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lemonjoonah · 3 years

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Wrapped Together (M)

Pairing: Namjoon x Reader Word Count: 18K Rating: M Genre: Christmas AU, Romance, Drama Warnings: Protected sex, oral (m. rec.), referenced illness/death of parent, swearing, classism. Summary: Despite your best efforts to keep your head down, to self-preserve and endure what will no doubt be the worst Christmas of your life, you are still roped into volunteering for the hospital's annual gift wrap fundraiser. The enticing factor that lured you out? The promise of a new shift partner, Kim Namjoon. Though your first day together starts off with a slight miscalculation of his skills for wrapping, he soon becomes your essential ally in the fight to get through this lonely holiday season.

| Secret Santa Collab | My Masterlist |

A/N: A big thank you to @kimtaehyunq for asking me to join her Secret Santa Christmas Collab, this was my first collab ever and I absolutely loved it. And of course to my beta readers @m00nchild-shi and @ladyartemesia thank you for helping me gain the courage to post this. I hope that this fic is able to bring a bit of comfort to those celebrating the holidays a little differently this year, so please enjoy!

...

-5 Weeks Until Christmas-

Amidst the chatter of the office, a dull rumble reaches your ears and vibrates the desk beneath your fingers, waking you from the repetitive haze of your hundredth call report. The moment of confusion switches to frantic action when your brain finally catches on and recognizes it as your own personal phone. Scurrying through your purse, you nab it just in time, but after checking the caller ID you desperately wish you hadn’t.

You knew this call was coming, you’ve dreaded it since you felt the first freezing snowflake on the tip of your nose, when you heard the first carol blaring over the radio, and saw the first tacky inflatable gracing a lawn on your street. It happens every year, like clockwork, though this will be the first time she’ll be enlisting one and not two. Unable to put off the dreaded moment any longer, you answer, accepting that if you rip the band-aid off now and decline her invitation to join the wrapping fundraiser, it’ll be one less uncomfortable moment later.

“Aunt Emma, hey it’s been awhile.” She’s not exactly your aunt, but you’ve known her ever since you and your mother settled down here ten years ago. With little other family nearby she was one of the few you and your mom could always count on. Making your task to turn her down all the more difficult now.

“My dear, how are you holding up? I’m so sorry to do this but I'm calling with some rather unfortunate news.”

“Oh?” You exclaim, careful not to sound too hopeful that you might be free of your heavy burden.

“Yes, well it’s regarding the wrapping fundraiser. I wanted to put you on the same shifts as myself or Maria. I didn’t want to have you alone, since, well, you know... but there are so many rookie volunteers this year. And with you being part of the organization for so long, I was hoping you work with one of them instead for the evening shifts? It’ll just be you and him, do you think you could manage it?”

“I-I uh...” Now this is something you had not expected. You spent the past few weeks worrying about how you might have to work side by side with pitying glances, condolences, and referenced scripture from the usual staff. Any thoughts and prayers for your loss would likely turn you into a pool of tears. Not something you want to happen in public, or private for that matter, but if you are partnered with a newcomer, one who knows nothing of your past, maybe... maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. “I can do that.”

“I knew you could! I’ll put you down for the weekday evenings from the seventh up to Christmas. You’re off work at four, right? I’ll send you more details later, but do you want me to be there to introduce you to the other volunteer?”

“No!” You blurt out, insisting in a volume far louder than necessary, but you can’t risk her acting on the offer. Introductions when done by Emma are dicey at best, with one solid breath she has the capacity to share every bit of your sad history, leaving you exactly where you’d rather not be. “I’m sure we’ll be fine. No need to put yourself out like that, you can just tell me their name now and save yourself the trip.”

“Thank you dear, always so considerate. One second let me just grab that for you...” She pauses on the phone line, as you look around your office in worry, not wanting to get in trouble for taking a personal call on the clock. “Ah here it is. You’ll be working with Kim Namjoon...”

...

-Less than 3 Weeks Until Christmas-

After finishing work you head off to the mall for your first day on wrapping duty. It should be a relatively quiet night, since the majority of the crowd typically disperses at this time, heading home to be with families for dinner. Your own sits in a paper bag on the passenger seat of your car. A solitary meal as you battle the rush hour traffic. Finishing off the last of the salted fries with a lick of your fingers while you secure a parking spot.

Flipping down your visor you scoff when confronted with your appearance, your makeup melted off thanks to the struggles of your earlier shift. You dab and blend a fresh blot of concealer on the dark bags beneath your eyes, determined to erase any evidence of your doleful days and sleepless nights.

The rented store space is already set up, with a long table propped up right at the entrance. Dressed with a variety of paper and ribbon and looking particularly festive. The other volunteers give you a brief greeting and run down before they leave and pass the duties off to you. With them gone you take a seat, looking down at the selection you have to offer this year, trying with all your might not to focus on the empty chair beside you, one that is usually fill by your-

“Hi, sorry I’m late...” Your gaze flicks up from the table, startled to find a giant of a man. Greeting you with a smile warm enough to melt your frozen expression.

“H-hi,” You stutter out, staring at his handsome face framed with light brown locks, feeling as though you’ve seen it before, but can’t quite place where. “You must be Namjoon?” You ask, running through the list of actors and singers in your mind but coming up empty on who he reminds you of.

He nods, before confirming your name too, and launching into the reason behind his tardiness. “The traffic was not in my favour today.” He gestures to the table and the vacant seat behind it. “May I?”

“Of course.” You quickly scoot the folding table over so he can slip by the barrier that separates you from the mall. He takes off his coat to reveal a whole suit beneath, though he soon disposes of the jacket and tie too. You try not to gulp as he rolls up his sleeves in front of you, his arms flexing as they reveal themselves.

“Pretty quiet?” He asks looking around the mall.

“It usually is around now, give it an hour or two.”

“Have you been doing this long?”

“A few years...” You mumble, not wanting to dive too deep in that well, you quickly turn to pin the question on him instead. “What prompted you to volunteer? Did Emma enlist you during her recruiting effort?”

“She did, I found her posting the flyer at my workplace.” Namjoon chuckles. “But I’ve seen you all set up here before, and since my usual Christmas plans with my family have changed, I thought I’d join you all instead.”

“Oh, so you’re not spending Christmas with them?”

“No, they’ve gone to visit my sister and her family in her city this year. I unfortunately have a few work commitments I can’t get out of to make the trip in time, but rather than just mope about at home I thought I might be of some use.” Namjoon smiles again, his fingers folding the corner of the wrapping paper in front of him. “What about you, any plans?”

“No, I usually spend it with my mom, but she won’t be with me this year...” Or any year going forward, you consider while you give him a weak smile. She was the very reason you joined this organization all those years ago, when Aunt Emma was making her rounds and signing up everyone she could at the hospital, you and your mother were there for an appointment, your mom offered up both of your services lending you to a tradition that would extend for years through her treatment, remission, and the final return.

“So we're in the same boat?”

“I guess so.” His grin is so contagious, despite the differences in your situation you can’t help but agree.

Your first client of the evening comes forward and drops a small pile of kids toys in front of you both . “Thank god you're here. If I bring these home unwrapped my kids won’t hesitate to spoil the surprise.” You divide the presents between you and Namjoon while the mother keeps talking and flicking through the different styles of paper offered. “At least if they’re wrapped I can say I saw Santa at the mall and he gave me these early. They are so hard to fool these days.”

“I take it you’ll want the Santa stickers?” You ask pointing to a closed box behind you, hidden away from the wide and prying eyes of young children passing by.

“Yes, thank you so much!”

“No problem.” You assure her while putting the last piece of tape on the stack of video games. Though when you look over to check on Namjoon you find that he has barely even started. He cut off a sheet entirely too big and is attempting to fold it around the boxed animatronic pet. Your eyes stare at the state of the poor paper unable to look away from the crumpled carnage. But the shock soon turns to amusement over his determination to salvage the mangled sheet, and you find yourself biting your lip in an attempt not to laugh. Luckily the woman in front of you hasn’t noticed but once you're finished with yours, you reach over for the assist.

“Here, I can take over that one. Could you do the ribbon for me?”

Namjoon nods opening his mouth in an embarrassed grin. He does manage to secure the strand around the package but loses the spool before he can cut it. The red ribbon rolls all the way to your foot, before you stop it with a tap on the sole of your boot. Namjoon winces, while you let out a chuckle before bending over to hand it back to him, and finish wrapping the other present.

The attempt at a ribbon curl unfortunately goes the same as the package before it, with him completely at a loss and using the wrong edge of the scissor blade. Trying to save him you make another suggestion. “If you want you can always use the premade sticker curls.”

Namjoon nods and places them on the two packages along with the vibrant sticker of a cartoon Claus winking as he delivers the warning, ‘Do not open ‘till Christmas, Santa’s watching.’

As you load up the presents into a bag, Namjoon takes to the cashbox, looking expectantly from the client with his dashingly dimpled grin.

“Oh right.” She comments with an awkward smile. Opening her Gucci bag and matching wallet, the corners of her lips turning down when she rifles through several triple digit bills unable to find any smaller denomination.

The stand is by donation only, but the implication has always been that one should compensate the fundraiser for the service provided. You can usually tell when someone intends to leave no payment at all, and unfortunately you know this act all too well. She’ll apologize and say that she has to run to the bank and get some cash, but you’ll never see her again. Namjoon, unfamiliar with this ploy, continues to give his eager smile, and to your utter shock she submits, handing him a hundred dollar bill.

Namjoon thanks her profusely as she melts too under his gaze muttering, “Not a problem.” Before walking off clutching her now wrapped gifts.

You look to Namjoon in disbelief while he locks the money away in the cash box. Only breaking the silence when the client is fully out of earshot. “How the hell did you do that?!”

“Do what?” He raises an eyebrow completely oblivious to what he just achieved.

“She... she... you got her to donate, and such a large amount. How?”

“What do you mean how? People give that much all the time don’t they?”

“No, they don’t!”

“Oh...” He gives you another of his knee weakening smiles. “Sorry I assumed, I guess I’m just used to it.” He scratches at the back of his neck looking down at the table.

“Used to it? Where on earth do you see, do you get used to, that kind of generosity?”

“Through my job I suppose?” His grin turns to a look of embarrassment. “I work in art procurement, currently under contract with the museum. I seek out collectors and convince them to donate or loan out their assets.”

It would seem that getting people to open up their wallets is practically his profession. “Well... looks like manning the cash will be the perfect job for you.” That smile of his is a dangerous weapon, and one you would be remiss not to use in the fundraiser’s efforts. Though it still leaves one question unanswered. “But I have to ask...” Your previously concealed giggling comes to the surface. “Why on earth would you volunteer for a holiday wrapping station if you don’t know how to wrap?”

A blush reaches his cheeks. “Last year when I was here... I left with far more than I was expecting, and feeling as though I should have given more. So I figured if I couldn’t be with my own family, I wanted to do this instead.” He starts habitually folding a paper scrap. “And maybe I’d learn a useful skill-”

When a streak of red is left on the paper trailing behind his finger you jump to interrupt. “Is that...”

“Fuck.” He mutters pulling his index close to examine it. “Yeah, those scissors are sharp, didn’t realize I drew blood though.”

You immediately start rummaging around in your bag. “I know I have a couple in here, one second.” You pull out a small box of bandages and peel apart the papers to reveal the adhesive.

“You carry band-aids in your purse?” Namjoon asks, with a raised brow.

“You're the one who cut their finger trying to make a ribbon curl.”

“It wasn’t a criticism, sorry I just thought it was... nice.” He holds up the injury and you're careful to wrap the strip around it.

“Yes well,” Your face heats up as you catch yourself lingering. “Try to stay away from the scissors unless absolutely necessary. I’d rather not have to make a trip to the hospital.”

“That would be counter productive wouldn’t it?” Namjoon laughs outright.

...

Despite you being the only one to wrap you both manage the evening surprisingly well, pulling in a record donation amount.

“You must be good at your job,” you mutter with a smirk, as you finish counting the lockbox. “I’ve never seen people so happy to part with their money.”

“I only showed them how good of a job you did,” Namjoon explains. “I’ve never seen someone put so much care into wrapping.”

“First impressions for a gift can be important too.” You justify as you secure the cash in a deposit bag. “They put a lot of care into selecting the gift, why shouldn’t I exemplify that?”

“Even the gift cards?”

“Especially the gift cards. I have to make them memorable somehow don’t I?”

“True.” Namjoon concedes, with a small frown. “Listen I’m sorry if I didn’t make a good first impression on you myself. If you want I can call Emma and we will find someone else to help you.”

“No, I enjoyed working with you. It just caught me off guard that you didn’t actually know how to wrap. If you get bored of handling the cash I could try and teach you if you’d like... you said you wanted to learn right?”

“You’d be willing to show me?”

“Definitely, though let's stick to the premade ribbon curls. I’d rather not have to use anymore band-aids if I can avoid it.”

After pulling down the gate and locking up the station up behind. Namjoon accompanies you to the bank to drop off the deposit before you part ways for the evening, with you going out one exit and him another.

The sudden blast of cold air forces you to huddle in your coat, and crank the heat the very second you step into your car. As the windows to thaw and frost retreats, you spot your tall wrapping partner waiting at the bus stop.

“Now why would he...” You’re left perplexed judging from the description of his job and quality of his attire you assumed him to drive some sort of flashy car, never would you think he would take public transportation.

You drive over and stop right in front of Namjoon, rolling down the window. “Where do you live?”

“The Swan Estates, but if you don’t leave near there that’s fine I don’t mind bussing home.” Namjoon looks down the road. “It should be here soon.”

“It’s no problem, I pass by that area on my way home.” You reach across the car for the handle opening the door. “Come on get in. It’s too cold to wait for a bus.”

Namjoon nods, and eagerly hops into the car holding his hands close to his vents with a sigh. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it. I didn’t think to ask, I just assumed-”

“That I could drive?”

You nod giving him a sheepish grin this time.

“As you saw earlier I’m rather accident prone. I think it’s safer for everyone if I leave the driving to others.” He chuckles looking out the window. “What about you? When not rescuing people from cold transit stops or wrapping disasters, what do you daylight as.”

You grimace at the question knowing your answer is nowhere near as impressive as his. “I’m a phone-rep for Interlude Shipping, I work in their tracking department.”

His reaction is not the usual glazed expression you get when you reveal that you work in a call centre, but a look of awe. “You must be so busy this time of year, how do you have energy for volunteering too?”

“I’m used to it.”

“Do you like it there?”

“It’s... a paycheck. I needed a full time position with benefits right out of school and that was what was available. I would have preferred something else but...” You stop yourself, scolding how much you almost revealed. Finding it far too easy to talk to Namjoon. He doesn’t pester you to continue but lets your abrupt end linger in the silence until he points out his house within the estate. “So I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Namjoon nods in agreement with his dimples on full display. “Looking forward to it. Thanks again for the ride.”

After he leaves your car another nervous giggle you’ve been holding in finally escapes you. Three weeks working with this kind, considerate and downright gorgeous man. Though there’s no ring on his finger, he has to be attached to someone. Men like him don’t walk around single for long. Your shoulders fall at the thought, despite the fact that you have no intention of forming an attachment at this time... it’s still too soon.

Before you even pull out of Namjoon’s driveway, your phone vibrates from the cup holder you stashed it in. Aunt Emma’s name popping up on the display. You press the green button to accept and put her on speaker while you pull out onto the road.

“Hello my dear, just checking in to see how the first night went?”

“Good, no great actually. I think you’ll be happy with the result.”

“And your partner? Everything working well with him?”

“Yeah,” You confirm looking up in the rearview mirror taking one last look at Namjoon’s house. “He’s really nice, we already have a system in place so I think we’ll work well together.”

“That’s wonderful to hear. I was worried at first, wondered if I had made the right decision-”

“You did!” You encourage her, not wanting her to change her mind, and make another switch.

“Great, so we’ll carry on as is then. I’ll message Maria to let her know, I think she’s still on shift at the hospital though...” Aunt Emma mutters to herself. “Speaking of which I had to stop by there today and guess who was asking about you?”

You freeze in the front seat of your car, unable to say his name, but that doesn’t stop your chatty Aunt from continuing on despite your silence.

“That Jackson, such a nice young man, it’s a pity you-”

“Aunt Emma, I’m so sorry but I should go. ” You cut her off unwilling to listen to her disappointment over your own personal matter. “It’s getting late and I have work in the morning.”

“Oh of course, no problem dear. Call me if you need anything.”

When you arrive at your cold and empty apartment. The silence greets you with the usual punch to your gut, just as it has for the past eight months. She should be there to say hello and ask you about your day, just as she always had. But all that’s there to welcome you is the stack of dusty Christmas decor boxes thrown in the corner of the living room. Unwilling to spend another minute alone you sulk off to bed, ready to put another day behind and start the next. But for the first time in a while, you are actually looking forward to a fraction of the never ending cycle.

...

Whoever said Christmas time is the most wonderful time of year, clearly never worked a customer service job. They’ve never been yelled at for four hours straight, gone to lunch, and then endured another four. With a couple weeks still left until the looming deadline of Christmas you can only imagine what you’ll have to listen to in the coming days. The woes of a parent trying to track down their child's number one gift... it’s enough to send chills down your spine. Just once you’d like to find someone happy on the other end of the line, someone who didn’t need something from you, someone who called just to say hi, and indulge you with a friendly chat.

With the last call of the day done you throw on your coat, and bolt out of the office before anyone else. Elated by the fact that you have somewhere else to be, happy that someone else is expecting you. Namjoon beats you to the station today, chatting with the other volunteers as they leave. One of them pats you on the arm and delivers a sad smile, you seize with fear and the worry that they had discussed you, but when you find Namjoon beaming without a hint of concern the weight lifts and you can once again forget your loss for now.

“Hey, how was work?” He asks.

“Good... good.” You cover with a smile not wanting to drag him down. He doesn’t look convinced his eyes narrow and the corner of his lip twitches, but you reciprocate before he can confirm. “How about your day?”

“Quiet, I’ve spent the past few months alongside the curators putting together an exhibit and with it finally finished all that’s left is to wait until it’s over.”

“So you had to stay here for Christmas only to wait for it to end? That’s too bad.”

“There are a couple other tasks I have to attend, an auction, and an event for the patrons, but the tear down on the 24th is pretty important, some of the lenders will want their pieces back in time for Christmas.”

“That’s such a miserable deadline for so much work. Why would they ask you to give up your Christmas Eve to do that? Surely it can be done after the holiday can't it?”

“Not this one, it’s ‘The Gift of Christmas’ Past’ exhibit,” Namjoon explains. “Many people were good enough to donate their family heirlooms for the majority of the season, but come the actual holiday, it’s time for them to return home.”

You just about fall off your chair in awe. You’ve seen that exhibit advertised everywhere, even been tempted to go yourself, but the thought of going alone has prevented your attendance. “I had no idea, that’s such a popular exhibit, you worked on that?”

“I did, I even helped come up with the idea for it.” Namjoon beams, with a small amount of red rises to the surface of his cheeks. “The curators at the museum have been more than accommodating. I never thought I’d get the chance to step into their roll myself. I was lucky to be given the chance, so you can understand why I had to stay and help them once it’s finished. Of course it’s given me some other opportunities I would never have had in the past too, like the ability to help you here.”

You nod still looking at him in admiration, while in your mind a further divide falls between you. As friendly as he is to you, it’s obvious that he’s way out of your league. Even if you wanted to pursue something more with him, someone of his status... really it’s a wonder he even looks in your direction, let alone chose to volunteer at this tiny holiday wrapping station.

Your conversation is interrupted by a mall goer with a bag of gifts. Namjoon helps as best he can, supplying you with tape as he learns over your shoulder. Loaning you his finger to help you knot the ribbon around the gifts. With a sizeable donation left in Namjoon’s care you are both left alone at the table again.

Between clients you do your best to show him how to wrap the small boxes and ready cut paper at your disposal. Though his folding has improved, his use of tape can be considered... excessive. “You shouldn’t need more than three pieces on a present like this.” You chuckle as you catch his hand before it can apply the seventh piece of tape.

“But your packaging looks so durable compared to mine. How is it supposed to hold together if not for more tape.”

“Years of practice with tighter folds and better adhesive placement.” You analyze his work. “You might be an up and coming art curator but wrapping is my craft.”

Namjoon laughs and grabs a fresh sheet along with the scissors.

“Should I go fetch my band-aids?” You ask, gazing at the sharp implement with trepidation.

“No I’ve got this, I’m ready to earn my redemption.” Namjoon folds the paper several times before cutting a rounded edge. “Wrapping might not be my forte, but this I mastered long ago.” He opens up the paper grinning madly as he reveals a perfect snowflake.

You giggle at the innocence of the piece in question. “That is quite impressive, when did you become such a proficient?”

“I’d say I peaked at eight. One evening when it was just my sister and I, we covered my whole house with them. Every surface, every window, plastered with paper snow. Though my parents were less than enthused I like to think of it as my first full art show.”

“What on earth possessed you to do it?” You ask, trying to imagine the look on his parents as they returned home to the indoor flurry.

Namjoon looks up with a heavy expression, for such a lighthearted story why does he look so wary to tell you “A mutual fri-”

But as chance would have it he is once again interrupted by another coming to your station. When the post dinner rush hits you hardly get another chance to chat.

...

-2 Weeks Until Christmas-

The week passes in much the same way as the past two days, but with each evening session Namjoon is able to improve upon his wrapping skills a little more. To the point where you are comfortable to leave him alone for a few minutes to man the station.

“You’re sure it’s all right if I just run to the washroom for a minute?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“I could put up the be back in five minutes sign if you-”

“Go, I can hold down the fort... just leave the band-aids.” You are ready to let out a big sigh when Namjoon holds up his hands in defeat. “Just kidding, I promise, now go.”

You hurry off as fast as you can swearing when you find a line up. By the time that you are finally able to return you find Namjoon finishing up with an attractive woman and her single gift. You smile at her as you join him behind the table, she pauses, caught off guard for a moment but then hands him the donation along with a slip of paper.

Namjoon opens it as she walks off. Blushing profusely before throwing it in the trash along with the wrapping scraps.

“What was that about?”

“Nothing... she just must have gotten the wrong impression.”

“Did she give you her phone number?”

Namjoon nods looking down with guilt.

“And you're not going to keep it? She was gorgeous.”

“What? No, of course not.”

“Right, I assume that wouldn’t go over well with your girlfriend.” You speculate, seeking to figure out his status once and for all.

“No girlfriend.” Namjoon mutters.

“Boyfriend?”

“No boyfriend either.” Namjoon smiles. “I just wasn’t looking to get her number.”

You look at him in disbelief. If she wasn’t good enough, there’s no way in hell you could ever dream of being with him.

...

The drive home in the evening is rather quiet. Namjoon’s fingers drag across his lips as if in deep compilation.

“Any big plans for your couple days of freedom?” With Aunt Emma’s team working the weekend that gives both you and Namjoon some time off, but unfortunately apart.

“What? Oh yes, I suppose.” He answers as though you dragged him from a stupor. “I have an auction to go to tomorrow for work.”

“Buying art for the museum are you?”

“Not exactly in the market to buy. But if you're not busy you should come along, I would love some company.”

“Not because you would love a drive?”

“No, not at all, I was planning on booking a car tonight. I could come pick you up on the way.”

You shake your head. “No, if we’re going together I’ll drive. No need to waste your money on something like that. What time should I pick you up?”

“I’ll have to double check and get back to you but likely late in the morning?” You nod in agreement as he pulls out his phone. “What’s your number?”

You give it to him and your cell vibrates in your pocket as he sends off a text a second later, leaving you with his own.

“So I guess I will see you tomorrow now then.”

“It’s a date.” Namjoon smiles as he gets out and leaves you in the car.

You snort in disbelief, staring after him while he runs off to the front door of his house. No, there’s no way, he can’t be serious, it’s not a date, date. The phone vibrates again, reminding you of the unread message he sent, prompting you to look at it before you drive off home.

This was the only phone number I actually wanted. See you tomorrow, - Namjoon

...

You lie in bed caught between denial and anticipation for what’s to come in the next day. Every moment that excitement bubbles up inside, you are forced to push it down with the weight of scepticism. Namjoon was looking to distract from his lonely Christmas, you are just the band-aid to his superficial wound, but would that be so bad? Haven’t you been using him the past week in the same manner, a mode of distraction? The only difference is the depths of your injuries. While his might be a simple cut repaired by time, yours is a laceration straight to the heart, damage that will soon bleed through a flimsy bandage, but at least you can hide it for now, you can conceal the extent of your misery and enjoy the comfort that is him for the holiday. Ripping that band-aid off won’t hurt, not compared to the damage that has already been done.

You look back at your phone smiling at his message, confirming that this is what you want for now, when to your surprise another comes in.

KNJ: Are you awake?

You double check the time, 12:23 a little late for a friendly chat isn’t it?

YN: Yeah, everything okay?

KNJ: That depends, what are your thoughts on Hallmark Christmas movies?

You pause in confusion, questioning his motives for such an odd query. Coming up dry you can give him the most truthful answer you can.

YN: They’re chestnuts.

KNJ: Chestnuts? 🤔

YN: Palatable only when thoroughly roasted. 🔥🔥🔥

Your phone starts ringing a second later, the caller Namjoon. You pick it up to hear him laughing on the other end. “I’ll have to remember that. You up for burning a film? I could use another open fire, there’s a pretty horrible one on their channel right now.”

“I’m sure I could spark an ember of criticism. How bad are we talking?”

“There’s a made up country, a town that looks like it exists solely for the purpose of celebrating Christmas-”

“And let me guess, a prince?”

“You know it?”

“Nope, just following the trend of tropes.” You grab your earbuds and venture out to the living room wrapped in your blanket, a beverage in hand, and ready to turn on your own TV. With one bud lodge in your ear to listen to Namjoon the other is free to take in the cringeworthy dialogue. “My god why were you watching this?”

“Couldn’t sleep, and I thought this would also help put me in the Christmas spirit, but I can’t stop laughing at how bad it is.” Namjoon chuckles deeply as the heroine stumbles over a mere pebble and falls into the hero’s arm.

“I don’t think you have any right to laugh at that part.” You join him in laughter. “You two appear to have some similarities.”

“Wait, so does this make me the clumsy lead and you the dashingly perfect love interest?”

“Oh most definitely, I’ll be saving your Christmas.”

“I suppose you are pretty perfect.”

You’re thankful that Namjoon isn’t there to see your response, silently choking on your glass of water, followed by spilling your sip all down your shirt, further emphasising your next point. “I’m not perfect.”

“Well you should let me see that side sometime, or I will continue to feel like this poor woman who is confronted with someone way out of their league.”

Namjoon thinks that you're out of his league? “No, I’m sorry but in order for me to save your Christmas based on this movie I have to play the perfect hero.” Of course the leading lady swoons in her prince's arms. “I just wish the characters had more depth, I’ve read kids books with a wider emotional range.”

“Me too. And the timing,” Namjoon scoffs. “It’s always so perfect. They always meet at the perfect moment and latch on immediately only to have everything work out in their favour, and it all claims to be a Christmas miracle, it doesn’t work like that.”

“That sounds like someone’s been scorned before on Christmas.”

“Not scorned no. More like a missed opportunity, one that I’ve regretted for a long while.”

“Anything I can help with?” You ask. “As the supporting lead that is my mission is it not?”

“Maybe, I’ll have to think about it. Unfortunately my dilemma isn’t so easy to solve.”

“I don’t think anyone's dilemma’s are ever as easy or clear cut as theirs.” You yawn as you lay down on the couch and watch the pitiful drama unfold. “Their world is perfect and always has their back through some sort of mystical power or being.”

“I think people in the real world call that god...” Namjoon chuckles.

“Yeah well, our god is a shitty writer if this is what their creations come to expect.” You murmur, stifling a yawn.

“Is that a crack in your shining armour I spy?”

“No, just commentary.” Though your own internal defences are askew, and the longer you watch the more you understand why. It’s jealousy, jealousy of how quickly they overcome any tragedy, and how they do so with a picture perfect life, as if the creators left all the negative emotions, the realistic impacts of trauma, on the cutting room floor. If only you were that perfect love interest that Namjoon wanted you to be... maybe you can keep the facade until the end of the holidays, at least one of you can have a better Christmas for it.

All you have to do is continue ignoring the most painful parts, a practice you are well versed in considering the boxes still looming in the shadowy corner, still unmoved after all this time. You know nothing good will come from unpacking them, there is no comfort inside, the only thing that could help is long gone, the story which your mother used to read to you every Christmas before you moved here. You’ve hunted through those boxes so many times while she was still here with you, but now that she’s gone you don’t even have the desire to look, nor the strength to store them away.

...

You wake hours later with a loud crumpling sound in your right ear. Your bud still in place, and your call time continues to count past the 7 hour mark. “Namjoon, are you there?” You inquire with a groggy yawn.

“Fuck... yeah, did I wake you?”

“It’s fine, sorry I fell asleep.”

“Don’t worry I did too. But unfortunately I seem to have lost an airpod at some point in the night.” The rustling continues as he chats to you. “I refuse to lose another to this couch, it’s taken so many from me already, you’ think I would have learned by now.”

“Oh, then this is a regular occurrence for you? Chatting up women until you fall asleep,” you scoff.

“No! God no, I just usually fall asleep listening to music and then my cushions eat them when I lower my defences.”

“I leave you to battle it out with your sofa, but what time should I pick you up?”

“Eleven okay with you?”

You double check the clock, ensuring you have enough time for a shower and to look presentable. “Yeah that works. I’ll see you then.”

...

You pull into the packed parking lot of a large warehouse. With Namjoon looking dapper in a blazer and peacoat. You yourself are glad to have chosen to dress a bit classier than your usual garb for a Saturday afternoon. When he said it was for work you couldn’t risk dressing down.

