’s gonna divorce––”

“He would never do that to you,” Jessie’s voice was confident, something you hadn’t felt about yourself, or your marriage, in months, “He wouldn’t even dream of that.”

You removed your hand from your mouth, a gut wrenching sob shattering through your chest as you tried to wipe away the tears that wouldn’t stop falling, “You didn’t see him––The––The things he said to me,” Jessie took the mug form your hands as you wrapped your arms around your bent legs, tucking your head into your knees, “I’m so scared.”

It was a whisper, but the despair in your voice was not lost on your best friend.  

“I––” Jessie didn’t know how she felt.  She knew she felt her own heart breaking for her best friend––for Shawn as well––because she had been there with them since the start of their relationship.  She was the one who introduced you two. But she also felt anger, a betrayal, deep within her bones that made her blood boil, “––I need to pick up groceries.”

Jessie didn’t want to leave her best friend, but she wanted to pay a visit to the man who broke his promise––to cherish you forever––to her best friend.

She reluctantly stood up, staring down at you with tears in her own eyes, as you kept your head buried between your knees and the blanket.  She knelt down to press a featherlight kiss to the top of your head, whispering, “get some rest.”

She didn’t know if you would listen to her, but she noticed the exhaustion behind the heartbreak in your eyes.  And with a slight nod, you agreed that you needed sleep, readjusted your position on the couch and tried to keep your eyes shut tight so as to not let any more tears stain the blanket.

Once Jessie was positive you were asleep, she slipped on her sneakers and left her place without a jacket.  She needed the cold Canadian air to cool down the heat she felt in her body for being so angry.

The twenty minutes it would normally take her to walk to your apartment took her only thirteen minutes.  Jessie breezed through the lobby, impatiently tapped her foot as she rode the elevator up, and harshly knocked on the door until it was opened by a wide eye Shawn.

“Y/n?” Shawn asked desperately before he even registered who was at the door.

Jessie rolled her eyes and pushed past him, “Do you think she would knock on her own door?”  She scoffed as she looked around the apartment; pillows thrown astray, dishes piled up in the sink, and ruffled blankets on the couch telling her that he hasn’t been sleeping in their bed, “What the hell is your problem?!”

Shawn didn’t register her question as he continued to stare out the door, looking up and down the hallway.  Jessie knew exactly who he was waiting for, and with a sigh, she softened her voice, “She’s not with me.”

His head whipped back to Jessie as if he forgot she was there, “She––Are you––Has she been staying with you?”

All the anger came flooding back into her system as she narrowed her eyes at his question, “You would know if you tried calling her.”

He slowly closed the door and leaned up against it with a defeated sigh, “I knew she didn’t want to hear from me––”

“Are you kidding?” Jessie clenched her fists at her sides in anger, “You were the only person she wanted to hear from.”  

Shawn closed his eyes and rubbed the corners of them, not knowing what to say in response.  Jessie knew she didn’t have to tell him how terrible he acted toward his wife, she could see it with every defeated slump of his shoulders, the way their usually neat apartment was a mess, and his bloodshot eyes.

“How is she?”

Jessie rolled her eyes again, ignoring his question because she knew that he already knew the answer to it, “You have some nerve coming home to her without your ring.”

Shawn’s melancholy composure dropped and she saw his eyes narrow in irritation, “How else was I supposed to react?”  He let out a bitter laugh, “A whole magazine spread came out showing my wife with another man––”

“That’s bullshit and you know it,” Jessie walked up to him and poked his chest hard, “What happened to you always telling her not to believe everything she read in the papers about you? Every time you were seen with a different girl, every rumor of ‘sparks flying’ after you sang a duet with a different girl––What about everything she had to put up with with you?””

“That’s different because she knew those weren’t true––”

“So what about this?!” Jessie blew up and threw her hands in the air, “This is no different.  This is the first time she’s been caught up in something like this.”

“She was jumpy the last time I spoke to her on the phone!” Shawn defended himself, “She sounded like she didn’t want me to come home and after I saw those pictures,” Shawn swallowed as he looked down at the floor.  He felt his stomach drop as if he remembered the moment his mother texted him a link to the article.

“Everything just made sense,” Shawn whispered as he shook his head.

There was silence between the two of them for a moment before Jessie spat out, “That’s a weak excuse,” and Shawn raised his head up, eyebrows pulled together, “Did you forget what’s written on the inside of your ring?”

Shawn looked down in shame and shook his head.  He knew exactly what was written on the inside of his ring––with your handwriting––and the same thing was written on the inside of your ring; with his handwriting.

With all my heart.

Out of habit, Shawn brought his fingers to touch his ring finger.  But unlike all the other times the tips of his fingers would softly brush against the ring finger on his left hand in remembrance to you, he didn’t feel the cool metal of his ring.  Just his bare finger.

“How could you?” Jessie’s voice was barely above a whisper.  Shawn wasn’t her husband, so she couldn’t even comprehend the amount of betrayal you felt, but with being his friend since he was thirteen, she was at a loss of words, “For as long as I’ve known you…I’ve never been more disappointed in you in my life.”

Shawn ran a hand through his hair, “Jess––“

Jessie shook her head, “She always let you explain yourself––Most times she didn’t even think twice if you were out with someone else––Because she trusted you.”  Shawn nodded solemnly, “But you didn’t give her the same respect.”

“I know.”

Without sparing his feelings, because Jessie didn’t think he deserved any sympathy, she said words that knew would cut Shawn to his core, “She thinks you’re going to divorce her.”

His mouth dropped, all expressions of guilt left his face, as he stared at his friend.  He didn’t even know what he was feeling.  All he knew was that he swore his heart stopped beating and that the ringing in his ears was becoming relentless.

“She––Why would––That never––“ his hands started shaking, as he felt his eyes well up with tears, because he never wanted to picture his life without you.  His voice cracked, “Divorce?”

With a sharp nod, Jessie crossed her arms over her chest, “Well, when your husband comes home without his wedding ring on, what other conclusion is she going to come to?”

Shawn shook his head, “That wasn’t my––“

“You took your ring off,” Jessie’s eyes looked at his ring finger, noticing a sliver of his finger a share lighter than the rest of his skin tone, “I’m not married, but I know you’re not supposed to do that if you love your spouse.”

“I do love her,” Shawn spoke angrily.

Jessie tapped her foot, “I’m not leaving until you put your ring back on.”  She watched as he dug his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants and pulled out a golden band.  She smiled as Shawn slipped it back into place, “You two need to talk,” she said as if it was the easiest thing in the world, “You need to listen to her because there’s more to those pictures.”

Shawn nodded his head, like he was a kid listening to his mom telling him to clean his room.  He knew they needed to talk, he knew that he messed up, but he was also terrified of what you were going to say to him.  He had never thought of divorcing you, but if the thought was swirling around in your mind…Would you want to divorce him?

“I have to run some errands,” Jessie smiled at the ring that was back in its place on his finger, “I’ll be gone for about an hour–––“

Before Jessie could finish her sentence, Shawn turned around on his heel, running to the front door to fling it open.  She heard his footsteps race down the hall and smiled to herself even more.  

Shawn was lucky that she knew where their spare key was hidden so she could lock up behind her.

///

You knew Jessie waited until she thought you were asleep to leave to pick up groceries.  So you tried your hardest to fake your rest, and when you heard the door softly close behind her, you opened your eyes and continued to stare out the window.  You didn’t have a lot of motivation, sometimes just thinking was too much energy, so you only tried to focus on the sounds of rain hitting the window and the low rumble of thunder you heard.

You don’t know how long you stayed like that for, but you started to get thirsty, and without Jessie here to refill your tea, you had no choice but to make yourself a cup.  Begrudgingly, you sat up, keeping the blanket wrapped around you like a cape, and made your way into the kitchen.  Filling the tea kettle up with water, you placed it on the stove.  Picking at the hangnails on your fingers, you lifted your head up when heard the door abruptly open.

Even if it had been Jessie returning with groceries, you still would have stayed mute upon her re-entry, and when your eyes landed on the person you least expected to see, you still stayed quiet.

He was out of breath, cheeks flushed red as his chest heaved, but you didn’t say a word to him.  You only listened to the low rumble of water boiling in the tea kettle.

He didn’t say anything either.  He was trying to communicate with his eyes; wide and hopeful that you would forgive him for being an idiot.  But you stared at him with a blank expression.

“Did you run here?”

Shawn nodded as he exhaled, “I––Jessie said you were here.”

You quirked an eyebrow, and pulled the blanket tighter around your body.  Not saying anything in response, you diverted your eyes down to the white kettle.

As you stood in the kitchen with your husband, you had never felt more uncomfortable in your life.  You never thought there would be a time you didn’t feel comfortable in his presence, just seeing him through FaceTime would be enough to make you smile; but as you stood in front of him for the first time since you saw him without his ring, you didn’t want to see him.

Your eyes were focused hard on the kettle, channeling all of your anger to the boiling water, “Thought the next time I would hear from you was going to be with Brian serving me divorce papers.”

It was a low blow, and you heard the sharp intake of breath from him, but you didn’t care.  He made you feel like hell for the past month of him ignoring you and then blowing up in your face, not giving yourself a chance to explain your situation to him.

“I would never––You know I would never do that.”

“Do I?” You bit your bottom lip, “I never thought you’d take off your ring.”

That cut Shawn off from saying whatever he planned because you had a point.  He never thought he would take off his ring, but he did.  He took it off, and at the time, he didn’t understand the consequences that would come with it when he returned to you.  He thought he knew everything by just looking at those pictures.  He thought the marriage was over before he stepped foot back into your home.

Hastily, Shawn lifted his left hand, the gold ring was dull under the kitchen lights, “I put–––“ he stopped talking when he saw you lightly touch the kettle with your left hand.  You only brought your hand out of the blanket for half a second, but that half a second was more than enough time for him to realize what the worst sight in the world was, “Your––You took off your rings.”

You retracted your hand back into the blanket and glared at him, “I wasn’t the first.”

“That’s not fair,” Shawn’s words were cold, “There was proof that you could’ve been––”

“Could’ve been what?” You reached up into the cabinet to grab a tea bag, “Cheating on you? Unfaithful? In a relationship with another man––”

“Stop!” He yelled as he pressed his palms against his head, eyes shut tight.  He’d been tortured with the thought of you being with someone else while he was away, he didn’t want to imagine it even more, “Jessie told me that it wasn’t fair to not let you––”

“Oh, so you listened to her and not me?” You shot back at him, forgetting about your tea. “Should I be worried about that?  Hm?  You and Jessie––”

“Now you’re just being over dramatic,” Shawn rolled his eyes.

You felt the anger bubble up in the pit of your stomach like the tea that started to lowly whistle, “No,” you raised your voice to match his, “being over dramatic was taking off your fucking ring––”

“I put it back on!” Shawn yelled as he held up his hand again, pointing to the ring on his finger, “I put it back on for you––”

“That’s rich,” you laughed out, “Because if you hadn’t dodged my calls you wouldn’t have taken it off in the first place.”

He clenched his jaw, “Well, if you didn’t sound like you didn’t want me to come home we wouldn’t be in this mess!”

“If I…” Your voice cracked as you thought back to all the times Ethan made advances on you, where he made you feel uncomfortable, and it was as if you were transported to your last lesson.

With a deep breath, all anger you felt towards your husband disappeared.  You were now more sad than anything else.  Sad that he wasn’t taking time to listen about how those pictures came about.

You repeated yourself with a sniffle, “If I…” you had to pause again, feeling your throat close up because if he wasn’t taking the time to listen for the second time around, would he ever listen to anything?  

“I didn’t know how to tell you about him––How––How uncomfortable he made me feel––”

The rigidness behind his voice cut you off, “I’m your husband, you can come to me with anything, and if he made you uncomfortable, why didn’t you just change instructors?”

“Why didn’t I––What?” The shakiness of your voice was covered up by the tea kettle that was now whistling out of control, “Change instructors––He––Do you even care what he did?”

“That’s not the––”

You brought your left hand up to cover your mouth, you had cried too many times in front of him and you were tired of him not listening to you, “Leave.”

Shawn shook his head, “Y/n, I’m not leaving––”

You felt your chin wobble as you shook your head, vision starting to cloud from the build up of tears in your eyes, “Go––I––I want you to leave.”

He took a step forward, reaching a hand out to comfort you, but the last thing you wanted was for him to comfort you.  

Noticing you recoiling from his touch, he reached over to turn the stove off and poured the hot water into the mug, “I don’t––I’m not home for much longer,” his voice was desperate as he set the kettle back down on the stove top, “I’m home for three more days––Don’t––Please come home.”

You shook your head, “I don’t––You––Leave.”

He stood firmly in place, “Not without you––”

“Go!” You shouted through your tears as you pointed at the door, “I can’t be around you-–you.”  Shawn continued to shake his head, his eyes filling up with tears as you pleaded with him to leave you alone.  

Your next words were cruel, you were taking advantage of how scared he was to lose you, but that didn’t matter to you.  All you wanted was to be alone.

“If you don’t leave now,” your voice had softened but the edge was still there as tears continued to run down your face, “I don’t know what that’ll mean for our marriage.”

He didn’t move an inch, challenging your words, but you kept eye contact with him.  You wanted him to know that you were serious––serious about how him not leaving would be detrimental to your marriage––But in all honesty, you were bluffing.  You didn’t want your marriage to end as much as he didn’t.  But right now…You couldn’t be in the same room as the man you married.

His eyes were wide, not believing the ultimatum you gave him, but he didn’t want to lose you forever.  He took a step toward you, but when you shut your eyes at his movement, his heart broke and he knew the best thing to do was give you what you wanted.  And that was space.  

Your eyes stayed shut as you heard his footsteps grow further away.  You finally opened your eyes when you heard the door close.  Even with how you continuously cried for days, your eyes were not out of tears.

 You felt a new wave of sobs take over your body as you sat on the kitchen floor crying your eyes out with your tea abandoned on the counter.

///

You didn’t go back home and Shawn left for tour again.  

He would be gone for two months until he got the chance to return home to Canada.  It might’ve been selfish of you to ignore his plea for you to return home to him, it would no doubt cause him more stress than usual on tour, but for your sanity you knew returning home would only cause another argument.

You stayed with Jessie for a week longer before coming to the conclusion that you needed to return home.  While your home wouldn’t be complete until Shawn returned, you needed to be back in that space.

Walking into the home for the first time in a few weeks was strange.  It was eerily quiet, but everything looked in place, if not more clean than what you were used to.  Jessie told you that she had seen dishes stacked up in the sink among other things thrown around, so you were glad Shawn had the decency to clean up before he left.

Standing in the doorway, you looked at the bay window you sat in when Shawn returned home that afternoon.  And like a movie, it was as if you could see the whole fight play out; Shawn throwing the tabloid at your feet and then screaming at one another.  The vile words he said to you still hurt to think about, so you looked away from the window that made you fall in love with the apartment.

You slowly walked further into the apartment and everything you saw held a memory.  In the kitchen you saw Shawn trying to distract you from cooking as he did a terrible dance.  In the living room, you saw the couch and thought about the countless times you’d fallen asleep on each other in the middle of a movie.  And in the corner, where there was a little bookshelf and chairs to relax in, you saw yourself reading a book as Shawn sat in the chair opposite of you, trying to perfect a song’s chorus.

Everything coming back in waves was too much, but only a few tears leaked from your eyes.  Most of the memories that came back to you were happy.  They were full of laughter and smiles––Just like how your marriage had been.  They always say how the first fight is the worst, but you didn’t think it could get any worse than this.

Finding yourself in your bedroom, you flicked the lights on, and immediately changed into sweatpants and one of Shawn's shirts.  Part of you wished you returned home before he left, but you knew you weren’t emotionally ready for that.  So you opted for one of his t-shirts to bring you his comfort as he was halfway across the world from you.

You peeled back the covers on his side of the bed, slowly getting under, and bringing the sheets up to your chin.  You buried your head into his pillow and that’s when you lost it.  What if by being selfish and not coming home you had wrecked your marriage? You were both angry, but Shawn took a lot of things to heart, and there was no doubt you knew he felt absolutely crushed that you didn’t return home.

As if he knew you were thinking of him, your phone rang, and you saw the ridiculous selfie he took on your phone when he was nineteen.  You wanted to swipe and answer the call.  You wanted to hear his voice.  But you were scared that he would actually confirm your worst fears and say that your marriage was over.

You screened the call, and right when you were about to put your phone down and cry into his pillow more, his contact picture lit up your screen again.

With a shaky breath, you tried your best to push all your fears down as you answered the call, “Sh––Shawn?”

“Y/n,” he breathed out your name with a sigh of relief, “I––I’m so glad you picked up.”

You nodded your head against the pillow and whimpered, “I––Yeah––I––Sh––Shawn––I––”

“Please don’t leave me,” he shakily breathed out the sentence in one breath, “I don’t know––I––” You could imagine him pinching the bridge of his nose, “I’m such an asshole and this––You––I love you and I can’t––” You heard an ugly sob from the other end of the phone as he whispered out the best he could, “Please––please don’t leave me.”

You felt all of your fears disappear as you let out a little cry of relief, “I love you too.”

“We––We can talk––You can talk,” he corrected himself and it caused you to laugh a little, “When I get home?”

You nodded your head and for the first time, in a long time, you smiled, “I’ll be waiting.”

///

Nearly two months later, you were making yourself a cup of tea as you awaited Shawn’s arrival.  Even though the two of you talked almost every night, conversation was still strained with how you last saw each other; you shouting at him to leave threatening that your marriage could be over if he didn’t.  It was a heavy note to leave off on, but the two of you brushed it under the rug as you would recount what you did during your day and he told you about the show he had performed.

You were nervous––more nervous than you were on your first date with him––but you tried to push those feelings away.  He was your husband.  You both loved each other endlessly.  And it did ease your anxiety a bit knowing that your marriage wasn’t going to end after this conversation.

The sound of a key unlocking your door caused your heart rate to spike as you threw away your tea bag.  He was home and it was time to really talk.

Much like the ill fated day he came home without his ring, he rolled in a small carry-on suitcase and had a black duffle bag slung over his shoulder.  The first thing your eyes went to was his left hand, and even though you had seen it in every picture of him performing on stage, it still brought a smile to your face seeing it on his hand.  While his left sock was raised higher than the right sock, and his t-shirt was still wrinkled, you noticed his hair was a little shorter.

“Did you get a haircut?”

Shawn dropped his duffle bag with a smile as he rolled his eyes and walked into the kitchen, “Do you like it?”  

You nodded your head with a smile as you passed him a freshly made cup of tea as your hands circled your own cup, “Your curls look more tame.”

Shawn laughed into his tea before he took a sip and placed the mug down.  He exhaled a deep breath, tapping his fingers on the sides of the mug like he was playing piano, and gave you a worrisome look, “Can I––Can I hug you?”

Your shoulders dropped at how uncertain he sounded.  But then again, it had been months since you last touched him.  The last time you touched him was before he left for tour the first time; before he took off his ring.

“Yeah,” you croaked out with a nod.

Within a matter of seconds, Shawn’s arms were wrapped tightly around you, hugging you like it was one of his last moments on Earth.  You circled your arms around his waist and your body was immediately flooded with the warmth of his chest.  It had been so long since you had any form of physical contact with him that you almost forgot what a simple hug felt like.

And it was something you never wanted to go months without again.

Shawn pressed a kiss to the top of your head, which made you feel giddy on the inside, before he slightly pulled away, “I––I won’t say a thing,” he whispered as he rubbed his hands up and down your back, “But I think we need to talk.”

The giddiness you felt dissipated and your insides now felt queasy.  You wanted to forget that the past few months had happened.  You tried your best to block it from your memory, but Shawn was right, you needed to talk in order to move forward in your marriage.

So you talked and Shawn didn’t utter a single word.  You explained how Jessie thought cooking lessons would be a good idea to distract you from missing Shawn, how the advances Ethan first made were a joke here and there, but then he started paying more attention to you.  He became hyperfixtated on the way you cut vegetables and how––If you change this and follow me, he would say before lightly touching you and directing your hand movements, you’ll have what you need––trying to add a double meaning to his words.

You could see Shawn’s jaw clench a few times as his knuckles would turn white from how tight he was holding the mug.  While you knew he didn’t like what he was hearing, you were appreciative that he was listening instead of arguing with you like the last time.

“And um––Yeah––So That’s––Yeah.”  You rambled off as you went to touch your wrist that Ethan harshly grabbed a few months ago.  And even though the grease burns on your back were healed, you still felt the itch of them as if they happened yesterday.

After a brief moment of silence, Shawn closed his eyes and let an aggravated breath out through his nostrils, “He…He touched you.”

You nodded your head as you took a sip of your tea, wanting to delay any sort of response for as long as you could, “Yeah,” But with his eyes staring into yours, you knew he wasn’t going to let you skip over any detail, “Those, um––That picture in the magazine…That’s when the grease spilled on my back.”

Shawn rubbed his hands over his eyes, he was no doubt exhausted from traveling, and it probably didn’t do him any good hearing this story, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

What was different than before the times you tried to talk to him about this, his voice wasn’t accusatory;  It was careful.  Careful in the sense that he didn’t want you to think he was upset with you.  Because the situation wasn’t your fault and he knew that.  

“You’re already so stressed with your job,” you looked down into your empty mug, “I didn’t want to add any stress.”

Shawn reached his hand across the counter and unwrapped one of your hands from your mug.  He laced your fingers together and held your hand tightly, “I’m your husband,” he weakly smiled at you, “The music, touring, writing––None of that is a real job––My my job to worry about you.”

While he sounded a bit defeated, you knew that he meant well.  You knew that he was only upset with himself because you were scared to go to him with something that made you uncomfortable.  He always wanted to be your person to go to whenever you felt yourself in a weird situation, and in this instance, he thought that he failed at that part of being your husband.

So you squeezed his hand back in reassurance, “I know you’re not going to forget about this,” he raised an eyebrow at you because you knew he was never going to forget this disastrous fight or forget about what Ethan did to you, “But for now, can we forget about it and take a nap?”

With a shake of his head, he let out a chuckle, “You’re right that I’m not going to forget about this,” he said as he lifted your connected hands over your mug as he pulled you out of the kitchen and down to your bedroom, “But a nap sounds fantastic.”