But there is still an air of confusion about your reason for being here. If he’s not attending to buy something for the museum or a client, why is his presence required? The items up for auction are not exactly what you expected, with the majority of it being furniture and woven rugs. You tilt your head in confusion as Namjoon eyes up an old wooden desk.

“Sorry,” He mutters, seeing you as he comes to from his distracted state. “I have a personal weakness for such items.”

“Don’t be, but is that why we're here?”

“No, although it is tempting.” He nods over to a collection of old black and white sketches on the wall across from you, graphite scenes of the city from long ago judging by subject matter and the yellowing of the paper behind the frame. “They’re the real reason we’re here. When I heard of this estate sale I knew that some of those works would likely come to market. I’m here to find out who buys them, and hopefully see if we can secure a possible loan for the museum in the future.”

“So how do you do it? How do you convince them to part with such pieces other than that dangerous smile of yours?”

Namjoon humours you, flashing his most coveted weapon. “Many of the artworks found at estate sales like this, they’ve fallen into disrepair. They often haven’t been cared for, likely kept in some musty room where the humidity damages them. The museum has a team of top rated and highly respected conservators who would be able to properly preserve it and slow any further deterioration, and in exchange for their services we ask for a short term loan of the art.

“A win-win.”

“I like to think so, but some people are rather protective of their investment. It can be a tricky negotiation which I have been on both sides of when I worked for the private sector.”

“Which do you prefer more?”

“Definitely the public. The museum doesn’t pay as much, but the audience and notoriety far greater. I really hope that I can continue my work with them once my initial contract ends.”

“I assume securing this for them will help in that goal?” You nod to the pieces, admiring the sought after collection.

“One can only hope. Who knows, maybe I’ll get my Christmas miracle like the movies promised.” He jokes, putting his hand on your shoulder and leading you on.

While you and Namjoon continue to look around at the lots up for bidding, he proceeds to fawn over the wooden art and furniture, taking pictures and looking up the makers.

You can’t help but enjoy his interest, watching his eyes go wide and his mouth gasp when he’s found something which intrigues him. “Have you ever purchased something for yourself at one of these?”

“A few things, tables, chairs, and books too. It’s a great place to find unique pieces, or things lost to the past.” He gives you a shy smile. “Is there anything you’d like to look for?”

A possible item springs to the forefront of your mind. “Do they have any books here now?”

Namjoon grins at your request and leads you over to several crates filled to the brim with books. All the copies inside look to be older editions of epic novels, nothing like what you hope to find. Your heart sinks as you let out a sigh of disappointment.

“Can I help?”

“Nah, I think I’m out of luck. I was looking for a kid’s picture book. I briefly met someone at the wrapping station who found a copy second hand, must have been at a sale like this. I was hoping I would have the same success, but that seems like a bit of a far reach.” Had it not been their gift to someone else you would have made them an offer for it or even gotten their name at the very least, but you were so distracted at the time... all you can see and remember to this day was the book in front of you.

“I’m sorry-” Namjoon starts with an unnecessary apology, it wasn’t his fault that you lost the favourite book of your youth, that you missed the chance to give your mother one last glimpse of the pages with you before she passed.

“It’s fine,” You cut him off not wanting to dwell on the loss or risk deteriorating that perfect cover right here in front of him, in front of everyone, when he has something important to attend to. “Should we go find seats before they start the auction?”

Namjoon nods, seeming to examine your eyes with careful study, but he will find no tears, no dampness there, those are locked away tight. He escorts you to a seat near the back. “This way we can get a better view of those bidding without looking out of place.”

The auction lots pass by with many remaining silent. Namjoon points out several antique dealers to you that are snapping up many of the pieces. But the rest of the buyers all appear to be waiting for the same prize that Namjoon is.

“Do you have any favourites to win?” You whisper to him as the collection is carried into view.

“I’m hoping for anyone I’ve dealt with in the past.” Namjoon nods in the direction of a middle aged woman dressing in a fur trimmed coat and strands of pearls draped around her neck. “Mrs. Coleman already has a few works in one of the exhibits, and Mr. Roth over there.” He turns to a man wearing a tweed jacket and a sturdy wooden cane in hand. “Is one of the most notable patrons of the museum.”

Silence falls in the room as the auctioneer takes up the gavel again and describes the works. Many around you sit up a little straighter as Namjoon’s eyes dart around at those he thinks might attempt to purchase.

The bids flood in, with very few gaps for breath as the numbers are rattled off. It takes only two minutes before the going price is more than your annual salary. You lower yourself, pooling in your seat as the extravagant wealth is thrown around you.

Once the pace slows, Namjoon's face highlights his concern, his eyes glancing back and forth between two people, the older lady in mink he spoke of before, and an unknown man with a cell pressed to his ear.

As the wooden hammer drops so do the corners of Namjoon’s lips.

“And sold to the gentleman on the phone number three-two-eight, number three-two-eight for sixty-five thousand.” The auctioneer announces.

“Shit.” Namjoon mutters under his breath.

“What, what happens now?”

“Now we have an anonymous buyer who I have no ability to meet or advise.” He sighs, hanging his head, with his fingers dragging across his mouth again.

“I’m so sorry.” You whisper as he nods next to you taking several deep breaths. Your hand reaches out to his arm and he turns to you with a small smile.

“It’ll be fine, I’ll figure something out, but I might as well make the most out of my time here.” With the auction now over he rises from his seat and approaches one of the museum's patrons with an outreached hand. “Mr. Roth, good to see you, you’ll be attending the final night of the exhibit I hope, and who is this with you...”

While Namjoon continues to make pleasantries and exchange business cards you keep your eye on the sketches watching as they are rolled behind the desk and packed away in crates. You approach the area where one of the clerks is recording and distributing the information for the now rightful owners, with a mob of bidders descending on him for their newly purchased items so they might leave as soon as possible.

It would seem that this business too is feeling the crunch of Christmas. A flurry of paperwork is exchanged in haste passing from one hand to the next, until one signed receipt of purchase escapes his notice and falls to the ground in front of you. Picking it up you wait for the crowd to clear, giving the clerk a chance to recover before you approach with the lost sheet, setting it on the desk before him. His confused gaze soon changes to outright shock over his loss when he realizes what you’ve returned.

He thanks you profusely, causing you wonder how much strife he would have encountered had you not been there to return it. “No problem, you look like you have a lot on your plate.” You smile politely, attempting to soothe your fellow casualty of the Christmas rush. “I just have a question for you though, if that’s okay?”

“Not at all how can I help?” He agrees, his stance far more relaxed than it was with the horde a few moments before.

“My friend, he was hoping to get in contact with the purchaser of those sketches there, on behalf of a museum. I don’t suppose there’s any way we could get a hold of them, is there?”

“I’m sorry but not at liberty to divulge that ma’am.” Your rising hope falls, you knew it would be a long shot but you didn’t want to leave without trying. “However... if there’s a phone number or information regarding the museum’s interest I can include that in the paperwork to send off along with the purchase.”

“Really? You would do that?”

When the clerk confirms, you immediately turn on your heel and take a step in Namjoon’s direction before bumping into his solid chest, not realizing that he had already come to find you.

“What are you doing-”

“Getting you that miracle.” You grab one of his business cards from his hand, and turn back around to give it to the clerk who tucks it into the envelope along with the other documentation. “Thank you.” You smile at the clerk who returns the gesture.

“And you said I have a dangerous smile?” Namjoon mutters as he leads you away with a chuckle. “What did he say exactly?”

“That he would include it with the paperwork for the sale. I just hope they will reach out and call you.”

“Me too.” Namjoon smiles, but it doesn't quite appear to reach his eyes. “Shall we head out. I think I’m done here.”

The drive home is rather quiet, the weight of Namjoon’s gloom hanging in the air and he makes no attempt to hide it.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, just trying to figure out where to go from here,” he groans. “Those sketches were going to be the start of something new for me. I know the buyer might still come through but I’m not going to hold my breath. I need to keep searching for what comes next, I’m just a little lost, but I’ll find my path again soon.”

“You make it sound so easy.”

“Sometimes it is, sometimes life will drop it right in front of me and other times I will have to search for it, but that’s a problem for after the holidays.” Namjoon looks out his window at the lights which start to come alive as you drive home. “Are you ready for the big day?”

“Christmas?” You give a nervous laugh, “No, I haven’t even put up any decorations.”

“Why not?!” Namjoon asks in alarm.

“Just haven’t really felt the need this year. There’s no one there to enjoy them but myself.”

“Which makes it all the more important to put them up.” Namjoon sits up in his seat, his whole persona changing. “I could help you if you’d like?”

You wince over the quandary. With your decorations sitting in your living room under an inch of dust it might arouse some confusion, and his heart would likely sink if he knew how long they actually rested there for. “I’m not sure I’m quite ready for it yet. Maybe another time?”

...

-1.5 Weeks Until Christmas-

Work continues to degrade as the countdown progresses. The only thing getting you through the shifts is the thought of Namjoon’s help at the stand. But as soon as Christmas is over, you wonder if your friendship will go the same way as the festive season, cast aside like the wrapping of the gifts you tended to in the weeks prior.

After a few days of busy shifts you’re both thankful to make it to another close. But when you are packing up the station Namjoon’s phone starts to ring. He looks down in confusion at the number without a contact attached. “Do you mind?”

“No, not at all.”

He grins as he answers the phone pacing further back into the vacant shop space and away from the sounds of the echoing mall. You continue to count off the deposit, and roll the wrapping paper. Trying your best not to listen, to give Namjoon his privacy, however you can’t help but notice the happiness in his tone, spotting his dimples from across the room when you sneak a glance. When you grab to move the last box of bows Namjoon ends his call. Tears glisten in the corners of his eyes accompanied by the widest smile you’ve ever seen from him.

“That was- that was the buyer.” He explains as he comes to help you with the final box, taking it from your hands and placing it on the back shelf. “He wants to meet with me this weekend.”

He’s so close, vibrating with an overwhelming delight. His arms move around you as though he is about to pull you in for a gracious hug. You start to congratulate him as he embraces you, “Really?! That’s gre-” only to be cut off when his lips come for yours instead. Once the shock evaporates, you start to appreciate the heat of the moment, the warmth of his skin, the softness of his mouth. Your hands reach up to his toned shoulders and neck pulling him down, diminishing the space between you. Breathing him in like this with your eyes closed, nothing else matters in the moment, nothing other than his firm chest pushing back against yours, his hands on your waist gripping at your shirt.

With a deep sigh and a bite to his own lip he pulls back. “Sorry I just-”

“Don’t, don’t apologize.” You cut him off this time.

“I can’t even begin to thank you.”

“I hardly did anything.” You laugh at the extremeness of his appreciation, though a small part of you dies when you realize his kiss was nothing more than a gesture of gratitude.

“That’s not true...” He responds, giving you his wide eyes and a shy smile.

On the drive home your companion can barely contain his delight, breaking into random smiles and laughter as he informs his coworkers of the success via text.

“There’s this event...” Namjoon starts, as you pull in front of his home. “At the museum on the twenty-third, a week from today, I was wondering if you’d like to go with me.”

“Next Wednesday? But we have a shift at the wrapping station.”

“I spoke to Emma a few days ago and she agreed to cover if we both wanted to go.”

“Emma, making a change so close to Christmas? I don’t buy it. What did you offer her in return?” You ask with a critical gaze. The woman runs such a tight schedule, only something great or important would have prompted her to agree.

“My next year of service.” Namjoon confesses, he looks down at his feet as though he might buckle from the embarrassment.

“Next year? You already promised to work it?”

“If you want me there that is. I’ll practice more in the meantime, I promise I won’t leave you to all of the difficult packages.” Namjoon chuckles. “But what do you say, will you go with me?”

“Ye-yeah I would love it’s just...” You stutter trying to come up with a good excuse but your brain draws a blank leaving only the truth. “I don’t know how well... how well I’ll fit in there.”

“What? No, why would you think that?” Namjoon places his hand on your leg while you drive. A move which causes the both of you to pause in reaction and him to retreat. “Trust me when I say you belong there more than anyone else.”

You nod your head and give him a small smile, wishing more than anything his hand would return. “I’ll come if you want me there. What’s the attire?”

“Semi-formal, and don’t worry about driving I’ll pick you up.”

...

-2 Days Until Christmas-

You stand in front of your mirror, wearing a dress which fits your shape perfectly, but stretches your pocket book significantly. The price tags hanging down from the zipper taunt you, tempting you to rip them away, to commit to the indulgence. Even if it’s only for a night, the payoff in the end might be worth the overpriced lace. You give in with a snip of the scissors and a swallow of guilt, letting the printed cardstock hit your bedroom floor.

You’ve spent the past couple of hours leading up to this moment in a fit of stress cleaning, disposing of the dust bunnies. Now at least if Namjoon comes over after... you won’t be completely off guard.

The phone on your bedside vibrates with a new message.

KNJ: Just pulling in.

YN: Be right down.

Sliding your shoes on and grabbing what you need, you leave your empty apartment with a growing smile on your face. The moment you can see the car from the buildings foyer both Namjoon and the driver exit the vehicle, though Namjoon is quick to wave the driver back to his seat, choosing instead to hold the door for you himself.

The thoughtful gesture is made more appealing as if it gives you a full view of your date in his dark three piece suit, his hair tamed back framing his handsome face, whose gaze appears to be giving you the once over for you too.

“You wrap up nice.” Namjoon jokes.

“Of course, I couldn’t embarrass you now could I? Have to land that first impression.”

“You would never. Besides I’m sure my colleagues will be fascinated to know who has enough courage to teach me how to wrap.”

“And how do you plan on introducing me to those colleagues of yours? As your date or your teacher?” You laugh.

“I was actually hoping I could introduce you as my girlfriend.”

“Your girlfriend for tonight?” You panic, not expecting this development. “Wait, is this one of those fake dating scenarios? Did you tell them you had one and then-”

“I think we’ve been watching too much Hallmark.” Namjoon laughs and shakes his head. “No this is not one of those scenarios, but I’ll take whatever form of companionship you are the most comfortable with.”

He gives you the stare of a man who is looking for more, but you know he won't need you once the holidays pass. His loneliness is temporary, yours is permanent. You’d rather not get your hopes up only to have them lost as he fades away in the cold gloom of January when his family returns. “Let’s see where it goes.”

Upon arrival Namjoon leads you through the massive doors by hand, taking your coat and checking it. The main hall just off the entrance is filled with patrons and staff all mingling and drinking while dining on tiny hors d’oeuvres. You look at the crowd with apprehension.

Namjoon’s fingers interlace with yours again, a grip clearly intended to give you confidence. “I’ll introduce you to some of the staff first.”

Several people congratulate Namjoon on the exhibit as he passes, he responds giving them a brief thank you as he ushers you through the crowd. Stopping at a small group of two, who greet Namjoon with a warm welcome.

“Thank god you’re here, people have kept asking for the brains behind the exhibit.”

“And why didn’t you answer them.” Namjoon smiles before turning to introduce you to them, following up with the man who just spoke. “This is Eric Nam, a curator who I worked on the project with.”

“Don’t pass the torch, we both know it was your idea, I just helped put it into motion.” His coworker smiles gazing at you. “And you must be the one Namjoon has talked so much about.”

The heat rises to your face as you look to Namjoon who confirms the statement with his own embarrassment. “Thank you Eric for sharing that with her...”

“No problem, it’s the least I could do for someone who gave you the insp-”

Namjoon coughs and shakes his head, cutting off his verbose friend.

You're about to question your partner himself when the other colleague of his starts asking you questions. “What do you do for a living Ms....” You remind her of your name while Namjoon spotting refreshments wanders off with a whispered promise to get you both a drink.

“I-I work for Interlude Shipping, in their tracking department.” You explain clasping your hands together in an attempt to settle your nerves.

“Oh, how nice...” The false quaintness in her tone is matched with a smirk as she takes a sip of wine. “Maybe you can help me find out if my sister’s present will arrive in time tomorrow.”

“Valerie...” Eric growls.

“What? I’m merely curious about her employment.” She smirks at him before continuing to her inquisition. “How long have you worked there? Did you have to get a degree for your role?”

“No,” This is exactly what you were afraid of coming here, you just didn’t think the judgement would be coming from someone who works with Namjoon. “I started there right after high school. I didn’t have the luxury to go to an elite school to work in a place like this.”

Eric comes over and claps you on the back. “Neither did Valerie; she just has family on the board.” Giving a coy smile to his coworker who scowls and stalks off without another word to you. “In fact you’ve actually done more work here than her in the past month. I hear you’ve been helping Namjoon secure the collection we’ve been after?”

You nod looking off after the departed curator, worried as to what impact your interaction could have with Namjoon’s position here.

“Don’t worry about her. She’s just bitter that Namjoon didn’t ask her to accompany him here.”

“Oh, does she- do they-”

“Fuck no, but if she’s not everyone’s first choice she’s not happy.” Eric gets in a little closer. “You don’t have to worry about Namjoon looking elsewhere, if he’s at all hesitant it’s just because he’s a little cautious with you.”

“Why would he be cautious?”

“Why would who be cautious?” Namjoon asks, handing you a drink as he appears by your side again.

“Mr. Roth, that man should be careful. I heard he had hip surgery recently.” Eric responds, cutting in with a lie to cover your discussion. “It's good of him to still join us tonight, but enough about that, why don’t you go show her the exhibit before it gets too crowded in there?”

Namjoon offers up his arm in agreement. “I suppose we can get started on the tour, if you’d like.”

“Yes please,” You answer, threading your arm through his. “Thanks again Eric, it was nice meeting you.”

“You too, I’m sure I’ll see you again soon.”

The stand next to the entrance bears all the names of those involved in the creation and a countless list of those who loaned out pieces to make it possible. “There’s so many involved, how large is this exhibit?”

“Not too big, you’ll see why there’s such a long list soon.”

When the door opens you find yourself in a hallway amidst what you can only describe as a snowstorm. The walkway, made to look like an alley set adrift in snow, with flickering lights and paper creations hanging from the ceiling. “Did you make any of those?” You ask, grinning as you squint through the flurrying beams.

“No, I left those to the talents of the students who came by on school field trips. It didn’t take them long before we had enough.”

“Find any new prodigies?”

“Several.” He answers, before pointing to the mounted photos on the wall. “But these works here are some of my favourites.” The pictures are framed to seem as though the viewer is looking in through the pains of a window to happy holiday scenes. From unwrapping presents around the tree to the busy crowds of your very own mall, each image sets out to draw from you a sense of nostalgia.

“I can see why.” You find yourself lingering on the last of the photos by an accredited local photographer, savouring the display as much as you can, worried that it might end too soon.

“Don’t worry,” Namjoon whispers, taking your hand in an eager urge to press on, “There’s plenty more to look at.” He points to the end of the hallway, where you find another door, though this one is dressed with a knocker and wreath looking as if it’s the entrance to someone's home.

You open the door to reveal a series of rooms connected by one long hallway. The first you step into you washes over you with warmth and comfort, the sound of a cracking fire surrounds you while the light of fake embers flows from the side. Set up through the room are tables of items from old to new ranging from Christmas tree ornaments, and household decorations to handwritten cards. “All of these-”

“Were loaned by families from the region, they gave a piece of their history and traditions up for most of the season so everyone could enjoy it. Over here we have...”

You could spend hours sitting and admiring in this room alone, but more than anything you want to push on more to see Namjoon’s excitement in sharing it with you. Each room features a different spot of the home. A chilly shed with vintage toboggans and sleds, a kitchen, stuffed with cookbooks and the smells of baking featuring countless cookie cutters of every shape and size.

The next room is a little unusual and different from the rest, throwing you off for a moment, when the distinct scent of pine hits your nose. In the centre you find what look to be the replication of a massive trunk, and above false branches twinkling with lights. All round in a circle you find toys in glass cases spanning generations, when it hits you. “Are we under the Christmas tree?”

Namjoon gives you his coveted dimpled grin. “Yeah, do you like it?”

“I do. I can’t believe you managed all of this.” You exclaim hurrying between each display like a kid on Christmas morning. From wagons, and Rubik’s cubes, all the way to Furbies and gaming systems he has the whole collection of popular toys throughout the years.

Namjoon beams with pride once you’ve circled the entirety of the fake trunk and the presents beneath it. “Only one room left, but I think you’ll like this one the most.”

You're ushered into the next, a dimly lit space, a bed with a quilted cover stands in the centre, and on the walls you find countless story books, pinned open to so their stunning art is on display, papering the room with climatic holiday scenes and loveable characters. In one you find Scrooge meeting the ghost of Christmas past, in another you witness the Grinch save the sleigh from a perilous fall. Namjoon was right, this is without a doubt your favourite. While people filter in and out, you take your time looking at each set of pages. Your pace slow and steady, until you reach the special story that stops you entirely, the book you lost long ago, and have been trying to find ever since. Drawn on the pages before you is a little blue koala, with a pale purple nose, round ears, and a smile that lights up his face as he cuts out dozens of snowflakes. Namjoon stands behind you with a hand on your shoulder as you gaze at the book you know to be titled ‘Koya’s Christmas.’

You take a deep breath, while trying not to bend to the tears that threaten to break from your eyes. Focusing your attention instead to seek out the owner of the book, but unlike most there is no nameplate attached to this desirable artifact. “Namjoon, who loaned this? Is there any way I could contact them?”

When he gives you a sad smile, your gut clenches over the possibility that this might be a similar issue to what happened at the auction, a lender who wishes to remain anonymous. The only difference here being that you’ll fight Namjoon for the information if you have to. You’ve already let this book escape from you last year, you refuse to let it happen again. “Please, I’ll-” Just when you are about to plead with Namjoon’s integrity, another memory of your past walks into the room, but this one unfortunately has more tragic ties. “Shit,” you whisper, shifting to put your date between you and the newcomer.

Namjoon catching the change in your expression immediately reaches out in concern. “What? What’s wrong?”

“There's someone I know just over there,” You nod in the direction behind Namjoon. “I’d like to avoid him if I can. Sorry, it-it’s complicated. ”

Namjoon puts his hands on your shoulders, eyeing a path the closest exit without letting go of you. “Do you want to leave?”

“If that’s okay?” And just when you thought you were free, when you were ready to make a break for the door. The man in question, spots you and calls out your name.

You turn to face him, trying your best to keep your tone even and your lips pulled into a smile. “Jackson? Hey, it’s good to see you.”

“It’s been so long, not since...” Thankful he stops, not dragging up the subject you wish to avoid.

Namjoon moves closer, moving his arm from your shoulder around your waist, a comforting and protective gesture. “Dr. Wang... I had no idea the two of you were acquainted.”

“You know him?” You ask Namjoon, your concern rocketing over what else your date might become privy to.

“Dr. Wang was the phone bidder. I invited him here tonight to see the work we do.”

“The exhibit was impressive, I can’t wait to see what you have planned next.” Jackson confirms.

“I should go and let the two of you discuss-” You ready to step away when Namjoon’s hand grabs yours and Jackson calls your name again.

“No reason for you to leave, we should catch up.”

“May-maybe later?” You plead with him fighting back the tears, pushing down the memories his presence drags up. “Sorry I just, I need to go.”

You pull your hand free and race to the exit.

“Wait.” You can hear Namjoon call behind you. Though you continue to proceed out the exhibit and towards the closest exit outside, breaking into the cold evening air, only to find that he still followed. “Let me call for the car and we can go together.”

You stop in realization that your running will not deter him, he’ll pursue you unless you give him a reason otherwise. “No you should stay, this is your big event, I won’t ruin it for you.”

“Not without you.”

“Please Namjoon,” you beg, adamant that he return. “I don’t belong in there, I don’t fit in and I never will. Even when I try...” The ghosts of your past have a way of finding you and destroying your facade.

“I’ve told you before you belong in there more than anyone else-”

“That’s not true. I can barely keep myself together. I can’t, I can’t go back in, I'm sorry.”

“I don’t understand, what does Dr. Wang have to do with it? Did he hurt you? Did he-”

“No! No, he did nothing of the sort. Jackson was always very kind to me. Don’t let me affect your plans or any arrangement, you should go back and talk to him, I just can't be there.”

“You think I’m going to just drop you for him, especially when he makes you so uncomfortable? No, I’m leaving with you.”

“Fuck, just... please listen to me. He is a good man, he’s a good doctor, you would be foolish to give up this chance.”

“A good doctor...” Namjoon pauses as a grimace hits his face. “Does he have something to do with your mother?”

“How-How do you know about that?”

“I didn’t mean to pry, I swear. It's just, when I was first talking to Emma about you, out of concern she opened up about your past... about your mother, about your loss.”

“She told you?” Aunt Emma, you should have known she would do something like that, god forbid at least one person not know your history. “Then all of this, these past few weeks were they all out of pity?” You should have known, there was no way he would like someone like you. It was all out of sorrow for what you’ve been through.

“Not pity no, I like you, I like you a lot. When Emma said you were pushing her and so many others away... I concealed it out of fear of losing you too. I wanted you to open up about it until you were ready. I was just trying to help you get through this.”

You look up at the museum, drawing a distressing connection between Namjoon’s daily life and you. “Why? You think I’m some abandoned project you rescued from a deceased’s estate? One for you to mend, and later show like an achievement? You should have just left me where I was, instead of breaking me further.”

Namjoon’s hands immediately pull back from you. “I never meant to hurt you. Only help you move on, you can’t deny that you are frozen in place. You have so much more potential, but you're living in denial.”

“I live there because it hurts less...” You snap back in fury, as he exposes your painful flaws. “I live there so I can work, so I can help others.”

“But what about you? When will you let someone help you?”

You step away unable to answer his question, turning your back on him you race to the sidewalk to hail a nearby taxi, refusing to let him see a single tear fall.

Once home, you crawl into bed after throwing the dress to the floor. This was so far from the evening you had hoped it to be, with you instead left alone to ruminate on Namjoon’s words. Despising all the evidence he laid bare against you, turning it over again and again in your mind until your morning alarm startles you out of your stupor. Signalling for the last shift before your break for the holidays.

...

-Christmas Eve-

It’s finally here, the worst of all days at the call centre. With your eyes heavy from a lack of rest you take a seat at your desk with an extra large coffee in hand. On your computer you have this morning's team email pulled up, and attached to it a list of de-escalation tactics. You’ll need them today because if people don’t get their package by the end of the routes this evening, there’s no hope for tomorrow morning.

The call board on your phone is already lighting up like a Christmas tree, but you know those little embers to be fuelled by wrath, fury and unkept promises of delivery dates.

You try your best to remain calm during the egregious conversations. Offering up tips and tricks to parents who are worried that this will be the year that their child gives up on Santa because your company failed to deliver.

Your lunch break can’t come soon enough. But when you finally check your own phone it’s littered with texts from Namjoon. Messages of concern, apologies, and the hopes that he will still see you at the wrapping station tonight. He even sent a picture of your abandoned coat and promised to bring it along.

Fuck, you had completely forgotten about you wrapping shift together. Just one more night, then you can put it all behind you again. If you can just keep your cover for a few more hours then it’ll all be over and Aunt Emma will have what she was promised.

You send Namjoon a quick message confirming that you will be there, but not promising any more before you head back to your desk.

The calls get progressively worse with several people using foul language and demanding to speak to your supervisor, you try to talk them down as best you can knowing any call passed on to the higher ups will reflect poorly on your efforts.

Until one woman calling in search of her package finally wears you down, insulting you, your profession, even your family.

“Ma’am I’m sorry but if you continue to speak to be in such a way I am well within my right to disconnect the call.” A desperate bluff, your superiors would rather them end the call than you, you’ve been penalized for it before, and you’ll be damned if it happens again. But unfortunately she calls your hand.

“You will not! I have spent hours on the line trying to reach anyone. The shortsightedness of your company and staff is all too apparent.”

“It’s the holiday sea-”

“I know what time of year it is, but it seems your staff doesn’t realize Christmas is tomorrow!”

“You ordered your package past the guarantee date, we could not insure-”

“Now you listen to me, if there was any form of intelligence in that office you’d be working hard to ensure that all packages make it out before tomorrow morning, but instead you just sit on your ass fielding phone calls and giving excuses so you don’t have to actually go out and do honest labour. You must be the biggest disappointment to your family, not even having a proper job. How can you go home and face them knowing you've left so many without their gifts?”

With the woman's last insult, something inside you finally snaps, giving you the freedom to do what you’ve dreamed of for so long. “I don’t,” you pronounce, building up to take your final shot at both her and your employment. “Now if you’ll excuse me I’m going to let you go, as I’d rather not listen to your nonsensical bitching. So merry fucking Christmas to you ma’am, I suggest you go spend it with your own family if they’re willing to put up with your pompous ass.” You hang up the phone and pull off the headset, refusing to answer the next blinking light that comes on to replace it.

You just sit there looking at it denying the next caller their chance at verbal abuse, and your company's lax policy to protect you from it. The chatter of apologies continue to echo around you as your coworkers press on, but after the years of abuse you can no longer hold it in. Your company always said that this position was a stepping stone to greater things, that opportunities would come you just had to wait a little longer, but after being shackled by circumstances, and no forthcoming higher step to take, you refuse to press on any longer.

...

You pull into the mall parking lot, far too early for your slot at the wrapping stand, with the contents of your desk now stationed in the trunk of your car. Taking refuge in the women's bathroom cleaning your face of the tears you shed on the way over as you try not to think too much about what you’ve just done. After refusing to concede and admit to any wrong doing you quit, telling them to shove their shitty policies right back where they came from.

Namjoon was right... and with the mall closing early tonight you’ll only have two hours with him, two hours to smooth the tension over and allow for an amicable goodbye while maintaining your cover.

He’s already waiting for you, with your coat in hand, when you show up. The look of pity that you never wanted to see grace his face directed at you. “Are you okay?”

“Fine... I just would prefer if we didn’t talk about last night. I’m sorry for what I said, and now I just want to let it all go if that’s okay with you?” You smile up at him extending the olive branch.