And for the first time in months, you walked to your bedroom with a lovesick smile on your face, trailing behind the man you fell in love with more every day you shared together.

///

FOUR MONTHS LATER

“You’re really not going to tell me where we’re going?” You laughed as you tightened your hold around Shawn’s arm, “This isn’t fair!”

“It’s a surprise,” he smirked as he continued to lead the way down the streets of Toronto.  

It was a peaceful day in the capital city of Ontario.  The sun was shining, birds chirping, and you were arm-in-arm with your husband.  He had just finished the last leg of his world tour and you couldn’t be more proud of everything he accomplished.  Luckily enough, you were able to join him on tour for the last two months, and spent your first wedding anniversary in Napa, California the day before his show in Sacramento.

It was definitely an ideal way to spend your first year married to Shawn––drinking wine––And everyone congratulated you on getting through what was dubbed to be the “hardest” year of marriage.  That was the understatement of the century. And both you and Shawn would always brush off everyone joking about it because they didn’t know how hard of a year it really was.  

The whole debacle with the tabloid magazine was mostly swept under the rug, and you just told your families and the people on Shawn’s team he was closest to, that it was just a misunderstanding; A tabloid that took things way out of proportion. The only people who really knew how devastating the year had been was you, Shawn, and Jessie.

Sometimes there would be a thought in the back of your head about how detrimental another fight like that could be to your marriage.  But you always tried to shut those thoughts down as soon as possible and just focus on the good things in your life.  And right now, that was Shawn leading you to a surprise location, because he thought the two of you needed another anniversary celebration.  

“I––I’ll…” Your voice trailed off as you walked down the familiar strip of shops, “After you’ve fallen asleep, I’ll take your socks off.”

Shawn threw his head back in laughter at your poor attempt to get him to spill the surprise, “Impossible because you always fall asleep before me.”

“Fair,” you let out a sigh, “I still think it’s weird you sleep with socks on.”

“I thought we agreed to disagree on that.”

“It’s just,” you squeezed his bicep, at a loss of words, “infuriating.”

Shawn smiled brightly down at you before quickly pressing a kiss to your cheek, “But you still married me.”

With a roll of your eyes you softly hit him in the stomach, “Yeah, yeah…” But when you turned a corner, you knew why these shops were so familiar, and you almost stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, “What are we––Shawn?”

He looked back at you with a sheepish smile and a shrug of his shoulders.

“Shawn,” you hesitantly said his name again, “What're you planning?”

Again, he shrugged his shoulders, “You know how terrible I am in the kitchen,” he glanced back at the place where you took your cooking lessons when he was away on tour.  And for a moment, the playfulness dropped from his face as he seriously looked into your eyes, “If you’re not comfortable going back in there, we can always get coffee across the street.”

You mentally made a pros and cons list in your mind.  You hadn’t been in the place you received your cooking lessons since you stormed out of there.  And as far as you knew, Ethan still worked there, which made your skin crawl.  But you were with Shawn.  Shawn would be by your side the whole time.  And you were curious to see what he had up his sleeve.

“I mean…I’m fine with it,” your voice wavered.  He raised his eyebrows, silently asking you if you were actually fine to go back in there, because he didn’t want to push you with something you weren’t 100-percent on.  So you cleared your throat and repeated yourself, “I’m fine going in, but…I think he’s supposed to be teaching today?”

A wicked smile spread across Shawn’s face, “Three o’clock couple’s cooking class with Ethan Anguis.”

Your mouth dropped and you couldn’t help but let out a loud laugh, “You did not.”

Shawn smirked, “I do believe we have to check-in in ten minutes before we lose my deposit.”

You shook your head because you could not believe how ridiculous your husband was, “Lead the way.”

With a gleam of mischief in his eyes, he smiled as he bent over with his arm stretched out as he opened the door for you.  You let out another laugh as he followed you into the familiar classroom.  You were standing behind a few other couple’s but once you heard his voice, your hand instinctively gripped onto Shawn’s tighter.

He looked down at you, again, silently asking you if you were comfortable with this.  You nodded, and before you knew it, you were face-to-face with the man who had caused your marriage to be hell for a few months.  

Ethan was looking down at the check-in book, not realizing you were in front of him, before Shawn cleared his throat, “Mr. and Mrs. Mendes.”

His head shot up as he ignored Shawn’s presence entirely and only had eyes for you.  You shifted closer into Shawn’s side as Ethan sent a smile your way, “Y/n, it’s nice to see you––”

“Do you always refer to your student’s by their first name?” Shawn didn’t hide the malice in his voice, he wanted Ethan to know that you were just a student. 

Ethan’s eyes darted to Shawn for a brief second, before his eyes flickered down to your hands clasped together, and you swore you saw him glaring at your hands before he tried to compose himself before answering Shawn’s question, “She––I’ve had her in class before.”

“Then you should be used to calling her Mrs. Mendes.”

Ethan’s eyes hardened at the protectiveness of Shawn’s words as he nodded his head once, “We’ll be at table six––”

Shawn stepped forward until his lower stomach was basically toppling over the weak wooden podium, “If you do anything to make her feel uncomfortable again,” his low and threatening voice sent a shiver down your spine as he insinuated what he had done in the past, “I swear you’ll never work in a restaurant in Toronto again.”

You noticed how Ethan’s jaw clenched as his face began to turn red.  You didn’t know if it was red out of embarrassment or anger, but you didn’t want to stick around to find out.

“We’ll be at table six,” you said as you dragged Shawn by the hand.

You made it to your table and you couldn’t help but smile up at Shawn who had a proud smirk on his face, “What are you doing?”

The two of you sat down on the barstools as you waited for everyone else to get checked in.  Shawn moved his stool closer to yours so that you could sit side-by-side, thighs touching, as he threw an arm over your shoulder and pressed a soft kiss to the corner of your lips, “Just tryna cause a little trouble.”

You rolled your eyes as you rested your head on his shoulder, “I love you.”

Shawn smiled brightly down, “And I love you,” his attention was briefly pulled away when Ethan called out that the lesson would be beginning shortly.  When he returned his gaze back down to you, he smiled softly, noticing that your eyes had never left him, “With all my heart.”

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[missinghan]

to my youth ⤖ lee felix

❖ genre : summer au; high school au; fluff

❖ word count : 11,6k.

❖ warning : explicit language, slow burn

❖ summary : it is official that life hates you because not only was your first few days of summer ruined by a stupid field trip, but things also got somewhat freaky… whatever kind of ‘freaky’ you’re thinking about.

❖ note : i know i said i’m ‘experimenting’ with new stuff but guess who’s back with another mediocre, not-that-well-written mess of a domestic au; please (kindly) yell at me to dabble into a new genre after bearing through this fic- happy reading!

one.

The echoes of your summer days remain as flowers immune to the winter chill, they say.

You’re not entirely sure who even fathomed their time and effort to come up with that statement but from your point of view, those flowers would most likely have either died out from the summer heat or withered horrendously because of the arbitrary showers of rain. Or you’re the only one who doesn’t have the luxury to see life through a rose-colored lens.

Because the first thing that comes to mind for you is the bucket of ice-cream and a YouTube OG that you’ve ceased to finish since finals started two weeks ago. The bell rings, pens down, everyone pours out of the classroom after handing in their exam papers. No one really bothers to check up on each other’s answers anymore; the last subject for today was AP Psych and you don’t know about them but you honestly can’t care any less thereafter cramming the entirety of five chapters. 

Sprinting down the staircase, you easily spot Felix amongst the midst of drowsy high school students for the bright color of his hair. He truly believes that if he slaps enough hair essence and coconut oil on his head four times a week, his hair won’t feel like straws when he changes it every other three weeks. But it’s only a matter of time before balding catches up to him, he’ll learn eventually.

“Please don’t tell me that you left your keys in class,” you sigh upon the sight of him fumbling with his folders and textbooks while trying to open his locker in vain. Just thinking about walking all the way back to the third floor makes you want to use your backpack as a pillow and take a nice nap in the middle of the hallway.

“Gee, Y/N,” Felix makes a face to not show the sense of relief washing over him when he locks eyes with you. “Who do you take me as? A clumsy person?”

“No, just a dumbass.” You coldly snatch a slipping book from his arms before turning to twist the disc in the combination of your birthday until the lock clicks, shaking the shackle off to swing his locker open. It’s a silent tradition that you both set each other’s birthday as your locker’s combination since elementary school; it started out as a stupid joke at first but neither of you really bothered to change it. 

“Why the hell would you put your keys in the locker?” you widen your eyes in disbelief as he grabs the bright yellow Spongebob plushie to collect his keys with a shit-eating grin

“My alarm didn’t go off today, so I was running a little late,” he defends himself while dumping everything out of his backpack, hugging an empty water bottle to his side. 

You throw a wave at a very tired Hyunjin walking side by side with Seungmin on his right and Jisung skipping happily towards your direction. Seungmin looks exceptionally moody today, you pray he didn’t mess up an easy question to take it out on all of you later in the car. “Bet you were staying up late to play Overwatch with Chan.” 

Felix manages to grin stiffly at your comment, turning on his heels and trudges onto the school’s parking lot. “Fine, walk home.” 

“Hey, you forgot to lock this!” you pull his steps into a halt by making a grab for his hand, utterly oblivious at how his cheeks flare up with a bright shade of red at your touch. Or out of embarrassment. Whatever, same thing. 

Felix might be a better driver than you, but he’d be fired ten seconds into the job of a babysitter.

With that being said, when Jeongin decides it’s a good idea to cheer a passive-aggressive, post-exams Seungmin up with a carton of strawberry milk and then proceeds to get lost in his own school, the very same school he’s been attending for who knows how long, you’re the one who manually pulls his ass back into Mrs. Lee’s Jeep within ten minutes. 

And Seungmin has already fallen asleep by the time Jeongin’s back, so now he’s the passive-aggressive one while sipping on the milk bitterly. Either way, this is why you headcount although there are only six of you after Changbin starts getting busy with his college applications. 

“What took you so long?” Jisung looks up from his phone the moment you climb into the passenger’s seat, clicking in your seatbelt (drive safe, kids). 

You immediately feel the need to snap a photo of Jeongin accidentally breaking the cafeteria’s door with the staff running towards him in a panic. They’re more scared for his life than the door itself and that’s… sweet to say the least but with the way that the embarrassed boy is glaring at you through the rear-view mirror, you decide to keep your lips sealed. 

“It’s getting dark so all hallways start to look the same, you genius.”

Jisung momentarily sticks his tongue out at you. “God, you’re so rude to me. You’d never talk to Felix like that.”

“Because,” you drawl. “Lix is a pure-hearted angel descended from the realms of Heaven. Whereas, even Lucifer would see you as an eyesore in hell.”

“See! You’re doing it again!” Jisung points a finger at you in accusation, jumping up and down in his seat but no one really cares. It’s not like you’re speaking any false facts. “Stop bullying me!”

Seungmin shifts his body a little, nose scrunched up at the noises that wake him right up. “Jisung,” he warns his friend without opening his eyes. “Sit the fuck down, you have five seconds.”

Felix smirks when Jisung immediately cowers, slumping and leaning himself against Hyunjin in utter defeat. He learned not to mess with Seungmin after throwing a wallet at him on impulse. “Jealous much, Han?” 

“Nah, she’s all yours bro,” Jisung waves it off tiredly; bickering and making fun of Felix’s gigantic crush on you is too much for his brain to process today. He can really use a long, solid twelve-hour summer hibernation after getting home. 

The statement prompts Felix to look over at you when there’s a red light—the same exact moment as you stop staring at the bakery from across the road to lock eyes with him. There’s a little spark igniting at the pit of his stomach, stirring up butterflies inside his rib cage. But he snaps out of it after seeing you raise a brow at him, implying a silent ‘what?’ before turning away again. Felix has always been the type to stare so you don’t bother to think about it too much. 

The problem is: he only stares at you that way. 

A shade of coral creeps its way up to his cheeks, his gaze averting back on the roads when the light turns green. As Felix tries to calm the erratic tempo of his heartbeat, he also thinks about how much time he’d have left to confess before high school is over and everyone takes their own different paths. Then again, the future is far too blurry for him to make out anything and the thought of changes petrifies him a bit too much. 

Felix wishes to hold your hand until the very end but he’s a little scared...because what if you never wanted to be with him in the first place?

two.

Your brother has one talent, and that’s his ability to irritate the living daylight out of you even when he’s practically on the other side of the planet.

Minho (un)fortunately finished his finals with flying colors, and inevitably, you’re the first victim to receive a series of texts that consisted of nothing but self-indulgent, excessive bragging. Basically, he’s allowed to do whatever slash go wherever for a good three weeks before his summer internship begins, dragging his dumb ass back to hell—where he rightfully belongs. 

He’s probably chomping on a terribly unhealthy amount of pizza, pretzels, and any type of New York street food that you can name from the top of your head. It’s not like he’s paying for them anyway since Chan doesn’t allow people to touch their wallets if they happen to eat out with him. 

Your phone vibrates obnoxiously on your desk, the judder slightly muffled because it’s lying on top of your wide-open psych textbook. You haven’t bothered with cleaning up yet; finals only ended yesterday and you decide that you won’t touch anything until the disarray starts to scrape against your nerves. 

Side note: you’ve specifically told everyone not to call you three consecutive days after finals because yes, you’re that much of a loner, and yes, your stamina level for tolerating human interaction is awfully low. 

Second side note: no one ever listens. 

“Good morning, this is Lee Minho’s personal bullshit pail,” you mumble after your thumb swipes against the screen to pick up, your limbs curled up on the floor. “How can I possibly help you today?” Your morning voice isn’t necessarily threatening but rather scary; according to what Minho claimed, it sounds identical to that creepy girl from The Grudge so he groans aloud, his voice suddenly going out of focus on the other line from pulling his phone away.

“Jesus Christ are you still in your hermit phase after finals?” he questions callously, sounding not at all pleased with the way you greeted him. “Where’s mom and dad? Usually, they would have slammed your ass by now for staying inside like a vampire.”

“Don’t be insufferable, it’s only like…” you trail off while bending forward to take a good look at the little Sumiko Gurashi alarm on your bookshelf that Felix gave you during middle school. “Nine thirty-something and they’re at the park to exercise, duh- why do you care?”

Your brother almost sings on the phone, “Because you’re my little baby sister-” And this prompts you to pull the device away for the sake of your poor ear. It doesn’t help when you’re already surrounded by a group full of obnoxiously loud individuals on a daily basis. Not trying to call anyone out but Han Jisung is at the top of the list, his name in bold, capital letters being circled and underlined multiple times with a red marker.

“Who do I gotta kill to sleep in on a dreadful Sunday morning as any normal, cranky, antisocial high school student would?” you deadpan and rub the bridge of your nose dreadfully. 

“I don’t know, go murder Jisung or something.” Honestly, that’s tempting… but no.

You can physically see the smug smile on his face right now, simpering in delight at your imminent misery. He knows goddamn well about your relationship with sleeping schedules and that’s the perfect excuse for him to ruin those little specks of time when your brain cells are getting an actual break. 

These are also the times when you wish phones don’t fucking exist. 

“By the way, are you gonna go on the field trip tomorrow?” 

This question wakes you up almost completely because your eyes are now wide as a fish’s out of water, your hand automatically putting him on speaker before digging through the folders inside your backpack. What field trip? No one said anything about a field trip. And who thought it’s a good idea to force some worn-out, post-exams, sleep-deprived students into a field trip right after finals?

Minho hums coyly when the only response he’s getting is the rustling sound from your backpack, “Hmm, see what I meant there, little sis? Oh, the downside of living under a rock at its finest.” He doesn’t have to be here for you to fully picture the way that his lips curl up, dark brows wiggling whenever he’s right about something. Your brother wins most of the time against other people but overtaking you is an entirely different story.

“Oh screw off and go buy yourself a sense of humor.”

“Don’t be so mopey, isn’t Felix gonna be there?”

“What does Felix have to do with this?” you grit after managing to pull out a piece of paper from the very back, buried under countless of your essays. And it reads ‘field trip’ in caps at the top with tomorrow’s date right beneath. The trip lasts for three days, you’re going camping with the grizzly bears for three days—a total nightmare, basically. 

“Pfft, you’re actually dense for someone with a sparkly report card,” he sneers. “That kid has been crushing on you since elementary school. Are the signals that fucked up?”

“You mean when I accidentally spilled orange juice over his head? Sure, bet that’s why he’s so head over heels for me,” you snicker, unfazed by these kinds of statements. Minho only knows Felix because he was the president of your school's dance club and you fully believe that your brother is simply trying to mess with your malfunctioning, cranky mindset. 

“I fucking beg to differ, he always stares at you like you’re the love of his life, even when you stupidly poked yourself with a needle,” Minho announces as if he’s a love expert, tsk, amateur. “He might just confess during the trip, who knows? Campfire flickering. Sharing the same s’mores. Surrounded by nature. That sounds romantically ideal to me for a confession.”

He’s visioning everything like a terrible cliché film where two high schoolers stubbornly deny their feelings for each other until they start noticing how cute the other person is while magically being forced to be alone together. The worst kind of high school movie—which is also almost every high school movie. And you best believe that you’d a hundred percent kick your brother’s ass off that director’s chair because people live and breathe for this kind of overused entertainment. Tragic. 

“Alright, fuck this, I’m out-“

“Wait!” Minho exclaims out of nowhere, almost blowing up your eardrums. “Are you trying to get rid of me?”

You swear you’re rolling your eyes so hard, they’re about to fall out of their respective sockets. “Well, obviously,” you put the piece of paper down with a sigh, contemplating ways to minimize the amount of socializing in the upcoming three days. “Haven’t you bothered me enough? No?”

“You can’t leave me like this,” he whines in an annoyingly high-pitched voice that sends chills down your spine. 

“You need me, we’re connected.” 

He sounds like a whack version of Minnie Mouse for a second there, the kind of plushie that looks cute but with disturbingly creepy voice audio; no parents would let their children go near that aisle. 

You yawn as if there’s no tomorrow, stretching your limbs tiredly. “What I need is for you to shut the fuck up and leave me alone so I can go on my merry way to pick up snacks for this stupid field trip,” you utter lifelessly. 

“You hurt my feelings,” Minho pretends to clutch onto his chest and lets out a dramatic gasp, his voice doused in pure sarcasm. “What a heartbreaker, Y/N.” Said the one who always keeps his apathetic front up like a fortress’ wall and tosses every single love letter on Valentine’s Day into the recycling bin, handing the chocolate out to his classmates like he’s giving leftover vegetables to his least favorite relatives.

“Oh, I can tell,” you reply with fake enthusiasm and mock empathy. “You know how I can tell?”

“Do not finish th-”

“Cause we’re connected.” With that you hang up, slamming your phone harshly onto the surface of your textbook. 

three. 

You might love your room a little too much, it’s getting somewhat unhealthy.

It was furnished with a rather meager budget after your family moved out of your hometown when you stepped into elementary school. Things stay the same, well, most of it as time passes by you unknowingly. Your sad bookcase used to exist for one sole purpose—carrying countless books and plushies has now been upgraded with too many polaroids of your dumb group of friends, a neatly framed photo of Class of 2020 and two trophies that don’t even belong to you since Minho ran out of space as he kept participating in random dance competitions. 

The morning beams find their way through your white curtains and stain your walls with patches of yellow, eventually bugging your vision until you successfully convince yourself to either 1) wake up and get ready for school or 2) lazily stride across your room to shut the blinds completely so you can head back to bed. It’s summer… so option one is temporarily non-existent for a solid three months. 

Hey, you’re just simply making up for those all-nighters with a new cup of coffee every two hours.

Speaking of your bed, it’s soft but takes up so much space to the point that Hyunjin keeps complaining about not having enough room for his legs when he’s sprawled across the floor with Jisung, vigorously focusing on a presentation’s outline. Seungmin calls you lame for not throwing away your childhood plushies and letting them hog at least one-third of your bed, but Felix doesn’t mind since he always needs something to hug. All the more reasons why you can only trust Felix.

You might miss having those idiots being loud and invading your personal space...maybe.

Your phone rings for the second time that morning when you’re walking downstairs, shoving your keys into your pocket and grabbing a protein bar on the counter. “I’m not in the mood for your bullshit right now, Minho,” you bark into the device, chewing on your breakfast aggressively, not bothering to look at the caller’s ID.

The closest convenience store is only twenty minutes away from your house but there’s a sticky note on the fridge from your mom, reminding you that she needs eggs to bake cupcakes for her company’s twentieth anniversary while your dad is running low on his Red Bulls. Basically, you’re in distress. It’s not like your dad should be inhaling those sugary drinks on a daily basis and your mom can just buy premade goods from the bakery. But there are more options for snacks at the supermarket…

“Y/N, the fuck?” The response of a voice as deep as the Pacific ocean almost makes you choke on air. “Did I wake you up or something?” Felix sounds flabbergasted on the other line, slightly taken aback. You almost feel bad because he’s the only sweetheart in your chaotic squad (besides Chan, obvi) except when he stays up late gaming with Hyunjin, pleading for your notes the next morning with puppy eyes.

“No, Minho did,” you grumble before tossing the wrapping into a bin.

“You don’t say,” Felix replies flatly, but his voice soon grows merry again after pushing the topic of your brother aside. “Oh, and I’m coming over to return your earphones, wanna grab breakfast?”

He practically lives ten minutes away from you, sees you almost every day even if it’s the weekend since he can’t stay in the same house with his sisters for too long and puts you on FaceTime every night to prevent himself from slacking off on assignments. The only time he didn’t get to see you for a week straight was when he visited Australia and accidentally dropped his phone into the ocean. It was a rough week without you nagging him for doing something stupid. Fundamentally, he’s merely making up more excuses to spend time with you after finals.

Chuckling, “Only if you’re treating me, I’m about to go broke from buying snacks for our field trip tomorrow.” you say breezily. 

And you’re only telling him that because he might just pay for your snacks as well since Felix Lee eats freshly grilled steak and mashed potato for breakfast. Baffling, absolutely. Plus, he works at a boba shop every summer either way and he would never hesitate to spend the entirety of his paycheck on any of his close friends. Irrelevant but the point is: you kinda don’t wanna go out alone today.

Or you’re just in the mood to go with Felix. That’s a useless statement since you both see each other at least ten out of twenty-four hours per day. 

“By the way, you know what I just realized?” Felix smacks his palm on his forehead. “This is our last field trip, like ever.”

Walking over to the rack of shoes down the hallway, you let out a large exhale. “That’s unfortunate on your behalf. I, on the other hand, don’t have a problem with that,” you tell him with zero consideration, your brain cells too busy picking out a pair of shoes to process the five basic steps to empathize with another human being. 

“No,” he emphasizes helplessly. “I meant, it’s like our last high school field trip. We’re graduating next year, no time to sleep with the grizzly bears again.”

You can only manage to utter, “Oh.” Shit, college is right around the corners. 

“Jesus fucking Christ what the hell am I supposed to do after high school? Stay here? Go abroad? Wait, aren’t applications for going abroad supposed to be turned in a year beforehand? Why are you only telling me this now!?” 

Felix laughs wholeheartedly through the phone, amused at your sudden outburst. “Y/N, calm down. You’re going to college, not prison,” he brushes it off casually but in a way, college is technically prison. Slaving over a degree while working part-time jobs, chasing time relentlessly like you’re driving in the middle of a foggy night with one headlight out. And you’re forced to open up with more strangers. It’s terrifying, actually terrifying. And you’re not the type to be easily terrified. 

Now come to think about it, you don’t get why you were so pressed about it five seconds ago. It’s a good opportunity not to leech off your parents as much, like dabbling, taking one baby step at a time into adulthood. After that, you’ll graduate again, probably settle somewhere with an adequate job and find someone, starting to think about having ki-

Hold up, you’re going too far. You’re barely a senior. 

“I guess we’ll just have to make the most out of this summer,” Felix’s voice snaps you back to the surface of Earth faster than a tick of a clock. “We’re outside, by the way. Open up.”

That fast? Furrowing your brows, you hang up to slip into a pair of sneakers before sprinting to the front door. Wait, your hand freezes as it grazes the doorknob. We?

Not again. 

“Why the fuck..” you cracks a lifelessly crooked smile after pushing the door wide open. “..are you here?” It’s only ten in the morning, and you don’t think you should be screaming at the top of your lungs to be jumped on by the whole neighborhood.

Felix takes a step back, a little scared for his life. “Uhh, to return your earphones?”

“No, no,” you run a hand through your hair tiredly. Just when you thought this day was gonna be peaceful. “I’m not talking about you, I’m talking about them. Since when was this an agreement? How dare-“

“Why yes, I missed you too!” Jisung exclaims like the little shit he is, throwing an arm over your neck to ruffle your hair. No one ruffles your hair without getting their ass slammed- except for Minho. “Why the long face? Let me guess, until this exact second, you thought there’s a fucking squirrel, a lama, a dog, and a kitten standing at your front porch? No, it’s us, your Forever BFFs.” He’s one of the reasons why you refuse to understand the humans’ language sometimes.

With a harsh shove from you, Jisung staggers backward only for Hyunjin to prevent him from rolling like a ball in the middle of your neighborhood. “One more word and I’m telling the whole class who your crush is,” you threaten, earning an involuntary snort from Seungmin. 

“I hate to admit this, but she might actually say yes if he makes the first move.”

Hyunjin supplies unconstructively, “That’s why he didn’t ask.”

“You know what, Hwang,” Felix says with a smirk tugging at his lips, bumping his fist against Hyunjin’s without turning his head. 

“Oh screw all of you.” Jisung’s getting all the attention he wanted this early in the morning yet he still feels like a loser. Perhaps he should try shutting up once in a while. 

four.

“Thanks for giving me a ride, uncle, you really didn’t have to,” Felix says generously from your dad’s back seats, scratching the nape of his neck as though this is the first time he’s ever shared a ride with you. 

He’s too humble sometimes you just want to smack him across the face with a pillow to stop being so formal with your dad. Heck, Felix downright called him ‘dad’ by accident once during a Christmas dinner back in middle school and your dad even encouraged him to keep addressing him like that. 

Not to mention, Felix is chomping on a turkey sandwich that your mom made this morning specifically for him after finding out that his parents are currently out of town and there's nothing but ramen in the cabinet. God forbids her to starve the same kid who helped your dad fix his bumper. So really, he should be expecting these things by now. 

“Oh it’s not a big deal, you’re too nice,” your dad laughs as he pulls over to your school’s front gate, careful not to run into that one really tall, ugly tree. You’re lowkey paranoid that people might die if it collapses during a storm or something. “Perhaps you can return the favor by getting a drink with me sometimes.”

Felix blinks numerous times, slightly gobsmacked. “...but I’m not old enough to drink yet.”

“Correct answer.” And you snicker when your dad turns around to toss a wink at your friend’s direction. “Doesn’t mean that I’m forbidding you kids have fun,” he clarifies upon the baffled expression on Felix’s face. “But not too much fun, got it?”

“Okay, okay dad, I’ll see you in three days,” you shake your head before climbing out of the car. “Don’t starve the cats while I’m gone. Oh! And Soonie still needs his lactobacillus-“

Your dad brushes it off with a sheepish smile, “I’ll leave it to your mom, muffin, I can’t even remember which dry food is for which cat. I also don’t think they’ll be starving anytime soon, those little demons are getting quite fat actually since your brother spoils them all the time.” You can only give him a mere eye-roll because as much as he claims to hate having pets, there have been countless times when you caught your dad red-handed trying to tuck the cats into bed in the middle of the night. 

Felix soon catches up with your steps after bidding him farewell, crumpling the sandwich wrapper in his palm. “Wait up, muffin,” he says breathlessly with a few skips, starting to think about not skipping dance practice again this summer before his body gets out of shape. 

“Shut up,” you grumble, followed by a harsh elbow jabbed into his side. Felix grunts in pain, slowing down a little but still tries to walk side by side with you nonetheless. “You don’t deserve that complimentary breakfast, I’m telling mom to cut your portion off next time.” 

“Ah! Come on, muffin! You’re being mean.”

Your biggest fear has inevitably come true—after all those years of erratic mood swings and other weird things puberty puts you through, Felix still makes fun of you for the nickname that your parents came up with on your first day of school. It doesn’t help with the fact that he meets them quite often too. Like four out of seven days a week since your parents love coming over to each other’s house for dinner. 

“Flip that scowl upside down now, will you?” Felix cups your cheeks and squishes them together, attempting to make your smile by tugging at the corners of your lips. “Aren’t you excited about the trip?”

You scoff at him, “Are you even hearing yourself? My entire existence reeks off ‘excitement’ 24/7.” 

“That’s bullshit.”

“I’m not responsible for whatever happens next to your face.”

But when you reach up to peel his hands away, you’re bound to make a grave mistake by looking straight into his eyes. The morning light hits his face at the right angle and it makes him look like a puppy—which you wouldn't mind starting at all day. Although it’s not like you haven’t got a good look at him before, something’s different today. From the way his irises twinkle gently like thousands of celestial bodies to how his freckles scattered across his cheekbones like the remaining bits from a supernova, his full lips with a prominent Cupid’s bow and his cute crooked teeth. 

You know all of these things; perhaps you’ve never put too much thought into them before. Not when you’re constantly facepalming at him for doing stupid TikTok dances and trying to eat a banana with its peel on. But now when you actually acknowledge them, your heart momentarily skips a beat. Or two. 

Doesn’t matter, you hate this feeling either way. 

“Get a room, this is disgusting to watch.” 

Seungmin steps in between you two with his backpack slung over his shoulders, hands resting on his hip like he’s babysitting you and your biological parents don’t pay him enough for this tedious job. But Felix is too busy making sure that his eyes aren’t malfunctioning when he sees a pink tint on your cheeks to focus on whatever nonsense Seungmin is spewing at him. 

“Get on the bus, losers! Y’all are embarrassing me!” Hyunjin yells as he plants a foot onto the bus, trying his best not to be subtle about the fact that all of your classmates have already been seated. 

You can practically see Jisung making weird faces from the window and next to him is a very cranky-looking Jeongin with his earbuds plugged in, deciding not to tolerate any chit-chatting this morning. It’s a shame how the school’s always on a low budget when it comes to transportation; consequently, some random freshmen got squeezed in with your class. 

So you elect to ignore your friend’s questionable behaviors (sometimes you wonder what he’s on to be this zealous at six in the morning) and grabs Felix's hand to climb onto the vehicle before coach Kim kicks your ass for slowing the schedule down. 

As you shuffle down the narrow aisle, you quickly realize there are only two seats left at the very back—basically, you feel a little guilty for not getting a good spot for Felix but he doesn’t seem to mind because he taps you on the shoulder lightly, signaling for you to move.

“Ugh, I wanna go home,” you sigh, slumping into your seat after tucking your backpack neatly on the small compartment above. 

“You’re boring,” Felix comments flatly but he’s partially glad that he got to sit with you instead of some blabberer. “Need this?” Fishing his earphones out of his backpack, he wiggles the banana milk case in front of your face. 

You only nod lazily at the offer, causing him to huff in disbelief before slipping in a side of his AirPods into your ear. You both have pretty similar taste in music so you don’t mind when he puts one of his playlists on random and Fly Me to the Moon bleeds into your eardrums. The soft melody makes you yawn a little, eyelids getting droopy. 

“Tired.” Is the only warning Felix gets before you decide to drop your head onto his shoulders, slipping your arm around his torso comfortably like it’s a pillow. You personally don’t do cuddles but since he’s into those things and smells nice—very fruity, somewhat musky too, you might as well take advantage of that with the hope of sleeping throughout the entire ride. 

“What is wrong with you today?” he asks with glowing cheeks. 

“Shh shh, I’m recharging my battery.”

Felix is a little flustered, to say the least. But instead of complaining about your sudden clinginess, he rests his head on top of yours like second nature, allowing his childhood song to drown out some of the background chatters. 

You should really be clingy more often… though he’s not gonna risk his pearly white teeth by telling you that. 

five. 

Your school actually knows how to manage money in a smart way. Shocker, you know. 

You are thrown off upon hearing that no one needs to worry about the grizzly bears, or wolves (hey, one can never be too careful) because everyone gets to share a log cabin with a maximum of three other people. 

In fact, the camp counselors have confirmed that even though they’re throwing a bunch of inexperienced, dumb high schoolers smacked in the middle of the wilderness, there’s really nothing to do other than boring team-building exercises...and fishing. In other words, the only creature that can somewhat do harm to you is mosquitoes. 

It’s been pouring nonstop when your classmates tried to set up the campfire with coach Kim screaming into their eardrums last night, no wonder those little shit are thriving to make your life more miserable—they’re in their element, reproducing at a terrifying pace. 

“Jesus Christ, Y/N!” 

Hyunjin clutches a hand to his chest in both relief and terror after realizing the curled up figure sitting by the window is just you. He steps inside the cabin completely and flings his wet bangs away from his face, shoving the umbrella in his hand into a stand by the shoe rack. “You look like shit, are you okay?” he furrows his brows, slightly concerned about your eyebags and the way your lips crack from dehydration.

A soulless smile finds its way to your face. “I’m pretty sure ‘shit’ and ‘okay’ aren’t supposed to be in the same sentence but thank you for asking, I appreciate it.”

Here’s another downside to being a homebody: you can’t fucking sleep on any other beds that aren’t yours. And surprisingly that two-hour nap on the bus wasn’t enough to fuel you for the rest of the trip. But lucky you, it’s most likely going to keep raining cats and dogs and trash pandas for the rest of the day. Outdoor activities are no longer mandatory and you can almost hear your non-existent muscles crying in sheer joy. 

“Drink,” Hyunjin sighs at your pathetic state and decides to toss a water bottle in your direction. 

However, all you do is retrieve your limbs deeper into Felix’s fluffy blanket since he refused to use the grey one that’s draped over every bed beforehand. You’re far beyond grateful for that because those fading, questionable-looking stains just scare the crap out of you. And also because the fluffy blanket smells like him; you rest your case.

“You were knocked out for the entire bus ride, so why the hell can’t you fall asleep on a decent bed?” Shaking his head, Hyunjin plops himself onto Jisung’s bed like a potato, accidentally knocking over the neatly folded pile of clothes. He really doesn’t give two flying fucks about the fact that his friend spent an excessive ten minutes to organize his stuff so coach Kim won’t be barging into their cabin with a megaphone at five in the morning again. 

“She can only fall asleep on Felix, that’s why.” You roll your eyes in the bitchiest way possible, not bothering to chuck the abandoned water bottle at the unwanted guest of this terrific conversation. 

Hyunjin almost lets out a shriek when Seungmin jolts up from his bed, hair messy, a leg sticking out from his comforter. “You know, until this exact moment, I thought that you were dead or something.”

“What I’m trying to say is,” Seungmin elaborates as he bends over to reach for his glasses with squinted eyes. “There’s a 99,9% that Felix will make the first move but at the same time, it doesn’t mean the other 0,01% won’t happen so you,” he jabs his index finger towards you. “Better be doing something other than walking around camp like a zombie.”

Hyunjin tilts his head in confusion. “Since when was this even a thing?” You’re this close to have a permanent hand imprint on your forehead for facepalming every two seconds with your idiotic friends around. 

“Uhh, since forever?” Seungmin feels the need to voice out. “Listen, since the day Y/N spilled orange juice on Felix’s favorite shirt, the amount of times they’re forced to be together has risen tremendously. And when their parents found out their families live like ten minutes away from each other, they practically see each other every single day. Even outside of school. They tolerate each other, meaning the dynamic is long-lasting. Their bonding encouraged friendship.” 

“But we’re her friends too?”

A deep breath. “No, their friendship was incited to grow into something bigger, more profound because Felix has a special ‘click’ with Y/N that he doesn’t with us. God, Hyunjin, it’s been what, almost a decade! How could you not see it?” Seungmin says with expressive hands, almost yanking every strand of hair off of his head. It’s too early for this, his brain is about to implode. Hwang Hyunjin being dense just feels like a metaphoric chokehold to him. 

“Y/N,” Hyunjin simply ignores his frustrated friend to look over at you slipping into your sneakers. “You’re being uncharacteristically non-hyperverbal.”

“That’s because she’s about to either shut the door in my face then find Felix or kick my ass and then find Felix,” Seungmin informs with a yawn, and this prompts you to muster a fake smile. 

Oh, I’m fucking livid. 

“You know me too well.”

He questions with heavy irony, “I’m sorry did you just agree with me?”

“Oh no, no, I take that back,” you brush him off. “Is Felix still outside fishing?”

“I think so?” Hyunjin replies while running a hand through his hair in mere distress; Felix’s competitiveness goes a little mayhem sometimes when it comes to Jisung being better than him at something since they’re so close. That’s one of the sole reasons why Felix always manages to maintain his flying GPA because Han Jisung procrastinates like no other but still tops his class every single semester. 

“I didn’t find him at the lake, though, wonder where he went.”

You widen your eyes, somewhat alarmed since it’s almost lunchtime, and Felix Lee never, and you mean never, ever let himself skip a meal. He always gets a nice nap after stuffing his face with enough good food too, so that’s a bonus. But that’s not the point, the point is: you’re starting to get a little worried because he’s been fishing all morning, wandering alone in the wilderness without a camp counselor. 

You’d better not find him sleeping with the fishes. 

six.

Maybe you were right, maybe Felix is a dumbass.

Because listening to his ego and coming back to the lake after breakfast was a horrendous idea. 

It’s such a pity how those weird-looking vehicles have stopped driving around camp the moment it started pouring outside. Heck, he didn’t even bring an umbrella after asking the coach to check today's forecast. 

So tragically, he’s now stuck underneath the canopy of a cafe ensuing coursing his way through the water blizzard and seeking refuge but can’t walk back to his cabin where his cabin-mates are probably having the time of their life drinking hot chocolate and nibbling on hand-picked fruits.

Felix exhales in torment while gazing outside, everything’s completely white-out thanks to droplets of raining streaking the horizon. Perhaps dashing back might be his one solitary option, but shivers soon run up his spine again, reminding him that he’s probably looking like a wet rat—his black Converse sodden, water seeping through the thin fabric of his uniform, numbing his skin. 

Ruffling his wet fringe, Felix’s hand fishes inside his pocket to look for his phone only to realize that it’s not there. “Shit...great..just great, today is my lucky day.” Even if the camp counselors didn’t confiscate all the electronic devices, there wouldn’t be any service in the middle of the woods either. Splendid. 

“Ugh, Y/N,” he groans under his breath. “Why did you let me do this?”

“Shit.”

 “AHH!”

Felix shrieks upon the tiny voice squeaking out from behind him. And he sighs in pure relief to see a little girl standing mere inches away, looking no more than a seven-year-old dressed in a yellow raincoat. “Hey kid,” he chuckles and crouches down to her eye level. “Where are your parents? You’re not supposed to be out here alone when it’s pouring like crazy.” 

And to his dismay, “Shit,” the little girl giggles, finding a new profound interest in the curse word that he accidentally spewed out seconds ago. 

“Shh shh,” Felix frantically places an index finger on his lips while darting his eyes around in terror—he might be sued if her parents found out how their daughter picked up a bad word from some random high schooler. Suddenly he feels bad for his future kids. “No, no, we can’t say that. It’s forbidden. What’s your name?”

“Mina,” she answers cutely and fiddles with the ends of her braids. “Who’s Y/N? Is she your girlfriend?”

Felix chokes on his own saliva. “...no, why would you say that?”

“I don’t know, my dad always calls my mom’s name when he messes things up.”

“What does that have to do with- oh, shit,” he facepalms himself. This kid is going to give him a cardiac arrest any second now. “It doesn’t matter if she’s my girlfriend or not, what matters is I need to get you back to your parents. Do you know where they are right now?”

Mina simply shakes her head with a pout. “Okay, let’s go find them then,” he can’t help but cracks a smile, ruffling her hair endearingly. Most kids would be bawling their eyes out by now knowing that they’ve strayed from their parents; she’s a tough one. 

Felix gently grabs Mina’s hand, biting down on his lower lip as he prays that a cold doesn’t catch up to him tomorrow and ready to dash out of the canopy that’s been keeping him dry for the last hour or two. But then a figure comes into view from afar, holding an umbrella while squinting their eyes through the thick streaks of rain. 

“Y/N..?” he mutters to himself in disbelief when you quickly skip underneath the canopy, collapsing the red umbrella in your hands. Felix recognizes that umbrella anywhere—isn’t that Hyunjin’s? Have you been looking for him? And for how long too?

“Didn’t even think about bringing an umbrella, smartass,” you say with a raised eyebrow. “Oh dear, who do we have here?” Before Felix can defend himself in vain with lame excuses, you’ve already taken your attention off him to stare at the unfamiliar presence. Your intense gaze scares Mina a little, causing the little girl to squeeze Felix’s hand, hiding behind his leg. 

Your friend laughs, patting her little head in reassurance. “Mina, this is Y/N, my classmate. Don’t let her intimidate you.”

“Are you really going to bother with this little one?” you scrunch your nose a bit. “We’re having pork rib soup, by the way, better hurry if you don’t want Han to hog your portion all to himself.”

Felix rolls his eyes at how utterly apathetic you are towards children. If you can get a perfect A in calc then why is it so hard to simply comprehend that every twelve-year-old needs to be returned to their hypothetical parents safely? “What part of ‘a common sense of morality’ can’t you understand?” 

“I don’t want to, actually, sounds like a lot of work,” you hum sarcastically. 

“Your girlfriend is scary,” Mina ensconces herself further behind your friend, officially detecting you as a threat rather than someone who will potentially bring her back to the cabin where her parents are probably flipping the whole place upside down in a panic—which is exactly what you’re planning to do. 

In your defense, you don’t detest kids in general. Only the bratty ones. And Mina is borderline bratty. 

“You know, I can spare her some time, Lost and Found is like..ten minutes away from here.”

“Y/N-” Felix wants to scream at you, rubbing the side of his temple in distress. Imagining you babysitting your neighbor’s newborn last summer with nine bucks per hour, ten hours per day, and five out of seven days per week is one of the few things that constantly keeps him from having a good night's sleep. It baffles him how you haven’t accidentally drowned the infant while giving her a bath. 

Mina gives the side of his jeans a tug, round eyes staring up at him expectantly. “Or we can get juice pops!” she exclaims happily and looks over to you, mustering her best puppy eyes. “Please? I don’t want to be alone..” 

“Twenty seconds ago, you called me scary and now you’re guilt-tripping me?” you crouch down to get a good look at the kid. Bright, innocent brown eyes, cute button nose, and a chipped front tooth—perhaps she’s a little too cute to not get her juice pops. 

Then, “And juice pops too? You evil mad mind genius,” you say after standing up to unfold Hyunjin’s umbrella, swinging it over the top of your head. “That’s extortion, kid, you’re too young for that.”

Felix breaks into a fit of giggles upon seeing you failing at trying to keep a straight face and steps in beside you under the umbrella. His next problem just pops up right then and there—Mina can’t squeeze in considering the umbrella that Hyunjin gave you is solely used for one person. 

“Mina, hop on here,” he decides to get on his knees, permitting the little girl to clumsily climb on his back and eventually plopping herself onto his shoulders. 

“Oh, oh, oh, can you two hold hands?” Mina suggests with a shit-eating grin on her face. This causes Felix’s cheeks to burn with a bright shade of red while you’re too busy throwing daggers at her with your eyes to notice. “My family does this all the time, my dad would carry me on his shoulders and my mom would hold his hand as we walk home after going to the park.”

You and Felix yell simultaneously, “We’re not your parents!!” But that doesn’t seem to scare the little girl. You’re both just encouraging her. 

“Yip yip, horsey, don’t be disobedient now,” she giggles to herself and pulls at a solid patch of Felix’s hair, making you cringe because his hair and scalp have already had enough from his questionable obsession with bright hair colors. 

“Ow! Mina! Stop it! Ow!”

“Okay quit torturing my friend,” you tell her and decide to slip your hand in with Felix’s, intertwining your fingers to secure the grip before showing it to Mina so that she’ll stop before any blood is drawn. “There, we’re holding hands just like your mommy and daddy, you happy?” 

Felix doesn’t say anything even when Mina nods happily, releasing her monstrous grip off his poor scalp. He only lets you tug him away from the canopy of the cafe as he gazes downward, eyes glued to how your hand fits into his perfectly. The sound of rain tapping against the umbrella suddenly bugs him, suffocating him in a way. In other words, it’s really unnatural to think this way about his best friend but he doesn't want you to let go at all. 