Namjoon nods looking down at the floor as his hands habitually fold a scrap piece between his fingers. The silence between you is drowned out by the carols echoing down the emptying halls of the mall.

“Didn’t expect it to be so slow.” Namjoon mutters after what seems like an age with no one coming to the stand.

“On Christmas eve? Yeah generally people are home by now, spending time with their-” You force yourself to stop, unable to say a word which will bring sorrow to your heart and loneliness to Namjoon’s.

“I’m sorry I can’t do this,” Namjoon interjects. “I want to talk about last night, I need to talk about it.”

“Now is not the time.”

“There’s no one here but you and me. It’s just us, the mall is closing, it's our last shift, if not now when?”

“Anytime but now. The last twenty-four hours have been the worst in my life since-since...” You take a deep breath burying the wave of sadness and regret back down in your chest refusing to let it out. “Please, just forget it okay?”

“Not until you stop shielding yourself like that.” Namjoon scolds you. “I’m tired of you living in fear that your tears will erode your cover, and that your anger will tear it away entirely. I’m tired of you thinking that people will only appreciate you if you maintain this perfectly wrapped state. You might think it’s pretty, that it’s convenient for everyone else, but you are only keeping others out.”

“Maybe I keep it on so that you won’t be disappointed in what you find when it’s discarded. A sad woman, with no direction, no dreams, unable to cope with loss, and I suppose I can add unemployed to the list now. Is that what you want to see? Is that what you want to find?”

“That’s not all you are... and as for your job, I’m sorry but fuck it. It’s about time you moved on to better things, that place was only holding you back, you deserve so much more.”

“No I don’t, do you want to know why I worked there? Do you? I took that job to make sure she got the care she needed. I promised her when she got better I would quit and find something else, but she never did. But if I leave now I’m accepting the fact that she’s gone... that she doesn’t need me anymore, because I couldn’t do enough to keep her here.” The first tear falls breaking through the long standing divide.

“Staying there wouldn’t have brought her back. Tormenting yourself by remaining frozen in place, won’t bring her back. It’s Christmas for god sake and you are being kind to everyone else but yourself.”

“This isn’t Christmas for me. If it was, she would be here... not you. I’m tired too. I'm so tired of looking at her chair and- and-”

Namjoon wraps his arms around you pulling you forward as your emotions tear through the shroud. He moves you to the back of the vacant store sitting you among the boxes. “I’ll be right back okay?” You nod, while he tugs the table in and drags the gate down to indicate that you are now closed. When he returns his eyes too are starting to redden. His hands brush through your hair, the side of his palm pressing on your cheek and catching your tears. After seeing one of his own fall you crush yourself against his chest, clinging harder to him than before. His lips touch the top of your head, his hands rubbing on your back and arms as he waits, waits for you to be the first to pull away. The lights for every other store shut off around you the music lowers, all that’s left is the retreating chatter of those going to celebrate the eve of Christmas, and still you hold on to him.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been a very good substitute.” He whispers, encouraging you to finally lean back and admit your denial, accepting his efforts to help, when you yourself wanted to do the same for him.

“Don’t say that, it was never going to be a happy holiday for me, just something I needed to get past. But for you, I at least wanted to make yours better, I’m sorry I wasn’t a very good one either.”

“You never were a substitute. You were the one I wanted to spend the holidays with. A different Christmas than usual but no less enjoyable.”

“That’s sweet of you to say.” You smile, but you doubt it’s true. “I suppose we should go...”

“What about all the supplies?”

“Emma will come by in a few days to collect it all.” You grab the small donation from the lock box and seal it in the plastic pouch, while Namjoon rummages through his own bag. “Do you still want a ride home?”

“If you're offering, I would love one.” The flap of his satchel closes as he stops his search and instead goes with you to the bank and finally your car. You hadn’t checked the forecast for tonight so finding your car buried in a few inches of snow comes as an unexpected sight. At least with Namjoon’s help cleaning it off is a quick task.

Once inside you both warm your hands on the sputtering heater, changing them on the wheel as you continue to thaw your fingers while you drive.

“Do you have any plans for the next couple of days?” Namjoon presses, though hesitant in his tone.

“Maybe look for some jobs, and take a good long nap?” You answer with a dark chuckle, still preferring to miss the entire holiday if you could. “You?”

“No, nothing in mind. But if you wake up and want to come over, you're more than welcome to spend it at my place.”

You return both hands to the wheel as the road becomes more difficult to drive on, your tires slipping here and there on the ice beneath the snow. “I’ll think about it, though depending on how much snow we get tonight we might both be stranded at home.”

You pull through the neighbourhood gates and up Namjoon’s driveway. With the car stopped he once again dives into his leather bag and pulls out a thin rectangular gift he looks to have wrapped himself. Dressed as per usual, with far to many pieces of tape, he hands it over to you. “I know this won’t make up for everything, but I want you to have this. Consider it a very belated Christmas gift.”

“Belated? But Christmas isn’t until tomorr-” You take the present and succeed in pulling back the wrapping to reveal the book that you were reunited with just the night before. “Oh...” You look up from the cover to find the return of the sad smile on his face you saw in the museum. “But if this is late then, last Christmas, it-it was you? You were the one at the stand... with this?”

...

-One Year Ago-

You are counting down the hours and minutes until the mall closes, until you can pick your mother up from her doctor's appointment and head home, to your promised tradition of putting up the decorations. The past few weeks have been so busy, with work, volunteer shifts, and her treatments at the hospital, you’ve made it all the way to Christmas eve with the tree and ornaments still packed away in boxes, sitting in the corner of your living room since December first.

Aunt Emma is currently taking your mother’s position at the cashbox, thanks to the scheduling of the last minute check up. You light up your phone again checking the time, only an hour left.

“You can head out if you want my love,” Aunt Emma offers while swaying and humming to the carols. “It’s quiet enough for me to manage myself.”

You grin embarrassed by your desire for a hasty departure. “No it’s fine. I’m still waiting for the phone call to say she’s done, otherwise I’ll just end up waiting at the hospital.”

“Suit yourself.” She stands up to look down the halls of the mall. “Oh, I think we might have someone, he’s heading this way. He’s cute too, you should give him your number and put that mother of yours at ease.”

“Aunt Emma, I don’t need your dating-” You look in the direction she was speaking of losing the rest of your words when you find a tall beaming man coming closer to your station.

“If you need me I’ll just be in the back fetching more ribbon.”

“But we have plenty.”

“Doesn’t hurt to be prepared.” She waves herself off when he makes it to your table.

“Hi,” He greets you with the warmest smile and an even tone. “I was wondering if I could get these wrapped together?” He holds up a bag of gifts which he hands over to you.

“Of course. Any preference on paper?”

“Whatever you think is best, it’s for my mom. Just a bottle of her favourite perfume and something a little more special.”

You open the bag to find a small box containing the fragrance, and the other what looks to be a kids picture book. But what initially seems to be an odd choice for his mother, slams your chest with nostalgia when you see the cover and read the title.

“Koya’s Christmas.” You laugh with delight, you can’t stop yourself from smiling when you examine the artistry. The memories it brings back is enough to make your eyes well with tears.

“You know it?” The man asks, looking pleasantly stunned.

“Know it? I had it memorized as a child. I loved it so much I couldn't bear it when it was packed away at the end of Christmas each year.”

“Me neither, I flat out refused to let it go, I read it year round to the point where our old copy is currently falling apart on the shelf. Even made snowflakes to put in my windows like he did.”

“That’s right, that scene was one of my favourites. May I?” You gesture asking him for permission to look through it. He nods just as excited as you by the concept of something so sentimental. As you flip through the book you recall the beautiful storyline of a koala living in Australia, one who is so upset that they must celebrate Christmas in the summer, never getting to have a while Christmas described in the songs and shown in the movies. But once Koya talks to the leaves in the trees, and the other small animals of the forest, the realization hits that none of them would be able to stay there if it was cold enough for snow.

You are so close to tears when you reach the page where the little koala realizes it’s more important to have friends for the holiday than the frozen flurries. Proceeding to stay up all night cutting out perfect snowflakes to hang in the windows for all to enjoy at the family's Christmas Eve party.

“Where did you find a copy? I’ve looked for so long, I lost my own in the move here.”

“I actually found it by chance, amongst a bunch of rare second-hand books at an auction.” The man itches at the back of his head. “Sorry, I can’t be of more help in locating another.”

“No it’s fine. I’m just glad I got to see it again. I’ll have to tell my own mom that I was lucky enough to see a copy, she loved it as much as I did.”

You quickly wrap the two gifts in the one sheet as requested. Handing it back to him before you can be tempted enough to make an excessive offer of your own on his mothers gift.

“Thanks again.” He hands you two twenties for the donation. “My mom usually helps me with the wrapping but I didn’t want her to see this, you’ve made her Christmas.”

“I’m glad I could help.”

When he walks off you notice that he makes several glances back to you, holding a smile each time.

“So did you get his number?” Aunt Emma pokes her head back out from the stock area. “Maybe his social media, his dick-dock or whatever it is you kids do these days?”

“No, I did not get his tiktok.” You answer, unable to contain your laughter. “I was distracted by-” You’re ready to defend yourself when your phone starts vibrating on the table, the screen lit up with the number of your mother’s doctor’s office. You answer it, excited to share your account of the book. “Hey mom, you all finished? You’ll never believe what I just wrapped-”

“Sorry dear this is Laurie, I’m just calling on behalf of Dr. Wang’s office. We were hoping you could come by as soon as you can, the doctor would like to meet with both you and your mother before she leaves for the day.”

“Y-yeah, I’ll be right down.” You hang up the phone taking a deep swallow of fear, the moment of happiness and nostalgia vanishing with the prospect of the news to come. It’s never been a good sign when they’ve wanted to meet with you both in person.

Aunt Emma catches on in an instant, pushing your coat on your shoulders and your purse in your hand. “Go, I’ve got this. You give your mother a big hug for me, and I’ll stop by soon to see you.”

...

While you try to relive, to pull back and hold on to, that moment from a year ago, Namjoon nods confirming your suspicions.

You mentally kick yourself for not recognizing him, for not remembering a single thing about him except your connection with the book. But after everything you had gone through, in that night alone, the devastating news regarding your mothers health had blacked out everything else. You took her home that night, trying not to cry, trying to be strong for her. Helping her into bed for some much needed rest, leaving your previous plans boxed up in the corner... where they remain to this very day. And the year only got worse leaving your mind engaged elsewhere, far from the man with the kind smile and similar taste in literature. “I’m sorry, I can’t believe I didn’t recognize you sooner.”

“No, it’s fine, it was a while ago, and I’m the one who should be sorry,” He whispers. “The moment I stepped outside that day, I realized you needed it more than my mother needed a second. I went back, but you were already gone. I was selfish though, rather than leaving it with another, I wanted to be the one to give it to you myself, I wanted to see you, to talk to you again, and so I kept it. I even put it in the exhibit on the chance that you might find it. When I met Emma at the museum and found out that you’d be doing the fundraiser again it seems like fate, but then I heard about what had happened since I saw you last. I realized how foolish I had been, how I had stolen your chance to share it with her before she passed.”

You reach up to your face attempting to wipe away the tears before Namjoon can see anymore, but he catches your hands before you can hide your grief.

“When you saw the book that day, you have no idea the impact it had on me. Watching you react, your emotions so close to the surface. You didn’t care where you were, what you were doing, all you could see was the memory in front of you. I wanted to create that for everyone.”

“Then the museum exhibit-”

“Was a result of my meeting you, my breakthrough idea which got me a chance to curate was thanks to your reaction. I was going to tell you when we were there, why you deserved to be there more than anyone else, but everything fell apart so quickly.”

“I’m so sorry, I never intended to ruin your night. I just-” You take a deep breath, finally letting out the words you’ve been holding back. “I was scared. Jackson was one of my mother’s doctors, he was always friendly and kind to the point where my mother would joke that he would make the perfect son-in-law. We even went on a date, but when she passed... it was difficult, painful for me to see him again. Finding him there last night, I was so worried you would learn about what had happened, and that you would look at me with the same pity he did, so I ran.”

“You didn’t ruin it, I deserved what you said for not being more open with you about what I knew. I was scared of losing you. So no more running, no more hiding okay?”

You give him a nod, unable to speak through the tears as you gasp between sobs. He hugs you across the cars divide. “Now will you please come inside? At least for a bit. It’s Christmas Eve and I can’t let you go home like this. I have the snowflakes up and everything but we both know it’s not enough without someone else to see them with.”

You shake your head, now laughing despite the tears, “You really know how to reel me in.”

“I’m just admitting that I don’t want to be alone on Christmas,” He looks at you with a raised brow. “And I don’t think you want to be either.”

...

Namjoon’s house is the very opposite of your apartment, filled with warmth and light, wooden furniture and plants in every corner. The Christmas decorations bring another layer of himself into the fold. As promised, his window pains are full of snowflakes and the sills... you squint at several small blue lumps perched beside the glass. Moving closer you recognize them as clay koalas made by the skill and hands of a much younger age. Namjoon catches you staring at one position in a dozing state. He takes it off the ledge and hands it to you to give a better look.

“Careful with that one though,” He points to another figure stationed in the corner. “It’s ears like to fall off.” He rolls the round bit of clay out of position chuckling as it exhibits the trait.

“Did you make these?”

“When I was a kid. My mom held on to them.” Namjoon muses as he continues to fidget with the figurine. “She dropped off a box of decorations before going off to be with my sister and her family.”

“I’m glad she did.”

“Me too. But even with all the trimmings and decor here this year doesn’t feel quite normal.” He replaces them both in their rightful positions of honour and gestures to the massive couch behind you. “Make yourself comfortable,” he insists, before wandering off to the joint kitchen. “Is there anything I can get you to drink?”

“I’ll have whatever you're having.” You take a seat on the monstrous cushions, which ease you in before swallowing you in comfort. Making it easy to see how this beast of a sofa has eaten several of his several earbuds.

“Beer okay?”

“Perfect.”

He comes round with the drinks and takes a seat beside you. Turning on the television he lets it play with low volume in the background so you might continue your conversation if you wished, but at the same time eases the pressure from you if you’d rather not.

You smile down at your beverage as the overly dramatic film plays out. Your mind still lingering on the damage that you might have caused with your hasty departure the night before.

“Have you talked to Jackson since, is he still going to loan the sketches?”

“He wants to, he sent me an email today saying so...” Namjoon pauses taking a sip of his drink, swirling the contents around in the can. “He asked if you were okay too. I haven’t responded yet, I wanted to talk to you first and get the full story, rather than speak on your behalf. But it’s clear he has feelings for you, if you told him how you felt, I’m sure you could still work things out if you wanted to.”

“No, I don’t think it’s feelings but his concern. He’s just too good of a person not to worry, and I’m sure his own guilt has a place in there too. Jackson and I never would have worked out, we went on that date, we didn’t have much in common, there was nothing there that I wanted to pursue, not like my time with you.”

Namjoon’s eyes perk open as he smiles. His arm reaches around, pulling you in to lean on his side and shoulder. As the strained plot plays out before you.

“Why do you insist on watching these.” You ask as your eyes become heavy after a few minutes. Leaning into Namjoon more he lays back putting his feet up and sliding you down with him to do the same. Your head now resting on his chest the deepness of his voice carrying down to your ear.

“They’re like the snowflakes-”

“A paper thin plot full of holes?”

“Funny and true, but not what I meant. I know they are by no means real, but they have this way of adding to the feeling of the season. I didn’t realize how much of a tradition it has become for me and my family until this year, when watching them alone just felt wrong. The movies were an excuse to sit down with them, to talk and laugh. The other night when I called, it wasn’t that I couldn’t sleep, I just wanted to spend the time with you.”

“But why me? You could have anyone, even Valerie seems to-”

“Why would I want anyone else when you helped me achieve something I’ve long dreamed of? You may think this cheesy but at the end of all these films, when everything comes together wrapped in a perfect bow, that’s how I’ve felt in every moment with you.”

“You��re right, very cheesy, but not unwanted.” You look up at him from his chest finding only sincerity in his face. “Now if we’re to continue in this similar Hallmark course of action, I do believe this would be the part where you kiss me again.”

“But I’m just the clumsy lead,” Namjoon jokes. “I’m pretty sure that’s your-” You lean in doing just that, cutting him off and pushing him against the couch as you kiss him. His chest quaking with silent laughter soon turns to rumbling groans as you fulfil the expectation of your role. “Though this would also be the part where I tell you we should wait before giving into temptation.”

Your nose scrunches up in displeasure over the notion of such abstinence. “Then let's omit that line, and go off script for the rest of the night.”

Namjoon takes his turn, flipping you over to push you down onto the plush cushions, where you sink under his weight. “Gladly,” he growls, his mouth trailing down your neck pulling on the collar of your sweater to seek further in.

Desiring the same you discard your own knit garment, before moving on to unfasten the buttons of his shirt, pushing it back until he is forced to tear his hands from the sleeves himself and whip it down to the ground.

Sliding between your thighs he wraps your legs around his back and picks you up off the couch. With an arm wrapped around your waist, he continues to kiss you while you squeal from being lifted into the air.

“Bedroom?” You ask, excited by the possible prospect.

He nods, looking up at you with a smirk. “If that’s okay? I’d rather not risk losing you to the couch too.”

You giggle at the notion, while Namjoon heaves you up again to get a better grasp, his mouth tucking into your chest. He fumbles for the door now behind you looking as though he might break it open if the knob won’t turn to his grappling grip. You reach back to assist and push it open. The cool air of the room hits you, causing you to cling to Namjoon’s warmth.

With two more steps you’re lowered onto the bed, where he grips the waist of your pants, unbuttoning and tearing them down your legs. Laying on the edge of the mattress, you watch as Namjoon kneels down between your legs. His hands glide up your bare legs and pause at the tops of your thighs massaging them as he asks to go further. “May I?”

You take his fingers and press them down on the dampening fabric. Namjoon groans and dips the tip of his index below the material peeking inside to find the warmth of your cunt. It’s a pity it’s so dark in the room, you would have liked to see his smile.

But it seems you're not alone in this desire, as Namjoon gets up and reaches over flicking on the lamp beside his bed. “No more hiding, I want to see you, all of you.”

“I want that too. I want you.”

He smiles kissing you with both hands before rolling over and pulling you on top of him. You return the favour by taking off his pants and boxer briefs releasing his erection. Running your fingers down the soft skin of his shaft, curling them around the base. Tilting his cock towards your mouth you take the tip, teasing your tongue on the rim of the head. Namjoon groans in delight, thrusting his hips up, you take it again as far as you can manage, enjoying his reactions to your tongue trails downward, tracing the swelling veins of his dick. With another drag of his cock you release him with the pop of your lips and he reaches down to grip your arms, breathing heavily with closed eyes.

“I thought you said you wanted to see me?” You chuckle at his undoing.

“I do, but I also want to last.”

“Condoms?” You ask, continuing to stroke his cock while you adjust to straddle his thighs.

“In there.” He mutters, pointing to his bedside table breathless and helpless to your touch. Only looking up when you have to free him to reach for the box and unwrap its contents. His own hands help you to roll it down his shaft.

You guide yourself down on his cock while Namjoon arches against his pillow and mattress. His fingers tracing up your stomach and ribs. You reach back to unclasp your bra just as he reaches your chest, and lean down into his touch.

With his firm grip you rock your hips clenching on his dick and grinding your clit on his pelvis. The louder he gets the faster you move, trembling as you chase your own high and pivoting down further. When Namjoon’s hands grip your hips pressing you into him the pressure becomes far too great pushing you over the edge, sending waves of pleasure through you until you collapse on his chest. He holds you in place as he thrusts from beneath, gasping as your climax continues, coaxing you to clench down on him, straining his thrusts until he comes.

Dotting the side of your face and neck with his lips at a soft and slow pace, he succeeds in forging another smile in your still gasping lips. He tilts you off and beside him in your blissful haze so he may dispose of the filled barrier. When returning to your grasp you cling to him and he you, dragging the covers up and over the both of you.

“I could get used to this.” You whisper, curling into his warmth. No longer afraid of the emotions that the holiday will bring. Glowing over the prospect of not facing Christmas morning alone, but wrapped together with Namjoon in the sheets of his bed. “Maybe even consider it a new tradition?” You joke with him looking up to witness his smile.

“If that’s a tradition...” Namjoon whispers, coming in for another kiss. “I plan on celebrating Christmas everyday for the foreseeable future.”

#bts smut #namjoon smut #namjoon x reader #kim namjoon #bts x reader #rm #bts fanfiction #bts fanfic #bts christmas au #bts angst #bts fluff #bts wrapped together

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drwcn · 3 years

Note

ok but for fem!wwx au does lan zhan believe the rumours? and if so what does that mean for the whole 'i birthed him with my own body!' cause lan zhan did the maths and was like 'no it was just the once and this child is too old' but if he thinks he was just one in a line does he go back to bm after nightless city to rescue a kid he thinks is wei ying's but with another man? does he spend the three years in seclusion cursing every jin whose name he remembers as cowards only to step out, take one look at sizhui, and have an 'oh. i know why wei ying was so determined to save wen qionglin' moment???

Answer: Haha, nah, Lan Wangji was fairly sure Sizhui wasn’t Wei Ying’s, for several reasons. One, Wen Yuan was born before the wen remnants even went to the Burial Mount. Lan Wangji saw the small child amongst the escape party that rainy night at the concentration camp. Also, Wen Ning was several years younger than them, which would make it kind of weird if he were the dad. Before Wen Ning became the Ghost General, everyone just knew him as Wen Qing’s kid brother. Lan Wangji, however, absolutely believed Jiang Yan to be Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian’s child even before Wei Wuxian was resurrected...

《the midnight sun》 —

[original], snippets [x] [x] [x] [x], other posts found under #lanyan or #midnight sun

midnight sun [snippet 7]

When Yan’er turned ten, Jiang Cheng decided it was time for her to accompany him to Cultivation Conferences. Most sect heirs began their training this way; Jiang Cheng still remembered his first time, trailing nervously in Jiang Fengmian’s wake.

Heiresses, in comparison, were few and far between. Even head disciples were rarely girls. Jiang Wanyin had no children. His head disciple was his heiress, and his heiress was Jiang Yueqian (江月千).

长烟一空 - when the smoke clears; 皓月千里 - the moon casts a thousand miles of light 浮光跃金 - which dances upon the water, golden 静影沉壁 - the shadow of the moon itself like jade underwater*

A jade underwater indeed.

“Shifu.”

Speaking of the devil, here she comes, walking measuredly down the long stairs of Jinlintai towards Jiang Cheng, the epitome of an obedient, filial disciple. It had only been a day and Jiang Yan already had the world fooled. Only Jiang Cheng knew how impossibly obstinate and utterly uncontrollable she was when her mind was fixed.

"Ah, Jiang-zongzhu, this is..." Spotting her, Lan Xichen glanced beyond his shoulder, the question dangling in the sentence he did not deem necessary to finish.

Unbeknownst to Lan Xichen, the child that made her way over was his niece by blood. Jiang Cheng was acutely aware that Yan'er actually resembled Lan Wangji a great deal, and despite having weighed the risks and gains against each other repeatedly before deciding to bring Jiang Yan along, now he was no longer so certain in his calculations. Lan Xichen was not a simple peasant; what if he detected a trace or a hint of her heritage between the furrow of her brows or the curve of her eyes? What if...

Jiang Cheng turned, raising an arm towards Jiang Yan, an introduction ready, but whatever words he had prepared in advance died on on his tongue when he laid eyes on the girl. Suddenly, he was no longer worried that others would suspect her to be Lan Wangji's child.

There was a red ribbon in her hair.

Yan'er stopped at a polite distance from the two older men and bowed in perfect form.

Jiang Cheng's heart stuttered violently in his chest at the sight of that red ribbon falling sideway over her small shoulder. If souls could travel, his would have left him in an instant. He stood in disincorporated panic, wrestling with the nauseating sensation of being ripped from his reality and tossed so far into the distant past that he felt whole again.

"Shifu, Lan-zongzhu." Yan'er greeted.

Shifu. Lan-zongzhu. In another world, another life, she would not need to be so formal. She could easily bound up to them, carefree, cooing jiujiu and bobo and ask to be bailed out from whatever trouble she caused.

Instead, he was only her shifu, and Lan Xichen, a stranger in her life. It would be laughable, if fate had not dealt them each such a wretched hand.

Jiang Cheng stepped towards her. “Where did you get this?”

Jiang Yan looked up in surprise, her hand reaching up and making an aborted motion to touch the red ribbon in her hair.

“Qin-shenshen gave it to me. Is it not nice?”

Qin Su. Jiang swallowed down a sigh of relief. Earlier, the Jin servants had sent word that Jin-fu'ren had baked treats for Jin Ling, and the boy had wasted no time dragging his favourite person - his Yan'er jiejie - to his aunt's place with him. Clearly, Qin Su had seized the opportunity to dote on the girl in place of the daughter she never had. Qin Su meant well. She couldn't have known. She's never even met Wei Wuxian.

In this state, Jiang Cheng could barely bring himself to look at his disciple, but he forced himself nonetheless to kneel and tuck an errant strand of baby hair behind her ear. “Very pretty.”

Yan'er smiled.

Jiang Cheng could cry.

They'd been lucky thus far. Yunmeng's Jiang-xiao-guniang was born a taciturn girl who did not like to smile or laugh, not even when she was expected to for polite society. Whether she was happy or sad, one would be hard pressed to tell. Only in front of her master Jiang Cheng or her Jin Ling-didi did she elect to reveal the full expanse of her emotions. Yet, whenever Jiang Cheng bore witness to that smile as warm and incandescent as sunlight, he could not help but shudder somewhere deep. Recalling the radiant days of years gone by, he could still see - every time he closed his eyes - his er-shijie smiling at him in the very same fashion.

Aiyo, Jiang Cheng ~

So...they'd been very lucky thus far, that Yan'er was not so like her mother in that way, not so free and generous with her smiles. Or else this devastating secret —Wei Wuxian's only wish — would not be able to withstand the test of time.

"Very pretty, Yan'er." He reaffirmed. "Did you thank Jin-furen?"

"I did."

Jiang Cheng stood and turned back to face Lan Xichen, and realized they were being joined by two others: Lan Qiren and Lan Wangji. The latter of two stared directly down at Jiang Yan, visibly stricken and unblinking, as though he'd just seen a ghost. After all, he had often been on the receiving end of that signature smile once upon a time. It was probably not a smile he'd ever expected to see again in this life.

In hindsight, perhaps Jiang Cheng should have made Yan'er wear her uniform like all the other disciples instead of her favourite indigo robes.

“Ah, Wangji, shufu -” Lan Xichen was quick to react, sensing animosity brewing in the disquiet that stretched taut between his younger brother and his fellow sect master. "Jiang-zongzhu, perhaps you would introduce us?"

The First Jade smiled kindly down at Yan'er. She returned his kindness with a polite nod.

Lan Wangji finally dragged his gaze up to meet Jiang Cheng's, a rarity since their violent parting at Nevernight. The venerated Hanguang-jun had developed a habit of pretending that Jiang Wanyin of Lotus Pier did not exist at all. He probably preferred, dreamed of it even, if Jiang Cheng had been one to fall of the cliff that day. He probably hated himself for not shoving him into the molten abyss when he could to avenge the love of his life.

Love. What did Lan Wangji know of love? Jiang Cheng sneered inwardly. One did not compromise one's love and abandon her, ill and with child, to bleed out alone in a cave tainted by demonic spirits.

One did not watch idly as one's love and her people are reduced to ashes for the power and greed of men either....

Jiang Cheng buried the offending thought, too familiar with Wen Qing's ghost that still haunted him in his moments of weakness. Without breaking gaze, he laid a hand on the crown of Jiang Yan's head and said, "This is my first disciple, Jiang Yan, Jiang Yueqian."

"Yueqian greets Zewu-jun, Lan-lao-xiansheng, Hanguang-jun."

Jiang Cheng watched as the icy fire within Lan Wangji's eyes flicker, fizzle, and extinguish entirely. Jiang Cheng's vague silence had allowed him the space to make his assumptions, and he had assumed the most insane explanation.

Is it so difficult for you, wondered Jiang Cheng. To believe that she could be yours? So impossible, that you would choose to doubt Wei Wuxian instead?

Fine.

Hanguang-jun. The venerated Second Jade of Gusu. That's all you'll ever be. Yan'er will never call you Father.

Jiang Cheng decided he had spent enough time today making nice. "Zewu-jun, it's getting late. If nothing else, I will be taking my leave. The conference continues tomorrow. I will see you then. Yan'er, come."

Yan'er bowed again to the senior cultivators, perfectly well-mannered. A dash of surprise crossed those bright eyes, however, when Jiang Cheng took her hand to lead her away. She followed wordlessly, trusting him, and did not look back once at the Lans she left behind.

Now that Yan'er was out in society, there would surely be rumours. No matter. Rumours were nothing Jiang Wanyin could not withstand. How ironic, indeed, that this was to be his lot in life.

For the first time, Jiang Cheng felt he could understand his father.

Note:

The poem is from the Song dynasty, by poet 范仲淹 from his work 《岳阳楼记》

Jiang Cheng of course is also working off a lot of assumptions about Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji's relationship. He has his reasons for hating and blaming Lan Wangji, but not all the blame is deserved.

#Anonymous #corie replies #cql #the untamed #lanyan #midnight sun #corie fics #cql ficlet #yes jiang cheng stringed enough brain cells together to come up with a half decent name #ly7

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thisisgonnafuxkinkillme · 3 years

Text

POV: You Got Wayyy Too High

Warnings: Drug use (weed lol)

Aizawa Shouta/ Eraserhead

“Hey, what are you doing?” asked Aizawa as he plopped his bag at the door. You were trying to smoke weed from a pipe, but instead of lighting the actual herb, you were trying to heat it up from the bottom of the pipe.

You’d never smoked weed, but wanted to try it and bought the supplies from a local smoke shop, as well as buying some good stuff from your friend.

Unfortunetly, you also didn’t bother to look up how to actually use a pipe, instead just relying on knowledge you gained from drug documentaries.

This meant that you only knew how people heated up heroin with a flame under the spoon, which meant that surely you could do the same with weed.

“No, no, no, no. Stop that,” he ordered. You were his age, but nonetheless still buckled under his stern tone.

“Look, do you need me to show you how to do it?” he asked, gently taking the glass pipe from your hand. You nodded.

“Watch carefully,” he ordered, as he properly lit up the herb as he inhaled the smoke. He then passed it to you, watching you carefully to make sure you were doing it right. Soon, you got the hang of it.

Even sooner, though, you were a coughing mess.

“Calm it down, there. Don’t take huge puffs. You’re not impressing anyone here, y/n,” he scolded, taking another puff. He did it effortlessly, as if he’d done it for years. (He has.)

You wanted to impress him, though, even though he seemed to not care what you did. You just wanted to prove to him that you were ~cool~.

Well, this ended up in you looking very... uncool.

While Aizawa was chilling with a pretty decent high, you were laid across the bed, starfish style, blasting music in your ears. You were honestly vibing though, so Aizawa didn’t mess with you. For now.

The next day, he definitely teased you a little bit about how totally out of it you were, and how you listened to the same song on loop for 3 hours.

“How did you know that?” You asked, cocking a brow.

“Uh, because your headphones weren’t plugged in?”

Yagi Toshinori/ All Might

He was smoking when you came home, and though he tried to hide it, you smelled it. He acted as if he was just caught as a 17 year old in his mom’s house.

“Uh, no, it’s nothing! I...I don’t do anything like that!” He insisted.

“Toshi, come on. I can smell it,” you smiled. He covered his face.

“Please, please, keep this between you and I...I only do it because it helps with the pain and-”

You cut him off, “ I dont care why you do it, just lemme have some already!”

Of course, you were just teasing him, and he knew that, but he couldn’t help but ask, “...You smoke?”

You shook your head playfully.

“If you’ll let me, I’d like to try some, though!”

He passed it to you, and you took a way-too-long drag. Instantly, you were doubled over, coughing and hacking your lungs out.

He patted your back firmly.

“Since this is your first time, you’re gonna cough a little. Just try to take smaller puffs and take deep breaths. There you go.”

Once you recovered, and Yagi got his turn, he handed the joint back to you. It continued to be passed back and forth between you two until it was finally no longer than a centimeter.

For a moment, you both just chilled out on the couch together, just vibing. That was until Toshinori noticed your goofy, dreamy facial expression. He chuckled to himself, but that was all you needed to become hysterical, laughing so hard that you couldn’t breathe. Seeing you laugh so much of course made Toshi a mess as well, which only added to your decent into utter madness.

Eventually, though, you both calmed down, and Toshi excused himself so that he could go take a quick bath. He often did this whenever he smoked, so that the warm water could aid even more in soothing his aching muscles and creaky bones.

So you were left alone. Totally unattended. At first, everything was totally fine.

However, as you started to actually feel the effects of the herb, you began to panic.

Is this normal? Does everyone else feel like this when they smoke? Oh God, this isn’t right...oh fuck, I’m gonna be the first dumbass to OD on THC...fuck...

Thoughts whizzed past your brain, every single one making sure you knew how totally fucked you were.

Tears streamed silently down your cheeks as you counted your pulse with two fingers on your wrist, but you coulnd’t find a pulse.

oh fuck...i’m probably going to pass out any minute now...it’s all over...

Images of your final goodbyes to everyone you loved flashed just behind your eyes.

“How’re you holding up, pumpkin?” asked Toshi, coming back from the bath, in a robe and his golden hair still damp.

You looked at him, your eyes red and puffy.

“Toshi...I’m...I’m dying...I love you, okay?” you murmured. He would have laughed, all except he saw the genuine fear in your eyes.

He sat down next to you, surrounding you with all of his lanky limbs.

“You’re not dying, honey. What you’re feeling right now is totally normal, I promise. Take some nice, deep breaths for me. Come on. There you go. Good.”

He cradled you there for a good while, until he felt your tense muscles finally slacken, and your breathing evened out.

Toshi made a mental note to never let you smoke that much ever again, guilt pinching at his sides.

Fatgum/Taishiro Toyomitsu

You had taken an edible cookie from your friend. She told you it was just a small bit in there, just enough for you to feel something.

You decided to be modest, eating just half of the cookie. You didn’t notice any effects, and out of sheer boredom you decided to go ahead and eat the rest of it. No harm in that, right?

Well, an hour later, it kicked in. You were expecting to feel something interesting, but you definately weren’t expecting anything like this at all.

Everything seemed so far away. Even your breathing sounded like it was coming down a long corridor and echoing to your ears. You could feel your soul swimming in your body.

Fatgum, who you lived with, luckily finished his hero duties early, and walked into the house joyfully as usual. He called out your name. You didn’t reply.

His large footsteps could be heard, but you were too busy thinking about how weird breathing sounds to notice.

Fatgum soon found you collapsed on the bathroom floor, face pressed against the cool tile.

Immediately, he propped you up against the wall, looking into your eyes with great concern.

“What did you take? Y/n, look at me. What did you take?”

You lazily looked at him, your face completely serious. As serious as it could be, anyway.

“...i...it was...edible...” you mumbled out. As soon as he understood, he was laughing hysterically.

“s..stop...s not funny...” you grumbled, punching him in the gut.

“Alright, alright... let’s get you into bed. You’ll feel much better once you wake up,” he smiled, picking you up and bringing you into the bedroom.

You quickly were comforted by the warm, heavy comforter. Fatgum took a moment to look at you in your groggy state, trying his best to hold back a laugh. It was so painfully obvious that you’d never done anything like this in your life. His only regret was not being around to witness your ascent into cloud 9.

Soon, though, you had drifted into dreamland.

Hizashi Yamada

You locked yourself in your bathroom, sneakily lighting up the joint you bought off of your friend. Your boyfriend was in his room, playing Fortnite or some shit, and frankly, you were embarrassed to smoke in front of him. You knew that he’d definately find something to roast you about, and he was relentless.

A couple minutes after you lit up, though, the door was basically busted down.

“HEY, HEY! You better be planning on sharing some of that!” yelled Hizashi, his hand already out and waiting. He still had his headset on, but you saw with relief that his mic was turned off. You passed it to him.

“Augh! Where the hell didja get this weak shit, y/n? Nah, this ain’t gonna cut it,” he complained, putting it out.

“Hey! I got that from my friend, dude! What the hell?” you frowned. Before you could be too mad at the waste, though, Hizashi pulled out a small wooden box from under his bed. Opening it, he revealed his stash of entirely too much pot.

You covered your mouth, stifiling a laugh. How the fuck could you have not smelled it?

Within five minutes, he’d rolled up a blunt, and was passing it to you, already lit.

It was gone after a little over half an hour, and you could already feel the effects. Your eyes were dry, your stomach craving junk food, and your brain craving chill vibes.

He returned to his game, unbothered but his volume definately toned down about 5 notches. He was a lot more chill than you’d ever seen him act, ever.

You found your way into the kitchen.

Once his game was over, he met you in there. You were in front of the fridge, pulling out thing after thing. By the time he’d gotten to you, you had eaten half a jar of pickles, three pieces of cake (with your bare hands), drank a bunch of soda, and you were headed for the chips that were sitting idly on the top of the fridge.

“oh, God...what the fuck are ya up to, dude?” he groaned. He did not want to deal with this mess.

You grinned at him. “I dunno, maan... look dude could you just get me these up here? please bro...” you giggled. He sighed dramatically, taking them.

However, instead of handing them over to you, with your dirty little fingers, he ate them.

“stoppp, bro, please lemme get some!” you pouted. He acted as if he couldn’t hear you, leaving the kitchen. You followed after him, kicking him in the shins.

Still, he didn’t seem to notice.

“Hizashi, come on, maaannnn!”

He laid himself on the bed, covering himself with blankets. He pulled out his phone, calling you. “Y/n, I miss you so much, man. Come chill out!” he spoke into the phone, trying his best not to break the act. You were absolutely furious at this point, punching at him.

“I’m right here, you doughnut!!” you groaned. Dramatically sighing, Hizashi frowned, “I really wish y/n was here to sesh with me...” all while still eating the chips. You jumped on top of him.

Finally, you caught him off gaurd, grabbed the chips, and locked yourself back up in the bathroom.

This time, though, he just left you be.

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cherrynojutsu · 3 years

Text

Title: Like Gold

Summary: Sasuke grapples with love and intimacy regarding his developing relationship with Sakura after returning to the village from his journey of redemption. Kind of a character study on Sasuke handling an intimate relationship after dealing with PTSD and survivor’s guilt in solitude for so long. Blank period, canon-compliant, Sasuke-centric, lots of fluff and pining, slowly becomes a smut fest with feelings.

Disclaimer: I did not write Naruto. This is a fan-made piece solely created for entertainment purposes.

Rating: M (eventual nsfw-ness)

AO3 Link - FF.net Link - includes ending author's notes

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Chapter 8/?: Grasping

Sasuke awakens abruptly, nausea clawing its way out of his throat like a soup of sepsis that’s been left percolating on a stovetop for too long, finally boiling over and soiling everything.

Stomach churning, he tries to aim it at the floor - he’s gotten better at doing that, over the years - but he doesn’t quite succeed. Hot bile, acidic with mostly digested dinner, coats the side of his bedding and part of his sleeve.

He coughs, gagging on acid and torment and hyperventilation. Then his stomach lurches again, and he turns to retch another round at the floor. Part of it floods his nostrils, stinging, and he rasps more.

That triggers another round, after which he waits a minute, sharp coughs punctuating the stillness, familiar at this point with what his stomach’s settling feels like. He shrugs off his shirt once it does, and makes his way to the kitchen, hacking on a foul aftertaste and vomit-inducing visuals flashing before his eyes.

A glance at the clock tells him it’s half past midnight as he gulps water, snorting in a manner very undignified to clear out his nasal passages and soothe the putrid taste overwhelming his insides. Then he chokes more of it down, feeling the beginnings of a pounding headache.

There are times when having a near photographic memory is not a good thing. He is very tired of recalling crackling electricity, of stumbling over body after body with lifeless eyes. Men, women, children, all with charcoal irises like his.

And teammates, with irises decidedly not like his, luster flattened to single dull colors.

And himself, at the end, deranged and dispiteous, standing where Itachi had stood a long time ago, looming over remains as if he himself is the final obstacle to defeat before it just ends, the culminating villain in some fucked up fable. All at once, he’s a child again, gagging on a demented form of truth, left to stew there for years and years and years, rotting him from the inside out.

He's noxious. He knows he is. He wishes he could spit himself out along with partially digested yakitori.

Sasuke takes another sip of water as his vision blurs, trying desperately to focus on the wood grain of the cabinets and not daring to close his eyes, lest another flash snake its way into his ocularity and undo the mild soothing the water is providing. He coughs again, throat raw. Then his mouth starts watering, a telltale sign that he’s going to throw up again, so he walks carefully to the bathroom, bottle in hand and trying not to jostle his stomach more than is necessary. Switching on the light and flipping up the seat of the toilet, he makes it just in time.

This round it’s mostly just water, and it burns a little less. The murky brown color he’s faced with seems very reflective of what he feels inside, ignominy and wretchedness and self-loathing, no substance at all, just a bitter aftertaste of that which was left behind on a wood floor a lifetime ago. There had been saliva then, too, seeping from his mouth to the floor in his cowardice.

He swallows once, a gargantuan effort. Then he takes another sip of water, studying the text on the label to try to distract himself, vile and unsettled as he is.

He doesn’t deserve Sakura, not after what he’s done. When his vision starts to blur again, he can’t read anymore anyway, so he looks at the mangled mess left of his left arm instead.

He deserves that, a maiming to fit the crime. He wishes he were a better man.

Slowly so as not to further disturb his stomach, he lies down sideways, pressing his cheek to the coolness of the floor. He feels disconnected from everything, at a loss for proper coherent thought, a mess of misery sprawled on a tile too clean for his own rancidness.

Nothing matters for a long time. He just stares into nothingness, a mild burning in his throat and eyes on a void of pure white that he doesn’t belong in, thinking about how it matches the skin tone of bodies that have been drained of all their color. It’s like he’s barely there, nothing seeming real except the hollow feeling in his chest and the buzzing sensation tempering the edge of his consciousness, like his brain has been stuffed with cotton but parts of it are burning away to nothing. Everything of substance singes away in a controlled burn, destined to always have gaping holes of meaning scorched away at random wherever the fire takes hold.

He doesn't know if there ever even was anything in the first place, deep down. Maybe corrosion is a terrible metaphor, because what's left, at the end of it? Layers and layers of useless shale and sandstone and limestone, packed atop Precambrian filth that’s been decaying there for what feels like centuries. Or magma, set to burn anything he touches.

Or electrocute it.

XXX

Suddenly it’s hours later, and a bird is chirping outside, twitters resounding through a metaphysical tunnel of distortion. Gradually it shifts into an audio that doesn’t sound quite as echoed, accentuated by light filtering in through the miniscule bathroom window.

This happens, sometimes, the nightmares and the absconding into abeyance where his brain seems to shut off, a resulting loss of significant chunks of time. Not sleeping, just staring at something dully for a while, stuck on the same cycle of repeating thought. The memorial stone is a trigger for it, he thinks. It’s why he dreaded going there, upon his return, although it's complicated. Occasionally, visiting it seems to bring feelings that are almost positive, where it feels like he’s reaching out to reclaim tiny shattered shards of what used to be his heart. Mostly, though, it’s just mourning. The reading of names may be what compels the worst of them; sometimes he thinks if he looks too long, he’ll learn things he doesn’t want to know.

Exhausted, he drags himself to his feet and begins wryly picking up the pieces, chest hurting from heaving. He throws his bedding and his shirt haphazardly into the washing machine, drowning them in soap before he grabs cleaner to do the same to his floors.

It smells disgusting, like it’s been petrifying in his stomach for years. He supposes that makes sense; a lot of things have.

Once the surface is clean, he gets in the shower, not caring that all of the hot water is being used for the laundry; the icy cold helps wake him up. He’s fatigued, lethargic, but he knows better than to try to go back to sleep at this point.

As he fights shivers in the towel afterwards, he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He looks awful. Pale and sickly, repulsive, purple sallow staining his skin the same color as the Rinnegan. His normal eye is bloodshot, vacant charcoal that pollutes everything it touches. He lets the black of his hair shift over his Rinnegan eye in a manner he's well accustomed to by now.

His remaining eye inches to the corner of the mirror, the front of the medicine cabinet.

He carefully procures a cough drop, and then makes sencha tea, hoping the caffeine will dull his headache. There’s a part of him that still feels like he’s hardly there, like he’s a ghost just going through the motions. When he takes a sip, it feels good on the throat, but the vomiting earlier has partially singed away the surface of his tongue; he hardly tastes it.

Sasuke then takes the photo from when they were Genin to the living room, grasping onto it for dear life in more ways than one. He alternates between studying it and gazing out the glass, to the cherry blossom tree across the street.

An hour passes, slowly, sitting there thinking about what he does and doesn’t deserve, a mess of thoughts swirling down the drain of his mind. Then another. The luminescence of the day begins trickling in more, green buds across the street gaining back their pigment.

He’s not sure if he should even go to Sakura’s still, because he feels like he’s going to make even worse company today than he usually does, as tired as he is. But he’s weak, and he selfishly wants her; there’s an equanimity only she can provide, the swingback of a pendulum briefly through a sense of normalcy, and he needs the chance to look into jade eyes, to see the light hit them, to ascertain that the chatoyancy has not been dulled. And she’s not dead, despite his inner psyche screaming at him that she would be, had Naruto or Kakashi arrived just a second later. He needs to thank them for that, when he gets the chance, though the timing has never felt right to bring it up.

And he loves her. He's not sure if his love is worth anything, contemptible as he is, but it’s the main reason he can make sense out of the absolute mess that is his inner thought process this morning. So he goes.

XXX

It helps. He’s enormously exhausted, and the light of day hurts his eyes, even once he’s inside and is only absorbing its rays from the diamond window, but it helps.

“Sasuke-kun,” she greets in a voice like honey as she opens her door to him, dimple on open display. She really is so lovely, multi-faceted jade sparking with life that nearly instantly calms some of his anxiety.

He is briefly concerned about what he looks like to her, today. He checked prior to coming over here, brushing his teeth thrice in the hopes that his breath wouldn’t be bad, that he could drench his innards in enough clarifying mint to be even remotely deserving of a small amount of her affection. His eye was a little less bloodshot at that point, but overall he still looked like hell, sickly and pallid.

“Sakura,” he murmurs in response, voice hoarse from being put through a ringer of his own making.

There is a prolonged moment in which she examines him, wearing an analytical expression that reminds him of clinician Sakura. Then the spell is broken, as if she’s forcibly turned that part of herself off, and she’s stepping aside and telling him softly, “Come in! I made onigirazu.”

He steps inside her entryway, setting his book on the console table momentarily beside where Hazel Wood lies, ready to be returned. He then shifts out of her way so he can remove his shoes. He’s not particularly hungry, but he’s glad it’s something fairly simple and heavy on the rice; he should be able to eat it fine.

He follows her inside, appreciating the subdued luminosity of her lamps along the way. The blankets are already laid out on the couch, a promise of simple warmth and companionship that he is very much looking forward to.

As his eye adjusts and he enters the kitchen, ready to grab a plate, his gaze locks on remnants of sliced tomatoes atop a cutting board he recognizes, though it’s familiar to him from his own apartment, not hers.

It’s exactly the same design as the one Naruto gifted him.

A fire roars to life in his ribcage as he freezes for a split second, an exhausted icy hot appreciation. It’s an implication that means the world to him, and particularly well timed.

She wants him around, to help prepare future meals.

“I put some sliced tomatoes in yours. I hope it’s okay,” Sakura says as she hands him a plate, not addressing the elephant in the room at all, as if she just needed a new cutting board and happened to pick up that one, though he knows that cannot possibly be the case; he'd seen at least two in her cupboard, before. “Would you like tea, or maybe some water?”

He nods stiffly, vision a bit blurry, then comprehends the second question.

“Water is fine,” he manages thickly.

They sit in front of her window, supple sunshine streaming in. It’s not too bright here, angled just right.

“...How was your morning?” He asks after taking a sip of water, voice still gravelly. He is beyond content to be sitting here, just looking at her, so much better than a picture.

“Good. Ino and I walk or jog in the early morning on Sundays, if it's nice. Hinata comes sometimes; she did today.” She chews a bite of her rice sandwich.

Sasuke blinks; she hasn’t mentioned that yet. Another chunk of her schedule falls into place. “...Where?”

A half smile blooms on her lips, dimple pushed into being. “Sometimes we run laps around the village, but usually there's no real destination; we just walk and visit.” She takes a sip of her own water. “It’s nice when Hinata comes; it tones Ino down a notch.”

He would snort, if he was in a different sort of mood.

“We went to the southeast part of town today,” she continues. “Ino wanted to see a new building they put up. Her mom has a big order of flowers to deliver there later this week.”

Flowers. In the chaos of the night he’s had, lily bulbs fell to the wayside of his mind.

Sasuke carefully takes the first bite of his own food. It’s good, as he expected; a mixture of salmon, tomato, and salted rice, simple enough to hopefully help settle his stomach. He can kind of taste it.

He chews slowly, reverently, alternating between eating and taking small sips of water as she chatters animatedly. “The flower shop's orders are really taking off now. Ino’s usually busiest once May comes. Hopefully things stay peaceful, so she can stay in the village for the most part; her mom can always use the extra help.”

They wash and dry the dishes together, afterwards, a routine that is beginning to feel familiar. She still doesn’t say anything about the cutting board, but Sasuke greatly appreciates the way it feels in his hand when she gives it to him, weighty and with a designated home under her roof. It slides into place easily in the cupboard with the two others.

They read for a while on her couch again, wrapped in their respective blankets; Sakura keeps her apartment fairly cool. It’s cozy in a way that makes his head feel funny, like he could fall asleep in minutes if he really tried, lulled by the soothing scent of berry and cleanliness. He wonders if it would be restful, if he did. Usually once enough time ellipses, well into the next day, his brain cuts him some slack, though it could be that he's just too exhausted from being up most of the night for the neurons to fire up again to such a frenzy.

Sasuke finishes the last chapter of his book sluggishly and contemplates the ending, a lengthy description of the fisherman gripping the solid railings of the dock with both hands as he comes ashore for the first time in months.

When he flicks his gaze to Sakura tiredly, she’s a third of the way through a new book, titled Among the Ruins: Post-War Reflections. It appears to be a memoir; he assumes it must be one she’s purchased, as it doesn’t have the library label. Perhaps it’s new, picked up this morning while she was out, or it could be one from her bookshelves. He would like to peruse the titles she has, sometime. He drowsily wonders which war it’s about.

He takes a careful breath and just revels in it, being here with her, mere feet away with his eyes closed but able to sense her presence, worn out with thoughts that have edges as frayed as he is. He would like to stay for dinner, too. He thinks it’s perhaps becoming implied that they’ll eat together if she doesn’t have other plans, but he doesn’t want to be rude or overstay his welcome.

Sasuke hopes he can stay awake. Maybe he shouldn’t have said no to tea earlier; the additional caffeine might have helped. He could offer to make them both some, he thinks fuzzily, but then he starts wondering if that would be odd or overstepping. It’s her tea, and her kitchen, and her cups.

Then he sleepily remembers the cutting board.

“You can take a nap, you know,” Sakura murmurs kindly, soft words echoing a little in the stillness of her space. “If you’re tired. I don’t mind.”

He blinks his eyes open, vision adjusting as he realizes he nearly dozed off.

She’s smiling from the other end of the couch. “I can make dinner later, and wake you up when it’s ready. You should rest until then.” She pauses, then adds, “I can grab you a better pillow from my room, if you want.”

His brain catches up to his auditory processing, and then his ears warm.

Oh.

The offer is tempting, though he doesn’t want to be rude. If it were any other day, he would force himself to stay awake, to spend more time with her. But it’s not any other day, and he’s drained, enervated in a way that makes him want to give in. He should ask, to make sure it’s okay, but he’s pretty sure she wouldn’t offer if it wasn’t.

“...Here?”

A flush inks its way onto her cheeks as her expression turns thoughtful. “Yes. Or... you can use my bed, if you want.”

Sasuke forces his gaze away from hers, because his face feels extremely warm all of the sudden. “...I meant… here, at your apartment.”

“Oh.” Sakura laughs in a way that sounds nervous; he hears her fiddling with the book in her lap. “I, um… just meant whatever’s most comfortable.”

When he hesitantly looks back to her, she’s red, too.

“...What will you do?”

She gestures with her hand in a waving motion to indicate it's fine. “I can read, or do some laundry or work stuff. It’s no trouble. Really, Sasuke-kun.” Her blush deepens. "...I would like you to stay… And to have dinner later. If you’re free."

He swallows before slowly nodding his acquiesce, and then Sakura is up and heading to her bedroom in a blink of mismatched eyes. Muffled footsteps pad back moments later, a pillow with a lavender pillowcase clutched in her hands.

Her bedding must be a variant of violet, then, a pastel contrast to the black of his own. He is curious about the color of her bedroom walls all over again, but then she’s handing him the pillow, and he’s too tired to continue thinking.

“...Thank you.”

The smile she wears is so soft, treasured. “You’re welcome.”

He’s out within a few minutes of laying his head on the pillow, drowsing eyes barely catching the lamps flickering off one by one as she meanders around her space.

The pillow smells like her, too, cogent in its beckoning. He sleeps like a rock.

XXX

Sakura nudges him awake hours later, leaning forward to rest her upper body against the back of the couch. The scent of miso and roasted tomatoes drifts into his nostrils while lively jade peers down at him. The light coming from her window has dimmed quite a bit. It must be well into the evening; she let him sleep for a while.

“Dinner’s ready,” she murmurs softly, wearing an expression that is incredibly fond.

He stretches slightly as he rises from her sofa, working out a crick in his shoulder and thinking that he feels much more rested. Sasuke is about to head to her kitchen to get his own bowl, until Sakura turns towards the table, and he sees that she's already set out food for both of them, green market light switched on overhead.

There's onigiri, too, and a steaming cup of sencha placed on his side that he's sure is decaffeinated.

His side.

The realization, albeit a good one, disarms him.

He has a side of her table. And a side of her couch.

Sakura recites a story Hinata told her this morning as they eat, about how Naruto initially buried every single flower bulb in their garden beds six inches deep instead of reading the directions, so they had to dig everything up and salvage the instructions on the package from the trash to replant.

“He mixed them all together, too, instead of planting them in sections like a normal person.” She laughs, and his lips turn upwards in shared amusement. “She said she hopes they didn’t miss one. Iris and echinacea can sometimes multiply out of control. She was happy she didn’t add bee balm to the list, too, or they’d really be in trouble; those can grow anywhere, even in gravel.”

The soup and tea feel good on his throat, and the rice is filling in a way that would be difficult to throw up, absorbent of moisture and chunking together to expand in his stomach until he is full, in more ways than one.

He can taste again, the richness of tomato and miso and calming ubiquitous green on his tongue and in his heart, thoughts of flowers and their idiot teammate helping to cast aside his earlier melancholy.

Sasuke loves her so much in that moment that it physically aches, her voice a balm that puts the rawest parts of him at ease.

"Thank you," he says quietly at the conclusion of the meal, grateful in ways he's not sure he'll ever be able to put into words.

Her response is simple, gentle, pure. “You’re welcome.”

As they wash and dry the dishes together in the dim light of her kitchen, Sakura tells him softly, “I put leftovers in containers for you in the fridge. Please take them with you tonight.”

He nods as his eyes sting with appreciation. When he turns to put away the teacups, he blinks to clear them as she wipes down the sink one last time for the evening.

As she sorts through her movie selection afterwards - it’s her turn to pick - he asks, “How is the poison antidote coming?”

Sakura glances at him curiously for a second from where she’s perched on the wood floor, rifling through the lower cabinet. “I think we might have it solved. Blarina toxin from a southern short-tailed shrew, and then possibly lionfish toxin, laced with algal bloom cyanobacteria. The lionfish toxin is part of the trouble; it’s such a trace amount that it was hard to identify, not enough to cause swelling on the exterior body like you’d see if you were stung by one in person. We’re still running tests, but the neutralization seems to be working on the mice so far.” She blanches a little. “Or, rather, the mice we have left. It’s diminished our stocks; shrew venom is particularly deadly to them.”

Sasuke knew it was likely to kill several of them, but not quite to that extent. He’s interested in her work, so he asks, “How many?”

She turns back to sift through her cabinet as she answers, pulling out another movie to examine. “A gland-full of venom is potent enough to kill up to two hundred of them. It’s why it took us longer than usual; we had to give them the absolute tiniest dose in order to not kill them within hours. I guess it makes sense; they’re one of the things they eat in the wild. The dose in the poison sample was high, though, venom from multiple shrews. A single bite usually isn’t enough to do any harm to humans, but when it’s quadrupled in dosage and laced with other things, it’s more severe.”

“...What’s the treatment?”

Sakura rattles off the extremely complex answer as if it’s nothing. “An antihistamine, steroid, botulinum toxin, and an antibiotic. We’re also giving them blood transfusions and flushing out the blood as it comes to the exterior machine, to get rid of the cyanobacteria. Kind of like conventional water treatment… just more complicated. More steps, filtration, and obviously we can’t use chlorine, so it takes longer.”

Sasuke blinks somewhat in awe. She really is so intelligent.

“...That sounds lengthy.”

She shrugs, movie still in hand. “It is. It’s why we’re not one hundred percent sure if we’ve solved it yet; the lionfish venom is still the weak link, and will be until we can see that the other portions of the treatment have worked to isolate it.”

“...I’d like to learn the process.”

A smile plays at her lips and a flush inks its way onto her cheeks. He supposes it was a roundabout sort of compliment; he could have worded it better, but she seems to have understood him anyway. She does about a lot of things, he thinks.

“I can bring home a kit, sometime, and teach you the basics. It could be useful.”

He nods; he would like that.

There is a long pause as Sakura bites her lip before further examining the movie case in her hand.

Then, she asks, a tentative expression on her face and peeking at him to gauge his reaction, “Want to watch a bad one?”

Sasuke wonders if she knows he would watch any movie with her, if it means he gets to be in her company like this, saved from a room with white tiles or dark wood.

“...Sure.”

She wasn't exaggerating; it is truly terrible, riddled with plot holes so nonsensical that it’s almost funny. The acting is bad, too, though perhaps that’s more to blame on the script rather than the actors.

“Even the camera work is awful,” Sakura says at one point, gesturing towards the left side of the screen. “If you look in the background here, there’s an extra that just… walks into the wall.”

He watches, and sure enough, behind the main characters, a girl walks directly into a corner and just stands there.

He snorts, genuinely enthused in a manner he would not have thought possible hours ago. Sakura laughs at the other end of the couch. It’s a sound he could listen to forever, sweet and chiseled into his heart.

They play an extensive round of go afterwards, venturing well into the night with the plinking of small pieces into place. It’s nearly eleven when she finally walks him to her doorway, two containers of tomato miso soup and onigiri in her hands. As he pulls on his shoes, Sakura sets them by his library book on the console table.

“Would you want to read tomorrow afternoon?” She asks as he rises to his full height.

He nods. “...I’ll meet you here.”

Her dimple makes a reappearance. “One fifteen?”

He inclines his head again in agreement, then decides to ask. It’s becoming easier, now that she has said yes so many times.