Everything seems to move faster when you’re holding onto his hand so certainly. Felix thinks you’re fully aware but try to fight off the voices that are taunting you to just drop it. And truth is, you can care less because your head is now far too fuzzy to focus on anything but the road ahead. 

You pray he doesn’t feel the pounding rhythm from your veins. If your red ears haven’t given it away already. 

seven.

Jisung has weird friends, that’s a fact. And no, you’re not talking about the gang that saved his ass every time he got into trouble aka you plus JeongMinLixJin. You’re talking about those kids from Class 2C that are mutual friends with Changbin.

Because the moment Jisung barges into the cabin and starts babbling nonsense that you can’t comprehend (not that you can comprehend any of his shit on the daily), you know that he just came back from a get together with those sketchy dudes who managed to sneak some booze inside a shampoo bottle.

“Uhm okay, who gave Felix alcohol?” he squints his eyes hard. 

You are more than aware that Jisung is mildly smashed by the way that his cheeks are tinted with a light shade of coral, hiccupping every ten seconds and slightly more clumsy with his feet. He almost tripped over the rug at the front door if it weren’t for Hyunjin who caught him in time so that he wouldn’t break one of his precious teeth. Those painful years of constantly slurping on watery porridge after every dentist appointment to tighten his braces shouldn’t be going down the drain. 

Speaking of bland rice water, that’s all Felix has been fed with after returning to camp because he has no choice. The sickness finally caught up to him as a result of staying outside for too long while still dressed in his rain-soaked uniform. Even under the cotton comforter, he’s radiating heat on the outside but stoically shivering on the inside, his energy level is as diminished as his appetite. 

The nurse said there’s really nothing that can be done but give him some pills and let him ride it out so now Felix’s all curled up in a corner of his bed, cheeks burning flush of fever, coughing and sneezing occasionally. He refuses to be moved to a completely separate cabin because sleeping alone in a confined place knowing that the grizzly bears might be roaming outside your door is quite frightening for a junior in high school. 

“God, what makes you think I’m the batshit drunk one here?” Felix croaks, his voice more hoarse and gruff than usual because every word pains him, his vocal cords pulse in agony at each syllable. And that sentence was probably the longest thing you’ve heard from him since dinner. 

Jisung lets Hyunjin toss him onto his bed, face down, and props himself up on his forearms. “Uhh, have you checked yourself the mirror?” he hiccups, words a bit slurred, palms outstretched in a grabby motion. “Seungmin, water- ow! What the fuck was that!?” 

He rubs the side of his head while babbling incoherently like a fucking five-year-old because Seungmin decided to chuck a water bottle at him. Those years of playing baseball during retreats indeed paid off. 

“I went for the head,” Seungmin looks up from his book calmly, acting innocent. 

Jisung whines and turns to his side, watching as the water bottle rolls back towards him after coming in contact with the wall. “God, I miss Minho. You guys suck,” he takes it before sitting right up but flops himself back down when a pang of pain claws at his temple. Who even allowed him to drink?

“Didn’t he make your high school experience miserable?” Hyunjin laughs, sitting down on the corner of his bed, legs curled into his chest. 

“Hello? That was me,” Seungmin clarifies, he sounds a little offended. “He called me a nerd for studying late at the library for our finals! Our fucking finals! Do you know how insecure my freshman self was? I was so hurt!” 

You cross your arms and mumble, “He’s the same guy who treated you ice-cream after finding out you got a B in physics.”

Hyunjin hums, butting into the topic, “And he made me do fifty push-ups because I unintentionally skipped a day at practice. Our Dance Club really didn’t need a president who effortlessly snatches the Asshole of the Year Award like he’s stealing candies from a kid.”

“Please, you’re practically buddies now,” you scoff. “You always play Mario Kart and rewatch the Avatar series with him, even during midterms!”

“Oh! Oh! Oh!” Jisung suddenly gets on his feet, jumping up and down like a maniac. You’re highly concerned for the bed by the creaking sound that it’s making—sounds just like something straight out of a horror film. “He almost threw a knife at me!”

You’re running out of excuses to defend your stupid brother at this rate. What’s the point in trying anyway? “Han, it was a plastic knife, chill.”

Jisung crawls off his bed to approach you, pinching his thumb and index finger together before shoving them to your face. “I was this close to dying! You try having someone threaten to throw a knife at you during lunch break,” he complains like it’s the end of the world. Truth is, you’ve seen (and experienced) worse things. 

“Minho’s still my brother.”

Staring at you, Jisung looks unimpressed. “He wanted to kill me because I commented on his puffy cheeks that day.”

“He’s adopted.”

The conversation is pulled to a halt right there when Felix does a full-body groan, his head spinning and sweats starting to collect at his hairline. With his mind buzzed like he’s floating, the bickering only adds to the pressure that’s squeezing each of his functioning brain cells. In other words, it feels as though Han Jisung is a fucking hamster going on a marathon across his body, nibbling on his limbs and ears as he’s going through a hangover, his immune system going on a rampage. 

Felix doesn’t even drink. 

“That’s my call for a bedtime story.” You glare at Jisung when he clears his throat while you’re attempting to tuck Felix into bed, pressing your palm against his forehead to check his temperature. It’s not climbing anymore, he should be okay after sweating everything out. 

Hyunjin pulls his friend back onto his bed, locking his limbs in tight before he waddles around and potentially breaks one of those decorative pieces on the bookshelf. “Not to burst your ego, but I don’t think you’re sober enough to give us a good story,” he says unapologetically. 

“Puh-lease,” Jisung lets out the weirdest chuckle at that, wagging his forearm like those Japanese ceramic cat figures that are supposed to bring people good fortune; and Han Jisung is notorious for bringing people anything but good fortune. “They didn’t even have vodka, only Strongbow. That shit is too weak for me.”

You snort involuntarily, “Actually, I think you meant you’re too weak for those bottles of cider.”

“Wow, Y/N, what a snake.”

eight.

The bonfire crackles, flaring up to life when coach Kim tosses a lit matchstick into the pyramid pile of branches and woods. The flame projects long shadows of the trees all round along, swirling and curling in obscure shapes with the high schoolers that each hugs their own cup of hot cocoa, chomping on their marshmallows of choice. 

Glowing embers beneath are colored by the inferno that seems to be moving with the rhythm and melody of the song that they’re all singing along, drumming their feet and bobbing their heads simultaneously. 

“Are you guys sure you don’t want to join them?” Felix says apologetically after sneezing into a piece of tissue, his nose all red and swollen. “I can just… I don’t know, read a book or something.”

When he refers to those oddly colorful and rather bulky-looking books on the shelves, Seungmin immediately stops putting a cookie inside his mouth midway. “Those are called ‘aesthetically useless interior decoration’, Lix. Good luck trying to open those plastic blocks,” he expresses with his hands after stuffing the cookie into his mouth, chewing rather aggressively. 

Felix feels quite bad because, for all he knows, Hyunjin and Seungmin have been planning on going kayaking today and trying out volleyball tomorrow. You’re all going home in two days yet they’ve done nothing but pigging out in pure distress. “Still, it’s a summer camp, you all should be out there having fun, not stuck inside to look after me while tolerating...that,” he quietly looks over at Jisung who just exited the bathroom after splashing his face with some water. 

At least he doesn’t look crazy and homeless now. 

“How are they doing that again?” you join Hyunjin as he rests his head lazily on his forearms, staring outside from the cabin’s window like Rapunzel in an alternative universe where Flynn Rider managed to escape the tower with the crown, leaving her behind longing for civil human interactions in vain. 

“They sing..” he drawls. “And turn their heads to look at each other in the eye.”

You wave it off absentmindedly, falling on your back so now your head is hung upside down from the bed, your arms dangling midair. “Well, that sounds exhausting,” you mumble, ignoring the way that Seungmin is internally judging you. 

Hyunjin sighs, “Never one for sentiment, are you?”

“Easier to let it burn,” you answer flatly, sitting upright when blood starts rushing to your head. 

“Don’t feel bad,” Seungmin immediately forces a smile at Felix. “We’re not really into sitting with a bunch of idiots just to enjoy a mildly decent hot cocoa either way.”

Suddenly the lights go out, and Felix immediately curls himself further into the blanket, a little thrown off. Jisung’s face comes into view out of nowhere when he makes a grab for the oil lamp that no one seems to take notice of, lighting it up with a single match. “C’mon, kids, no bonfire is complete without a good ghost story,” he crosses his legs on the floor happily, still somewhat tipsy so his body is bouncing in excitement with occasional hiccups. 

Hyunjin and Seungmin exchange questionable looks before scrambling to the floor, settling themselves a few solid inches in front of the oil lamp with a sigh while you only shrug at Felix, propping your head onto your hands. Laziness is starting to hold you hostage on Hyunjin’s bed at this rate. 

Seungmin spares Jisung a slight glare, “Better not bullshit us with the same one that you heard at school-”

“No,” Jisung’s lips morph into something similar to a smirk, he looks concerningly confident for someone who’s utterly terrified after watching IT. And now he’s attempting to give his bros who are equally jumpy about everything and anything, you’re excited to see how this goes. “I heard this one from a camp counselor, true story.” You definitely don’t like the sound of that.

At first, the ghost was no more than a chill in the air, a shimmer of mist to the common eyes. Through the heavy rain and fog that seeps through people’s skin, chilling the core of their bones, it slowly came into focus. It wasn’t until the camper found refuge under a canopy of an abandoned café that it congealed into a form—a small child with brilliant round eyes, dressed in white clothing. 

For a moment, all was silent and still. It was as though the camper got hypnotized, feet planted to the ground. Then, he could hear a small lullaby in a cheerful voice. 

“Oranges and Lemons say the bells of St.Clements…” They know how that one ended. 

Suddenly someone blows out the candle, but Jisung’s voice still rings in your eardrums. “When the camper took a step back, the ghost spoke again, this time with the voice almost of a smoker and grin…” You can feel Hyunjin hop back to bed with you in a tick of a clock, holding onto you for dear life with the infrequent whimpers of fear. 

Jisung proceeds to continue, “The grin soon became a snarl, baring teeth like a wolf when it finished the lullaby…”

A muffled silence descends. And, “Have you come to play…?”

“AHHH!!” Felix lets out a petrified shriek, but what confuses you is the sound of Jisung grunting rather in pain. Seungmin sighs in disapproval, flickering the lights on while leaning back against the wall. 

And now before your eyes is a slightly traumatized, feverish Felix with clattering teeth, quivering inside his blanket. Whereas, Jisung is sprawled across the floor, hugging his poor stomach, hacking up lungs. Deserve.

“This is why you don’t give people who can high-kick jump scares, dumbass,” Seungmin comments and crouches down in front of Jisung like his knight in shiny armors, letting a bottle of ointment dangle between his fingers. “Put this on, bet it’s already bruising.”

Hyunjin releases his arms around you and walks towards the freckled boy who looks like he’s about to slip into a coma. “Lix, are you okay?” he knits his brows together, starting to feel somewhat concerned. 

Felix only waves it off with a raspy laugh, standing on wobbly legs with his blanket still wrapped around his figure. “I’m fine, I’ll just go wash my face.” Truth is, he’s anything but fine. And it doesn’t help when he accidentally has a glance of his own reflection in the body-length mirror from across the cabin—his hair is sticking to his forehead, his face is slightly more puffy than usual, and his eyebags look like he hasn’t slept in decades—he looks worse than a trash can, basically. 

“Hyunjin,” you raise a brow at your friend’s current state.

“What?”

“Catch him.”

“Huh-” Hyunjin snaps his head back when a loud thud is heard, eyes growing twice as big in sheer panic upon the sight of Felix laying on his stomach, mere inches away from his feet. “Felix!!” Your friends rush to his side while you’re too busy checking the thermometer by his nightstand. The temperature doesn’t seem to be too alarming, he should be fine after sleeping and sweating it out. But really, Felix looks more like he’s having the nap of a lifetime rather than passing out from the worst fever of the century. That doesn’t stop everyone from freaking out, unfortunately. 

Also, everyone can agree that this is the first and last storytime to ever happen.

nine.

Felix sits on the beach, eyes moving from sand to stone, from rock pools to breaking waves. He lets out a sigh, an exhale of relief when a breeze passes by him, tousling his hair as he buries his feet deeper into the primrose-colored grains. The briny aroma that exists in every fiber of air makes him feel at ease, as though unknotting all his angsty-teenager worries with grace. He feels a bit better, partially because his fever has already gone down when he shook you out of your half-asleep state at four in the morning. 

“Why?” you ask without turning your head after sensing his tense posture.

Felix looks confused, a little startled when you break the silence. “Why what?”

“Why the long face?” you unknowingly exhale too, stubbornly gazing forward. “Thinking about something?” For some reason, you’re too...scared to even spare him a small glance. This isn’t you, did his fever rub off on you or something?

To your dismay, his sudden inquiry catches you off guard. “High school is going to be over in a year, have you thought about what to do?” 

You open your mouth to protest with something along the line of he’s overthinking again and there’s still an entire year ahead to make new memories but when you’re about to utter the first word, your mouth automatically snaps itself close. It’s like you have an entire masterpiece planned out in your mind but when someone tosses you a blank canvas, you’re standing there in defeat like the biggest idiot. Felix is serious this time, you know it’s not because he’s lightheaded after riding out the fever. 

“Honestly?” you breathe out. “No, I haven’t. God, I don’t even want to think about it, the future scares me a little.”

Upon the mossed rock and vibrant horizon, comes the sun rays that are promised by the starlit sky. It makes you both a little breathless, not exchanging a single word nor moving a muscle for a while. 

Until, “Fine, it scares me a whole lot,” you confess, gaze cast downward as you hug your legs closer to your chest. “It sucks because everyone seems to have their lives together, Jisung is finally taking his interest in music seriously, Hyunjin is planning on being an actual theater kid, and Seungmin is...I don’t know, but he’s definitely onto something. Point is, everyone is already one too many steps ahead of me, I’m just..here, stuck. And I don’t feel like I have-”

“A lot of time left.” Felix finishes your sentence, prompting you to look at him this time. His delicate features shine under the cracking lights of dawn, starry eyes twinkling and lips outstretched into the smile that you absolutely adore. He has such a contagious type of smile that it makes you feel a little less dead inside whenever you see it. But your heartbeat also grows a little more ecstatic. 

A hearty chuckle. “You’re not alone, you know,” he says while not breaking away from the eye contact, this makes your throat grow dry. “I still have so much to do, so much to...say yet too little time. So yeah, don’t think about it too much, I’m never gonna leave you behind no matter what.”

You have to hold back a playful scoff at that; and to think he was the one who brought up this sappy topic. “If anything, you’re the overthinker in this relationship,” you tell him with a nudge on his rib. “But if you’ve already had my back, then you should know that I’ll always have yours too.”

Because what would you do without an overthinker like Felix? Drowning your sorrow by stress-eating in the middle of the night? Bottoming out on questionable drinks to end up like Han Jisung? Winging every single important choice that can potentially flip your life upside down in either a good or bad way? Not in a million years. He knows that you need him as much as he needs you, harsh truth but you still hate it either way.

You both don’t look forward to the future, like at all. 

You’re too apathetic and overall just a big ‘meh’ about it. You’re the type of person that goes with the flow, letting life toss you around like a ragdoll until you finally snap at some point to fight back because you know where the line between giving up and knowing that you’ve had enough is. Meanwhile, Felix is rather anxious about things. If a piece of paper with a pencil can draw out the map of his entire destiny ahead then he’ll have it finished in one night. But he’s grown out of his middle school self to know that things don’t always go as planned.

Guess if things turn out to be shit, you’ll still have him.

“Does that mean if we’re still single in our thirties, you’ll marry me like how our parents always joke about?” Felix cracks a shit-eating grin this time, one that makes your heart swell but for the most part, you wanna whack him unconscious with a pillow. 

You sneer in return, “Sure, but you’ll have to fall for me first.”

There’s a pang in Felix’s chest, it’s so loud and evident that he’s afraid you might hear it. You really didn’t have to slap him in the face with that seemingly harmless statement. “Hmm, who would even fall for a stubborn hermit crab like you?” he jokes to hide the nervousness that’s crawling upon his spine. His ears are probably bright red right now. “Although...that wouldn’t be a problem with me.” Because he’s already fallen for you, a little too hard actually.

“What does that even mean?” you only hum after questioning his statement, nothing makes sense right now since you’re getting a little sleepy because a certain someone wanted to watch the sunrise which simply lasted for about two minutes after two(ish) hours of waiting.

“I don’t know,” Felix laughs before standing up, dusting the sand off of his jeans. “You go figure it out, smartass.” With that, he runs off with his Converses dangling between his fingers, leaving you dumbfounded in the middle of the beach like a total dimwit. Slowly, within those five seconds of making eye contact with your best friend again, his words zero in on you like a wakeup call. 

Urgently grabbing your sneakers, you chase after him. “Hey- wait! GET BACK HERE!” By looks of it, you’ve probably figured it out now. It’s not like he’s trying to be subtle either.

Felix feels like he just gained strength from spewing out that indirect confession, and it gives him a tiny ray of hope that he still has his entire youth before his eyes to tell you how he really feels. Or his whole life if you don’t start resenting him for crossing the line that no one dares talk about when they have a thing for their best friend. 

Either way, as long as Felix sees your presence side by side with him at every ups and downs, he’s home. 

#skzwritersclub #inkidz #stayshub #stray kids scenarios #stray kids imagines #stray kids fluff #lee felix #lee felix scenarios #lee felix imagines #lee felix fluff #felix scenarios #felix imagines #bang chan fanfic #lee minho imagines #seo changbin #hwang hyunjin #han jisung fluff #kim Seungmin #yang jeongin #felix x reader #felix x you #skz high school au

[monscastle]

like a movie

r e q u e s t e d

PAIRING | seo changbin x gn reader

CATEGORY | fluff 

SUMMARY | changbin’s had a pretty stressful day, and who else will he seek for recharge if not his dear y/n?

⑇◞ 06.11.2020  ৲

⑇◞ credits to the owner of the gif ৲

✄┈  here it is!  please tell me if you find any mistakes! remember nothing is meant to offend you and it was never my intention!

changbin wasn’t really in the mood for anything the second he walked out of the studio. he had dismissed chan and jisung’s offer to grab something to eat, thinking of only one thing he had a mood for; y/n.

you were the one person that could make his mood better, he could never stay mad at you for more than a day, and if he did it was solved before the end of the week. 

"ah, binnie, what's wrong? " you knew he was not in a good mood the second you opened the door.

he huffed softy behind his mask, leaning in and pressing himself against your chest. "tired...stressed...can i stay the night?"

you smiled, pulling him inside your home to close the door. "you know you can, would you like something to eat? i can tell you haven't eaten."

he lifted his head, nodding softly. "you know me so well.."

"put your stuff down, I'll make you something right now."

he watched you walk into the kitchen and pull out pans and ingredients, a sight that warmed him up. he loved the caring side of you the most, your goofy one was the second. it was always you that made him feel something close to home when he didn’t have his parents around.

“how was your day?” he removed his mask, stuffing it in his bag while slipping off his shoes.

you turned the stove on, putting olive oil on the pan. “my day was fine, i got a bit frustrated cus some newbie misplaced the frosting packets, but me being me i kept my cool and told them to pay more attention if they really want to take this seriously.”

changbin placed his bag down on the couch on his way to the kitchen, jumping over the counter and sitting on it. he smiled at the grin you aimed at him, “your patience surprises me sometimes..”

“is it patience tho?” you asked while cutting tomatoes, onions and bell peppers. 

“i’d say so, you barely blow a fuse,” he chuckled. “you always cook or decorate with delicacy, and even when you mess up you just sigh and shake your head.”

“doesn’t mean i have patience tho, i just acknowledge my mistake and fix it or make something new out of it. i’ve lost my patience before tho, many times at work.” you dumped the sliced vegetables on the pan, the loud sizzling invading the room.

“really?” he grinned in curiosity as you got closer to him, placing yourself in between his legs. 

“really. i’m just extremely patient with anything that deals with you,” you brought your hand up to his face, tucking a strand of his hair behind his ear. 

“i can see that,” he leaned in, wrapping his arms around your neck and smirking.

you chuckled, kissing him gently, “feeling better?” you asked as you parted.

“definitely.”

“good cus i like seeing you in a good mood.” you kissed his forehead before pulling away from his embrace to finish preparing his meal. 

he sighed dreamily at your figure stirring around and preparing, your meal was absolutely stomach filling and you always fed him more than what he can handle. but he especially love how you held him close while watching a movie or show on the couch. 

it was just you and him, and he loved spending moments with you close to him. he enjoys hearing you talk about random things after hearing plans and work related ideas the whole day.

“i’m sleepy,” he murmured as you raked your fingers through his hair, eyes focused on the tv.

“then go to sleep, i’ll make you breakfast before you go.” you turned the tv off, the lamp on your nightstand being the only thing emitting light.

“i’d like that,” he nuzzled closer to you, closing his eyes and listening to your heart beat. “g’night...”

“good night,” and you turned off the light.

#kpop x gender neutral reader #kpop imagines #kpop reactions #kpop scenarios #kpop oneshots #seo changbin x you #seo changbin x reader #changbin x you #changbin x reader #changbin x y/n #stray kids x stay #stray kids x you #stray kids imagines #stray kids oneshots #seo changbin

[rachel-rebellio]

Autumn is the Best Time of Year

part 1

          It was a crisp autumn, November 3rd to be precise, and y/n was trying to distract herself from her post-Halloween depression the best way she knew how. She was tired of the typical Southern California sun and fires, so she decided to get in her car and drive up to Big Bear so she could see the autumn colours she had grown to love so much. She took in the sights as she slowly drove ‘round the lake with the windows down, letting the fresh mountain air hit her face and fill her lungs. She pulled into the Big Bear Village to bum through some of her favourite shops and get a bite to eat at a local restaurant.

          As she was wandering through town, she came across an art gallery that hadn’t been open on her previous trips. Being a lover of art, y/n quickly wiped the wet leaves off her boots and fixed her beanie to better sit on her head. It was a small gallery, but it was showcasing multiple local artists from all over Big Bear City. The pieces were all beautifully done, but one in particular caught y/n’s eye. It was an oil painting of the lake surround by autumn foliage with the sun gleaming off the water. She had seen that sight plenty of times, but this artist brought a whole new perspective to it.