“Dinner, after?”

Her smile widens. “Of course. I was thinking gyudon. Light on the sugar. You could…” She bites her lip and shifts a bit. “...You could help me cook, if you’d like.”

Something turns over in his belly. “...Okay.”

She glows at him. He swallows once before reaching out to skim her freckle, enjoying the feel of her cheek against the pad of his thumb.

And then her fingers against his fingers, holding him there against her cheek, soft and steady.

Then he leans down, and his lips are on hers, a breath exhaled in unison as her entryway falls away. Her free hand twists around his neck, delicately brushing the fabric and a fraction of his skin in a way that nearly makes him shiver. It’s a long moment of quietus, a finishing stroke to a day that could have gone very differently.

It is also the longest kiss they’ve shared yet, and it is over far too soon.

He’s pulling away to look at her, letting his hand drop away, when she wraps her arms tenderly around him.

He can hardly breathe, taken off guard by the absolute sensation of comfort he’s enveloped in.

She doesn’t say a thing; just hugs him tight, her fingertips spreading across his back and face pressed to his sternum. Berry invades his olfactory senses.

Slowly he lifts his arm to carefully return the hug, swallowing a tender sort of truth, a kind that goes down easy, the evidence and action of her affection. He can feel Sakura’s heartbeat against his chest, a tempo teeming with life.

They stand there together in her entryway for a long time.

XXX

He sleeps wrapped in a clean comforter, and though it’s not for very long, it is dreamless.

He’s eating leftover onigiri when he receives a mission summons, barely past seven in the morning. He finishes his meal and pops a cough drop in his mouth before departing for the Hokage’s office.

It’s a nice day, he thinks as he walks, coming to a decision as he admires vernal greenery lining the streets. The sun is just lifting over the horizon, painting everything pale amber.

“Sasuke,” Kakashi greets as he walks in; he’s the first one there again, apparently. “Good morning.”

“Kakashi.”

Their old sensei smiles at him in the strange all-seeing manner he has. Sasuke notes the presence of a new picture frame present on his desk, replacing the one he’s given him.

He is extremely grateful to have that picture to grip onto in his darker moments. Sasuke considers thanking him then, for Iron, but then Naruto is barreling in noisily.

“Whaizzit?” He yawns raucously, as if he just woke up, sleep still clinging to the corners of his eyes. They are multi-faceted, too, even in their barely aware state, and Sasuke inwardly breathes a sigh of relief, normalcy shifting fully back into place as the door clicks behind his teammate.

Then Naruto registers that Sasuke is present. “Eh? Teme?!” Cerulean scans the room as if he’s searching for something, then he frowns, directing a lengthy glare Kakashi’s way.

“If you've called me here at seven in the fucking morning for anything that isn’t a Team Seven reunion mission, I’m going to lose it.”

Ah. He was looking for Sakura.

“Afraid not,” Kakashi answers cryptically from his desk, and Naruto’s sleepy glare tightens. Then the Hokage smiles, as if something is incredibly amusing. "Guard duty. Kotetsu and Izumo deserve a break. Things are slow this week, and we have the extra numbers.”

The copy ninja skillfully dodges Naruto’s sandal as it flies towards him. “You’ve got to be kidding. You woke me up for this? You could have told me later in the day or something!!”

“Future Hokages don’t receive special treatment, and it’s professional to give more than twenty-four hours notice if possible.”

Naruto grumbles. "All week?"

Kakashi grins. "Tuesday through Friday."

Inwardly, Sasuke twitches.

"I should specify; nine to six, Tuesday through Friday."

Outwardly, Sasuke twitches.

It's not exactly her work schedule for all four days, but it lines up closely enough that it's fairly obvious what Kakashi’s doing.

Naruto barely reacts; just snorts in a way that is caustic, as if he finds the times unsurprising. "Cool. Can I go back to sleep until it’s time to kick teme’s ass now? Hinata-chan and I were cozy."

Sasuke rolls his eyes; when they spar in the mornings, it’s typically between eight and nine. He’ll have around an hour's extra sleep at best, though he supposes he’s not in any position to judge at this point, given his nap on Sakura’s couch yesterday.

Kakashi’s smile widens, mask wrinkling. "Sure. Dismissed."

They both watch on in faint amusement as Naruto stumbles sleepily out of his office, neglecting to collect his missing shoe.

“...Some things never change,” the Hokage murmurs, sighing.

“...No, they don’t.”

“Well, anyways, before you go…” Kakashi turns to him, tapping the pen at his desk absentmindedly. “How are things?”

Sasuke blinks, recalling leftovers and a new cutting board and the feeling of Sakura’s arms around him.

And kissing. Mostly kissing. Probably too much, if his neck’s sudden warmth is anything to go by.

“Good.”

A lone visible eye crinkles at the corners. “Great. Don’t hesitate to let any of us know if you need anything.”

He lets the words hang in the air for an extended few seconds before nodding slowly.

"I was thinking…” Kakashi continues, gaze flicking down to the photograph on his desk. “...Perhaps we could make Team Seven dinners a monthly thing. It would be good, don’t you think?"

“...Yeah.”

A dark eye locks on him again. "Sai could come, too."

Ah.

"...Sure." He really should make an effort to get to know him better. His replacement seems nice enough, peculiar as he is.

"Wonderful. Let's plan on the first Saturday of every month at six, shall we? If we're all in the village, that is. I’ll let him know when I call him in later this morning."

“Okay.”

A long moment passes, then Kakashi is procuring the shoe from the area behind his desk. Sasuke notes that he holds it as far away from him as his arm will allow.

“...I don’t suppose you’d return this, when you see him later?”

Sasuke says nothing.

“...Though I suppose I could assign it as a mission to some Genin.” Then he's sighing, setting it on the farthest edge of Naruto’s work area. “Too bad I just gave an assignment to my last two.”

Shooting him a withering look, Sasuke departs the Hokage’s Office. He gets the distinct feeling as he goes that Kakashi is incredibly pleased with himself, solidified by what he calls after him.

“Tell Sakura I say hi.”

Guard duty is easy in theory, but spending thirty six hours with the dobe may be… a challenge. He supposes if the reward is being able to see Sakura after she works most of those days, he'll take it. He's sure Kakashi won't keep him in the village forever; eventually duty will call him away for extended periods of time.

It solidifies his decision; he should take the opportunity of being here to plant something.

He stops by the market vendor on the northern end to buy two packages of lily bulbs on his way home. The market is fairly slow, so there are few other people around.

The packages feel good in his hand, lighter than he expected.

Sasuke works through a section of one of his other books before Naruto shows up on his doorstep, still appearing for all intents and purposes half asleep. Their spar ends in another draw; luckily there are no cracked bones this time.

He eats more leftovers for lunch after, appreciating the taste.

XXX

Sasuke feels at home in Sakura’s kitchen, cutting scallions easily while she broils beef and prepares the egg mixture for gyudon just a few steps away. The meal comes together quickly between the two of them, savory with a sauce that is heavier on the mirin and sake than the sugar.

Food they prepare together somehow tastes even better. It’s late when they finally sit down to eat dinner, gazing out through glass at the streets below as they take their first bites.

The sauce is perfect; not too sweet.

“...I have guard duty this week,” he mentions after a while.

“With who?” She asks, though her lips twitch upwards.

He rolls his eyes. “...Guess.”

She bites her lip, and he tears his gaze away from her mouth and up to her eyes. The green is filled with mirth, twinkling with illuminated flecks.

“Good luck,” she says sincerely. “What times?”

He glances away, ears warming and wondering if Kakashi has mentioned anything to her about them being… together.

“Tomorrow through Friday, nine to six.”

There is a long pause. When he peeks back at her, she’s blushing.

“...Kakashi-sensei is nosy.” Sakura takes another bite of her food, looking shy for some reason, and suddenly Sasuke is certain that their sensei has said something to her, perhaps on multiple occasions. He wonders what.

“...He is.” He thinks, then adds as an afterthought, “...He says hi.”

They do the dishes together and play two rounds of chess. Sakura wins once, and the second round is another stalemate, though he suspects he was close to beating her.

It’s close to nine by the time they’re putting the board away. As he works on packing up the last of the pieces to store in their allocated compartment, he notices she’s gazing out the window, scanning the sky as if distracted.

The way she’s angled puts the freckle on her cheek in plain view, pale hair loosely tucked behind her ear.

Then she turns to him, pink flooding her complexion, and Sasuke realizes he’s been staring, the remaining few pieces still clutched in his hand, frozen in midair in his distraction. He hastily finishes putting them away as his own face warms. Sakura rises from the table to put the box away, footsteps echoing softly through her living space.

He looks outside quizzically for a moment, embarrassedly trying to will the color away from his face and wondering what she was looking at. It’s a clear evening, calm without a cloud in sight.

"I was wondering if…"

His vision snaps to her expectantly across the room, and her cheeks flush darker; he can see it even though it’s dimly lit, shifting from one foot to the other. She seems nervous.

"If you would maybe want to… go stargazing for a bit tonight?"

His pulse quickens, pushing at the seams of chambers and ventricles in a way that makes it feel like the vines have twisted their way in, taking hold of whatever they can clutch.

She apparently does still like that sort of thing.

And she wants to go with him.

He nods immediately, struck speechless with elation before he manages to form the question, "...Where?"

Her expression is one of relief. "I was thinking just outside the village. There’s…” She looks away, smiles. “There’s a place Ino and I go to sometimes; we went today for a bit, after training. There are wild lilacs blooming right now.” She shifts her gaze to him again. “It's supposed to be a little cooler, but the sky’s clear. We could bring tea in a thermos; I have two."

Heat creeps up his neck as he agrees, heart stammering in his chest a little, because he’s started thinking about it now, and stargazing together is very clearly romantic in nature, amongst flowers even more so.

Sakura brews tea for the both of them as he distracts himself by slicing a lemon for hers. When he glances at her surreptitiously, she’s still blushing, and jade eyes snap away as if this time she’s the one that’s been caught staring. That makes his heart pound, to the extent that he’s glad she’s a few feet away, because it’s so loud that she might hear it.

They meander to the edge of the village as evenfall settles, into the forested area just beyond the gates. As Sasuke trails behind her, divagating through subtly flattened pathways between the trees, his thoughts wander to bygone seasons.

There once was a pond, three quarters of a mile outside of the village, beyond where the Uchiha District used to be. It wasn’t officially a part of their grounds, but it was remote enough that it wasn’t easily happened upon by anyone other than their family, off the beaten path and through thicket and thistle as it was.

Itachi used to take him fishing there.

He thinks they’d gone four or five times in all, but he remembers it well, because he had been terrible at fishing, not a shred of patience. His brother caught most of them, but he would sometimes set the hook before passing off the reel to Sasuke to help him learn. It was quiet, peaceful in the way that only the wilderness is, away from the pressures of expectations. Wildflowers poked up everywhere in the later summer months, situated on a hill towards the far side of the pond. They picked some together for their mother, once; Sasuke clutched them in his hands while they made the trek back to the village, Itachi carrying their bucket of perch and bass.

It was nice in the autumn, too, warm tones flooding everything. One could sit in the swaying overgrowth flush with falling leaves for hours taking it all in and still not see it all, an overwhelmingly pure sense of peace, made heartier by the taste of freshly grilled fish later in the evening.

The walk had seemed like it took forever back then, on short legs looking upward. He’s never returned to that place, not once, since he was eight. It would hurt too much, for different reasons now than when he was twelve.

He remembers passing wild lilacs then, too, on the way there and back. He supposes they probably thrive in the chaparral throughout Fire Country, if one cares to traipse through the foliage to look for them. He stumbled upon many on his journey, just passing through on roads less traveled.

The small clearing Sakura leads them to reminds him of the pond a little, wild and flush with fading hues, framed by fragrant lilacs in bloom as she said, but there are no memories tied to it yet, so it’s better. Huge bushes of them grow unaided here, wispy purple redolence scattered by the wind into the earth's cracks, ushered in by whispers through the trees.

The wilds are not so far from Konoha, really. Like the cherry blossom tree on the hill, it's a good reminder that some things can grow easily even on rougher terrain.

Sasuke sits rather close to her, so they can drink their tea together. The sun slips just below the horizon, a cloudless sky awash in a shifting gradient. He catches jade as he takes a drink, appreciating the taste, a small bit of warmth on a cool night.

The way she’s looking at him makes his heart rate accelerate again, a serene expression that implies there is nothing she would rather be doing right now than be here.

With him.

Eventually stars begin inking into existence overhead one by one, the last bit of sun lingering just on the horizon, a muted blur of violet bleeding into black. Things are slightly clearer here, beyond the boundaries of the village, no glass or light pollution to obscure the retinas.

Once she finishes her tea, Sakura lies down the same way she does on the hill, so he does, too, trying to calm his heart rate, because he is very close to her, just within reach. The forest breathes around them, coating everything in a lilac perfume.

He used to think about her, when he looked to the stars, feeling worlds away and wondering if she thought of him that day. Being next to her is better, revered, the calm din of an evening he has craved for a long time.

When he turns to steal a look, her eyes are already on him, and there is something about that moment, as the last light fades, being here with her, that makes his chest go aflame.

And then Sakura turns slightly, reaching out towards him with her right hand, and he blinks.

She sweeps his hair away from his Rinnegan eye, a thumb gently skimming his cheek as he has hers, before her hand falls away. Though they are cloaked in the gloaming of dusk’s darkness, enough he hopes to hide the warmth that has crept into his face, there is adequate light left to see her expression, so tender, jade eyes desaturated to dark sage.

He feels seen in a way that he hasn’t felt before, recalling soft words in an exam room.

Not me.

The sky is fully lit in short order, beautiful and dark with only a tiny sliver of the moon visible. It is truly lovely, Ursa Major, Leo, and Hydra scattered before them like a painting a million years old, ageless messengers traveling from who knows where, as he did. It took many steps to get here to her, scattered revolutions passing wide arcs around the sun, yearning for a day to close the gap, to feel like he was close to ready.

It was worth every single one.

A question is on the tip of his tongue, so he decides to ask it, to give in to the impulse.

“...Any poems?” He wants to learn the words she likes, what kinds of meaning she applies to things, intelligent as she is. Sasuke imagines the inner workings of Sakura’s mind to be quite complex, teeming with all of the things she’s read, research and fiction and nonfiction. He would like to know her favorite pieces of poetry, what she holds dear in her own heart.

She shifts slightly; he thinks she must be looking at him for a split second.

There is a lengthy silence punctuated by crickets before she finally answers, “A short one,” voice hushed like the breeze around them; if he wasn’t so close to her, he wouldn’t be able to hear.

He shifts his gaze to her on his right, barely able to make out her silhouette in the dark.

“Take notice of what light does - to everything.”

The words sink into him like rain on freshly tilled soil, triggering a bricolage of recollections. Instantly he is reminded of light through the window of his bathroom, stirring him from a pit of self doubt and guilt. Then light through the windows of Sakura’s apartment, cooking and doing the dishes together in her kitchen. A nap, comfortable on her couch as day fades into dusk, lamps switched off for a period of much needed rest. Flowers, grown by a doorstep with the sun’s rays seeping in through diamond patterning. The shadow of a jasmine plant, inked onto her cheekbone, and neon lights reflectant atop pale pink hair.

The intricate stitching of an uchiwa fan, thread catching iridescence as she holds it daintily in her hands as if it is something important, to be cherished.

Her eyes when she is happy, hints of gold flecks, catching like fractals of color atop shifting seafoam.

The way white nerine lilies looked drenched in sunlight, on days that are decidedly not summer monsoons.

Stars are a form of light, too, and despite being far away, they are refulgent in their luminosity, a beauty that cuts through murk and offers much for contemplation; the gaps of darkness between them are what allows people to make meaning out of them, constellations strewn together.

He is home, surrounded by spring. It is something to behold.

“...Did you write letters to Naruto?” Sakura asks after a lengthy period of reflection, so softly that her voice is almost a whisper.

The concept is so ridiculous to him that he would snort, if not for the moment they are sharing right now and the way she asked it, no hint of a joke in her tone.

So he answers seriously, just as quietly. “No.”

There is a long pause.

“...And Kakashi-sensei?”

Ah. He understands what she’s really asking. “...Other than missions, no.”

It’s hard to tell, but he thinks he sees her fingers grip in the grass next to her, gently as if in reflex.

Sasuke tries very hard to swallow his doubts.

When they were on missions as Genin, she used to lay sprawled out like this, hands spread next to her. So did Naruto. It bothered him then, because he liked his folded together on his stomach and he was very particular about personal space, which they both invaded.

Sasuke doesn’t have another hand to fold his with anymore, though, and he’s less concerned about personal space with her than he used to be. The darkness helps bolster his confidence, too, nyctophile that he is; she won’t see the heat that’s spreading to his face here, lit merely by distant flickering stars.

Take notice of what light does - to everything.

The luminaries above them offer only a little of it, yet it's a transfixing sight, something of the epochal and the divine present that he has been drawn to for years.

So he reaches out to skim her hand with his, a tentative sort of constellation in itself, recorded in points of contact and palm prints on the skin rather than etched in alembic light in the sky.

There are soft fingertips, a knuckle gently gliding by. Then she’s interlacing her fingers with his, and suddenly it’s not tentative at all. It’s leal, steady, her small hand in his as if it has always belonged there, the scent of flourishing blooms wafting around them and painting everything in his head lilac starlight.

Her thumb brushes his skin once, twice, thrice, achingly gentle.

He should have reached out sooner, but he supposes they’re young, still. There is a lot of time ahead of them. The stars will align eventually, slow in their revolutions around common centers of mass as he is in letting people in. She accepted his apology for being late already, fine fingertips clutching an uchiwa fan with a touch just as gentle as now.

If he can only hold her hand in the dark, maybe that’s enough for now, a single star he can reach. He hopes he'll reach the others eventually.

Hours pass with her hand in his, and he is a small bit closer in revolution by the time he walks her home.

Lilac and raspberry and starlight coalesce against his lips when they collide with hers, an allegorical perfume he could easily get drunk on. He skims the freckle again, tenderly osculant, and realizes that is the start of a constellation, too, a novitious star burning brighter every time he reaches out. Kissing makes three.

Her hands around his neck make four. This time he does shiver, but he doesn’t pull away.

Sakura’s lips are so soft.

XXX

He plants the lily bulbs shortly after they say good night, under the cover of the caliginous dark that shepherds in the dew of the morning, tiny drops of moisture beginning to collect on nearby blades of grass. The stars are still out, bright enough to be beautiful but dim enough so that he can’t read the names.

Sakura would help him if he asked, he knows, but he doesn’t think he’s quite ready for that yet. He settles for trying to make his touch as gentle yet sure as hers, an elegy of calloused fingers digging carefully through the dirt, grasping and placing lily bulbs one by one. There are four bulbs in total, so he plants two on each side, nine inches apart, allowing them to poke up through the soil slightly and frame the stone; he reread the instructions when he stopped by his apartment earlier. It’s a different brand of corrosion, manually digging up layers of dirt rather than hoping they slough off, but it’s progress, and it doesn't require digging too deep.

There has to be something beneath the layers of sediment, he thinks, to feel the way he does about her. He hopes that what he feels is enough, that his slow revolutions will be worthwhile for her, in the end.

I’m sure it will be lovely, when everything finally comes together.

Being in Konoha is not easy, after everything, but being with Sakura is.

When he’s lying in his own bed a short time later, he recalls the love in her fingertips against his. It lulls him to sleep.

#naruto #sasusaku #ssfanfiction #cherry writes #like gold #fanfiction #sorry for the wait it's homecoming week and i'm a yearbook adviser lolololol

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lune-hime · 3 years

Text

Garden of Tulips (Levi/Reader) Chapter 10

~Click me for more chapters~

“What did it look like?”

“Hmm?” Levi looked up from his place next to your sleeping form. “The titan that tried to snack on my darling granddaughter.” “Ugly as fuck.” “Aren’t they all?”

Levi recounts memories of the reader and their shared life together while she recovers from a serious injury.

!!WARNINGS!! - Violence, gore, smut, wholesome content ;)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tulipa alba coreulea oculata ~ A modest tulip of pearl hue that awakens before its sisters in the early spring. When she blooms, the inky beauty of her indigo heart is revealed.

↞↠↞↠↞↠

Colors danced in soft swirls under your closed eyelids. They were so thickly painted that you felt as if one swipe of your hand would intertwine their chromatic trails and mix their hues. You recognized this work of art as your euphoria; the painting of which you dreamed of many moons ago.

The delicate hands of your little muse patted your cheeks in a gentle reminder that you were too close to the surface to drift back into darkness. Here you waited in this limbo with the young girl, watching as the colors spun faster against her obsidian locks. She was the culmination of everything you could have in the future where you recovered.

The colors gained ferocity as the natural lighting from the wide window above your bed assaulted your eyes. It was as if you were an infant gazing upon the unfamiliar world so intensely it was painful. The searing brightness crinkled your brow and pinched uncomfortably at the corners of your eyes.

Sharp pain bombarded you just as the light did. It’s ivory beams peeled the lengthened sleep from your body and left a dull aching in its wake. The discomfort that now hugged your form was worth it, though, for when your vision gradually sifted up from the murky depths of unconsciousness you wanted to cry on spot at the valkyrie before you.

He contrasted so vibrantly against the pearly essence of the wallpaper of your room that you weren’t sure if you were still actually dwelling in your painting. An overwhelming urge to mold into him wracked your sedentary muscles. You were agitated at your weakened body, irritated that it couldn’t give your mind what it desired. The magnetic sensation was so strong that, willing your mind could override your physical short circuitry, it would have ejected itself out of its damaged shell and crashed into his open chest.

“Lee-” You rasped. Your voice was an exclamation within but manifested into a barely audible moan.

The minute noise grasped his attention, though.

Your phantom limbs bounced with touch starved compulsion when his head whipped around. You finally laid actual eyes on your favorite features sculpted by the universe.

“Lee-vi.” You croaked. The excitement of saying his name sapped what little energy you had from you as you fell into the little girl’s awaiting palms once more.

You lingered momentarily on the rickety bridge between consciousness and nothingness, listening to his muffled frantic calls. A warm wind rocked the bridge as his hands against your cheeks hit you like a summer heat wave. His touch endowed you with newfound vigor and your eyes opened once again.

He hovered mere inches from your face. The skin you longed to embrace was carved with petal-soft streams of tears that pooled from his desperate eyes and traversed porcelain slopes to drip down his chin. Your eyes instantly brimmed with salty gratitude upon being able to swim in those stormy seas of silver.

“Levi…” You breathily whimpered, the corners of your mouth quivering upward as what felt like years of being trapped in a bottle. Ten minutes he had grappled for his name on your lips but to you, it had left like a passing fancy.

“It’s me. It’s me-Y/N, it’s me .” He reassured for both himself, and for you. His voice wobbled with the desperate tambour of a colt eager to stand on its own among spring grass. The sheer quaking of his form; from his deeply furrowed brow, to the tears that fell in divine pools, to the frantic hesitation of his touches was in a magnitude that you had never seen in him before.

“Levi.” You sighed again, a weak smile sluggishly tugging at the corners of your lips. Like a chick learning to chirp you repeated his name as a mantra.

And by Ymir every time you chirped he vibrated at a frequency you couldn’t outwardly match.

“I’m here, Y/N.” He cooed as his emptiness finally filled with the colors of your essence. He pressed your foreheads together and basked in the warmth of your skin. “And you’re finally here.”

The simple physical touch satisfied both of your needy minds; Levi to know you were awake and you to feel like you were present. He wanted to say more. Explode with everything he had seen and felt these past few days. To unload what felt like months of unshared memories in your absence. But he didn’t want to overwhelm you any more. So he settled on four words.

“I love you, Y/N.” He uttered. You could hear the incoming flow of tears diluting his tone. Those words had fallen from his lips countless times since your accident, both internally and externally, but now they actually fell upon you. And it felt like nothing else mattered. “I love you, I love you.”

“And I love you.” You cried, fingers ever so tiredly trailing up his arm to weakly touch the softness of his hair. The strands glided between your languid flutters. There you stayed basking in the feeling of home and letting the bulbs of your love bloom between you.

“Wh...where are we? It looks like…” You trailed off as your head lolled onto his shoulder. Your eyes trailed the room, from window to wall and bureau to bedside table.

“We’re at Oma’s.” Levi explained as he smoothed down some hairs tangled in your drool from the corner of your mouth.

“Oma…” Relief was evident in your exhale. There was no other place and no other sheets you would rather be cocooned in than your childhood room after the last image your eyes captured was that carrion swamp of toothy rocks.

“She’s here then?” You asked, blinking to make sure you were actually awake.

“She left a bit ago to run errands with Felicia-”

“Felicia…” Your lips wandered over their names as if you were recalling them from a story read long ago.

“Mhm. She and Oma have been taking care of you.” Levi checked your eyes for any signs of dilation and disorientation as you processed everything. Everything seemed fine until you groaned when a chord of pain shot up your taught muscles.

“My side hurts.” You complained as your body reflexively stretched.

“I know. Don’t try to move too quickly.” Levi instructed gently. He tried to reposition you into a less painful sitting position with as much sweetness as his voice.

“How bad is it?” You bared your teeth as he shifted you. Levi kept his face from cringing at the memory of Oma fabricating a new seam for your flesh. He played with your fingers to keep your attention on staying awake.

“Oma had to stitch almost your entire side. You...had lost a lot of blood already before I found you. But I was able to put enough pressure on it to keep you-” Levi swallowed and finished his sentence with a deep inhale.

The grotesque images of the incident were painted in thick brush strokes along the bow of your brain. To push them down you focused your gaze on Levi’s doting touches and the smoothness of his milky skin.

“Do you remember what happened?” He pressed, gentle and hesitant.

You hummed in affirmation. You were sure not even the void could remove the scars left upon you by death’s cradle; both physically and mentally.

“Connie and I were alone. We were clearing out the titans to the west when Reiner knocked the wind out of me and I fell right into the abnormal…” You felt Levi’s fingers twitch in aggravation. You were too exhausted now to feel that intense hatred that had been palm-up body slammed into you.

“It grazed my side with its teeth...but I managed to take it down.” You drew in a ragged breath, the pseudo-smell of carcasses overpowering the sweet smell of the tea still steeping in the kettle nearby.

“I...I felt like what being chewed alive is like, Levi.”

Your utter outpouring of torture and fearful tears had Levi’s heart shattering all over again as it had the moment he retrieved your limp body from that sticky pool of blood. He caged the animosity that steamed under his skin for Reiner’s negligence, for the titan’s bloodlust, and for the dangerous oath both of you had taken. He had more to be grateful for right now than angry over.

His thumbs pressed feather-light kisses to your water lines, drying the flooded areas. He brought his hands to your cheeks and leaned in close so you were forced to reside within the shining slate mines of his irises.

“You’re alright now. You’re here, I’m here. You made it out, sweetheart, and nothing will be able to bring you back to that moment.” Levi said with a firmness and sincerity that bathed you in immediate serenity.

Levi rarely used pet-names with you. His terms of endearment came in the form of actions and gestures rather than words. Only when he wanted to communicate something deeper, a feeling he would never come close to conveying with his vocabulary, did they break through the surface.

“I’m assuming I fucked him up since I’m still alive.” You tried to joke as dizziness further loosened its constricting grip on your head.

“From what I saw, you absolutely fucked him up.” Levi cracked a smile when you wheezed out a laugh.

“Did Eren-?” You began. Your blackout had left you with many unanswered questions.

“I don’t know. By the time I had seen your flare they had already disappeared.” He answered.

“Don’t even.” He added. He sifted through your disorientation and hurt to find the fledgling tendrils of guilt creeping up your brow.

“None of us expected that attack. We all did what we could and no one can fault us for that.”

You chewed the inner corner of your lip and let his words sink in.

“You fought so well. You protected Connie and killed that abnormal who most likely would have gone on to kill someone else. I’m proud of you.”

Your bottom lip quivered under his earnest praise.

You strained towards him and Levi realized you were attempting to give him a kiss. He hesitated momentarily, afraid of embracing you in a sore spot or accidentally pressing you backwards at an awkward angle. With a delicate crane of his neck he met you more than halfway. His lips fell upon yours with the tenderness of a newborn fawn’s footsteps but the ferocity of lovers parted by a great ocean.

He drew back to see a pout where his lips had just resided.

“What is it?”

“I really have to pee.” You stated.

Levi’s rocking waves of baritone laughter and his steady arms lifted you from your bed.

“I want to try walking.” You proclaimed with determination, gaze focused straight ahead on the ensuite bathroom.

Levi was impressed with how well you tottered across the room, with his structural support of course. He would wince every time you did but you didn’t let the fire in your side impede your locomotion.

“Do you need me to stay?” He asked in genuine concern. He watched you skeptically as you wobbled above the toilet.

“You pervert.” You huffed, grimacing at the tightness in your thighs as you crouched down. “But yes please.”

Once business had been taken care of and you had assured him you felt coordinated enough to slowly walk back to bed yourself, Levi had gone to clean up his fallen tea cup. He had just finished dabbing the bedside rug with a rag when your sniffle dragged him to his feet.

The fabric of your nightgown, despite being silken to the touch, had snagged the rough skin of your stitches like sharp brambles as you bunched it up to your breasts. With your torso fully exposed to your morbidly curious gaze, you had never been more disgusted with yourself.

Your body resembled the two sides of a coin in how starkly different they looked. Supple curves flowed beautifully into strong and nimble legs. Across the way, a crescent moon of scissored flesh dug its hooks into your once smooth skin. Lightning bolts of broken blood vessels and bruising held your thigh to your hips like a haphazardly made corn doll.

“I’ve never looked so weak.” Your disbelief manifested itself in a dark chuckle. The image of your battered body had left you in shock at your forced metamorphosis. Your fingertips barely tapped at your stitches as if they were repulsed to be in the vicinity of your wound.