          Y/n stood admiring the painting for several minutes when someone bumped into her. She quickly turned around saying, “Oh, I’m so sorry! Was I in your way?” just as this stranger also turned around saying, “I’m so sorry! I didn’t see you there, are you okay?” Y/n was taken aback by handsome stranger when their eyes met. She was just as tall as he was, but it still felt like she had to look up to make eye contact. He made her feel small in the best way.

          “Hey, have we met before?” Y/n asked.

          “I don’t think so. I would’ve remembered a face as beautiful as yours.” He said, causing y/n to break eye contact so she could look down and try to hide her cheeks flushing red. Y/n looked up after a couple moments and said, “Well, my name is y/n. It’s nice to meet you-“

          “…Ma-Matthew. My name is Matthew.” He said, stumbling over his words through a chuckle to fill the silence where y/n trailed off.

          “I love that name. So, are you a big fan of the arts Matthew?”

          “Yeah! I’m actually a little bit of an artist myself! I published a book that I wrote and illustrated about a green monster named Rumple Buttercup.”

          “Whoa, really? That’s so cool!”

          “What about you? Are you a big art fan?”

          “I love it! I’m a black and grey portrait artist, myself. I love drawing people.”

          “I bet you’re amazing. I’d love to see your work sometime!”

          “I definitely have room for improvement, but I’m a lot better than I was when I started a few years back. I’m totally self-taught; so it’s been a bit of a slow process.” Y/n said, trying not to sound too self-deprecating right away.

           “So, what caught your eye about this piece?” Matthew asked y/n in an attempt to keep the conversation going.

          “Well, I’ve been up here so many times. I like to come up here and enjoy the colours of my favourite season every early November to try and help my post-Halloween depression. I’m not ready for Christmas quite yet and Halloween is my favourite holiday, so I need some time between. But, I don’t know. This painting just captured a scene I’ve personally seen so many times, but in a brand new light; and their colour theory? Are you kidding me? So good! Autumn is my favourite season, so it’s not too often that I find something that allows me to see it in a new light and through a different lens. I’m so sorry, I’m just rambling at this point. What about you? Do you like it?” Y/n asked, blushing and nervously playing with her hair as she looked over and saw Matthew paying full attention to every word she was saying.

          “I haven’t been here many times, but I love their use of colour and the blending of the oil paints. Oil always gives it that nice gleam and blend to the colours.” Matthew said with a smile, physically pointing out the things he was talking about. Y/n couldn’t help but notice how beautiful his hands were as they gestured about and pointed to specific details as he talked. She could have listened to him talk passionately about anything for hours on end without ever getting tired of hearing his voice. Suddenly, Matthew turned to y/n, who was watching him closely even after he finished talking, and said, “I’m sorry if this is too forward, but would you like to get some coffee or cider with me? I saw a little coffee shop just down the street.”

          Y/n tried to hide her excitement and answered as calmly as she could, “I would love that. I could always go for some hot apple cider.” Matthew walked with y/n out of the gallery, holding the door open for her on their way out. She couldn’t fathom what was happening; guys never paid attention to her, let alone a guy who looked like this. His brown, curly hair was just long enough to curl over his forehead and ears, barely touching his neck. His glasses framed his face so well and were large enough that you could see his brown eyes that crinkled nearly closed whenever he smiled his smile that was so warm and inviting. On the way to the coffee shop, they made small talk about some of their favourite artists.

          They walked up to the counter to order heir drinks but when y/n pulled out her wallet to pay for her own, Matthew placed his hand on hers and said, “Hey now, getting cider was my idea, I got you covered.”

          Y/n smirked at him and said, “Fine. But the next one’s on me.”

          “Sounds like a plan.” Matthew said with a quiet smirk right back at her as she, in that moment, wondered if there would even be a next time. Once they got their drinks, they went outside and saw that the fireplace had been lit, so they decided to sit on one of the benches next to it to enjoy their drinks and talk. It was now around 5p.m. and the sun had started to set so the autumn leaves looked even more beautiful in the olden light. Matthew and y/n were sipping their respective drinks and talking about how they celebrated Halloween after finding out that it was both of their favourite holidays. He went as Vincent Price and y/n was convinced she would never beat that costume, as Vincent Price was easily one of her favourite actors of all time. Y/n was about to finally admit what her costume was when Matthew quickly scooped up some of the leaves and dumped them on y/n’s head.

          Y/n gasped, set down her apple cider, and said, “Ohhh, you’re on. I declare war!” as she scooped up an even bigger pile of leaves to throw at him. The two of them threw leaves at each other until Matthew wrapped y/n up in a one-armed hug, pinning her against him so he could take off her beanie off and continue dropping leaves on her head until she yielded. Laughing, y/n tapped Matthew’s arm saying, “Okay! Fine! I yield! Have Mercy!” which caused Matthew to also laugh until he fell to the side, still holding onto y/n. While lying on the ground, he looked to her and said, “Well that was fun hon! I always appreciate a woman who can hold her own in a leaf fight.”

          Y/n shook her head at him before grabbing one last handful of leaves to throw at him and then stood to her feet yelling, “Victory is mine!”

          “Oh, so that’s how it’s gonna be?! Fine, you win this time.” Matthew said, standing to his feet and raising his hands in defeat which caused them to both start laughing as they picked leaves out of each other’s hair.

          “I really didn’t think this weather through.” Y/n stated, starting to shiver. “I had such a one track mind about coming up here that I was stupid and forgot a jacket… and this flannel really isn’t doing the job. Mind if we step into the shop across the street so I can get a jacket?”

          “Here, you can wear mine, if you don’t mind the possibility of it clashing with your flannel.”

          “Not at all, but aren’t you going to be cold?”

          “Nah, I’m fine. Maybe you could hold my hand to keep me warm.” Matthew remarked, trying his best to be smooth; although it may have come across as more awkward than savvy.

          “Now there’s a nifty idea huh?”

          “I try.” Matthew said with a chuckle in his voice. Y/n accepted the offer to wear his jacket and when she put it on, she noticed three things.

          1.       It was still warm from him wearing it.

          2.       It smelled amazing.

          3.       There was a single ping pong ball in the left pocket.

          “If you don’t mind me asking, what exactly do you have a ping pong ball in your pocket for?” Y/n asked, pulling the ball from the pocket.

          “Oh, so one thing you don’t know about me is that I’m actually a magician. Here, I’ll show you a trick!” Matthew practically yelled in excitement.

          Y/n handed him the ping pong ball and Matthew knelt down in front of her saying, “Okay, now watch closely.”

          Y/n did as she was told and watched as Matthew’s hands showed her the ping pong ball and encased it. He held his hand out to her and said, “Okay, now blow on it.”

          Confused, but eager, Y/n blew on the small white ball. Matthew made a weird noise and said, “My turn now.” and blew on it before making yet another weird noise. Y/n started laughing, but kept watching closely as Matthew opened his hands to reveal the ping pong ball had disappeared.

          “Whoa! That’s so cool! Where is it?” Y/n gasped through her smile, wanting to know how it was done.

          “Check the pocket again.”

          “What- wait… HOW?” Y/n exclaimed as she pulled the small ball back out of the jacket pocket.

          “Nope! Nu-uh. A true magician never reveals his secrets.” Matthew explained with a smirk on his face and his arms folded.

          “What about an amateur magician? Can he reveal his secrets?” Y/n asked, smirking right back at him. Matthew looked shocked at her response before dramatically pretending to be deeply hurt by her calling him an amateur.

          “I’m sorry! I had to! Forgive me?” Y/n asked, giving Matthew her best please face.

          “I guess.” Matthew said, pouting. “But you’re going to have to make it up to me for that remark little miss.”

          Y/n asked hesitantly, but also very excitedly, “Oh? What did you have in mind?”

#Autumn is the Best Time of Year #aitbtoy #matthew gray gubler #fic #matthew gray gubler x reader #mgg #mgg x reader #my fic #my writing #fanfiction #matthew gray gubler fic #matthew gray gubler fanfiction #mgg fic #mgg fanfiction #criminal minds #cm #spencer reid #please don't let this flop

[capnjay21]

A House is Never Still 3/6

Five years ago, Emma Swan disappeared under mysterious circumstances. Killian Jones’ disappearance, well, not so mysterious – given the denizens of Storybrooke all but blamed him for her murder. Drawn back to town by a series of strange events, he soon realises the story of what really happened the night she vanished is beginning to unravel, and what’s more: it isn’t over.

A/N: it’s been a while since I shared something new! positive news: this is now finished, so all the remaining chapters until its finished will now be coming out weekly. if anyone is still following there won’t be much longer to wait! 

again, heaps and heaps of thanks onto @hollyethecurious​ who created the aesthetic which birthed this fic!

Rating: T 

Warnings: mentions of suicide, canonical character death, and some Spooky Business™.

AO3 | one | two

-/-

3 - those who listen intently

November 22nd, 2014 - 5 Years Ago

Everybody stared. They always stared.

But this was not a new truth for Killian Jones.

With an almost supernatural precision, hallways would part as he turned into them, with students pressing themselves against their lockers or the walls of the corridor in order to put as much distance between he and them as possible. Hushed whispers were passed from lips to ears, poorly concealed by the palm of a hand, and turning to nothing but air if he should so much as glance their way. He could feel their eyes on the back of his neck, prickling into his spine in a way that was so familiar, but now with one crucial difference; where before he had suffered their oppressive curiosity about him, now a fearful trepidation had taken its place.

He used to be the boy whose brother had committed suicide.

Now he was the boy who had murdered their classmate, and dumped the body in the woods.

Of course, nobody said anything out loud. Nothing was proven. But they all had watched him be pulled from class enough times by Principal Nemo with Sheriff Humbert at his side, only to return a few hours later, perhaps looking a little paler than before. They had all gone home, reported these details diligently to their parents, who had begun to form their own presumptions about just why he was of such special interest, and before long near on every student at Storybrooke High had been advised to give him a wide berth.

The only concrete thing the Sheriff had been able to throw at him was a piece of orange string they had found in the north woods, smeared with his blood and found a few feet from a beanie that the DNA tests they had sent for had correctly identified as Emma's. Killian had explained, not untruthfully, that he had cut himself many times as they searched the woods that night after Emma disappeared; and that she had been wearing a beanie that night, yes, so she must have lost it.

Circumstantial. That was all it was. And Humbert was getting desperate.

Not that Killian cared.

Not about the kids who always stared but would never meet his eye, not about the good cop, bad cop routine with which Humbert was trying to wile the truth out of him, not about Archie's sympathetic looks or the absolute spitting fire he was starting to receive from adults on the street.

Emma was gone.

There was a yawning, gaping cavern in his heart which yearned to hear her laugh, to watch her smile, to tug her into his arms just one more time.

But she was gone, and it was his fault. And now he had to find a way to live with that.

As he stepped sullenly down the hallway he was suddenly wrenched from his reverie by a sharp pain in his shoulder, crying out as he was hurled into the lockers beside him. His backpack slipped from his shoulder onto the floor as the movement knocked the wind out of him and he winced, but tried to pull his attention to whomever had shoved him.

Leroy stood in the centre of the corridor, bristling and agitated, his face flushed bright red with menace and fury. A few other students had gathered, forming a circle of onlookers around them.

“I liked Emma,” Leroy spat, “she was a great girl. And it’s about time you really got what's coming to you for what you did to her.”

Killian gritted his teeth.

“I didn’t do anything,” he seethed. “Come near me one more time and I’ll knock the sense out of you, got it?”

“I’m not afraid of you, sister.”

Killian straightened, and tried to ignore the throbbing across his shoulders from where he had crashed into the lockers. What Leroy Arenberg did not know was that right now Killian was an oil spill on water, just waiting for someone to light the match. He had been simmering at the edges for weeks, an ember slowly fanning into a flame for every moment that Emma wasn’t here, and he practically begged nightly for ignition. He longed for a fight; perhaps he deserved one. Leroy was bigger than he, but he didn’t have the same smoulder in his bones.

“Well, maybe you should be.”

They had both stood ready to pounce on the other as a wave of excited anticipation rippled through the onlookers, when a taller boy pushed his way through the crowd and out between the pair of them.

“What’s going on here?” David snapped, looking between the pair of them, before taking in Killian’s position by the lockers and Leroy’s arguably stronger stance in the centre of the corridor. It was easy to tell who had started it, just not who would finish it. David’s eyes narrowed at the stockier boy. “Did you–?”

“He deserves it,” Leroy growled, “he’s a monster.”

“Back off, Leroy,” David warned, “if you know what’s good for you.”

David had always been what Killian could never be; a well-liked and generous boy, a member of the track team but a good sport, polite to all of his teachers and kind to his classmates. He had garnered a lot of respect over his time at Storybrooke High, and a lot of sympathy after Emma had disappeared – everybody had known his mother had fostered her. He was as good as her brother, which meant nobody was particularly fond of upsetting him at that moment; and even less wanted to pick a fight.

Leroy included.

The boy grimaced, but eyed David with a begrudging deference.

“You should wise up, Nolan. He’s trouble.”

Leroy shoved his way back through the gathered students and stomped down the corridor. David then turned his ire to everyone else.

“Don’t you have places to be?”

With a start the crowd scattered, students fleeing his temper as quickly as they could manage.

Killian was furious. He couldn’t quite work out why. “I don't need your protection,” he snarled at David, “I could have taken him.”

He wanted to. He wanted to take him. To send him crashing into the ground and keep throwing punches until it didn’t hurt anymore. Until he didn’t want to cry anymore at the flowers and hopeful prayers the students at school had attached to Emma's untouched locker. Until he could erase her final scream from his nightmares for good.

Killian – Killian, don’t—!

“That’s not the point,” David was saying, “you shouldn’t have to. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” David had reached a hand out to him, and Killian ducked it in order to lift his rucksack. His heart was still thumping loudly in his chest, dangerous and greedy. “Just leave me alone, Dave.” He shoved roughly away from the lockers and began to walk away, but his body was still ablaze, ready for a fight. He finally swivelled on his heels and threw back at him, “Isn’t helping me what got us all into this mess in the first place?”

Unsurprisingly, David turned to molten fury; he caught up with Killian like lightning and once again he found himself pressed, albeit a little more gently, into the lockers, with David’s hands fisting in his shirt.

“Quit making this about you,” he spat. “We all lost Emma. It's bad enough you’re letting them all think –  you’re not saying anything when they—” The boy winced, his face contorting with sadness, and the fire went right out of him. “We stick together, you got that? Like it or not I give a crap about you, Killian. You’re my friend. And Emma would never have forgiven me if I let you take a beating you don't deserve.”

He released him and Killian swallowed. A pregnant pause settled between the two of them, and Killian could feel the roar that had made its way to his fingertips beginning to ebb away.

“Will never forgive you,” he corrected quietly. At David’s bemused look he continued. “Present tense. We're getting her back.”

David shut his eyes, before nodding firmly.

“Together.”

-/-

Present Day

Killian had spent much of the last few years enjoying the luxury of anonymity, in one of two ways. Either he walked the streets of cities that cared little for his story, for his purpose or his destination, blending into the palette of the populace and ensuring his identity was lost to the gaping jaws of a metropolis, or he lost himself in the complete opposite. He had skimmed across vast, rural savannahs, often going days without coming across another human being, relaxing in the ease of his own company. After years of constantly feeling under scrutiny in Storybrooke, first after he lost Liam and again after Emma, he had never wanted to undergo anything of the like again.

Of course, returning to Storybrooke had not been a factor in that particular fantasy.

And most who inhabited the town did so enjoy falling into old habits.

The early morning sky was beginning to turn from pink to white by the time Killian made his way back into the centre of Storybrooke. Weary, dismayed and in desperate need of rest, he trudged back through the woods with his torch held loosely at his side, and the dagger pressing against his chest from the inside pocket of his jacket with every step. He daren’t leave it behind, but it weighed heavily against him, the chill of the blade biting against his shirt.

A glance at his watch informed him it was barely nine in the morning, still healthily early for a Saturday, but Killian found himself vividly reminded of why he had been so desperate to avoid Main Street during more sociable hours – he felt vastly observed as he headed towards Granny’s, and the familiar sensation curled about his shoulders with a daunting persistence.

Some pointed, some muttered and tutted to their neighbours, but Killian tried to pay them no mind.

His mind was vexed by far greater quandaries than the gossiping of his long since forgotten neighbours.

So good of you to finally come and see me.

Those eyes; distant, jade – hostile.

Despite only the gentle breeze brushing down Main Street, Killian trembled.

He had wanted answers – he just hadn’t realised they could make him so desperately, desperately sad.

The door to Granny’s opened with the usual jingle, and Killian found himself immediately met with a steely glare from the proprietor, stood over a book of accounts behind the counter. His intention had been to ignore her completely and stumble up to his room, to try and catch a few hours of sleep before pondering his next move, but then he spotted Ruby at the end of the diner by the jukebox, lifting glasses from a now empty table and balancing them on her tray.

With a jolt he remembered their conversation from yesterday morning, and he made a beeline for her.

“Oh,” she said, letting out a short gasp once she noticed him at her elbow, “crap, you startled me. Everything alright?”

“I need to know what you saw.”

Ruby hesitated, a perfectly manicured hand hovering above a glass before she lifted it slowly onto the tray. “What are you talking about?”

He was tired, he was hungry, and he had been up all night. Killian didn’t have the patience for any more coyness from Storybrooke’s eccentric residents. It was about time somebody was honest with him.

“You know what I’m talking about.”

Ruby wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Did you go looking for your house?”

So good of you to finally come and see me.

Killian’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “Aye.”

“And you found it?”

“Aye.”

Ruby finally turned to face him, features tight and schooled into something defensive, almost – hurt. “Then you know what I saw. Who I –” She bit her lip, shook her head and steered past him towards the counter.

“Ruby, please,” Killian followed her, careful to keep his voice low as he felt Granny’s beady eyes following him across the diner. “That’s not enough. I can’t help unless I know more about what I’m dealing with.”

The waitress’ lips parted, meeting his earnest gaze with one of her own, and Killian felt a modicum of guilt for pressuring her. Her reluctance abounded from her in waves, and she had been kind to him since he came back into town – it was perhaps the only kindness he had received for kindness’ sake in a long time, and not because of some shared history chequered with pain.

She was spared from providing him with any more information by the clatter of the shutters and the jangling of the bell as somebody entered the diner, and on instinct both of their eyes flickered towards the door. All thoughts of pulling a proper confession from Ruby fled his mind instantly once he recognised the entrants, a lump beginning to form in his throat.

David, and his mother – Ruth.

Ruth Nolan appeared far older than when he had last seen her, although he couldn’t place when exactly that might have been – she was softer at her edges, more frail of stature, and melancholy clung to the air around her with a vice like grip. Ruth, as he had known her, had been nothing but tenderness.

That, like everything else, had changed the night Emma disappeared.

They didn’t notice him immediately. Killian’s first compulsion was to beat a hasty retreat. To sneak out through the hallway and into the inn before they had a chance to realise he was there. It was better that way – they had likely come in for a drink, or some breakfast, and he felt no desire to intrude upon their time together. Even Ruby spared him a helpless look as she glanced between them. Against her own grandmother she would stand firm, but she couldn’t be a shield between he and all the town’s censure.

Killian made to back away quietly, but as he turned his left foot nudged a stool and the loud, sharp scrape which ensued caught the momentary attention of most of the diners – including those that had just walked in the door.

David’s eyes widened as they landed on him, but Killian’s flickered quickly to the woman at his side; David did not react fast enough.

“I… hadn’t wanted to believe it,” Ruth spoke quietly, stepping around David as her dark eyes settled on Killian. He found himself completely unable to form words, panic rising in him like a wave as she took another step forward. With every painful second which passed, a sharpness seemed to form around her, as if she had been nothing but a blurry image before and was just now coming into focus. “When they said that you were back. I didn’t want it to be true.”

Killian swallowed, and all across his back and chest he felt warm. Hot. It was too hot. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think.

“Mom, why don’t you wait outside?” David was saying, but the blood rushing from the base of Killian’s skull was loud, so loud, he could barely concentrate. One of David’s hands was resting on Ruth’s shoulder, tugging gently but firmly, trying to move her away. “Mom.”

“Haven’t you caused enough pain?” Ruth hissed, low and dangerous, and her eyes sparkled with the freshness of a grief he had given her. “Isn’t it enough?”

No, he wanted to shout, wanted to scream so the dead could hear, make me feel it.

Don’t tell me – it’s hot cocoa, with cinnamon, and you’re about to hand it over.

It’s never enough.

“Mom,” David warned, and his arm curled around her waist protectively. The movement seemed to jolt Ruth out of her reverie, and although her eyes continued to spit molten fire, she allowed herself to be turned around and ushered slowly out of the door. The shutters clattered back into place behind her.

An awkward silence descended on the diner, as patrons slowly started to pick up their conversations again, not least because of the fierce glare David shot over that warned them not to remain spectators for any longer.

It was eerily familiar, that sense of David Nolan trying to shield him from prying eyes.

A whole newfound respect for David began to emerge; Killian hadn’t been able to look Ruth Nolan in the eye after it happened, but David lived with her, loved her everyday, while keeping the truth they all knew locked away in a place no one ever touched. Now either that was a colossal level of control on his part, or he could compartmentalise even better than Mary Margaret.

“You didn’t answer my calls yesterday,” David said, and Killian’s ears pricked when he detected a hint of terseness in his tone. “Are you alright?”

“Aye, I’m sorry,” Killian replied. He’d all but forgotten the number of missed calls he’d allowed to pile up on his phone. All he really wanted to do right now was go to bed. “I got a little caught up.”

“Seeing Regina?”

Ah, there it was. A flicker of hurt crossed the other man’s features, and Killian felt a surge of guilt rush forth within him. They were made of such fragile things, he should have known better than to leave David hanging – he should have at least sent him a text, but he’d been just a little too self-involved. He had forgotten what it felt like to be beholden to someone.

Still, the idea that all he had to do was walk down the street for his every activity to be so meticulously reported, combined with the exhaustion already threatening to overwhelm him, had him far more irked than he probably had cause to be. Someone must have spotted him visiting the Mills residence and it had found its way back to David.