You couldn’t tear your eyes away from your tears until Levi’s body carefully wrapped around yours from behind. He didn’t dare touch your scarring, but he did intertwine your hands with his and placed his head on your shoulder.

“I don’t think you’ve ever looked so strong.” He whispered with an airy kiss to your neck. You looked up to meet his eyes in the mirror and your chest clenched at his unfiltered adoration.

“You will heal. And to speed that up you need to not push yourself.” Levi gently ushered you away from the mirror and turned you back towards the bed.

As you walked, your gaze fell to the open bedroom door. Your eyes began to water once again, pooling at your bottom lids like the body of water you now cried for. Levi anxiously regarded you and your newest bout of tears.

“Levi...is Puddle?” You coughed. A heavy rock of dread plummeted into your stomach. You couldn’t recall the last time you had seen your other beloved boy. Levi grinned fondly.

“He’s fine. He’s out in the pasture.” He assured you. He felt the breath you had been holding release against his side and you continued your journey back to bed.

Once you had practically deflated back into the blankets, it dawned on Levi that you would need sustenance.

“Are you hungry? Thirsty? Lightheaded?” He mused like a mother hen.

“All of the above but I don’t think I can stomach anything right now.”

“I’ll just get water, then.” He decided and dipped out of the room. The steady tick-tock of the carved clock and the twittering of the birds above you almost lulled you to sleep when Levi re-emerged.

The water was unpleasant; too cool against the dryness of your throat. As you forced yourself to gulp it down, you registered Levi’s outfit. The realization made you lightly gasp.

“What’s wrong?” Levi bristled, fearing one of your organs decided to pop.

“Those clothes…” You whispered as you licked the final droplets of water from your lips.

Shit, were you upset he had borrowed them? Maybe he was encroaching on something precious.

“Y/N I didn’t-”

You shook your head and smiled sweetly.

“They look good on you.” You giggled at the blush that rose on his pale cheeks.

“The pants are a little too long though...shorty.” You winked weakly. Levi was relieved that you felt alright enough to tease him. It was a more than welcome nuisance.

“Not my fault everyone in your family besides Oma seem to be giants.” He countered as he sat down on the empty side of the bed.

“Oh Ymir, I’ve been out for...how long have I been unconscious?”

“Two and a half days.”

“ Shit , that means you’ve been all alone with Oma.” You whined. “I take full responsibility for anything she’s done or said.”

Levi shut you up with another kiss the consistency of butterfly wings. He pulled back and your heart fluttered at the light in his features.

“We get along pretty well.”

“She hasn’t scarred you yet? That’s a first.”

“I didn’t say that.” He replied with impish jest.

“We...understand one another.” Levi stated simply. You beamed at his comment and gave him a once over, noting his seemingly pristine physical condition.

“You’re doing okay? You look fine.”

“My shoulder is bruised and I feel stiff but that’s it.” He reassured with a spirited flex of his shoulder blades.

Your mouth hung open in incoming speech when a crashing at the base of the stairs followed by two sets of groans interrupted you.

“Dammit Felicia just-place them at the bottom of the stairs. No! See I knew this was going to happen, your arms are the consistency of chicken legs. You could have easily made a second trip from the carriage.” Oma scolded her with fiery disappointment obvious in her tone.

You and Levi exchanged amused glances at the antics below the stairs.

“Levi, are you up here?” Oma called as she ascended to the second floor. You bit your lips in anticipation of your reunion with your grandmother.

“I’m in here.” Levi replied with a squeeze of your hand.

“That foolish girl has just spilled half of her suitcase onto the floor.” The old woman complained as she approached your bedroom. A pair of crutches under one arm and a fresh package of bandages entered your room just before she did.

“I mean, really, she has to be aware that she has the strength of a bumbleb-”

“Hi Oma.” You hiccuped. Your cheerful greeting faded into a whimper at the sight of her. She looked as lively and as lovely as you had last seen her. The crutches fell to the floor with a sharp clatter and she turned to you with wide eyes.

“ Oh , my darling.” She croaked, gliding to your side and smothering you with careful kisses on every corner of your face. Levi pulled away to let the weeping woman embrace her kin. You buried your head into her shoulder and sighed into her familiar cradle.

The beautiful, joyously tearful reunion drove that stake of peculiar familial warmth deeper into Levi’s chest as he silently watched on as Oma and you began to catch up.

“Y/N!” Felicia screamed. She stood at the foot of the bed utterly petrified with relieved shock.

“Hi Felicia.” A grin parted the wetness on your face. She was quick to take you into her arms as well, and held you there as she rambled on about how ecstatic she was that you were awake.

“Thank you for taking care of me.” You said as she pulled away. Your eyes crinkled and her’s mirrored yours.

“All of you.” You added, looking to every one of your earthly angels around you. “What time is it?”

“Half past three.” Oma said, squinting at the clock.

“Aw, I missed my morning coffee.”

The once fragile room was filled with hearty laughter and smiles for the rest of that afternoon.

↞↠↞↠↞↠

After spending the next few hours lazing with second swigs of tea and half eaten dinner plates, Levi gave your interlocked palms a squeeze. He broke away and padded out of the room to give you and Oma much needed alone time. The clanking of porcelain against the sink drew his attention to the kitchen archway and he paused momentarily along his descent.

“It sounds like an earthquake is breaking all of your dishes.” Levi commented dryly. Felicia yelped in surprise, generating even more clanking.

“Eek, I apologize if my cleaning has been bothering you! Oh walls, has it been loud enough to disturb Y/N??” She buzzed in anxiety. Levi threw her a half smile.

“I was joking. Clearly you didn’t take it that way...do you need help?” He said and leaned in the archway to the kitchen.

“O-oh...ahahah.” She sputtered and offered a wiggly, but calmer, grin back. “No, I’m all good here despite the noise. So no need to trouble yourself! Although I know you do love cleaning…”

Levi deadpanned into a single nod and continued out to the front porch. Two rocking chairs perched themselves along the ornate railing as they relished in the feature film that was the evening tulips. The fields were dulled by the blue haze of the encroaching moonlight.

He plopped down into the aged wood and took in his new favorite smell; country air. He had absolutely no idea what he had been missing with the must and dust of the underground and the metallic smell of blood against pine needles outside the walls.

He let time take the backseat to his rocking as he mildly entertained himself by finding shapes in the swaying flowers. His hand absentmindedly fiddled with the contents of his pocket. He sighed contently and brought them out of their cotton resting place and into the open. The two little bands of gold were illuminated against the pale floral sea.

A snort jolted the rings back into his pocket and whipped his head to the source. His body stiffened like an agitated teenager harboring stolen alcohol. Oma had appeared with a pony, a creature of small mousey brown and stout stature. It bore a harness with large wicker baskets hanging from either side of its chubby shoulders.

“Wanna help a brittle old woman with some last minute harvesting? I’m extremely behind on today’s work for obvious reasons." Oma invited with spice in her tone. If she had seen the jewelry, she was very convincing at hiding otherwise. Levi indulged in the rocking chair, creaking back and forth a couple times, before heaving himself up silently.

“It will do you good to get those muscles moving.” She said, patting his good shoulder as he neared. Once he was standing next to her she gripped his collar and yanked it downward. Levi faltered at the unexpected grapple and stumbled backwards. She peeped under the cloth, admiring the progress of her handiwork.

“Looks good still.” She affirmed, playfully snapping the band back and she waltzed into the field. “Damn I’m one hell of a seamstress.”

Levi followed the pony’s hoofprints down the main lane until the house was barely in view. They arrived at a patch of tulips the color of midday sunshine and lemon drop candy.

“Alright, look here boy.” She rubbed her hands together in anticipation. Levi regarded her as she kneeled down in front of her chosen flowers, one of the wicker baskets loyally resting at her side.

“It’s not as simple as pulling the damned thing up, you might tear the bulb out that way. If you do that you owe me whatever I would have earned from the re-cultivation of that tulip.” She sternly explained, sending him daggers in her eyes he had come to recognize held no malice.

Levi watched carefully as she dug out around the base of the stem, twisted gently with a firm grasp, and lifted, effortlessly releasing the flower from its anchor. He kneeled down in his picking area and mimicked her movements. After a couple broken stems and constructive criticism they had fallen into a steady rhythm.

“So...do you want to show me what’s jangling around in your pocket?” Oma inquired with a sly innocence. Levi eyed her with his grasp mid stem. Her features were smug with knowledge.

“You want to see what is inside my pocket?” Levi quipped back as he yanked the flower from its birthplace.

“Uh-huh.”

“Like...lint?” Levi returned matter-of-factly. He was grateful straight facing was his most coveted skill in interrogations such as these.

Oma cackled and blew the excess dirt from her fingertips.

“I saw the rings, Levi. No use playing dumb with me.” She stopped her harvest and gauged him for a reaction.

Levi cleared his throat and continued working.

“How do you know I wasn’t keeping them safe for Erwin’s wedding to his eyebrows?” Levi replied with an even tone. He cringed at his bullshit.

“Now that’s a wedding I’d like to be invited to.” Oma laughed, and Levi couldn’t help but grin at his absolute shitty cover up.

“It doesn’t- didn’t - really matter that much to me. Getting married.” He began as his hand hovered over the wind kissed petals of his next flower. It took a couple of soft sways for him to decide how to articulate his feelings.

“Why should I let a piece of paper, a circlet of metal, and some holy man manifest a promise that I’ve already committed to her myself?”

Oma hummed along in acknowledgment.

“But...realizing how much marriage meant to her made me place my opinions aside and realize I was being selfish in my reservations.”

A grasshopper popped in and out of the columns of stems.

“She’s never made a big deal out of it, but I’m not blind. I see the way she fawns over wedding dresses and how her eyes light up when she sees families on the street.”

His tone grew somber as thoughts of doubt flooded his mind. When the thought of becoming a husband and even a father crossed his mind he shoved them immediately into the darkest corners of his subconscious. But despite those intimate fears, he would never doubt he wanted to make you happy for the rest of his days.

“I want to give Y/N something that she can cherish for a long time in a world where everything we have seems so temporary. And standing through a ceremony celebrating our commitment...I guess isn’t the worst thing I could think of.”

With a slow exhale, he removed the rings from his pocket and held them up. Oma noted he regarded them with the same tenderness he reserved for you. His self awareness and lack of confidence intertwined with the utter devotion she could see he had for you brewed a hearth in her chest.

“Well, congratulations. They’re lovely. She’s going to absolutely love them.” Pure fondness spread through every crevasse in Oma’s face and overwhelmed Levi with domesticity. He averted her gaze and repocketed his trinkets. He grunted awkwardly with a nod.

“Thank you.” She said and began working again.

“For what?” Levi’s brow furrowed as he too resumed.

“For loving her, and receiving her love in return. It sounds like a lot of fairy-tale bullshit and troll scrotums, but love is quite the powerful ally.”

He rose his head to a crinkled smile and he nodded with a half moon of his own on his lips. His smile, however, did not betray the bleakness in his features.

A comfortable silence fell over the two of them as they continued to pluck the beauties from their earthy homes. They eavesdropped on the occasional yowl from a fox and the croaking of toads.

“Do you know what makes a good, sturdy, lively tulip, shorty?” Oma asked as she strong-armed one from the ground. She examined the flower with eyes that Levi’s own vision would never be able to duplicate.

“Water.” He guessed offhandedly, flicking a worm off of the roots of his own flower.

The older woman scoffed at the blandness of his answer.

“If that’s all it took, I’d be richer and my lower back wouldn’t ache like a bitch.” She cackled. “You’ve got the basic idea. But you haven’t even scratched the most important bits.”

Levi’s verbal silence pressed her to continue as he scooted over to the next patch nearest to him.

“First you need rich soil. If you live where that soil is contaminated-ya know too much clay, too little nutrients. Then you need to physically make the soil capable of growing life.” She began with a bulky wheeze as she lifted her basket to reposition herself over her floral children.

“Here, thankfully the soil is loose, airy, and just a bit sandy. But that wasn’t the case at our old place. A downright hard job it was to get those little bastards to grow. But we did.”

“Once you’ve got your soil sorted out, you need the bulbs. Some of the bulbs won’t make it. That’s just how it is. But the ones that do poke their little heads above the ground and leave their dark incubations.”

“Then comes the water.” She looked at him pointedly and he rolled his eyes. “It’s the one constant thing in a tulip’s life that nurtures it into maturity.”

“How versed are you in tulip anatomy?” Oma asked as she held her latest victim up. Levi blinked at her.

“Expertly.”

His sass made her smirk.

“Well, then you’ll know that petals-arguably the most cherished and viewed piece-are a part of the tulip. So is the stamen, pistil, and pedicel.” She lectured while supporting her points with gestures to the places on the plant she was talking about.

“While they are all interconnected with the flower, they aren’t the whole tulip.” She stated. She threw the saffron colored flower in an underhand swoop to Levi who caught it effortlessly. He twirled the soft skin of the largest petals between his thumb and index finger as she talked before tossing it into his own basket.

“There’s a lot nature can teach us about ourselves. I mean we’re all natural beings, even the titans.” She said with pursed lips and swiftly grabbed at the pony’s halter when she saw him mouthing for the buffet in her basket.

“That’s why I’ve stuck with this job for so long. By looking at them, they remind me that my oddities, mistakes, and what-have-you, may linger with me and be a part of me...but they aren’t all of me. There’s still a bulb down there under the earth waiting to re-blossom.”

Levi now understood the depth of her analogy. Normally, if someone was beating around the bush to tell him he needs to cheer up he would have either slammed the door in their face, or their face into the door. But this didn’t feel like that. Her words seeped into his heart and rested there in what he could only begin to grasp as...parental warmth.

“That’s what you need to do to help yourself, I’ve learned. To cultivate learning to live with yourself and then in turn others.” She sighed as she pressed the disturbed soil back into place.

When Levi looked down, his hands were suddenly so small and so caked in dirt. But not dirt from the fields. No, it was an oily, slick dirt that tasted like oxidized metal when he ate stale bread from them.

“Tulips don’t live forever even though they blossom every year. Life could not exist without death, and it only hurts yourself to deny mortality in you and in others. It only makes you suffer, not the loved ones that have passed before you or the ones that slipped through your fingers.”

He was shaking like he used to when his malnourished body constantly teetered on the edge of starvation. His bony wrists buckled under the immense weight of the flower and it tumbled to the ground in front of him. He wore a once expensive sleeping gown gifted to his mother by one of her regulars. It was clearly for her, but she had given it to her poor son to provide him with that extra warmth when she was too sick to wrap him in her love herself. It was tattered and stained from years of wear. But it still smelled of her.

“Everyone and everything in this world of ours must die. Life is a precious gift with that knowledge. And a gift so precious can’t be wasted on beating yourself down for existing, for living . Self proclaimed demons and mistakes in all.”

Levi felt the childish pressure of tears building behind his eyes. He wished to choke out a whine, to let them burst out, to feel the safety of his mother’s chest against his wet cheeks instead of her lifeless embrace. He felt the tantrum of frustration at all of this emotion he kept so expertly under lock and key. His bare toes sank into the flowers behind him as he knelt on the soil just as he did the cramped trailer where he resided when his mother worked in their room.

He finally felt like a child in the presence of a mother’s comfort. Oma’s consolation brought back that gangly, mute, shelled boy. The boy who had to grow up into a man overnight, surrounded by reflections in knives and last words as screams. The boy who never had the chance to cry it out about foolish things like his mother not being able to take him on a walk through the city, like his bloated belly eating itself instead of dinner, like never being able to see the sun. The boy who was always the pillar for others and never had a guardian to stroke his head and tell him that better days are coming.

“I’m rambling like this because I see the intense self loathing in you that I used to feel for myself-” She half chuckled to make light of her weighted words. The dry laugh faded into the air with the rest of her sentence when she gazed upon him. Her smile dropped as bubbling tears cascaded over his dark bottom lashes.

“Oh, my dear.” Oma gasped out a breathy coo. She instantly dropped her basket, not caring if her naughty pony ate some of her crop. She flew to him; her knees before his and her hand pressing his head to her shoulder. Her other arm rubbed ginger ovals into his back that urged him to crumple into her strong embrace.

For a moment, he wondered if this is what his mother would have felt like if she hadn’t been so frail. He could only guess that this is the feeling he had missed. The childhood was never nurtured into him. The childhood he had forsaken for survival. And in a twisted way, he was now more than ever thankful for the horrors of his youth as he nestled into Oma’s loving arms. Because he was beginning to understand that his own life was precious. Not just yours or Oma’s or Felicia’s or Erwin’s or Petra’s or everyone he fought for.

She was right, and Levi was too prideful to tell her how grateful he was for her in this moment.

“I.” He fought to swallow his shame in his childish behavior, but the soft strokes of her fingers through his hair and the solace in his chest at her gentle rocking plunged it down his esophagus.

“I needed to hear that.” His voice quivered into the puffy fabric of her shoulder.

"We all do." Oma hummed and continued her ministrations, allowing him to tearfully bleed a lifetime of juvenile sorrows onto her and out of him.

Maybe he did need to let his withered leaves and wilted colors fall from his body, leaving him with just his skeleton and his heart.

↞↠↞↠↞↠

The creaking of the wood under his boots was the only sound in the dim darkness of the newborn night as he made his way upstairs. He paused at your door, glancing in to see you tucked back under the sheets. A half smile carried him back to his temporary chambers to wash up. He managed to fully wash the silt from under his fingernails and his knuckles while still keeping Oma's comfort there.

When he deemed himself fully cleansed, he slunk through the crack in your doorway without causing the hinges on the old wood to groan. He deftly sat in the chair still positioned next to your form. His eyes softened at the slight twitch of your nose and your steady breaths.

Just as he began admiring the warm glow of life rising back up into your skin, your eyelashes fluttered in greeting.

“Did I wake you?” He whispered, his voice devoid of anything but airy tenderness.

You shook your head, the plushness of your pillow swallowing your face then regurgitating it up.

“No, I was just resting my eyes.” You blatantly lied through a smile that was blinding in comparison to the muted candle light.

“I’ve slept too much these past few days. I don’t want to right now…” You began with the saddest attempt at a pout Levi had ever witnessed. Just speaking that sentence already almost sent you into another deep slumber.

“Then just keep resting your eyes then, instead of sleeping.” Levi whispered as you trailed off in obvious exhaustion. He pressed his hand to your forehead, blissfully cool from the tap water, and moved your hair away. In its place, his lips placed the sweet hum of affectionate proximity on your skin.

You registered the chair rubbing against the floorboards through the incoming sleep.

“Will you stay, Levi?” You asked, doe eyes blinking up through the gray.

You didn’t even have to ask him.

“I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

You felt the bed dip to your left. He settled in beside you on his side, his arm a firm resting place for his head as he gazed upon you through the night veil. He didn’t draw you to him as he usually would. It would scar him if he selfishly undid the hard work of Oma and Felicia. For now, just basking in the aura of your wellbeing was enough of a security blanket. You weakly shifted so your head was perched in his direction.

The two of you laid in silent fear of sleep. You didn’t want your beautiful little angel to carry you back into the void. Levi didn’t want his demons to vouch all of this as a practical joke and take you from him when he rose the next morning.

“Levi.”

“Hmm?”

“You called her Oma.” You mumbled, finally relenting into the arms of rest.

“I did.”

#Levi fanfiction #Levi Heichou #levi x reader #levi fluff #LEVI ACKERMAN #AoT #aot fluff #aot x reader #snk x reader #snk #attack on titan #attack on titan fanfiction #shingeki no kyojin #shingeki no kyoujin fanfiction #anime fanfiction #Jean Kirschstein #bisexual jean #hange zoe #levi ackerman x reader

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a-edgar-allan-hoe · 3 years

Text

The Last Chthonian

Bucky x Reader, Sam x Reader, Zemo x Reader

Part 16

A/N: Y’all chapter 16 IS HERE!!!!! Well this was a difficult chapter to write but it includes a fluffy ending! 🙂 I hope you lovelies enjoy it and feedback is greatly appreciated! And as always, have a beautiful day and let me know if you would like to be added to the tag list! ☺️ 💕💕💕💕

Summary: Imagine being Hekate, the Greek goddess of magic and witchcraft, the night and the moon, doorways and crossroads, creatures of the night, and ghosts and necromancy. You stumbled upon Earth many centuries ago and since then have resided on the foreign planet. During the recent years you created an alias for yourself to hide your true identity, and after the war against Thanos you chose to live out your days in the Scottish countryside, until a certain trio appear at your doorstep one day.

Warnings: language, mentions of past trauma and abuse, blood and gore, mentions of past torture, scars

There was still daylight outside when you had roused from your nap, the sunshine emerging through the gap in the tall closed curtains just enough to provide the living room with some light and warmth. Yet another nightmare terrorized your dreams in the few hours of your slumber, the very same one that haunted you the night before in regards to the scars on your back. Whenever will these night terrors cease to exist? Shall you ever hope to one day have the fortuity of being able to rest your head and not have to wake up in absolute terror and dread.

You laid there on the couch, hands resting on your stomach as you stared up at the coffered ceiling, your eyes tracing the grooves along the panels as you reflected on what had occurred not very long ago. Which reminded you, you would have to check on your wound soon, hoping that your Olympian genes had at least allowed it to heal. And while you were at it, you could really use a bath. Sam was disappointedly no longer nestled next to you, leaving you in an empty coldness even though a blanket had been thrown over your sleeping form. Thoughts of divulging the story behind your scars invaded your mind like a dark stormy cloud hovering above your head, ready to rain down with feelings of fear, guilt, and shame. Sam had warned you about the dangers of keeping yourself in a dark hole. How shutting yourself off from the rest of the world and leaving your mind to the negative thoughts that ate at you like a blood-sucking parasite would slowly devour every last ounce of you that made you alive. It was no different than jumping into piranha infested waters. You had to tell them the truth about you soon, even if it was piece by piece, like putting together a puzzle to reveal the whole picture. However, you felt a sense of foreboding deep within your spine upon when the time would come. Seeing the whole picture only meant seeing the real you. And you couldn’t help but feel they’d look at you with the utmost horror indescribable to mortals, like the monster you were. You couldn’t blame them if they never wished to see you again. You’d run from that part of you if you could.

You got up with a soft groan, your hair was disarray and your body was stiff and sore as you looked around the dim room to see Sam sat on a stool by the kitchen area staring down at his laptop, the light from the screen Illuminating the blank expression on his face that masked a layer of concern behind it. Sam’s heart was torn from the moment he laid his eyes on your back, he could still feel the way his heart skipped a beat when he caught sight of those jagged lines. The picture was imbedded in his mind like the first time you witness something upsetting. Sam could almost count the scars and map it out. This explained why you never wore a tank top and stuck with t-shirts. You had hid this from everyone since the beginning.

Bucky stood off to the other side of the room with his hands in his pockets. You noticed how his brows were knitted together, his eyes which were usually bright, now held a shadow over them as stared off into the distance. Little did you know, he hadn’t stopped thinking about you. The image still haunted his thoughts like a demonic spirit. Bucky had felt this malevolent and nefarious atmosphere surround him in that moment he first saw the slashes that lined your back, like a dense fog concealing something evil lurking behind the mist. In the days that he had known you, he believed you to be one of the most caring souls he had the luck of coming across in all his years, you reminded him of Steve in some ways. Who could have done this to you? Whatever did you do to deserve such cruelty?

“Y/n?” Bucky’s face lightened up as he walked over to you to see how you were holding up once he saw you sitting up on the couch. “How are you feeling?” He crouched down next to you, laying his hand on top of your bare foreman. He couldn’t stop thinking about how much pain you must have been in, to get shot and walk it off as if nothing had happened. He wished you had told him, instead of trying to hide it. It ended up doing you more harm than good.

“Better. Still a bit weak, but I think I’m gaining my strength back.” You smiled at him, squeezing his hand as you lost yourself in his eyes, blushing under his gaze from how close he was to you and to the way his hand was on the bare skin of your arm. They had been the first thing you noticed about him, those bright steel blue orbs contrasted against his dark lashes that seemed to pierce right through you like icy daggers. You found them to be striking, as if you were staring into the skies of an oncoming storm. However, that was until you saw the curl of his lips and the crinkles at the outer corners of his eyes, it was then his boyish smile that completely transcended his appearance. And when he smiled at you, you could never seem to pull yourself away. It was that same charming smile that captivated you since 1942.

“That’s good to hear.” Sam spoke up after hearing your answer, looking up at you with a warm smile. “I knew you’d pull through.”

“You have too much faith in me Sam.” You shook your head with a soft chuckle. Your ears perked up at the sound of the bathroom doors opening, and when you turned towards it, your eyes nearly widened at the sight before you. There in the vicinity of the entrance to the bathroom stood Zemo fresh out of the shower wearing a bathrobe, his bare chest visible from under the collar where a thin gold chain hung loosely around his neck. His skin glistened from the water droplets that still clung to him, like the dew that formed on blades of grass and the surrounding plant-life the morning after a cold and misty night. He carried with him a small towel, using it to dry his damp hair, the loose strands falling over the side of his face. Your breath was caught in your throat as you watched him go over to the kitchen area, leaving behind a trail of his cologne as he went. The scent was much sharper now from being just recently applied and caused the hairs on your arms to stand up, encompassing you in a haze of this medley of fragrances. Your nose vivified from your sense of smell that picked up on the hints of cedar, fig, grapefruit, orange, pepper, vetiver and ylang-ylang. He smelled incredible.

In this very moment, you were beyond thankful you were the only one with telepathic abilities, due to certain uninhibited images that played within the walls of your mind. Your eyes flickered down to the belt of the robe that was tied around his torso, your fingers itching to untie the one sole thing that with a single tug, would leave him for you to behold and admire. You turned your gaze to the floor, your face burning along with your thoughts that seemed to swallow you whole. By the gods and the pits of Tartarus, were you really lusting after that man? If you had went back in time and told yourself that you would one day be infatuated with and dare say even be consumed with desire for none other than Helmut Zemo himself, you would have stabbed yourself and thrown your body into Tartarus with your own two hands to prevent such a thing from happening. You needed a shower, a cold one at that.

“Well, I probably should have said this in the beginning.” Bucky cleared his throat as he had now sat next to you on the couch, you didn’t even notice his hand leave yours and you prayed he didn’t see the way you were drinking in Zemo. Fortune was in your favor, owing to the fact that Bucky had not noticed at all. “But the Wakandans are here. They want Zemo. Bought us some more time.”

You snapped your head towards Bucky upon hearing him say what you were ashamed to have felt a bit of dismay towards. You would be a fool to admit you didn’t see it coming. You had known the Wakandans were after him since the beginning, you said so yourself when you first saw him at your front door that day, hidden behind Bucky and Sam. Who would have known those words would eventually leave a bitter taste in your mouth.

“Were you followed?” Sam asked, his head shooting up from his phone after he heard what Bucky had announced.

“No.” Bucky shook his head.

“How can you be so sure?” Zemo questioned with a look of doubt.

“‘Cause I know when I’m being followed.”

“It was sweet of you to defend me at least.”

“Hey, you shut it.” Sam snapped at Zemo. “No one’s defending you. You killed Nagel.”

“Do we really have to litigate what may or may not have happened?” Zemo retaliated as he went behind the table, opening up the cupboards and peering at the items inside.

“There’s nothing to litigate. You straight shot the man.” Sam expressed as he followed Zemo with his head.

“Sam.” Bucky spoke up as he stared at an article on his phone, making you look at him in curiosity.

“What?”

“Karli bombed a GRC supply depot.”

Your brows furrowed when you heard what happened. What in the realms was this girl doing? Did she just cross the line?

“What? What’s the damage?” Sam looked stunned upon hearing the news.

“Eleven injured, three dead. They have a list of demands and are promising more attacks if those demands aren’t met.”

You sighed, shaking your head from what you heard. “This isn’t good.”

“She’s getting worse. I have the will to complete this mission. Do the two of you?” Zemo turned to the two of them.

“She’s just a kid.” Sam defended, none of this was sitting right with him.

“You’re seeing something in her that isn’t there.” Zemo tried to point out. “You’re clouded by it. She’s a supremacist. The very concept of a Super Soldier will always trouble people. It’s that warped aspiration that led to Nazis, to Ultron, to the Avengers.”

“You’re talking about our friends.” Sam glared.

“The Avengers, not the Nazis.” Bucky corrected Sam’s statement.

“So, Karli is radicalized, but there has to be a peaceful way to stop her.”

“The desire to become a superhuman cannot be separated from supremacist ideals. Anyone with that serum is inherently on that path. She will not stop. She will escalate until you kill her. Or she kills you.”

“Maybe you’re wrong, Zemo.” Bucky mentioned. “The serum never corrupted Steve.”

“Touché.” Zemo pointed with a cookie on his finger from the jar he pulled out. “But there has never been another Steve Rogers, has there?”

“Well, maybe we should give him to the Wakandans right now.” Bucky rolled his eyes.

“And you’ll give up your tour guide?” Zemo went back to open up another cupboard.

“Yes.”

“You guys.” You groaned, making them turn their attention on you as you leaned back into the couch, pinching the bridge of your nose. “I hope you know that arguing isn’t going to help the situation at all. I agree with Sam, we should try to convince her to see the wrong in her ways first, try to get her to back down. Hopefully she’ll change her mind. But......if she doesn’t........”

“No.” Sam shook his head. “You’re not going to stab her.”

“You didn’t let me finish.” You stuck your hand out. “I was going to say throw her ass in jail if she persists. She’s already killed three and injured seven.”

“What are you trying to say?”

“You’re acting like I’ve never signed peace treaties before Sam. My sister Athena and I used to be diplomats, ambassadors for our planet. Our father would send us off to other worlds to build alliances. Let me tell you from my personal experience from the people I have dealt with. Someone who is so dead set in their ways and begins to see themselves as a form of liberator or savior on the right path, you gotta do a hell lot of convincing to get them to see clearly.”