He clicked his tongue. “I see the neighbourhood watch is no less efficient these days.”

“I can understand you needing space, needing to re-adjust. But you’ve been leaving me on the sidelines since you got here, and now you’re using your time to see her?” David shook his head, fiercely aggrieved. “After the way she cut us out?”

Killian was almost surprised by the force of his remark. “So you’ve forgiven me for leaving, but not Regina for retreating?”

“You weren’t here,” David bit back, “you didn’t see the way she treated us.”

They had stopped being friends, sometime after Regina’s father had died. That was all Killian had ever been told. After Emma, it had seemed pointless to keep abreast with the particulars; he wasn’t sure his heart could handle carrying their fractures too.

Instead he set his mouth in a tight line. “Everybody grieves in different ways.”

“Just tell me one thing,” the other man continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “Did you go to Brooke House?”

His gaze dropped pointedly to the torch Killian carried in one hand, the only thing other than the dagger that he had taken there, and the dagger was tucked out of sight in the inside pocket of his jacket.

David had always been driven by his emotions – his fear, his hurt, the desperation of wanting to know but the trepidation at being burdened with knowledge – it was written as clearly across his face as the first day Killian had brought him and Emma to the old structure in the middle of the woods. He had summoned Killian back to Storybrooke because he had been hopeful about what it might uncover, but now Killian could see there was a chance he might resent every stone they turned over.

In an instant, he knew he couldn’t take David to Brooke House now. For David Nolan, Emma was love, and light, and lost.

So good of you to finally come and see me.

“Yes,” he said simply, because he had no desire to lie, but would also rather the truth be kept as far from David as possible He hadn’t visited the house with Regina, but it was implicit in the details he chose to omit.

David’s expression contorted with anger, with hurt, and when he spoke his voice tremored like a wound.

“I’m the one who called you,” he snapped. “We’re supposed to be doing this together, Killian.”

We’re getting her back.

Together.

Killian hesitated.

So good of you to finally come and see me.

Better David stayed out of it.

When Killian spoke again he was careful to keep his tone cool, his manner disaffected.

“Maybe that’s where we went wrong last time.”

For a moment David simply stared at him, dumbfounded.

“Fuck you, Jones.”

The door to the diner had slammed shut before Killian had even registered what was happening, the shutters swaying wildly from side to side in his wake. All at once feeling relieved and bereft, Killian attempted to gather his wits and prepared to head back to his room. Only then did he notice that one of the patrons now stood between himself and the hallway, her soft, lavender coat wrapped tightly around her and a dainty bag slung over her shoulder.

She smiled kindly, although Killian resisted the urge to recoil at the pity he saw in her eyes.

But instead of offering up an attempt at a comforting platitude, such would be her normal fare, Mary Margaret finally let the polite veneer she had come to adopt slip, and he caught a glimpse of the spark that had given rise to her strong friendship with Regina Mills to begin with.

“You look like you could use a drink.”

Killian checked his watch. 9:29am. He thought longingly of his bed upstairs.

He sighed. “Definitely.”

-/-

10 Hours Earlier

“So good of you to finally come and see me.”

Killian’s chest began to ache, and he realised it was because he hadn’t drawn a breath in a number of moments, and his torso shuddered with the effort of doing so. The bulb in his torch winked once, twice, and then gave up altogether.

The vision of her remained.

Still watching him, her eyes glittering dangerously in the dim light, all sharp jade and alert and waiting for him to make the next move. Her skin was pale, but the slope of her cheeks looked all too familiar, all too close, the curve of her mouth exactly as it looked in his dreams aside from the lack of warmth in her smile. Killian found his eyes flickering to every inch of her, for some indication that what he was seeing was a falsehood, but he found none.

This was Emma Swan.

Don’t tell me – it’s hot cocoa, with cinnamon, and you’re about to hand it over.

The hand holding the dagger fell limply at his side. “Emma?”

“Surprised?” she smirked, lifting her hands to touch the circlet of dark grey flowers resting on her head. As she did so, two shrivelled petals fell away. “I know, it’s not my usual look. But it does come with a few perks.”

Emma twirled once, her dress floating daintily around her, and Killian dazedly tried to take it in. The hem was crusted in muck and leaves, as if it had been dragged along the forest floor, but the rest was a perfect white like the eponymous creature her name had always alluded to. 

But it was Emma. Emma Swan was standing in front of him.

He reminded himself to take another breath.

“How –” his voice cracked, and he tried to find it again. “How are you –?”

“Here?” she finished, and she stilled the movement of her skirt abruptly, her tone suddenly sharp and cold. “I’m exactly where you left me, Killian Jones.”    

A fierce breeze blew past him and he flinched away, and once he wrenched his gaze back up to look at her she was no longer standing there. Instead, her voice came from behind him.

“After you abandoned me,” she spat, her voice continuing to penetrate like shards of ice, “just like everyone else. And to think, as a girl I’d been naïve enough to think you were different?”

Killian’s lips parted, trying valiantly to keep up with the whiplash of the encounter. After five years, what he had scarcely hoped to be true had come about, Emma was there, but she was overcome with a kind of piercing fury and as she began to circle around him he struggled to keep his legs from giving out underneath him.

“I didn’t abandon you,” he protested, hoarsely, and Emma scoffed.

“No? I suppose bailing out to you is just a riotous show of support.”

Here, Killian could feel himself coming back to himself a little – he was responsible for much wrongdoing, that was certain, but he hadn’t come here to be attacked.

Before he could retort, she cut across him like a bullet.

“After all, isn’t that what your dear, sweet brother did?”

Instinctively Killian flinched, his hand clenching around the hilt of the dagger and something white hot shooting up his spine. As children they had shared so much with each other; they had always known how to make each other bleed.

He hadn’t realised his eyes had closed until the touch of something chilled to his temple shocked him into opening them; Emma was standing before him, her right hand drifting gently upwards as she ran the back of her fingers along the shell of his cheek. Up close, he could see the dark circles that rimmed her eyes, the sallow tint to her complexion, the way her skin appeared stretched, gaunt, over her cheekbones.

Her touch was ice cold. Killian could only watch, panicked and wretched and fearful, as Emma continued moving her hand down, fascinated, as if lingering on the warmth he radiated.

“It’s alright,” she murmured, her biting words drifting to tenderness, “I forgive you. You helped me realise the most important thing.”

She lifted herself onto her tiptoes, leaning in close to his ear. When she spoke, he could feel cool air lifting the hairs on the back of his neck. She smelt like the forest at dusk.

“The only one who saves me is me.”

A hiss, the freezing touch of her lips to the skin just below his ear, and she was gone again.

“You seem a little overwhelmed,” Emma declared imperiously, and now she was standing in the doorway that led out towards the rest of the house. The puckish delight he had seen in her when she appeared had returned, and she twirled once more in her gown, skirt swishing noisily around the floor. “Why don’t you come back when you’re ready?”

Before his heart could beat another woeful throb, she had disappeared completely. 

Killian stared at the space she had been, now vacant and vast, and tried to wrench himself back into the present.

“Emma?”

His torch flickered back into life. 

Killian reminded himself to take a breath.

More than a little disconcerted, he called her name again into the dark; but he was as alone as he had been when he first arrived. Disquiet slowly giving way to agitation, he gave every corner of the room one last glance before he swept out into the hallway again, scouring the house for any sign of her. 

Even as he thundered up to the second floor and threw open the door to every bedroom, rifled through cupboards, hauled down the rotted door to the attic, she remained completely absent. Killian tried to stem the growing tide of anguish once he realised she would probably not reappear. For a moment he considered that he might have passed out for a few minutes and hallucinated, or that he was asleep back in his room at Granny’s, but Killian had confidence in his own intrinsic sense of knowing when something was real that made him certain he hadn’t conjured up the encounter from one of his more desperate dreams.

Emma Swan was here.

Like a mirror pointed inwards, the very walls of Brooke House were saturated with her; he could feel her pulse through the old, rotted panelling, could hear her steps creaking on the floorboards. He could almost see her sitting at the spinning wheel of the otherwise barren room on the second floor. The dusty tomes of the bookcase in the study had been hauled out of place and clumsily returned a thousand times over – pages had been earmarked and passages circled that would appeal to her spirit. In the attic, the wardrobe door hung wide open.

Emma Swan was here – she just didn’t want to see him.  

Why don’t you come back when you’re ready?

No matter what he tried, nor how often he begged or pleaded into the blackened hallways, whatever vestige of her he had seen did not return. 

Dawn had long since broken by the time he left the house.

He longed for rest, for quiet; and most of all he longed for Emma.

-/-

October 22nd – 5 Years Ago

Emma’s birthday crashed into the Nolan household with far more aplomb than she was comfortable with. From the moment David had tumbled into her bedroom waving about a card and a present he was immensely proud of (a book of humorous ‘worst case scenarios’, to, in his own words, remind her to “cheer up, because at least there aren’t alligators”), she had been the centre of attention all day. Ruth had treated her to a grandiose breakfast of all of her favourite treats, and gifted her a beautiful desk set which looked easily more expensive than anything she had ever owned; which either made her feel unbelievably touched or profoundly uncomfortable, she couldn’t decide. Either way meant she promised she would cherish it.

But as grateful as she was, mostly she was feeling more than a little overwhelmed. She hadn’t been lying when she had told David she would rather the day pass quietly, perhaps with a movie or two. Birthdays for her had always been a lonesome affair, another year under her belt marking the distance from the day her parents had abandoned her by the side of the road; and just as she had been expecting, jumping from one extreme to the other was a difficult adjustment.

Still, even inundated with the gifts and attention she knew she was fortunate to receive, Emma couldn’t help but feel like something was missing.

It wasn’t until Killian had turned up on their doorstep, declaring that she had to join him on an expedition, that she realised quite what it was. She had hurriedly called over her shoulder than she would be back in a few hours, grabbed her coat and skipped down the steps after him.

She hadn’t seen much of Killian over the last week or so – in fact, she hadn’t gotten the chance to spend any real time with him since the day they had visited Brooke House. He had taken to spending his lunches in the library, away from the bustle of noise that normally surrounded David’s friends that Emma occasionally fell into these days, and he vanished soon after the bell rang marking the end of the day. It tugged an odd sensation from her. After years of him being only a few doors down under Archie’s roof, she was feeling oddly bereft of his presence after his isolating behaviour in the last week or so.

As she practically jogged down the street after him, she felt something calm and pleasant warm her when she observed his excitement as he charged ahead; she was only half listening to what he was saying.

And it did seem like he’d forgotten it was her birthday. Which suited Emma just fine.

Only when they began to turn up the pebbled path to the Convent of the Sisters of Saint Meissa did Emma’s awareness of her surroundings really kick in, and she slowed her trail of Killian enough for him to notice.

“What are we doing here?”

Killian gave her an odd look. “I told you – ‘Beauty’, I found her.”

“Beauty?” After a beat, realisation dawned. “Like the photograph?”

“Turns out she’s been living in Storybrooke the whole time – the nuns have been taking care of her for the past few years.”

Emma arched an eyebrow. “Taking care of her?”

“Well, she’s… I mean she’s old, obviously,” Killian looked a little uncomfortable, “and y’know… old people need taking care of.”

She had the distinct impression he was leaving something out, but the eager smile he was giving her and the crook of his finger as he took slow, backward steps up the path won her over, albeit reluctantly, and they made their way to the convent.

A kindly nun greeted them on the doorsteps, and given the warmth of the greeting and the apparent familiarity with Killian, Emma sensed he had called ahead. The nun excitedly told them that Mrs Gold did not receive many callers, but felt it would do her a world of good to be visited by a couple of kindly young souls from the town. Emma’s unease grew, but she trusted Killian. Perhaps it wasn’t where she had imagined spending the latter half of her birthday, but that hardly mattered now.

They were led up the stairs to a bedroom door on the landing, and the nun knocked three times to announce their entrance.

“Belle? Belle, my dear?”

Killian was right; the woman nestled into the bed was old. But the soft lines of her face and the lovely, big eyes she had turned to the window were a sure sign that she had once been beautiful. Even with her silver hair and the puckered skin around her features she was easily recognisable as the girl in the photograph they had found in the attic. ‘Beauty’ had been right – but how Killian had found her was a complete mystery.

The nun called her name again. Belle did not turn from the window, and it was then that Emma observed the almost glassy coolness that had settled in her ice-blue eyes. She stared with a definite vacancy out into the garden below, and it was only when the nun gently touched her shoulder that she was suddenly jerked for her trance and, startled, became aware of the visitors.

Emma realised why exactly Killian was reluctant to discuss the state of the aged Mrs Gold; she would certainly have voiced a protest to disturbing an elderly woman with any measure of vulnerability.

Still, after the nun had introduced them, a perfect, gentle smile bloomed, and it changed the shape of her features entirely. She greeted them warmly and the nun, satisfied, soon departed the room.

Emma fidgeted. Killian immediately reached for a chair and scraped it over to the bedside, but Emma preferred to stand – she felt a little uncomfortable as it was, and instead wandered over to the window to perhaps catch a glimpse of what had so captured the woman’s attention.

“This is you, right? In the photo?” Killian was handing it over, and the woman’s laugh was positively musical as she took it from him.

“Why, yes,” she chortled, tracing a finger down the edge of the image. “If – if you can believe it now.”

“You look lovely,” Killian hurried to assure, “then and now.”

“Thank you, sweet boy,” Belle smiled. “Where on earth did you come by this?”

Killian shot Emma a look, but she shrugged. This was his venture.

“I found it,” he began, with a marked amount of trepidation, “in Brooke House.”

Immediately, the old woman’s face fell. Emma watched with amazement as her big, beautiful eyes grew sad, and she thrust the photo back towards Killian, who accepted it more out of surprise than anything else.

Belle shook her head sorrowfully. “I don’t… I don’t know anything about that boy, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Which boy?” Killian asked.

“The boy with the lovely manners,” she answered, as if that explanation were enough to make it obvious, “he brought me carnations.” At their continuing blank looks, Belle began to fidget nervously with the duvet, intermittently clutching it tightly between her fingertips and releasing it. “They say he… he drove off a cliff.”

Liam. Killian’s eyes closed instantly. Emma stepped up to stand by his shoulder and squeezed it once with her hand.

From all that Killian had told her about Liam, it seemed altogether quite believable that he might be the sort of man to bring an elderly lady flowers and win her over by simply being kind. Killian appeared to have reached that conclusion too.

“That boy was my brother, Liam.”

“Oh.” Belle’s eyes grew wide, and sad. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“But how did you meet him? Liam?” Emma inquired.

“He brought me carnations,” Belle repeated, her voice deep and slow. “He had such lovely manners.”

Emma and Killian exchanged looks. He slipped the photograph back into his pocket.

“We were wondering if we could ask you about the house – Brooke House, where we found the photograph.” Belle bit her lip, gaze flitting nervously between the two of them. “Did you live there?”

“My – my husband,” she said, “he found – he found a house, in the woods – and he thought it might make him strong.”

Make him –? That settled it for Emma. This woman was, in all likelihood, nuts. No wonder she’d been left with the nuns.

Killian’s lips had parted, but before he could speak the old woman suddenly lurched forward with alarming speed, a frail hand reaching for his and gripping it sharply.

“You mustn’t go there,” she spoke directly, staring firmly into Killian’s eyes with a cognizance Emma would not have attributed to her. “It will only bring you pain.”

Killian did his best to meet her halfway. “Why? What happened to your husband?”

Just as quickly as she had taken it, she released his hand. Emma watched as Killian stretched out his fingers and winced a little – had she been gripping it that tightly? Had she even the ability to? As Belle retreated her eyelids drooped, a melancholy settling around her shoulders that Emma realised she had seen before. Except, now that she knew that for a brief moment Belle Gold had been without it, she wanted to see it again so she might be able to discern the differences in her demeanour. This woman was devastatingly sad, and confused, and Emma grew more uneasy the longer they spent with her.

Not least for the affect it might have on Killian; finding Brooke House to begin with had to be staggering enough.

“No one would believe me,” Belle murmured miserably.

“We’ll believe you,” Killian was quick to assure her, “I promise.”

Belle’s eyes snapped to his. She was all caprice.

“He was taken.” She shook her head. “By darkness, in the middle of the night. There is… there is evil in that house.”

For a moment Emma was no longer in the tattered bedroom of the convent, but the attic of Brooke House – the wardrobe thumped, beckoned, and whispered. She felt her heart begin to race. 

It wanted to know her.

“Do you believe in magic?”

The odd question startled her back to the present, and she was at once able to observe what was happening – Killian watching her, mesmerised, as the old woman spun her tale. He was vulnerable enough, he didn’t need his head filled with all sorts of wizard crap from a batty old lady who lived with nuns. Emma wasn’t having it.

“Killian,” she pleaded, “this is ridiculous…”

But Killian dismissed her concerns with an impatient wave of his hand, and urged Belle to continue.

“My husband believed a spirit resided in Brooke House – a spirit that could gift the one who freed it with ultimate power. He wanted it.” Belle shut her eyes, her wizened face contorted with pain. “That was his undoing.”

Killian was utterly entranced. “What – what kind of spirit?”

Belle shook her head. She didn’t speak again for a number of moments but Emma could sense Killian’s reluctance to ask for a second time; somehow to repeat the question might be to insert some much needed realism into the moment, and the spell might be broken. Whatever fantastical answers he wanted inhabited this single second.

She just hoped they would be enough this time.

To her surprise, Belle’s eyes began to fill with tears.

“I couldn’t do anything,” she began to weep, “for the lovely boy. He b-brought me carnations.”  

“But what did my brother want?” Killian pressed. “Did he ask you about the house?”

“He had such lovely manners.”

Soon, her quiet shaking gave way to a loud wail, and Killian stood from his chair in alarm. Emma, completely unnerved by the elderly woman suddenly howling through the stillness of the convent and entirely unsure of what to do next, merely stood awkwardly halfway to the door – should they fetch one of the nuns? Just leave?

Emma’s mouth was open to ask if she’d like a glass of water or something equally banal and probably inappropriate, when the door swung open and the nun who had invited them inside came through looking startled.

From the way her expression morphed into one of tight fury, Emma knew their visit was over. In a matter of minutes they had been ushered quite tersely to the front door of the convent and invited not to return again if they would insist on distressing their residents in such a way, but Emma couldn’t stop thinking about the way Belle rocked in her bed and wept so strongly into her hands for a boy she barely knew; the sweet and gentle Liam Jones, who had brought her carnations. It seemed every life he’d walked through was incapable of getting over his loss.

Liam was always the one part of Killian she could not touch.

Left stranded on the porch as they were, Emma surveyed the long lawn that led out from the convent. The tips of the grass were frosted over, a herald of the likely harsh winter she knew would follow, and peppered with streaks of gold where errant leaves had blown across from the treeline at the far end. It was all stillness outside, like the air itself were holding its breath. She stole a glance at Killian but he, too, was staring out from the stone wall.

Then he took off quickly down the stairs.

“Killian –?” Emma immediately started after him, and like her call had suddenly jerked him into remembering he was there, he turned and winced.

“Let’s just… let’s not talk about it,” he pleaded. “Just – just for a little while. Please can we not even try.”

Maybe retrospect was allowing him to really see what had just happened the way Emma did; they had been entertaining the crazed ramblings of an unfortunately ill elderly woman, who genuinely believed her husband had disappeared because of the machinations of an evil spirit. Who apparently lived in a cabin. Perhaps he was embarrassed.

So, for the nth time in recent memory, Emma was helpless to not wanting to point it out to him. He was reaching, and part of him probably knew it. Instead, she let out a weary sigh.

“Granny’s?”

“Ah,” he suddenly jolted, “yes! Granny’s. I have something else to show you.”

He darted for her hand and used it to tug her clumsily down the steps towards him and, baffled at his sudden change in demeanour, Emma laughed and let herself collapse into his side.

“But I have to tell you, if it’s another old person about to ask me to believe in magic, it’s going to be a hard pass.”

“Oh, shush.”

-/-

Present Day

Aesop’s Tables was probably the only place serving alcohol that early in the morning, so Killian didn’t question it when Mary Margaret led them to that part of town. Nestled into a redbrick industrial building, it had always been an easily overlooked sort of place – and it was the sort of place that tended to easily overlook you, provided you could pay for beer and didn’t cause any trouble. It was a popular location for late teens or young adults trying to see how far they could push the ‘I’m over twenty-one’ line until it was true, and given there were worse things they could be pretending to be, they were largely left alone.

Mary Margaret held the door open for him, and after they entered he was immediately hit by a wave of something tangy smelling, a fragrance that let you know just before the fact that your shoes would make a peeling sound when you lifted them off the ground. The tables were a worn and dull oak that might once have been nice-looking, but constant forceful cleaning had long since deadened them, and no matter how many times were wiped over always felt just a little bit greasy underneath your fingers, like they still oozed lager that had been spilt into the cracks a thousand times over.

It wasn’t exactly the sort of place he could imagine Mary Margaret, elementary school teacher, wearer of lavender coats and soft berets, spending time in.

It was exactly the sort of place he could imagine Mary Margaret, certified firecracker, acerbic of wit and bold of humour when they were seventeen and invincible, spending time in.

Although the two facets of her had always existed simultaneously, they had always complimented each other in a way that had only strengthened her spirit; she seemed less, somehow, for letting one take precedence over the other.

Certainly watching her daintily lay her lavender coat over one of the crooked bar stools didn’t quite click into place the way it should have done.

Killian nodded to Aesop, who thankfully didn’t care about serving town pariahs as much as he didn’t care about serving minors, and ordered them each a rum and coke.

(A little bit of one side – and a little bit of the other).  

“So,” Mary Margaret said, peering at him over the rim of her glass before taking a sip. Her nose wrinkled, barely noticeably, before the corner of her mouth ticked up. “David. That looked like a difficult conversation.”

“I’ve had worse,” Killian answered, not untruthfully. He felt tired; the kind of tired that burrowed deep into your bones. Mary Margaret hummed in agreement, and something about it made Killian finally give over to his curiosity. “So. David,” he echoed. “What happened? When I left, you were… well, you were definitely heading somewhere.”

Mary Margaret immediately dropped her gaze, picking at the smooth wood of the bar with a fingernail. Like David, she wore her every emotion on her sleeve, but regret had written itself so closely into the shape of her brow that Killian almost didn’t notice it – or it had been there for a lot longer than he realised.

“David… made his choice,” she finally sighed. “As much as I wish it could have gone another way…”

Ah, now he understood. “He didn’t want to let go?”

“Don’t judge me, Killian,” Mary Margaret’s tone was sharp with reproach as she straightened on her stool. “Some people don’t want to live in their trauma.”

He could remember a cool night in early summer, the year after they had lost Emma. Huddled by the edge of the forest he could still hear the buzz of insects, feel the way the soil had kicked up underfoot, the harsh zoom of nearby cars. The night she gave up first.

I want the chance to miss her. But it’s impossible around all of you.

The Mary Margaret of now looked almost exactly like the Mary Margaret of then. The Mary Margaret that would rather be soft and sure than part of their razor’s edge.

She took another drink. “Not all of us have your stamina.”

It was just a statement of fact, unintending of any hurt, but he felt its sting all the same. “Well, I’m sorry about it. You two were… it looked nice.”

“I should have left, really,” she said, with a forced nonchalance that fell flat. “Followed your example. But every time I packed a bag I just…” She shook her head ruefully. “There’s something about this town.”

Something jerked in his chest, something ached. “Don’t I know it.”

“Did you miss us?”

“Of course,” he replied, and he meant it.

They sat in silence for a little while, letting it sink into the space between them. Mary Margaret kept scrunching up her expression and then schooling it into something more relaxed, and he could tell she was trying to think of the best way to phrase something – or she already knew exactly what she wanted to say, but she couldn’t decide if it would hurt his feelings.

He wanted to let her know they weren’t such fragile things anymore, but she probably still remembered the boy on that cool summer night, too.

We can’t give up now. Not after everything we’ve been through.

She had put them all away, somewhere; but that was alright. They all had to do what they needed to survive.

“It was upsetting,” Mary Margaret said finally, staring hard at her glass. “Not because of you. It was just – I’m sorry we made you feel like you had to go.”

Killian felt something warm bloom in his chest – the fact she carried any regret towards it was a surprise, especially given his decision to leave Storybrooke had no more to do with them than it had to do with the bus schedule out of town. They were just moving parts in a decision he had made all on his own. It wasn’t on them, but the idea that they might think that and feel sorry for it was both startling and touching.

“It’s alright,” he said wryly, after finishing his drink. “I forgave this town a long, long time ago.”

“I wish the town would forgive you.” She, too, polished off the remainder of her drink, and sighed. “We were stupid kids. And one day our stupidity got someone killed.”

It was amazing, he thought, how selective her memory could be.

Without preamble, Mary Margaret stood from the stool and lifted her lavender coat, checking it briefly for any stains or muck that might have come away with it before she shrugged it on.

“Take care of yourself, Killian. And I’m sorry about what I said before, at Granny’s.” She shook her head, cross with her earlier self. “You can talk to me anytime, about anything. You have my number.”

He did, but he wouldn’t use it. He thanked her honestly and watched her go.

Aesop asked if he wanted another drink.

He thought for a moment.

“Something that will help me sleep,” he said finally, “but not let me dream.”

-/-

October 22nd – Five Years Ago

Killian’s hand kept brushing into the space between them, almost reaching, before retreating at the last minute. Emma’s pulse quickened with every inch it skimmed closer to her own hand, almost daring him to go ahead and take it.

It wasn’t like it would be the first time – she had often found herself reaching for his hand, to provide reassurance or some much needed comfort, and he the same for her. It had felt like their entire cautious journey from the rotted front door of Brooke House all the way up to the attic they had stayed attached to each other, needing something to secure themselves to the real world, lest their overactive imaginations pull them apart.

It was just that – right now – they would be a boy, and a girl, on Main Street, and without any such excuse.

She wondered if Killian even noticed that he was doing it.

He spoke animatedly about nothing at all. About the history project they had been given by Mr. Hyde, about the new Sheriff the town had elected last month. About liquorice allsorts, in his smooth, British accent with his face turned onto the road ahead so she could easily, secretly, admire the hard line of his jaw.

It wasn’t like she hadn’t noticed. They weren’t kids anymore. Killian had broader shoulders now, and hair that fell just so, and she remembered the way his upper body had tensed pleasantly the day the seniors had been asked to help put up the Halloween decorations around the school. The friendship she and Killian had forged in fire had always been made of sterner stuff, stuff that had always made her flat out reject any idea of taking that relationship any further than the platonic. He was too special, too important. But it didn’t mean sometimes she didn’t imagine it another way.

And sometimes, when his hand brushed hers, gently, in broad daylight, she thought he had probably imagined it too.

Granny’s was abuzz with the Sunday lunchtime rush, but once the proprietor had noticed their entrance she quickly hurried them over to an empty booth in the corner, bestowing a fond smile on Killian and tousling his hair as she did so. Killian batted her hand away, but Emma could tell he was pleased. Due to their friendship with Ruby, she and Killian were always more than welcome in the Lucas household, which included some added benefits when the household was attached to a diner.

Nonetheless, she was still surprised when instead of her usual diet coke, Granny instead marched proudly over with a large, almost clumsily put together cake with bright pink, uneven frosting, and placed it down in front of her.

The words Happy Birthday Emma! had been wobblily written across in blue icing.

When Emma lifted her surprised gaze from the cake, she met Killian’s grinning face looking distinctly pleased with himself.

“You remembered?” She was sure he’d completely forgotten, amid everything that had happened over the last few weeks.

To his credit, Killian almost looked offended at the notion. “Of course,” he insisted. “I was up at the crack of dawn making this!” A throat was cleared loudly above them, and Killian conceded; “Well, Granny helped.”

“And bought the ingredients, and provided the kitchen space?”

“Granny,” Killian was smiling, although he spoke through gritted teeth, “would you actually mind if – could we have a moment, please?”

Emma missed whatever look of understanding likely passed between the pair of them, as Granny then retreated quickly, but she found herself struck by the image of Killian back in the kitchen of the diner, fussing about how to get the cake just right. Lanky limbs would get in the way, flour would get everywhere; Killian didn’t know the first thing about baking.

Which was probably why it looked so lumpy, like a child had moulded it out of clay.

It was – even more than Ruth’s beautiful desk set, perhaps – startlingly thoughtful.

“Do you… like it?” He was nervous, which was when Emma realised she hadn’t spoken, so she quickly smiled to reassure him.

“It probably tastes better than it looks, right?”

Killian snorted, and Emma too started to laugh. Before long they had both dissolved into fits of laughter, and after Granny had returned with a knife and couple of plates, they had each cut themselves a generous slice and agreed that yes, definitely, it tasted far better than it looked.

“I got you something else,” Killian said later, after she’d shovelled the last mouthful in of her third slice, and declared she couldn’t eat another bite.

“Oh god, if it involves icing I’m going to have to respectfully decline.”

Killian smiled obligingly, but waved her off before reaching into his jacket. Emma could tell from the way he hesitated that he was nervous, and that was enough to make her own pulse race a little quicker. A gift from David or Ruth she could graciously, if awkwardly, accept, but Killian had always been something else. They did not waste trinkets on each other, they never had – money had never been an infinite tool at their disposal, even in the kindness under Archie’s roof.

What Killian withdrew from his coat was a thin white envelope, with her name written neatly across it.

“Alright,” Emma gave him a suspicious look as he handed it over, “colour me intrigued.”

Killian’s hands moved from their place resting atop the table to being clasped together, before separating again restlessly. It took a moment for Emma to register what the small slip of paper that slid out of the envelope was.

STATE OF MAINE DEPARTMENT OF TRANSPORT FROM: Storybrooke        TO: Augusta DEP: 23Jun15 18:00       SCHED: 8150 -- TICKET FOR SCHEDULE 8150 / 23Jun15 FARE        $23.00

She felt like she’d seen a hundred of them before – but she still didn’t really understand what she was seeing. Her gaze lifted to Killian, fidgeting in his seat, and she bit her lip. “What am I looking at?”

“I know this town isn’t where it ends, not for you,” Killian said by way of answer. “I’ve always known that, like I know how to tie my own shoelaces. You love David, and Ruth, and Regina and Ruby and Mary Margaret, but you want more. You always have. You deserve more.” His words zinged with a nervous sort of energy, and Emma felt her heart begin to pound against her ribcage. “So I’m trying to… give you more.”

“It’s a bus ticket.”

“It’s for the date of graduation,” Killian hurried to point out, swallowing as he waved at the ticket. She noticed that yes, it was. “I wanted to buy a plane ticket, but then – I mean, turns out plane tickets are super expensive, and I also wasn’t sure where you’d want to go, so—”

“So your birthday present to me,” Emma began slowly, lowering the envelope, trying to make sure she had this right, “is to sit me on a bus and send me out of town next year?”

“Well, actually I was hoping,” Killian replied, fumbling with his pocket for a moment, “that you’d want to sit next to me.”

Gently, he placed a matching ticket on the table beside hers.

The stuttering tones of Only You by Yaz began crooning from the jukebox, and Emma decided it was her favourite song in the entire world.

“It’s, erm – it’s more of a symbolic gesture, really. I thought, if you wanted, that we could get as far as Augusta and then make it up from there. Like – maybe Boston, you know? Or New York? Or, and I’m thinking if I can put enough money aside, maybe we could get a plane ticket. In fact, Augusta seems like a stupid idea now. And also, wow, super presumptuous. Who says you even want to leave? This is officially the worst idea I’ve ever had.” He continued speaking to fill the vacuous space left by her silence, peering closely at his ticket. “I think I can get a refund if I –”

Emma was up on her feet, rounding the table so she could slide in beside him in the booth before he could finish the sentence. She wrapped her arms tightly around his neck and kissed him hard on the cheek.

She wasn’t sure what made her do it, but she felt overwhelmed by warmth. On a day that had started uncertainly Killian Jones, as always, was joy and thoughtfulness. All at once to her he was twelve years old and kind and scared but also seventeen and fierce and wanting, and he had bought them both a ticket out of Storybrooke for the day their obligations ended. Future with Killian was limitless; there was only sky for miles and miles and miles.

She couldn’t wait.

“Thank you,” she said earnestly, to Killian’s dazed expression. “For always knowing exactly what I want before I do.”

“You’re… you’re welcome.”

He probably noticed the exact moment she did the proximity her new position had granted them. Emma realised, with a shot of unexpected and terrifying delight, that they were now just inches apart. All it would take was the slightest movement forward from either of them to finally satisfy their curiosity. From the way Killian’s gaze flickered down to her lips she could tell the same thought had crossed his mind. Knowing him, he was probably waiting to see what she would do.

All other sound tuned out in an unhurried manner, as if someone were slowly turning the volume down on the diner, on the conversation of the patrons and the sound of cutlery on plates or Granny’s loud repetition of the orders she had just received, except for the jukebox. The electronic bop of Only You still tiptoed up and down the scale, and Emma felt herself swaying dangerously forward. She could spot a scratch of youthful, patchy stubble beginning to grow on his chin, and the barely visible scar on his right cheek from when they were fourteen and Regina had flung a pencil at him with excessive force. She knew the curve of his mouth as well as she knew her own.

But she just – she couldn’t. Not now. They’d made plans together, important plans. She couldn’t bear it if there were any reason she couldn’t sit beside Killian on that bus to Augusta.

Besides, the future was only sky. They had all the time in the world.

Emma cleared her throat, smiling self-consciously and sliding her arms back from around his neck. It burst the bubble, and Killian too shook his head lightly as if to jog himself back into the moment.

After a beat of nervous chuckling, Only You became the song she had almost kissed Killian Jones to.

She returned to her seat opposite him.

“Really, thank you,” she said, and she meant it. “Augusta suits me just fine.”

Killian bowed his head shyly.

“Just as well,” he muttered, “it was pretty much all I could afford.”

-/-

Present Day

“Emma?”

He had waited until dark to return to Brooke House, snatching a few hours of restless sleep from within his room at Granny’s, but he still felt tormented by the faces in the town he had left behind. His phone was notably absent of any texts from David, and Regina had left his last message on read and not bothered to reply. Mary Margaret’s offer of confidence fell flat when he knew the things he wanted to share she didn’t truly want to hear. Even Ruby had avoided him, not wanting to finish their earlier conversation.

All Killian could think about was Emma.

I’m exactly where you left me, Killian Jones.

The only one who saves me is me.

Something had survived in that house, and after all this time he wanted answers. Be it vengeful spirit, demonic manifestation or the soul of the girl he had loved, the not knowing simply wasn’t enough anymore. The visage of her had robbed him of his confidence, stolen him away from the barely cultivated life he had built from the debris of his own making, and he wasn’t leaving Storybrooke until he could close this chapter for good.

He had left the dagger behind, wrapped it in an old scarf and stuffed it under the seat in his Chevelle – it felt safer there than hidden in his room at Granny’s. He wasn’t sure if the old lady would come snooping again and he didn’t want to tempt fate by leaving something so conspicuous anywhere she could find it.

Peering into the gloom of the living room, Killian called her name again, and at first the only answer was the sway and creak of the old house, but before long he felt her enter the room. Like all the air had been sucked out, and only a light ringing in his ear could be heard over the deep, deadly cadence of her voice.

“Welcome back.” She spoke from somewhere near his elbow, but when he turned she had already moved far away to the window, the curtain lifted by a breeze with nothing natural about it. “Do you feel a little better now?”

Not as blindsided, maybe. But better?

“Where have you been?” Killian started. Brooke House had disappeared with Emma, that had been well documented by all of them. Its return now had to mean something. “What happened to you?”

Emma surveyed him shrewdly, tilting her chin upwards. A black petal fell from her crown, but landed delicately in her outstretched palm.

“You want to know if I’m still me.” Her tone was almost accusatory when she spoke, before it curled into something awful and amused. “Oh, Killian, don’t tell me you’re still carrying that particular torch. That’s so… sweet.”

Killian felt himself flush angrily, but was sure in the dark she wouldn’t even notice. The heat was a welcome change from the cold that surrounded her.

“I want to know what the bloody hell happened that night.”

Her gown was the same white he had seen the night before, and it audibly swished as she moved across the floor, slowly, daintily, like a ghost of pure ivory.

“Do you remember my eighteenth birthday?” she said instead, ignoring him. When she smiled her eyes were black and Killian had to look away. In an instant she was beside him, brushing a chilled hand down his arm. “You took me to Granny’s, gave me that awful cake. And that pathetic little bus ticket.” She laughed cruelly and Killian ripped his arm from her grip. “God, it’s true what they say, isn’t it? Everything you do as a teenager does make you cringe when you grow up.”

Rage began to build beneath the surface of his skin, and he gritted his teeth.

Don’t, he begged. Don’t take away those moments.

Precious, fugacious things.

In the coolness of her presence, everything was ashes.

“What are you?”

“Is that where you started, I wonder?” she continued loudly, tilting her head far to the side. It was a decidedly inhuman gesture, her neck bent farther than could be comfortable. “On that bus to Augusta? Did you get on it by yourself with those big, sad eyes, and wish I’d been sitting there too?”

Killian felt a humiliating sting behind his nose and turned abruptly away. He wouldn’t let her see it. He wouldn’t let her take another part of him without a fight. Instead, he jolted in surprise when he felt something press into his back. Killian knew it must be the curve of her forehead, as her two hands came to rest above it, between his shoulder blades, hard fingers curling into his jacket.

“I felt it as you walked the Earth, Killian Jones. Every step. My dagger has tasted so many wonderful places.” Her voice was barely more than a whisper, like drizzle in the fall. Constant and sad and desperate and desirable. “You said it yourself. This town isn’t where it ends for me.”

Her nails were beginning to sting his shoulder, but he daren’t turn around. Somehow he felt more powerful with his back to her, with her clinging to him like a child. By fair means or foul, it soothed a little of the ache of the years he had spent clinging to her with a similar fervour.

“What,” he hesitated, cleared his throat so he didn’t sound so hoarse, “what do you want?”

“Now you’re asking the right questions.”

Her fingers dug in harder as he felt her lift herself onto her tiptoes so she could whisper in his ear. When she spoke again it was harsh and granular and the melodic lilt was gone.

“I want to be free of this house.”

The moment Killian chose to pull himself away was the same moment she released him, and when he spun around he saw her again standing by the window and looking out. With her admission hanging deadly in the air, the words still ricocheting across his skull, he thought she looked almost longing. Sad. Or hungry.

“But David,” he said, making his bemusement clear, “Ruby – they said they saw –”

A figure at the end of the bed.

On the edge of Main Street.

Killian, himself, had seen the whisper of a gown swish closely out of sight.

Only You had been playing around him for days, on radios, in shops, aching, wanting, reminding him of everything that never was, the roads that time had closed. He had assumed that was her doing.

“Oh, I can test the boundaries,” Emma dismissed him with the wave of a hand, “stretch my limits. But I’m always tethered here.”

With a start she was in front of him, and if the concerned crease of her brow and the roundness of her eyes were enough to make him forget the gaunt pallor or the ice of her touch, he might’ve thought he were staring at Emma Swan as he had known her.  She clutched at his hands painfully tightly.

“Help me, Killian,” she begged, and her voice had become light and youth and – normal. “Let me out. Please.”

His lips parted. For a moment, a desire overwhelmed him to run to the Chevelle, to grab the dagger and bring it back to Brooke House, to lay it at her feet. He desperately wanted to please her. He knew not why other than the sensation that he must, and his body tensed, readying itself for the journey.

Only something triumphant had flickered in Emma’s expression then, and it was enough to wrench him out of the thrall. He trembled with the effort of keeping himself steady, almost stumbling forward right into her.

“You?” he gasped. “Or what’s inside you?” With effort he pushed her away, gripping her shoulders and holding her at arm’s length. “I won’t do it.”

It seemed imperative that whatever restless spirit had taken root in Storybrooke, it should never be able to leave.

Within seconds he was only holding empty air and Emma was gone again.

This time when she spoke, the deep, heavy voice was back, talking as imperiously as he would expect from something so hostile.

“Even if I could tell you what happened to your brother?”

Killian did a double take, but Emma wasn’t in the room anymore. He scrambled out the door into the hallway and found her mounting the stairs, the muddied edge of her gown trailing behind her.

“Liam?”

“I know now, don’t you see?” she threw over her shoulder. “I’ll tell you everything – but only if you help me.”

Killian shook his head fiercely. “You’re not her.” Maybe she never was. “My Emma didn’t play games. And whatever you are, you can be damned sure I will never help you.”

He couldn’t see Emma’s expression as she disappeared up onto the landing, and she sounded much farther away than should be possible.

“You don’t have to decide now,” she murmured, Killian straining his ears to hear her. “‘Looking from a window above, it’s like a story of love…’”

Gritting his teeth, Killian pounded up the stairs behind her, the wood groaning in protest, but she was already gone. As a cursory gesture he threw open the door to the room with the spinning wheel, and although it continued to spin eerily slowly, the by now familiar creek accompanying its every complete rotation, Emma was nowhere to be seen. Based on his experiences the day prior, he was certain he wouldn’t find her in any other room in the house.

Back in the hallway, he considered heading back to the Chevelle and retrieving the dagger. Surely that would lure her back.

He dismissed it almost immediately – not tonight.

Tonight he would let himself mourn.

Tomorrow, the real work began.

#jay writes #a house is never still #cs role reversal #cs fic #cs ff #captain swan #cs au #cs halloweek #still tagging halloweek even though we are long #long past it #killian jones #emma swan #here it iiiisss!

[yikeswtfmate]

Saccharine

Summary: Bucky is trying to cook again and Y/N is afraid he will starve to death one of these days. Surely, no one can eat something that smells this horrifying? 

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x you

Warnings: swearing; a small sexual innuendo?; alcohol consumption; that’s it?

A/N: Based on the prompt My neighbour’s at my door, asking if everything’s alright, because it smells like something is burning, and I was only trying to cook for once and this is embarrassing but they decide to help me fix this mess although I’ve changed it a bit

Feels a bit rushed to the end imo, but this is what happens when I’m getting super excited about another idea and I can’t think about anything else

masterlist

There’s a distinct smell of burnt onions in the kitchen. I can smell it even from my place on the sofa, distracting me from my phone enough to raise my nose into the air and take a lungful of what now seems to be…rotten eggs? I wouldn’t be so confused if it weren’t for the fact that no one is currently cooking in my kitchen but as I make my way to the open window, I can bet good money that my neighbour is trying to cook again. It’s the third time this week that I’m wondering whether that long-haired handsome man is actually a vulture, coyote or freak of nature because how can someone eat something that smells so vile? His only redemption is that I know thanks to the impossibly thin walls of the building that these cooking endeavours inevitably end up in him ordering takeout after a couple of hours of cursing and what must only be whatever he’s been trying to make dumped into the bin.

This is it, I think. There is literally no possibility that a human being can survive on takeout alone. I go to the bathroom and make myself presentable, because let’s face it, I’m not going to face that pretty man looking like I’ve just hibernated for a week (which I have, but he doesn’t need to know that), put on a pair of slippers and with a long inhale get out of my apartment. In front of his door, I shift my weight from one foot to the other, now my exasperation at his culinary inabilities suddenly vanishing in the face of uncertainty. What if he’ll think I’m rude? What if he has someone over and I’m interrupting? What if he’ll think I’m weird? We’ve never spoken before after all, with the exception of the nods of acknowledgement in the mornings when we would occasionally meet.

As I ponder my decision, there are more curses flowing over the sound of sizzling. Fuck it, this man needs my help or he’ll starve. I knock on his door, waiting for a few seconds after I hear a shouted “coming.” The door flies open and my neighbour, this beautiful specimen of a man, is surrounded by steam and the smell of…does he have a wet dog inside the house? His hair must have been tied at the back, but now long strands are stuck to his sweaty forehead. He brings a hand to his face, wiping away at a red streak, only to be replaced by a black smudge. The kitchen towel he’s holding is dripping with something orange and the sleeve on his other arm is scorched. Has he been trying to cook an armchair?

“Hi. I know this might sound weird, but are you trying to cook?”

“Uh…Yeah. I’m failing miserably, as you can see.” He says with a frown, moving away from the door so I can look inside his apartment, which is now starting to fill with smoke.