“Karli may be different.” Sam looked at you.

“Yes, she may or may not be. It’s a 50/50 chance. But when you live as long as me you start to see similarities, patterns. History tends to repeat itself.”

“So what do we do?” Sam crossed his arms over his chest.

“Well. We take this with a diplomatic approach. I think you should go talk to her. You’re good at that.”

Sam nodded his head at your words, his eyes deep in thought.

“If you guys will excuse me.” You stood up from the couch. “I’m going to go check on my wound and wash up.”

“There should be some spare towels and robes.” Zemo gestured towards the bathroom, to which you thanked him with a nod.

You closed the bathroom doors behind you, locking it with a click before removing your articles of clothing and the gauze that was wrapped around your midsection. The wound had already healed, leaving behind a raised scar in its place, another mark to add to your collection. You shivered against the chilly air of the bathroom, your toes curled against the tile floors that were cool to the touch as you rubbed your arms. You went over to turn on the shower, running your hand under the water to check on the temperature before stepping in, closing your eyes and letting out a sigh the moment the warm water touched your skin.

Memories of your planet occupied your mind, filling you with a sense of solace as you remembered the beautiful lush land and the magnificent creatures that roamed them, scattered with tall mountains and waterfalls, lakes and streams, and the exquisite flowers that smelled absolutely heavenly whenever you passed them. You missed the Doric, Ionic, and Corinthian architecture of the towering buildings and the tents that lined the local markets that you used to stroll through wearing a chiton and a pair of sandals, the markets always bustling with merchants, philosophers, painters, sculptors, and craftsmen of almost every kind. You missed the different smells of the food and spices that revitalized your senses and made your mouth water. And you missed the local hot springs, especially the secluded one you discovered on one of your walks. It was the perfect place for you to unwind, especially after a hard day of training where your muscles ached. The area was surrounded by plant life which offered you privacy, allowing you to immerse yourself in the waters in solitude and peace with a view that overlooked the ancient cities below you. When the sun went to rest over the horizon and the moon took command over the skies, the water itself became luminescent under the stars, as if someone had thrown handfuls of aquamarine jewels into it, which was stunning when complemented with the starry night sky. Gods, you missed your home, you missed the past. Apart from all those wonders that brightened up your eyes whenever you beheld them, you missed the familiar faces of the people you have come to know there. You missed the locals, and you missed your family. Your heart ached, it felt as if your soul was grappling with a pervasive emptiness that lurked in its dark and unexplored corners. An intense yearning overwhelmed you, a sentimental longing for the past and the things that were.

You sighed, shutting off the water and wiping away the tear that had managed to escape before stepping out of the shower, grabbing a towel to dry yourself off before slipping on a clean pair of clothes. Your hair was still damp as you wrapped a towel around it, opening the bathroom doors back up to see Bucky, Zemo, and Sam in a conversation.

“From my understanding, Donya is like a pillar of the community, right? So, when I was a kid, my TT passed away.” Sam elaborated.

You stopped, furrowing your brows at Sam, only managing to catch a snippet of the sentence. “Why are you talking about tits?”

“What?” Sam looked at you. “No not tits, my TT.”

“What about your tiddies?” You quirked.

“No my TT. TEE-TEE.”

“Your TT?” Bucky squinted at him.

“Yeah, my TT, yeah.” Sam rolled his eyes, annoyed that no one got what he was saying.

“Who is your TT?”

“Fine.” Sam sighed. “When I was a kid, my aunt passed away and the entire neighborhood got together for a ceremony. It was like a week long. Maybe they’re doing the same thing for Donya.”

“Sounds plausible.” You nodded, heading over to the kitchen to grab yourself a cold glass of water.

“Worth a shot.” Bucky noted.

“Your TT would be proud of you.” Zemo accentuated before tossing the three of you some candy. “Turkish delight. Irresistible.”

You caught the one Zemo tossed over to you, staring at the cubed piece of paper wrapped candy in your hands before looking up at Zemo with a raised brow. “Uh.....thanks.” You walked over to the couch where Bucky sat, sitting down next to him and popping the candy in your mouth after removing the wrapper.

“How’s the bullet wound?” Sam nodded towards you.

“It’s healed, thanks for asking.”

It was now or never.

“So uh......guys.” You cleared your throat, your nerves causing you torment like tiny little pinpricks over your skin. “About the uh............about the scars you saw on my back.”

“You don’t have to tell us if you don’t want to.” Bucky spoke softly after noticing how your voice shook, your eyes were glued to your hands as you picked at the skin on your fingers and palms.

“No.” You shook your head. “I can’t keep this hidden forever.” You sighed, taking in a deep breath to prepare yourself as the men watched you, silent as the grave as they listened attentively to what you had to say. “Long ago, back in Olympus when I had just reached adulthood, I used to be a diplomat for my father, as you already know. Well, that wasn’t my only duty. I was also an assassin, his.........personal executioner. I would be sent on missions to other worlds to take out tyrants, oppressors, the absolute heinous of society. In the beginning, it was for the health of the innocent, to unshackle the chains of injustice and cruelty. But then one day, Zeus wanted me to assassinate a king who had done no harm towards his people. At first, I couldn’t understand his reasoning on having me complete this mission, until it all clicked. I started to see the truth behind Zeus’s aspirations, his....ulterior motive. I had been completely oblivious to his twisted ambition and lust for power. I had never been so vexed with anyone and myself. I felt ridden with guilt, telling myself I should have caught on to his true intentions far earlier. So I confronted him about it and laid down the sword he gave me, not wanting anything to do with it. I told him what he was doing was wrong, and that I did not want to be a part of his path to reign of terror. Zeus became furious and tried to accuse me of treason before locking me up in the dungeons. I had never seen him with that kind of rage before. I was terrified to see my father act that way and hadn’t slept a wink that night in the cell. The very next day was my public punishment, one that Hera herself picked out. So his guards dragged me out to the stands that afternoon, the place where they held public shaming and punishments.”

You stopped, gathering yourself as you wiped away at the tears that fell down your cheeks. You could feel Bucky reach his hand out towards you so you grabbed it in return, clutching it with dear life as if it was the only thing that reminded you that you were here, not back in that traumatic moment, but here on earth with 3 men that would do absolutely anything for your safety and happiness. You choked back a sob as you continued. “They tore open the back of my dress, leaving me bare from the waist up for all to see before tying my wrists to the wooden post. I had never felt so humiliated and frightened my entire life. And then they whipped me, over and over again to the point I could no longer stand, the only thing keeping me up was the rope. My dress became soaked with the blood from my wounds and so did the wooden floorboards beneath me. I eventually fell unconscious from the pain, it was too much for me to bear. I was left there for the remainder of the day, left as an example of what happens to those who betray Zeus. When my uncle Hades, Athena, Artemis and some of my other siblings heard what had happened, they rushed to my aid, enraged at what was done to me. Athena and Artemis took me in to their home and tried to tend to my wounds there, but they had already festered. I came to find out later that the rope they whipped me with was laced with a poison so that my wounds wouldn’t heal properly, so that they’d remain to be a constant reminder of my actions.”

The men were silent as you finished telling your story, their faces only fitting the description of horror as they tried to process the inhumanity that was inflicted on you by the very people you trusted. They couldn’t bring themselves to give you words of comfort. No amount of words and speeches could help you or undo what was done. The men’s hearts wrenched as they could almost share the pain you had felt. If your father wasn’t already dead, they would have killed the scumbag himself. Bucky had hugged you in that moment, letting you cry into his shoulder as Sam had come over to you as well, wrapping his arms around you as he hugged you from behind. You sat there engulfed between Sam and Bucky as you cried, your tears and your confession representing the weight that was now lifted off your shoulders. You no longer had to hide the scars, your story was told. Zemo still stood by the kitchen, his knuckles white from gripping the counter, his face turned in the opposite direction. One look at you would tear him apart, he would drop everything and rush over to you this instant to be able to hold you in his arms. He’d let you cry onto him forever if need be. You didn’t deserve that, you didn’t deserve any of it.

You went for a stroll that night after the sun had set. Bucky and Sam offered to accompany you due to the state you were in but you declined. You needed to be alone for a while. Retelling your story still rattled you as if you had relived that moment once more. You headed off to the nearest park, laying down on the grass as you stared up at the night sky. The cool wind brushed against your cheeks like an icy caress as you closed your eyes, the blades of grass tickling the sides of your face, losing yourself in your surroundings before the faint sound of footsteps against the soft grass interrupted you. You sat up, turning your head to see Zemo standing behind you.

“Zemo? What are you doing here?”

“Thought I might join you, if you’d allow me.”

“...............sure.” You watched him from the corner of your eye as he sat down beside you, wearing that fur collared coat of his. You pulled your knees up to your chest, clasping your hands together at the front before staring off into the distance.

Zemo’s eyes flickered over to your profile, studying your facial expressions and the hollowness that was held in your eyes. He still could not get your narrative out of his head, wincing at the image of the excruciating pain and anguish you must have felt at the time. He could not imagine what your back must of resembled in that moment. He wished he was there, so that he may have rescued you and went after those who ever dared to do you harm. “So, what brings you out here?”

“I wanted to see the stars. I heard there might be a meteor shower tonight.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Better, surprisingly. Still a bit unnerved, but I’m think I’m doing better.”

“I’m terribly sorry about what happened to you. It should never have occurred in the first place.”

“Don’t apologize, you had nothing to do with it.” You sighed, shivering as a strong breeze passed through you.

Zemo noticed your movement and turned in your direction. “Do you need my coat?”

“What about you?”

“I’ll be fine.”

You watched as Zemo slipped off his coat before leaning over to drape it around your shoulders. You averted your eyes from him and turned your head away from how close he was. You shivered once more, but this time from his warm breath that grazed across your cheek as he adjusted the fur collar so that it fit snug around your neck and head to provide you with as much comfort as he could. The way he handled you so tenderly made you blush, as if you were a delicate rose, a precious gem that if held incorrectly would be considered a crime, a disgrace to your existence. Then there it was again, that cologne of his that had you feeling a certain way. You could still smell it off him, and now that you wore his coat, the sharp citrusy and spicy scent completely engulfed you as if you had been transported back to the markets of the ancient empires. Zemo gazed down at you from where he was seated, you didn’t even have to look up at him to feel your face heat up, that’s how much of an effect he had over you. The way he looked at you made you feel vulnerable and small. You were the goddess of witchcraft, and yet, here you were, completely bewitched and transfixed by him as if he had cast an enchantment over you.

“Schatzi.” Zemo whispered as he gently laid a finger under your chin to bring your face to him.

You stared at him with wide eyes, hidden behind a veil of sorrow and regret along with your aching and yearning heart. The Wakandans would have him soon, then you might not ever have the chance of seeing him again. It was now or never. “Zemo I.......I want to apologize for that night. I’m sorry if I offended you. I didn’t-“

“Schatzi.” Zemo held your face with both of his surprisingly soft pampered hands as he caressed your cheek. “There’s no need to apologize. I would never wish for you to be uncomfortable.”

“Why? Why are you so kind towards me? Don’t you hate the avengers, people with unordinary abilities?” You questioned, desperately wanting to know why he treated you with respect, despite his moral compass in regards to super soldiers and such. You would’ve conjectured that you would be on his list of people to eliminate.

“Because.” Zemo stopped to push a loose strand of your hair behind your ear. “You have shown nothing but kindness to those around you and to my people. When I first saw you, you struck me as the silent and menacing one, you spoke very little and I thought you to be dangerous. But then I saw what you did after the attack from Ultron, how you stayed behind to help clean up what was left and find any remaining survivors. Your efforts towards my country will not be forgotten. You have a beautiful and caring soul y/n, one that shines brighter than any I’ve seen. After all that you’ve been through and all that you have done, you too deserve kindness in return.”

You smiled at his words, placing your hands on top of Zemo’s as he still cradled your face. You turned your head slightly to place a soft kiss to his wrist, eliciting a small gasp from his lips. The two of you had been touch deprived for so long, without a single soul to hold and kiss, that a small action such as this was enough to send you both over the edge. You gazed into his eyes once more as you placed your hand against the side of his neck, your eyes trailing down to his lips as you traced the smooth shaven skin of his jaw with your thumb. Zemo felt his heart stop in his chest from your gesture and the way you looked at him. You looked absolutely ethereal, wearing his coat and sitting in close proximity of him under the stars, the moonlight making you radiant in parallel to the the silver orb itself. Your heart palpitated in your chest, nearly breaking out of your rib cage and becoming the only thing you could hear as you finally mustered up the courage to do what you have longed to do.

Your eyes fluttered closed as you leaned in with your lips slightly parted as Zemo did the same, your noses grazing against each together like the fallen leaves caught in the winds of autumn as you rested your foreheads together. Your breathing quivered, your body trembling from the sudden forethought of what was to come as the two of you hovered not even a centimeter apart, your lips brushing against his as your faltering breaths fanned each other’s faces, both of you too tense to make the first move. Zemo pulled away unexpectedly, causing your heart to drop and leaving your face to the coldness of the night air, which made you knit your brows together. Zemo chuckled softly at the disheartened expression that marked your features before tilting his head towards you once again, his hands never leaving the sides of your face as he pressed a feathery kiss to your forehead and each of your closed eyelids, placing another to the rounds of your cheeks, and lastly the tip of your nose as if he was mapping out what he found beautiful about you, before pressing his lips to the area you most desired them to be.

You gasped at the touch, both of you equally startled from the intimate gesture and your bodies rigid before melting in the kiss you shared. The kiss was innocent and sweet, bringing about a warmth that flowed through your veins like the rays of the sun on a warm summer day. Your hands rested on his chest, feeling the beating of his heart beneath your palm through the fabric of his turtleneck. His lips were firm, yet soft and warm and the taste of expensive wine, cherry blossom tea, and Turkish delights still lingered on them. Zemo barely moved against the chaste kiss, luxuriating in the taste of your lips, the traces of coffee, caramel, dark chocolate, and pomegranates left him fully succumbed to your touch, not wanting to overstep your boundaries and allowing you to be the one to made the decision. The two of you remained motionless, frozen in time, resembling baroque marble statues sculpted by the hands of Gian Lorenzo Bernini. You compelled yourself to separate from his lips after what gave the impression of being an entirety of lifetimes, but, be that as it may, it had only been a matter of seconds. A soft smile formed on the curves of your lips as you gazed up at him with flushed cheeks, releasing the breath you had caged in this entire time before reconnecting your lips to his once more.

Your hands made their way up to wrap around the back of his neck, softly grazing the hairs on the back of his head while his slipped down to the curve of your back, pulling you gingerly to him as your chest was pressed flush against his. The smell of Zemo’s fresh citrusy cologne and your warmer, darker perfume reminiscent of castles, vampires and the Victorian era, merged together to create an aroma one would only describe as intoxicating. The kiss became more passionate, more ardent as you molded into each other like melted candle wax, as if you had been designed specially for each other as would a lock and key, it was absolutely breathtaking. You couldn’t resist the soft, sighing moan that escaped your lips from the feeling of serenity that washed over you, a sensation similar to that numbness that swept over your body right before you entered a deep state of sleep. The way your lips moved against one other and the way you held on to one another as if you’d wake up the moment you let go, wasn’t so much provoked by a desire for lust, but rather a cavernous desperation for the ability to feel, a craving for sentiment, to be able to find worth and significance buried in your souls within the walls of this hollow world. But more than any of these, this kiss was your way of professing the deep affection you held for each other, a testament to the sparking of the forging of your souls.

You broke the kiss after what felt like an eternity of euphoria, pressing your forehead against Zemo’s as you caressed the line of his jaw, a soft smile formed on your lips as your hearts now drummed in sync. You thought you could never feel such a thing again, that to be able to hold and kiss someone again would be impossible, you were incredibly wrong, and you had never been more happy about it. Zemo was left breathless, scrambling to put his mind together since he couldn’t process a single thought after what he experienced. Kissing you was unlike anything he had ever felt, he could only describe it as otherworldly, transcendent. How someone like you, a goddess, a princess, could ever manage to return his feelings, he would never know. But there was one thing Zemo was sure of, he could never grow tired of the moments spent with you. Truth be told, it only left him yearning for more. Zemo pressed a delicate kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment before pulling you down to the grass with him. You let out a quiet giggle from his actions, pulling Zemo’s coat closer to you and interlacing your fingers with his as you laid your head on his chest, your ear pressed up to where his heart was. Zemo’s arm was wrapped around you, his fingers brushing your back tenderly, feeling the ridges of your scars as he traced them with his fingers through the fabric of your sweater while you listened to the soothing rhythm of his heartbeat. The two of you stared up at the stars and constellations, watching how the night sky lit up with the meteoroids that entered the earth’s atmosphere, leaving behind trails of white and painting the skies in streaks of a celestial waterfall. You hadn’t spoken a word to each other yet, you didn’t need to. Being in each other’s presence was enough. Your gestures of affection that you had just shared with each other, already voiced whatever words you had been meaning to say.

Tag List: @Little-baby-vixen @girl-obsessed-with-things @aerynchromie @sunshinepower17 @viviace @kakimakiloh @awhorewithissues @thehornyles @gambitsqueen @spookycereal-s @lulu-yuming @mochminnie @Gabitanaka47 @s00nhi @vanteguccir @tomhollandsslilslut @dracoxxyoflam @suchababie @uhhhcrypticbastard @on-my-way-to-erebor @thewinterrbucky @mylifeispainandiloveit @fillechatoyante @padmoonyfeorge @montypythonsholysnail @pollynx @aziraslowlylosestheirshit @roundbrownlover @awesomeowlbook @bookloverfilmoholic @hargreevesd @death-is-beautiful

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seodami · 3 years

Text

Train to you | CBG

Genre: ANGST, tiny bit fluff in between

Warning: !!!!!! death, suicide, dark thoughts, 1 tiny curse word !!!!!!!

Word count: 3417

Pairing: Choi Beomgyu x reader (GN)

Note: well well well this was ANGSTY gdhsj it’s the first real angst I’ve attempted to write and I cried so...either I am too absorbed into the story or it really is sad haha. Please don’t read this if you have trouble with sensitive topics like these, yet anyone else who dares enjoy :))))

Main Masterlist

You cursed under your breath as you hastily ran up the cold Beton stairs, two steps at a time, trying not to collapse until you at least reached the incoming train. You were late again for work and you could already hear your boss screaming at you for being late the third time this week. It wasn’t fully your fault, you thought in your defence, remembering your defect alarm clock, the emergency call of your friend Soobin and the bottle of wine the previous day. Yes, definitely not your fault this train always leaves this early in the morning.

Lucky for you, the train was still at the platform, signalising the doors were about to close. You quickly squeezed yourself through the door before it was too late and to your surprise, there even were a few seats left. Still panting heavily, you plopped down on a vacant seat while trying to catch your breath. You used your red cardigan to pat away the sweat on your forehead.

It wasn’t until the train slowly started moving, that you caught a glimpse of an all to familiar cardigan outside on the other side of the platform. It was a brown haired boy, who was wearing the exact same clothing piece as you. And the longer you’ve watched him, you noticed that in fact his whole outfit was the same as yours today. Black jeans, red cardigan, black converse and a silver necklace.

You gasped at the boy, trying to not lose him as the train sped up but failed of course. Soon he was way out of sight and reach for you. You felt a weird tuck on your heart. Disappointed. You wanted to look at him just a tad longer.

The boy never left your mind for too long this day, always staying in your memory to be recalled back. He was wearing the same outfit as you, sure it could have been pure coincidence and you knew this world was probably smaller than it seemed but nevertheless, you found it fascinating. It was the first time this ever happened to you.

The next day, you managed to wake up earlier for once, having slept only a little, mind too clouded with everything and nothing at the same time. You were surprisingly excited to go take the train this morning. You didn’t want to tell yourself that it was because you wanted to see the stranger once more. So you nearly ran upstairs, without really needing to hurry, and there you saw him on the other side again.

He wore the same outfit as you again. A beige coat, black turtleneck, blue jeans and a black beret. You didn’t expect this at all, leaving you baffled. Sure, it must have been a coincidence again. But why was he so captivating for you?

You didn’t know how long you just stood there, looking at him and his face, oh his very pretty face. You wanted him to notice you. Just one look maybe? One tiny glance? It would do your strangely beating heart some justice. But he seemed like he was in his own world, smiling up in the sky, eyes slowly following the steady floating clouds.

You asked yourself if he took notice in you as well but soon came to the conclusion that he had not as the train arrived right on time.

You decided to test your outfit theory right the next day, being way too giddy to see the good looking stranger again. Luckily you still had some extremely ridiculous and questionable clothing pieces you buried in the back of your closet, not being all too happy to see your failed purchases again. You made a mental note to donate some of them later on.

You couldn’t hold back a snort when your eyes met yours in the mirror against your closet door. Why exactly were you humiliating yourself again? The pink baggy pants hung low on your hips, paired together with the ugliest Christmas sweater you could find. To top it off, you wore your long cheetah print fur coat with a blue collar and you couldn’t resist putting on your red bucket hat. This must do it. If the stranger still happened to wear the exact same outfit as you, you knew it had to be more than coincidence.

And just like that, you found yourself staring at the boy with wide open mouth, gaining weirded out looks from bystanders. He wore it. The same. Your mind was racing with thoughts and possible explanations but you cannot seem to find any. How was this possible? You thought of it as a joke at first but now...you didn’t know what the hell was going on. Were you slowly getting insane? Was he your stalker? But how could he even then have the same ridiculous clothes as you? Maybe he was some kind of soulmate? It sounded hilarious and absolutely mad but so was this situation.

It was short - maybe a split second - and your eyes met. Subconsciously you stepped closer towards the stranger, nearly ignoring the huge gap between you two. He saw you. It almost hit all the air out of you. There was something so familiar about him. Something so...so...unexplainable.

Suddenly your view got blocked and something roughly pulled you back, that you nearly fell right on your butt. Confused, you looked up just to see a mid aged man with a pair of round glasses on his nose. There was a disapproving look on his face, helping you stand straight again.

“Miss, you need to watch out. The train could have hit you.” His voice was stern, making you gasp in realisation with the train slowly coming to a stop in front of you. You really just forgot that you were on a train station. All you thought about was him. About going to him. You just wanted to know his name, having another conversation just between your eyes.

You quickly apologised and thanked the man before stepping inside the train, eyes searching for him. But he wasn’t there anymore. Your heart suddenly hurt - more than before. It was so strong. Where was he? You wanted to see him.

It was that moment when you realized you somehow, not knowing the reason, longed for this person. It was such a deep feeling, you never felt such a strong emotion before in your life. You wanted to cry.

Just as the doors were about to close, you caught a glimpse of a red hat and cheetah print coat right outside, where you just stood seconds before. You didn’t think much, you stood up running towards the door, frantically pushing the opening button again and again, but the doors were already closed. So so close. He was so close. But you couldn’t reach him. Why had you to enter this stupid train? He was right out there looking at you with these big brown eyes. It hurt your soul. He was so pretty. Oh you longed for one touch, one word. Why can’t you be with him?

Your hands were pressed against the cold glass, eyes never leaving his enchanting ones. But the train was already moving. It was too late.

A hand on your shoulder suddenly tore you out of your miserable state. Your heart was hurting so much by now. Why was it hurting so unbearably? “Is everything okay?” A woman with a child on her hand smiled at you sympathetically, offering you a warm hug after she saw the thick tears in your eyes, soon streaming down your warm cheeks.

Why felt it so thorning just to be with him? Why felt it like you just missed your only chance to ever meet him?

“It’s going to be okay.” The woman muttered under her breath, gently rubbing your back. “You are strong.”

The next day you woke up even earlier, almost not finding sleep at all that night. This feeling of lost and utterly sadness and hurt. You felt it ever since he was so close. Ever since you almost were by his side. This feeling never left you.

Today you felt just weak and so exhausted. You didn’t have the energy to go to work but you needed to see him again. One last time?

A white shirt with a pink sweater vest on top and a pair of loose white pants were your fit for today. Your mind wandered to the brown eyed boy as you chose the colourful item out of your wardrobe. It reminded you strangely of him.

With heavy heart, this time you trotted up the stairs, surprisingly noticing not a single soul at the platform. No one but him on the other side. You let out a sigh, you didn’t know you were holding. He was still here. You could’ve hit yourself with the realization that it was in fact Saturday, meaning you didn’t need to go to work today. It was silly of you, but deep down you still would’ve come for him. Only for him.

This time your eyes met immediately and your heart beat picked up. He gave you a bright smile and a tiny wave of his hand, making you nearly choke on air. He looked so pretty in the pink sweater vest, you were absolutely right. His hand was moving again, showing you to come over to him.

You gulped nervously. This was your time. No one would come between you this time. No life saving strangers, no wine bottles, no defect alarm clocks and definitely no trains. Without wasting any more time, now having found a sudden boost of energy, you sprinted down the stairs again, almost tripping over your own feet. You were gonna meet him. Finally.

When you reached the other side of the platform, you frantically looked around, searching for him. But he wasn’t there. You were standing right where he stood. You glanced over at the other side, where you were just coming from, seeing him standing there peacefully still with a smile on his face. He looked ethereal. The sun was on his side, making him glow in a heavenly way, you haven’t seen before. His brown fluffy hair was sweeping softly with the wind and his deep brown eyes sparkled with hope.

Suddenly it was as if your head hit a solid brick wall. Beomgyu. His name was Choi Beomgyu. Beombeom. Your dear Beombeom. How could you ever have forgotten him? The pain in your heart was now as strong as never before. You wanted to die, it was that painful. You fell onto the ground, clutching your heart desperately. Of course.

It was so contradicting. Hot tears were streaming down your face by now, the unbearable pain getting worse every second, yet Beomgyu seemed so peaceful, so calming and so sweet. You needed him for your heart to heal. He was the reason you were here. You needed him by your side.

He smiled and waved you over once again. He was waiting for you. You needed to get to him. With heavy breathing, you heaved yourself up one last time. You couldn’t just give up like that. “Beomgyu...” you screamed with all your energy, sobbing in pain. It was a heart wrenching moment to witness. Beomgyu on the other side nodded smiling, his eyes glistening as a single tear slipped down his cheek.

You couldn’t bear this pain anymore and started running. Right on the rail. You couldn’t care less at that moment. You needed Beomgyu.

You jumped down the ditch onto the track. You were almost there. Just a few more steps and you could touch him. Your heart was getting warmer and warmer. It felt so nice. So comforting. So familiar.

It all seemed to go so well but then it all happened so fast. It went wrong so fast. You could see Beomgyus hand reaching out for yours, just mere centimetres away. Then there was a bright light. A loud noice inside your ears, a shrill scream and an insufferable pain inside your head. It only lasted a split second and then everything was black. The last thing you’ve heard was Beomgyus warm voice calling your name. Then there was nothing.

——————————————————————————————————————————————

The next thing you remembered was a bright white light. Then there was a steady peeping noice. And lastly an extreme sterile scent. You already hated it. You longed for the same warmth you felt before, when you were about to be with him.

The first thing you remembered was coughing. Extremely harsh coughing. It was like you were coughing out your soul. You heard more voices, slowly getting clearer to hear, and saw shapes forming behind the bright light.

“Y/N, Y/N honey yn darling do you hear me? Y/N?” Y/N... that was your name. Right? You felt something soft yet ice cold touch for face, something wet touching your nose. Your mom, you thought. It was your mother’s voice.

Before you could realize anything, there were other voices, strange and familiar ones. As you finally could make up semi clear shapes, your eyes met a pair of circular glasses. A brighter light than before was now shining directly into your eyes but soon enough vanished again. You were still coughing.

“Y/N oh my gosh darling, honey, you are back. You made it.” You heard your mother cry besides you, grasping your weak arm as if it was her lifebuoy. “Thank you thank you thank you”

“Miss Y/L/N? Can you hear me?” A mid aged man behind the glasses asked you. You’ve barely managed to open your eyes and look around you, eyes meeting your mothers wet ones. A sob escaped her lips. Beside her you could make out a mob of pink hair. Your brother.

“Miss Y/L/N? Everything is all right. Very good.” A nurse in baby blue clothes spoke gently to you, as you started to gain back some control over your own breathing. You noticed something big inside your mouth, surpressing the urge to cough or vomit it out.

“One second Miss Y/L/N, I will now remove your breathing tube. It won’t hurt, just relax.” She patted your arm and made her way towards your face. A breathing tube? After a few moments you felt a weird sensation inside your throat as if something was pulled out. You immediately started coughing again once the tube was removed but slowly getting a hold of it again.

Yeonjun kneeled down besides your mother, gently taking your hand in his warm one. It was sort of comforting. He had tears in his eyes, eye bags clearly visible on both your mother’s and brothers face. What was going on? Why were they crying?

“All right there, here we go. Welcome back Miss Y/L/N, how are you feeling? Good?” You wanted to say something, your head still spinning, but could only make a hoarse sound, feeling just how sore your throat must have been.

“It’s okay you don’t need to answer yet. You still have a very sore throat due to the Intubation we had to put you through.” The man, you assumed doctor from his white coat, explained you patiently. You managed to nod but you were still trying to figure out the situation. You were more than confused. Why were you here and where was Beomgyu?

You tried speaking again but just a very strained “What-“ could be deciphered, followed by some coughing again. You were feeling weaker than ever and everything hurt.

The doctor nodded sympathetically, already knowing what you were about to ask. Your eyes wandered wordlessly to your brother’s and mom’s. They looked so hurt, yet relieved.

“Let me explain. You must have a lot of questions right now. We take everything slowly, alright?” You nodded again, Yeonjun slightly squeezing your hand. “You just woke up from a four week lasting coma as you previously had been rushed into hospital after a collision with a train.”