“Uh – I think you might want to take off whatever you have on the stove now or the fire alarm will start going off soon.” I advise and with bulging eyes, he just turns around and runs toward the kitchen.

He leaves the door open so I take that as an invitation to come in and close it, just so I can spare the rest of our neighbours from the appalling smell. Following him, I inspect the damage and I can say hand on my heart that I have never in my entire life seen such damage. I let him take the pan off the stove and into the sink, although I should warn him that it’s probably not a good idea to pour cold water onto boiling oil, but I’m not even sure that is oil. I find some paper towels and wipe the cracked eggs off the counter and into a bowl that is full of skinned…peppers? I throw that away after I locate the bin, take a wet washcloth and clean the kitchen island, which is full of burnt meat, I’ll presume. As I inspect a purple sphere surrounded by slices of cucumber on a plate, there’s a grunt in front of me on the other side of the island and I look up with a consoling smile.

“This looks worse than it actually is.” He says.

“Well, it certainly looks better than it smells.”

“That bad, huh?” He scratches the back of his neck and extends a hand after he wipes it on his jeans that are actually covered in flour. “I’m Bucky by the way. I’ve never had the chance to introduce myself.”

“Y/N.” I shake his hand, noticing the rough skin – definitely not a cook then. At least I’ve established he’s not poisoning anyone else. “What were you trying to make anyway?”

“My friend Natalia gave me this Russian recipe for pirozhki, but I’ve just realised that she’s a worse cook than me so I should’ve never trusted her.”

He takes a sit with a grunt and a shake of his head. He offers me the chair next to him, reaching over an opened bottle of wine that was sitting on the island, next to a few mismatched glasses. I grab two, letting him fill them to the brim. It’s one of those nights, apparently.

“I’m pretty sure pirozhki are made with cabbage not…is that hummous?” I frown at yet another plate with an unnamed content that has started to get a green tint.

“It’s alright, I’m used to the cheap noodles by now.” He shrugs and takes a sip of his drink.

“Tell you what.” I say, now more emboldened by the wine. “I’ll whip up some pasta so you can enjoy some homemade food tonight and I can have some company on this fine Friday evening. What do you say?”

Bucky shifts in his chair to look at me with a confused expression that slowly turns into a soft smile. It suits him so well, rough edges becoming sweet, his eyes suddenly my only focus. It cuts the air out of my lungs, and if I were younger, I would’ve blushed to the roots of my hair. It still manages to make me tighten my grip on the tall glass I am holding.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I insist.”

“I don’t have any spaghetti though.” He says, still smiling, still looking directly into my eyes.

“Oh, I’m not going to cook in here, honey. This whole kitchen needs to be decontaminated, sterilised and cleansed with holy water.”

He laughs, which would have knocked me off my feet if I were standing. It seems this man can be very unhealthy for my state of mind, legs and lungs. With a chuckle he asks me to lead the way, bottle of wine in his hand and we’re now in my kitchen, a place I would have never seen him in in a million years. Maybe in some scattered fantasies, fleeting moments when I remember the broad line of his shoulders right before I fall asleep or the shape of his thighs in that particular pair of jeans he sometimes wears when he’s downstairs checking for his post.

“In my defence, I never had to cook for myself. After I moved to college, Steve would be the one cooking all the time and let me tell you, he did not like it if people meddled with his sauces.” He tells me two hours later after we’ve finished our bowls of pasta and we’re now sitting on the sofa, legs stretched on the coffee table and the tv turned on just for background noise.

“I don’t know, Buck. It’s kind of embarrassing not knowing how to at least make an omelette.” I laugh as he pours what is probably my third glass of wine.

“Now listen here, missy. I ain’t French and I do know how to do one thing.”

“Oh yeah? What’s that?”

“I know how to pour milk over my cereal.” He says with a serious face. I burst out laughing, dropping the spoon I was holding directly on my t-shirt.

“I’ll tell you something though.” He offers me a napkin from the table, and I try to focus on wiping the chocolate cream off, but I’m suddenly seeing double and everything is ten times funnier, although to be fair, Bucky turned out to be the best company I’ve had in a long time. “I’ve never eaten so well in a whole ass time. But don’t tell Steve that or he’ll rip one of my arms out.”

“I’m sure everything is better than boiled leather, Bucky.” I smile.

“Nuh-uh. The pasta was divine. And this cake…Y/N, I’ll have to marry you just so I can eat this for the rest of my life.”

I bump my shoulder with his, but there is a feeling that I’m not sure I want to ignore. He’s been sweet all night, complimenting the food, which to be fair, in my eyes is not only the way to a man’s heart, but to mine as well. He’s making my heart sticky, a syrup running through veins with viscous sugar and honey, and he’s candy-coated, teeth-rotting saccharine.

*

Bucky knocks on my door the next day, a lazy Saturday that I’ve spent baking cookies and reading a novel that’s been twisting my gut with want. When my eyes meet his, my legs involuntarily twitch, scenes replaying in my head, but the smile I offer in return is nothing but genuine.

“I smell something delicious.” He says instead of a greeting.

I let him in, pouring him a bowl of soup after he reluctantly admits he only ate an apple the whole day. He protests at first, claiming that he only wanted a cookie, but ends up asking for seconds and finishing an entire batch of raspberry filled cookies.

Three hours later, I’m somehow curled up into his side, watching The Office because he committed the heinous crime of never having watched it. He absently curls a strand of my hair around his finger and I’m drifting asleep, wrapped in a cocoon of powdered sugar.

*

“You’re making me fat.” He says, around a mouthful of mashed potatoes.

“Excuse you, James. You’re making me an alcoholic.” I retaliate, raising yet another glass of wine.

Bucky is sitting in my kitchen, eating my food, as he’s been doing for nearly every evening for the last four months. We’ve fallen into a strange routine, where he’s just drop by, claiming he smelled “something delicious” on his way in after work and I’d just learned to cook dinner for two without questions. I got so used to spending this time with him, that whenever he’d text he won’t be joining me, it would feel off, somehow unbalanced without him on the other side of the table.

I watch him as he moves around the kitchen with ease, putting the empty dishes in the sink, cutting two slices of cheesecake, pouring me another glass of wine. It felt strange having him in my apartment at first, but now it’s just normal, easy, sweet. He takes the plates with the dessert to the coffee table, and I join him in the living room. He’s already dug into his slice, unholy moans escaping his lips, and I just purse mine. Sometimes I wonder if he does it on purpose.

“Stop judging me, this is heavenly.”

“I’m not judging you, I think you’re an idiot.” I laugh. “It’s just a cheesecake. And I’ve made this before.”

“It’s not just a cheesecake. It is the most marvellous thing ever. It is transcendental.”

“Ok, I think you’ve had enough wine.”

We settle into comfortable silence as I turn on the tv and look through the selection of films that seems pretty slim at the moment, considering the amount of Netflix we’ve been consuming lately. Bucky shifts on the sofa next to me, clears his throat, closes his mouth after opening it to say something, rubs the back of his neck, picks at a piece of strawberry on his plate, turns to me, takes his hair out of its bun, fiddles with the band.

“Spit it out already.” I say, without even sparing him a glance. He does this sometimes, this little dance of his when he locks himself up and is unsure of how to voice whatever’s on his mind. I continue to look through the list of unwatched films, but I have a feeling I’ll just introduce him to Parks and Recreation tonight, because this man has apparently been living under a rock for the past century.

“My birthday’s coming up soon. I was wondering if you’d like to come? I’m not throwing a huge party, just a little get together with some friends over at my place. I’ll just buy some beer and order pizza, but I’d like you to be there as well.”

He’s looking at me expectantly, uncertainty clear in his voice, which is stupid because he could ask me anything and I’d do it without second thoughts by this point.

“Of course, you moron.” I say with a roll of my eyes. “I’ll be expecting my formal invitation in the mail though.”

*

It’s two weeks later and I am running so late. My mother insisted to have a girls’ day out, which I’ve tried getting out of, considering that a) I know my mother too well not to be aware that even dinners with her usually take decades to end, b) my very cute neighbour is expecting me to make an appearance at his birthday party, and most importantly, c) I haven’t seen him for three days already and I miss his smile more than anything. As the hours have been progressing, my fidgeting became worse, to the point that mum had enough of it and finally released me of my captivity, two hours later than I promised I’ll be there.

“That boy better be worth it.” She laughed, holding me in a hug as we were parting. “I hope you’re feeding him well.”

I am now faced with his closed door, voices and laughter interlacing in the apartment before me, and I suddenly feel very nervous, a reminder of the first time I knocked at Bucky’s door. I hope his friends like me, not only because I have been programmed since birth to need to be loved by everyone, but also because I gathered from all my conversations with Bucky that he holds his friends’ opinions in high regard. I better not fuck this up, I think and with a deep breath, I knock on the door.

Someone shouts after Bucky, and I can distinctly hear a commotion set into motion, that makes me wary. There are yells, a loud line of cursing, and the clatter of what must only be a shattered glass on the hard tile of the kitchen. The door opens and I’m greeted by a man who’s holding a bottle of beer and looks as if he’d just stepped out of a Fourth of July commercial.

“You must be Y/N. Come in.” Mister America says and lets me step in.

The first thing I see is Bucky being held in a headlock by another man who seems too happy to be sober or sorry that his friend can’t breathe at the moment. Bucky looks like he’s trying to fight against an eagle, flailing around like an overexcited puppy. I am standing in the middle of the hallway, trying to stifle the burst of laughter that is taking hold of me.

“Come on, Barnes, don’t be rude. Your girlfriend’s here and you won’t even say hi to her? Where are your manners? I thought you couldn’t wait to see her after you’ve been worried all night she won’t show up.” Bird Boy says.

I raise my eyebrows, but Stars and Stripes is the only one that can notice my reaction. “That’s Sam.” He says nodding to his wrestling friends. “You probably already know that their relationship is…intense. I’m Steve, by the way. We’ve all heard a lot about you.”

A hand slams onto Steve’s shoulder before I try to pry information out of him. Bucky seems to have broken free, Sam closely following him, and I’m now faced with three broad-shouldered men that could easily pass for the planet’s bodyguards. I extend the cake tin to Bucky and he takes it, looking at me with those huge eyes that would be more fit for a cartoon character.

“Did you bake something for me?” He asks incredulous.

“Figured you’re too much of a dumbass to order a cake, so…” I shrug.

Bucky gives Steve the tin, without even opening it, as I would have expected him to do. I worry at my bottom lip, thinking maybe I overstepped or that a bottle of wine would’ve been more fitting, when he literally swipes me off my feet in a hard embrace. He snuggles his face into my neck, tickling my cheek with strands of his hair, and I can clearly smell the alcohol on him. He’s drunk, I realise, which can only mean that he’s past the point of being funny, now he’s just going to downright say whatever’s on his mind.

“Easy there, tiger. You’re gonna break her spine.” I can hear a woman passing by saying, but it’s too muffled by Bucky’s entire display of affection to figure out whether that’s Natalia or not.

“You didn’t have to bake me a cake.” Bucky murmurs. “You are enough.”

“I wanted to, Buck. Happy birthday, honey.” I say when he finally lets go off me and I can stand on my own two feet again. He brushes his thumb over my cheek and looks at me for a long moment, until he takes my hand in his and drags me into the living room, where there are more people sitting on the sofa, on the armchairs, and even on the floor.

“Everyone, this is Y/N. She saved me from starvation, she is the love of my life, she has the softest hair that I’ve ever touched in my entire existence and if anyone lies a finger on her, they’ll be dead within the minute, just so you all jackasses know, so don’t try anything, Thor!” Bucky announces with a flourish of his hand.

There’s no time to process what he just said, as his guests start yelling their hellos and introduce themselves. I try to shake as many hands as possible, and even give hugs back when they’re offered, and I’m surprised to notice that it seems as if I already know all these people from Bucky’s stories.

A few hours later, I’m sitting next to Bucky on the floor of the living room, after being lured into playing a variation of Truth or Dare, that would make no sense for a sober person. There’s yelling, popcorn flying over heads when a dare is not deigned to be fulfilled, empty bottles scattered around the floor, and too many paper plates to count. I wonder fleetingly how much all of this will take to clean tomorrow morning and I make a mental note to offer my help, before a hand rests on my knee. I turn to look at Bucky, who seems unaware of his actions, his vision clearly hazy with alcohol, but I’ve also consumed enough to just enjoy it and not read too much into it. I lean my chin on his shoulder, which makes him cut his shout short and direct his attention to me. Our faces are a few inches away from each other, alcohol mixing from our breaths, pupils dilating in the dim light, and we sit there, looking at each other before a cushion comes flying right to our heads.

“Get a room!” Someone shouts and there’s an eruption of laughter, but no one else pays any attention to us anymore.

Bucky stands up and holds his hand out to me. I take it and follow him through the apartment without a word. He leads me to the fire escape, climbing out the window into the fresh cold air. With a shiver, I take the space between his legs, leaning my back on his chest and letting him warm me up with his arms. He’s the one to rest his chin on my shoulder now, and I play with his thumb, suddenly more sober than I was in the heated apartment, but I have to know, before my ounce of bravery is gone.

“Did you mean it?” I whisper, half wondering whether he’s too drunk to understand what I’m saying.

“What?”

“Back there. When you introduced me.”

“That you saved me from starvation? Well, yeah, did you forget I am completely useless in the kitchen?” He laughs.

“Not that.” But I really don’t want to give him any more clarifications.

“That you have the softest hair?” He murmurs into my ear, kissing my temple. “You do. That I’ll kill anyone who would even look wrong at you?” He kisses my cheek. “That you are the love of my life? I’m not a hundred percent sure about that, but I’m more than certain that I’ve never loved anyone the way that I already do you. And I haven’t even kissed you yet.”

The angle is strange, him towering over me although he’s only sitting a step above me, his arm wrapped around mine, while his other hand makes its way around my face, pulling it towards his. Strands of his hair fall over his eyes, but I can see the gentleness in them in the light pouring out from the kitchen. His nose brushes over my brow, breath ghosting over my skin until I close my eyes and his lips are like honey, melting like butter in a hot summer day. I feel syrup pouring over my soul, coating it in cotton candy, that leaves my insides sticky with sugar.

“Now I’m certain.” He whispers and I smile. I kiss his nose and snuggle closer into his arms. We stay like that for some time, that could have been either hours or mere minutes, the party dying down slowly inside the house. The sky is still dark, and I’m slowly drifting to sleep, but from Bucky’s shiver I know we should be going back, although he won’t admit it.

“You wanna know a secret?” He asks.

“Yeah?” I really don’t want to move

“My only saving grace is that compared to the kitchen, I’m amazing in the bedroom.”

I groan and bump my shoulder into his chest. This man will be the death of me. I climb my way back inside, closely followed by Bucky who is laughing behind me. He grabs my wrist and turns me around, loosely resting his arms on my hips and looking down at me through clear eyes. At least he’s sober now.

“Thank you for making my birthday wish come true.”

“You wished for a birthday cake?” I snort with a raised eyebrow.

He kisses my forehead and murmurs sugar-coated word into my skin. “I wished for you.”

***

Taglist:

@imma-new-soul

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fic

[lovemesomesurveys]

What do you usually order from Subway/Togo’s/another sandwich place? Wheat bread, turkey, salami, Monterrey Jack cheese, mayo, pickles, and olive oil and vinegar or some kind of sandwich spread.

Have you ever talked about your period with a guy? Were they okay with it, or grossed out? No. I never felt comfortable talking about that with anyone, really, but definitely not a guy. I just always kept that to myself, I didn’t feel the need to discuss it with anyone.

Have you ever been to small/church/bible group/study (forced to or wanted to)? I’ve been to church and I’ve participated in several Bible studies the past year and have done so by choice. I went to church as a kid sometimes with my grandparents, which wasn’t really my choice at the time.

In-N-Out, ever been there? If not, what’s a good burger place around your town? Yeah, numerous times. Would I be a true Californian if I didn’t? ha. Honestly, though, I don’t think it’s that great or what it’s hyped up to be. When we got a Five Guys several years ago, which was a east coast thing, I remember thinking it was way better. 

How many people do you know with the name Ashley/Ashlee? I don’t know any currently.

Have you ever been to an asian (any type) market? If so, what is the closest one to you? Yeah, a few.

What would you do if the person you have feelings for showed up at your door? I don’t have romantic feelings for anyone.

How long does it typically take you to get over people? It always took me a long time.

What did your last text message say? “Yes.”

How many people have texted you today? Did you reply to all of them? No one has texted me so far.

When was the last time you drank something with alcohol? 8 years ago on my birthday.

Have you ever slept with a member of the opposite sex without having sex? I’ve never slept with a member of the opposite sex, period.

Will you talk to the person you like tonight? There’s no such person.

How would you feel if your significant other had tattoos? I don’t think I’d mind. Although, I personally don’t really like a body full of tatts and I really don’t care for face tatts. That’s just my personal preference. 

Do you actually eat breakfast lunch and dinner everyday? No, not all 3. There’s a lot of days I just have dinner and my late night bowl of ramen I have every night. Somedays I have lunch. I rarely have breakfast, but I do eat breakfast food a lot.

Is there something else you should be doing? I should be trying to go to sleep.

Was your last text message from someone of the opposite sex? No.

If you could have a free plane ticket to anywhere, where would you choose to go? I’d have to really think about that, there’s so many places I’d love to visit given the chance. Not in these current times given the pandemic, but ya know.

Have you felt ill at all in the past week? Yes.

What’s the approximate total cost of the clothes you’re wearing? Maybe $40.

Where was the last place on your body that you felt physical pain? My back.

Has someone of the opposite sex made you smile recently? My brother brought me a Starbucks yesterday, which made me smile.

Can your significant other/crush sing? I don’t have either of those

What do you want/need right now? I need to sleep.

How much does the last person you texted really know about you? She knows a lot about me.

Who was the last person you apologized to? What did you apologize for? I apologized just a bit ago when calling to cancel my doctor appointment. 

What are the initials of the person you have feelings for? Sigh.

Did you straighten your hair today? No. I haven’t straightened my hair in years.

Is it okay to like someone else, if you already have a boyfriend/girlfriend? Uh, not to me it isn’t.

Would you spend the night in a haunted house? No.

Look in a mirror. Are you 100% happy with what you see? Why/why not? Umm, how about no.

Will tomorrow be better than today? I haven’t done much today so far, it’s only 7:37AM.

What are you listening to right now? An ASMR video of course.

Who was the last person you talked to on the phone? The receptionist at my doctor’s office.

Do you look your age? I think I look younger.

Last person you texted? My mom.

What color is your hair? Naturally it’s dark brown, but I dye it red. Have you ever gone out of your way to make someone happy? Yes.

Does it bother you when people respond with one word texts? Not unless I feel like there's a reason for the conversation to continue. <<< Yeah, if we’re having a conversation it makes it difficult. Or if I’ve said something I feel warrants more of a response. Sometimes one word is all that’s needed. 

Could you cry right now? I’d rather not.

How late did you stay up last night and why? I think I fell asleep a little after 5AM.

Does it take a lot to make you cry? No. Somedays I’m already on the verge of tears so it takes very little. 

Has anyone made you upset lately? Yes.

When was the last time you completely broke down? About a week ago.

If you were given the chance to go to Paris, would you go? Not currently, but in better circumstances yes absolutely.

Are there certain things that can’t be joked about with you? Certain things, yeah.

Have you ever been dumped? Yes.

Do you like to be in serious relationships or just flings? I’d like to experience a serious relationship. 

How have you been feeling today? Mehhh.

Do you chew your pens? No.

Is there anything you DIDN’T like about today? Like I’ve said, it’s still really early and nothing has happened so far.

Where’s your phone right now? Near me on my bed.

Is there a certain person that makes you feel safe? My family does.

Do you hate the last guy you had a conversation with? No. It was the receptionist at my doctor’s office who I don’t even know, but he seemed nice.

What is the stupidest thing you’ve heard somebody say recently? Uhhh.

What is your favorite slang word for penis? I don’t have a favorite slang word for penis...

If you found a full tube of lipgloss on the ground, would you pick it up and keep it or would you throw it away? Ew, I definitely wouldn’t keep it. I don’t want some random and used lipgloss that’s gross. I wouldn’t do anything with it, I’d just keep going.

Do you ever listen to music to fall asleep to? No, I listen to ASMR.

If your parents.. or anybody else.. found your cell phone, would they be horrified at any of the messages in our inbox/outbox? No. Majority of the messages are from them anyway. The others are from my brother and my Nana lol.

Do you get offended if someone repeatedly checks their mobile phone when you’re out for lunch or dinner? It gets annoying when you’re trying to talk to them and they’re clearly distracted and not paying attention.

When you drink alcohol with friends, do you play drinking games? We did sometimes.

If you were a waiter/waitress, would you make good tips? I don’t know?

Forget about toppings. What type of CRUST do you like on pizzas? I like pan or high rise.

Would you prefer an ice cream sundae or an ice cream cone? Ice cream sundae. I take too long to finish stuff and ice cream cones get too messy.

What are the best kind of Girl Scout cookies? Thin Mints are the top fave, but I like the others as well except for the coconut ones.

Have you ever had an allergic reaction to a certain medication? No.

Puff, puff…do you need an inhaler to survive? No.

What’s your favorite kind of pasta? Spaghetti or pesto pasta.

Do you watch independent films? Yeah, some. If a movie looks interesting then I’ll likely check it out.

Do you constantly doubt yourself? I completely doubt myself.

Have you ever played computer solitaire for hours on end? I probably did when I was a kid. Back when that and messing around on Paint was pretty all there was to do haha.

Are you scared of roller coasters because of Final Destination 3? I was scared before then. 

If you were digging and found buried treasure, would you tell anyone? I’d tell my family and then figure out what to do.

Do you still whip out the Nintendo on random occasions? The only Nintendo I have is an Nintendo Switch.

Have you ever seen anyone fall down an escalator? Funny or scary? Nooo, omg. That wouldn’t be funny at all.

Do you think wearing jeans to work is unprofessional? No, not necessarily. Depends on the job, of course. 

Are you uneasy about eating from a buffet? Yeah, I don’t like buffets.

Can you honestly tell the difference between DiGiorno and delivery pizza? Definitely. My favorite pizza is from this local pizza place, but DiGiorno isn’t bad.

#personal #text #survey #surveys