You noticed your mother sob harder than before, your brother gently laying an arm over her shoulder. “You tried to kill yourself Y/N...” Yeonjun whispered, heart breaking once more. It all came flooding back at once. Your head hurt at the sudden heavy feeling growing inside your breast, overtaking your heart in just seconds. You felt devestating.

Tears welled up in your eyes, remembering what you did, what you wanted so dearly and why you did it. You remembered the last seconds on the platform you were standing so often with Beomgyu, where he held you tight in his arms, where he softly told you he loved you, where you shared your first loving kiss and you both laughed afterwards at how clumsy you were being. And lastly, it was the place where Beomgyu died, where he found his bitter end at the tender age of 22.

Anger bubbled up inside you, remembering how he had died. He wanted to visit you with a beautiful bouquet of yellow flowers, as beautiful as him himself. You just aced your last exam of the semester, wanting nothing more than celebrate with your boyfriend of over two years. It had been your fault, hadn’t you just failed the exam, things would have been different. He wouldn’t have gotten to you by train at this hour, the drunk man wouldn’t have started a fight with him and Beomgyu wouldn’t have been pushed onto the tracks just before a train came rushing by. Beomgyu would have still lived. He would be with you on the couch, legs intertwined, stealing small kisses now and then and probably also a few bites of your snack. But something deep inside you told you that he still would have visited you, maybe to be there for you or maybe to just give you a hug.

Your heart stung painfully inside your chest. You wanted to forget again. You wanted to pull your damn heart out of your chest and throw it on these stupid train tracks. You hated how much it hurt.

You wanted to end it there. You’ve remembered it as clear as daylight. A life without Beomgyu seemed so impossible for you, you never could heal without him. He owned your heart and it was impossible to live without a heart. So you jumped. You were so sure. Even wrote letters for all your friends and family, the last one for Beomgyu, probably still laying on his grave stone. But why didn’t you make it? Why couldn’t you reunite with him? You saw him so clearly on the other side, dressed in his favorite pink sweater vest. Why had it to be him? He was so full of love.

“Beomgyu...” you whispered, painful sobs now tearing your heart apart once again. Yeonjun and your mother rushed to hug you as tight as they could, never leaving your side and crying with you.

This day wasn’t a day joy or freedom, no. It was far from that. It was a terrible, hurtful day. You missed Beomgyu more than ever before. You realized he was gone for good. And you were here.

But it was also a day full of comfort and understanding. You still thought about Yeonjuns quiet words besides your ear.

“I miss Beomgyu so fucking much as well. He didn’t deserve to go that early, I know. And it’s not your fault YN, remember that. He still loves you so so much and he is here with you, with us, every second. He didn’t want you to go from us that early as well, he protected you YN.” His hand payed over his heart, eyes fixated on yours, showing you how he meant every single word.

You nodded, your tears never ending. Yeonjun hugged you again. He firmly believed that Beomgyu saved you, so you believed it as well. He wouldn’t want you to end your life that easily, that pathetically while mourning over someone, who was instantly dead in just a split second. It wasn’t fair, no, it would never be.

And Beomgyu showed you in his own way that he not only loved you deeply and will forever, he also teaches you so much in life: joy, love, anger, sadness, overwhelming sadness and how to live life the fullest.

He will always be in your heart, no matter how much time will go by, and you will be forever thankful towards the brown eyed boy, who taught you how to love, live and leave. Your dear Beombeom.

63 notes · View notes

xsugarysweetsx · 3 years

Note

Could I please request an angsty Armin x reader 🥺👉👈 where maybe the reader dies in childbirth, (preferably twins but they could be whichever gender), and so he has to deal with the loss of his wife and the world falling apart, a n d he has to make sure his precious children are safe— im so aorry if this doesnt make sense but thank you

A/N; haven’t written angst in a minute!

Please enjoy~🍰

Warnings; childbirth ; mentions of death ; Angst;

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

“Y/N.....please open your eyes..” he said in a strained voice a she gazed down at your motionless face “w-we have two beautiful girls now.....th-they look like...like y-you...”

There was no doubt a piece of him had groans and died that day. He gained two daughters for the price of his wife. The woman he loved and adored since he has met her. You had spent hours in that bed trying to bring your children into the world.

When you were pregnant he was excited to be a father. To be able to teach and nurture his child with you would be a dream. Although, the world they would come I to wouldn’t be a pretty one. War and death surrounding every inch of it. But he was determined! To show his children the world was wonderful. You would do it together!

Sadly, it was all but a dream. You spent about 6 hours in labor with no progression. He’s seen you pain before, but not like this...you cried, screamed and cried some more. After another 5 hours you and given birth to your baby.

He was there the whole time. He held your hand, wiped your face and gave you courage. He took every insult you threw at him. You were pain and he could never imagine what it was like.

You were absolutely drained from it but it was over. That was until more pain came in. The doctor informed him you were having twins and you had to push again. You were so tired you could barely keep your eyes open. He felt as though something was off. From your weak grip, to his baby crying, to the doctor telling you to push.

And just like that, everything had slipped form his fingers. When you second baby was born you fell back and panted. Only they were shallow, and you were barley conscious. He tried to coax you to wake up and say anything. But he got nothing in return. He simply sat there with his daughters and stared at you. Almost in hopes of you waking up again.

But.....you were gone. The love of his life, the mother of his children. Gone.

That was a year ago today. Now he sat near the window of his small home. He watched at the rain his the window. His tea had gone cold long ago. After you had passed nothing had been easy. Especially taking care of two babies.

Bella and Jade were the lights of his life. Bella had his hair and features and Jade had yours, but they both had your beautiful E/C eyes. Despite the world they lived in, they made everything better. Everything he did, was for them. Whenever he had to leave for the day he dreaded leaving them with the sitter. He was living a dangerous life and he couldn’t bare the thought of leaving them.

Yet at the same time it was for them. For their future. It’s what you would have wanted after all

“Oh Y/N......I wish you were here...” he whispered as he let the tears fall. No one had dared to tell him to suck it up and move on. They all knew just how much he loved you. No matter how cruel the world was, they didn’t have the heart to do it.

He thought back to when you had met in the survey corps. You were the kindest person there. You saw he was struggling and falling behind and offered help. With just one act, he had fallen head over heels for you. He was never good at romance so it took him a while before he could ask you out on a date. In fact, your first kiss was after he was given the injection because of all the pent up emotions. After that your dates were more often and eventually he proposed.

Your wedding...you looked so angelic. He thought he was dreaming, then you took his hand in yours and he was grounded. He was actually marrying the woman he loved, the girl of his dreams.

Being brought out of his thoughts by the sound of his baby crying. He stands from his seat and heads to the nursery. In it was a single crib, since you were expecting only one. Either way Jade and Bella shared the crib just fine. Looking in the crib Jade was a bit fussy. Her cheeks red and her eyes watery staring up at her father.

“Hey Jade..what’s wrong?“ he whispered picking her up and cradling her close to him “Did the storm wake you?“ he asked gently rocking her “It’s okay papa’s here.“

As much as he would want to isolate himself and process everything, his girls needed him. He walked to the chair that rested in the corner as he bounced her softly

“I know..it’s hard,“ he sits down carefully and rests back “you must know what today is. I’m sorry your mother isn’t here....she would have without a doubt be better at this than I am. You look so much like her Jade....“ he whispered tracing her small features.

“I’m sorry I’m not the best father...but I’ll get better for you and your sister. So you can have a happy life“ he kisses her forehead as her eyes droop back into a sleep state. He wasn’t a bad father but he thought himself as so. He thought he could have been better for them but he was already doing a good job.

Walking back to her crib, he carefully takes a hold of Bella. He walks to his room he once shared with you. He would lay there and hold your pillow close to him, you scent ever so faintly still there. Laying his daughters on your side he climbed in and covered them in the blanket

“Don’t worry...papa will always protect you“

```

“Papa?“ one of his girls asked coming into the living room with something in her hands

“Who is this?” she asked

“Yeah papa!” her sister followed

Putting down the book he was reading he brings Bella into his lap. His heart dropped slightly seeing the picture. It was the first picture you took together, you were a few months along but you were the happiest in the picture. Armin was sat next to you with one arm around you and the other rested on your bump along with your hand.

“*sigh* this is a picture of your mommy“ he sighed holding her tighter

“Wanna see“ Jade said tip toeing near the chair. He then brings her up into his lap as well and shows her the photo “She’s pretty papa“

“Yeah she really is, but you’re both just as beautiful as your mother was.“ he sniffed a little

“Don’t cry papa“ Bella pouted wiping at his cheeks making him chuckle a bit

“It’s okay Bell, I just miss you mother very much. She loved you both very much, and she spent a very long time and worked very hard to bring you both into the world“ he points to your belly “See? All four of us were here but you both were in her belly at the time”

“Really?“ Jade asked

“Both of us?“ Bella asked with wide eyes. These two never fail to make him smile

“Yes both of you...your mother was a beautiful very kind woman and I know, she would have loved everyday with you two.“

He was still very hurt and lonely with your absence but, he had his girls. They were like having two of you. Even on his lowest of days, they find some kind of way to make him smile or feel warm. The same warmth he felt with you.

Yes, you were gone but he was never truly alone

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

I hope this is what you were looking for!❤️

#armin arlet x reader #armin arlert #attack on titan x reader #attack on titan x reader pregnant #shingeki no kyojin x reader #snk x reader #aot x reader #aot #snk #anime #anime x reader #fanfiction

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kim-chann · 3 years

Text

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

❝ Confession ❞ -- Coffee Truffle Cake

- - - | Yūji Itadori, Megumi Fushiguro, Nobara Kugisaki, Satoru Gojo

〄 Order Instructions ;; Hello again ! I was the anon who asked for ideal date headcannons for Megumi and Yuji and I absolutely loved them. 🥺🥺🥺 Thank you for taking time out of your day to write that !I’m here to request headcannons on how the first years and Gojo would confess to their crush ! :3

-- Anon

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏ $ 2.45

༺ Chef’s Note: I’m sorry that this took a month for me to get to. I really hope that this is okay, and I hope that you enjoy your order. I’ve been doing okay for the last month, and I think I’m doing better than last time. Sorry for the long absents, please come again soon!

༺ Chef’s Note: Sorry if some parts are cringey, I tried my best because ending a confession headcanon is honestly harder than I thought. Also, I felt creative with Megumi’s lol.

〄 ⤷ Yūji Itadori | 虎杖悠仁 - - -

☉ The way the Yuji would confess to his crush would be 50/50; straight forward, or implied so terribly that the person he was trying to confess to made it seem less obvious that he liked them

☉ Yuji is a straight forward person, and sometimes, he just speaks his mind without thinking and his attitude is completely nonchalant

☉ However, with you as his weakness, he just feels all jittery and shy all of the sudden, he just goes quiet whenever he’s around you because he doesn’t know what to say with butterflies invading his stomach

☉ The thing is, Yuji won’t really confess unless it takes him 100 years or at least some random confidence out of nowhere, so you may have to imply it yourself

☉ It’s honestly pretty obvious by the way he acts with his hand fiddling, his cheeks a shade more rosy than his usual shade, the way he walks, the way he talks, and how he avoids eye contact whenever you call his name

☉ Nobara or Megumi will pick up on this and immediately call you into cafe after school to talk

☉ Nobara will be the first one to tell you that Yuji has an obvious crush on you and scolds you how you didn’t even acknowledge it when it was right in front of you

☉ “It’s so obvious! How can you not tell, (Y/n)!” Nobara groans

☉ “I agree with Kugisaki. He’s been trying to confess to you for a while.” Megumi adds on, taking a sip of his black coffee

☉ Then the game would be set if you and Yuji racing to confess to each other (if you reciprocate it, that is)

☉ The next following days, you’ll notice Yuji helping you around more often, taking things off of your work and doing them for you, complimenting you out of nowhere, it’s hard not to blush at his attempts to court you.

☉ The sudden gain of confidence is sort of scary, but you’re trying your best to make sure that he can tell that you’re interested in him too

☉ With you giving him a towel for his sweat after training, buying him a drink, treating him lunch, and praising him, it became more noticeable how his face gleams with fluster as he hears your every word and observes every action that you do, it’s honestly adorable (he’s like a puppy!)

☉ At the end of the day it alls ends well with just a simple--

☉ “(Y/n), I like you!”

☉ “Yuji, I like you!”

☉ The two of you would never forget the way how you both stared into each others eyes, full of wonder and confusion. Both your minds trying their best to process those synchronised words that the two of you have been meaning to tell.

☉ Yuji would in shock and deny it at first, not knowing what to say, “Wha? No, no wayyyy!”

☉ And the next thing you know, you’re in his arms while his face is buried in your neck, his grip tight and comfortable. “You don’t understand how long I’ve been wanting to hear those words from you (Y/n)...”

☉ It will all end so sweet and well, give him a kiss on the cheek and this boy is gone for the day.

〄 ⤷ Megumi Fushiguro | 伏黒恵 - - -

☉ I don’t know how this dude will ever get confident to tell you that he likes you in the first place pfft.

☉ I know, I know, Megumi is an honest and a straight forward boy, but just the words, “(Y/n), I like you,” honestly just leaves him breathless with anxiety

☉ Megumi would definitely be the type to wake up in the morning and think of you while brushing his teeth and attempt to practice confessing to you in front of a mirror. But Megumi would realise how childish and embarrassing he’s acting and immediately stop.

☉ It’s not really obvious to an acquaintance to see Megumi be all quiet, but to people who’re close to Megumi like Yuji and Nobara, notice the way how he looks you at you, the way that his eyes shimmer with a little bit of light every time you smile, and how he just talks to the elders for them to give you less work. It all made Yuji and Nobara quirk a brow.

☉ “Oi, Fushiguro.”

☉ Megumi turns around to see Nobara and Yuji standing side by side, hands on their hips, “What’s up with you?”

☉ “It’s nothing really,” Megumi states, attempting to walk past them. Nobara groans and pulls him back with the back of his collar, “Oi, we’re not stupid! You’re acting so weird. It’s gross.”

☉ “Tch, I said that it’s nothing...!” He tries to flee away from his classmates but they just pull him back with a pout.

☉ “Hey, Megumi-- Oh! Hey! What’re you all doing here?” You pop out from the corner of the corridor and walk up to them, hands full fo boxes.

☉ “Oh, we’re just chatting.” Megumi spoke before the other two can.

☉”I see, I’ll be on my way, see you guys around!” You start to step to away, “Oh yeah, and Megumi, can I talk to you later?”

☉ He just nods.

☉ Nobara and Yuji stare at Megumi with their eyes bulging out of their sockets when they saw how Megumi’s eyes soften just hearing you. It surprised him how hostile he was, to soft in a second he heard your voice.

☉ “The hell was that?!” Nobara and Yuji yell at him.

☉ “It’s nothing, you idiots!”

☉ “You know what? I’m going to doll you up tonight for you to tell (Y/n) your feelings, this is stupid that you’re trying to hide it when it’s obvious. But honestly, I never expected Fushiguro to admire someone. I thought you were the type to say, ‘ah, this is a waste of time,’ and continue on your day.”

☉ “I’m not--”

☉ “I agree with Kugisaki, I’d honestly thought you’d be more into books instead of real people.” Yuji says.

☉ “You guys!” He whines through gritted teeth, pinching them at the back of their ears.

☉ Later that night, Nobara and Yuji dragged Megumi into Nobara’s dorm. Right now, he was sitting in Nobara’s chair, while Nobara applies slight makeup on his face. He has never felt more embarrassed in his life until now.

☉ “Is that necessary?” Megumi asks as Nobara applies mascara on his lashes. “Most definitely,” she replies, with a quick whisper of, “why do you have such nice eyelashes... I’m jealous.”

☉ When he came up to you that night, he wanted to die when you turned to him and saw visible lip gloss and mascara on his face, “Megumi! My god, come here!”

☉ Megumi’s breath hitches when you bring him closer to you, face just a couple inches a part when you brush your fingers gently on his skin to feel the makeup with a grin.

☉ “This honestly just proves to me that you’re a pretty boy, Megumi!”

☉ “A-A what?”

☉ “You’re a pretty boy.”

☉ “I’m not...”

☉ “Mmhm, sure, why don’t you look in the mirror and say that, and tell me if there’s a lie?”

☉ “...No.”

☉ “Aw, then I guess you accept that you’re a pretty boy.”

☉ He turns to you, “I never said--”

☉ “I’m messing with you, Megumi!” You say with a laugh, “Gosh, this is why I love you so much--”

☉ The silence was painfully silent.

☉ “(Y/n)...”

☉ “I-- forget what I said, I--”

☉ “I like you too.”

☉ “Huh?” You turn to him, eyes wide.

☉ “You heard what I said... I like you.” He repeats himself again.

☉ Megumi went to this dorm that night with makeup on his face, and a visible kiss mark on his cheek. And the thing that stood out the most was a smile.

☉ (Sorry if that ending was bad, I didn’t know how to end it...)

〄 ⤷ Norbara Kugisaki | 釘崎野薔薇 - - -

☉ Nobara is the most straight forward against her two male classmates.

☉ But that doesn’t mean that she wouldn’t be nervous.

☉ Nobara would most likely confess after getting to know you for a while. Nobara would gain you respect for everything you do, and once she’s settled that you’re the one, she will try to confess as soon as possible because she doesn’t want anyone else attempt to court you

☉ She’s the type of girl to fight people who even look at you the wrong way and defends your name if someone talks shit about you.

☉ “The hell did you say?”

☉ “Oi, come over here and say it to my face, I dare you.”

☉ Stuff like that

☉ It’s sort of scary when she’s in everyone’s business when it involves negativity around you. Sure, you appreciate the gesture, but sometimes, it just gets out of hand, so make sure to let her know what she’s doing a lot for you and she will listen to you (temporarily before she throws hands with people for you again)

☉ Nobara will also give you little gifts out of nowhere every time she shops. She really takes pride the way that you smile and is grateful for the gifts.

☉ Sometimes, she’ll invite you to go shopping with her and insists that she pays for everything because it’s her treat.

☉ Nobara is really sweet on how she treats someone she cares about, and she will always make sure that you’re spoiled and happy

☉ The way that she confesses will be during a hang out or during lunch

☉ “Hey, (Y/n), can I tell you something...?” She’d start off, her cheeks rosy. Once you encourage her she’ll confess, “I like you. I really like you... I don’t know what it is, but I just can’t simply put it into words.”

☉ She will be biting her lip, her eyebrows narrowed with her fingers fiddling around with each other, awaiting your response.

☉ “Nobara, I like you too!”

☉ Once she hears those words from you, she’ll let out a dramatic sigh of relief before holding your hand.

☉ “Oh my god, thank you so, so much. This was going to give me an acne breakout just feeling one-sided for a while... but thank you for telling me the things I was scared about was all me.”

☉ Now that she’s your girlfriend, expect her to be inviting you to her dorm to watch movies or even put makeup on you or do a skin routine together

〄 ⤷ Satoru Gojo | 互助悟 - - -

☉ He won’t confess, he’ll tease you in attempt to make YOU confess

☉ Gojo is an asshole and won’t be straight forward at all. He’ll be left and right, and up and down, and you can’t predict his movements.

☉ But he is straight forward on teasing the hell out of you.

☉ “Aww~ (Y/n)! Do you like me?~ You don’t have to be shy, you can say it! Say, ‘Gojo san, I like you’~” Before he just laughs at your unreadable expression.

☉ But it makes it confusing how he teases you about liking him, when he’s the one initiating everything. Gojo will give you gifts out of nowhere, then pout that you owe him, share his sweets with you, then complain that there’s less, or sometimes he’ll even treat you for lunch or dinner whenever the two of you are free

☉ Gojo is like a child, and he honestly will get whatever he wants somehow because he “deserves it” according to him

☉ He’s a touchy person and he always gets into everyone personal space, so expect him to be randomly holding your hand, have an arm around your shoulder, hug you, or just ruffle your hair

☉ It’s sweet but it can get annoying, fast

☉ But by the way that he laughs at your angered state, it almost seems like he wants this reaction

☉ So if you decide to play with him and pretend to be content with his actions, he’ll be really confused.

☉ Gojo makes you mad on purpose, but if you show gratitude or any sense of content with his teasing one day, he wouldn’t know what to do.

☉ “(Y/n),” he calls, his tone serious, “Are you high? Did someone drug you?”

☉ He immediately thinks that you’re on something to be content with his actions because he has never met someone who show’d content

☉ But since your smiles and laughter has thrown him off guard, he’ll be staring at you with awe, his mouth agape every time you joke around with him or smile at him

☉ It just proves that he likes you, rather than him thinking you like him.

☉ Which leads to an unintentional and inferred confession, “Hey, (Y/n), do you wanna get dinner with me tomorrow night? I’m free.” Gojo invites

☉ “Is it a date?” You tease.

☉ The dead silence is a give away.

☉ “If we make it one, yes, love~” He pulls his blindfold over his head and sends you a wink and a grin, his cheeks a shade of pink before he leaves the room.

☉ Once he leaves, he’ll put his hand in a fist and chant, “YES!” before he continues on his day, happier and peppier than usual (which is creepy to his students and Nanami)

༺ Chef’s Note: Sorry that it gets bad at the end but I hope that this is okay, thank you for ordering! Please come again soon!

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jujutsu kaisen headcanons #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jujutsu kaisen x reader #yuji itadori #megumi fushiguro #kugisaki nobara #gojo satoru #anon

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zodiyack · 3 years

Text

Love Reunited (Love On The Run - Part Two)

Pairing: Elijah Mikaelson x Female!Reader

Warnings: Swearing, angst reader has a bad bitch moment, fluff, threats + mentions of murder, no proofreading

Words: 2,114

Summary: In the heat of the moment, Y/n says something that pissed Klaus off. Elijah does the only thing he can and tells his wife to run for her life. | The only thing standing between Klaus and forgiveness from his older brother is Y/n and her freedom.

Taglist: @matth1w, @redspaceace-writes, @fandom-puff, @darling-i-read-it, @dpaccione, @sebastianstanslefteyebrow, @simonsbluee

Masterlist | The Originals Masterlist

Part One.

Ever since Klaus’ resentment for Y/n, and the sworn death sentence he’d given her, chased her out of New Orleans and into constant relocation just to be safe in hiding from her husband’s brother, Elijah had developed a new feeling. He began to loathe his little brother. Though he’d claimed to have detested his brother many times before, this time was different. Even so, that wasn’t the only thing different about this time.

This time, Klaus knew he was fucked.

He’d cried for forgiveness over the past few years, yet Elijah ignored him every single time. One of the, scarcely occurring, times he actually spoke to Klaus about his apology, he’d brought up the situation with Y/n, quoting the hybrid word for word.

“You did say, ‘live with Elijah’s hate,’ did you not? So, why can you not just live with the burden of the reality that I in fact do, and will always, abhor you, Niklaus? Or are you just so diabolical, so selfish. that you merely cannot fathom losing the one person whom has vowed to stay by your side, always and forever? The one person who can tolerate you.”

“Elijah- ple-”

“So long as my wife is on the run from you, running quite literally for her life, you will never be reprieved.” Everyone who knew Elijah knew that he always kept his word. “I give you my word on that.” Always.

“Please, brother! I’ll do anything for your forgiveness-” He was genuine. As Klaus begged, practically on his knees with tears stinging his eyes, he was a hundred percent genuine.

Elijah turned his head, finally facing his brother with full attention and interest for the first time in a painful handful of years. “Free Y/n.”

“W-what?”

“Free my lover from this condemnation you have unjustly sentenced her to and allow her to walk away from your grudge without harm and without the risk of you creating blackmail material of her actions that you have unreasonably deemed intolerable.”

“Anything else?” He was only kidding, but Elijah wasn’t.

“You’ll have to collect her from whatever location she’s at currently. And please Niklaus, do so without any violence on your behalf.”

He chuckled for a second. Then his smug, carefree, expression morphed into one of uneasy guilt. “You’re...serious?” Elijah held his stern manner. Klaus took his lack of response as a yes and sighed, “Alright. Consider her free.” then he turned to go hunt for Y/n and earn his brother’s pardon.

“If you lay a hand on her,” Klaus halted in his tracks, eyes darting to the side as though he could see his brother clearly despite Elijah being directly behind him, “be it a hair pulled from her head or even a tiny meaningless spiteful threat, there will be splinters for you to pull out of your skin for years. And though it will not permanently kill you, I shall drive stake upon stake through your chest and never feel remorse for any part of it.”

Klaus almost wanted to scoff, laugh it off and tell Elijah he’d never actually do that but a part of him wondered if he really would. If his own brother would end his life for anything done to Y/n. Deep down, he knew Elijah would have a rage that would overflow and cause terror and destruction in it’s wake.

He knew the wood couldn’t kill him. He’d do it over and over again, for the next centuries to come, and the centuries after those have passed, the cycle never ending. A never ending cycle of a living hell. And a hell that he knew would be well deserved for it would only come to such a punishment if he did anything to hurt the love of his brother’s life. An easy mistake to avoid ...if your name wasn’t Niklaus.

“Understand?”

Klaus wondered what happened to the old him; the merciless, blood thirsty, cruel and sinister hybrid, the one true immortal being, now showing mercy to, and retrieving, someone who’d crossed multiple lines in his eyes. Whilst she did have a point, he chose never to say so. He chose to ignore all attempts to draw the light in him into the world. He chose to ignore all pleas for his goodness in fear of his softness- his weakness getting the people he loved hurt.

But it was time to push past that, for if he didn’t, there wouldn’t be any people for him to love.

He swallowed and redirected his narrowed eyes to the door. His jaw clenched and his breathing became uneven. “Understood, brother.”

Niklaus was a stubborn man, and he knew it. But he would do anything, very close to literally anything, to gain his family back. To atone for his mistakes over hundreds of decades. To plea for redemption from their bad sides. And although Elijah would forgive him with simply letting Y/n return to his arms once more, Niklaus new his pleading wasn’t quite over yet.

Y/n wouldn’t just forgive him so easily. She wouldn’t, and because he knew that, he wasn’t surprised when she narrowed her eyes at him and furrowed her brows before releasing an avalanche of years, years of which felt horribly elongated, of pent up rage upon him instantaneously without any form of hesitation.

He found her with the help of witches, and quite easily seeing as moving from place to place as quickly as possible would require avoiding any type of relationships with everyone. She didn’t have anyone to preform a cloaking spell, but she did have great strength as a back-up strategy.

A note, placed by the barkeep, was subtly dropped in front of her, the words written in blue by the pen he’d snatched from a barmaid’s apron as she walked past. Two little words sparked her curiosity almost immediately. Her head snapped up and turned left and right, looking for who the mysterious messenger, whom she hoped was Elijah. Much to her disappointment, the person who suddenly placed a hand on her shoulder was a different Mikaelson.

Y/n grabbed his hand and flung it off of herself harshly. “You?”

“Don’t sound so disgruntled, love, I am here to collect you after all.”

“No. I won’t be going anywhere with you.” Venom entwined her words as she referenced him. She clenched her jaw and swiftly turned to face the bar again. The scrunched up napkin was thrown over her shoulder. He opened it, “come home” sprawled messily across the soft material.

Klaus felt the anger wash over him but promptly remembered Elijah’s words. He calmed himself with a few deep breaths before clearing his throat and trying again. “I’m afraid I can’t take no as an answer.”

“And I’m afraid I would rather stake myself than go literally any place on this green fucking earth with you.” Y/n spat through her teeth.

Her blatantly obvious execrating feelings for him amused Klaus, a small grin appearing on his lips as he tilted his head. “Do you even know where I’m taking you?”

“To hell, most likely.”

Klaus, unsurprisingly, had a snarky retort ready on his tongue, but she was already out the door and taking a sneaky head start for her run to the farthest place from Niklaus possible. He was on her tail within seconds and cornered her in the woods. A smug leer, not uncommon to see upon his features, promptly slid onto his face.

“What the hell do you want, besides to kill me?”

“You to come with me.”

Y/n paused, as if she were considering his demand, then rolled her eyes. She tried to step around him, “Like that’ll do me any good-”

“It will.” Klaus stepped in front of her, blocking her way once more. “C’mon. From here on out, your sentence is over, you can return to New Orleans-”

“And how do I know you mean the words you speak? How do I know you shall stay true to whatever comes from your mouth?”

“You know me, I-”

“You’re quite correct, Klaus. I know you. I know that you are not infamous for nothing. You lie, deceive, torture, humiliate and do so many other things to people underserving of your cruelty! How should I forgive you when you have yet to adhere for the hurt you’ve infected innocents with?”

His gaze dropped, guilt creeping over his face. He knew what he did to those people.

“Do you even feel bad for what you’ve done?”

Not really. Not all the time. Hardly ever at all if he were to be honest.

“Do you feel the need to morn those you have wrongfully sentenced to death? Those you have sent to the deepest pits of hell based on erroneous judgement?”

She came for his throat, each fact that was spat from her mouth verbatim.

“You are callous and you are heinous! You wonder why your siblings hate you, and yet you constantly do vile things to people! You have erroneously punished people over and over again. You swear you will change, many times, and they believe you but then the next thing they know, they’re in a box for a couple decades. And you think they need to plead for absolution?”

Hundreds of years spent seething in hostility for her brother in law, all ranted in this one moment hit Klaus like a bus, taking the air from his lungs and sending a feeling deep into his gut like someone had just swung a baseball bat into his stomach a dozen times. But she wasn’t finished yet.

“You want to ask for my exoneration? Well you have years, and I mean fucking years, to make up for.” She laughed sarcastically. “To absolve you from everything you’ve put me through, everything you’ve taken from me, everything I’ve fucking missed because of you- to absolve you from all of that would take many years of penitence and work to fix what you have done. Are you really prepared to do that? Are you, Niklaus fucking Mikaelson, ready to take a lengthy withdrawal from your wicked and corruptive reign of evil to earn my remission?”

He hated the fact that she teased him for it, rubbed it in his face, but he knew he deserved it. Klaus knew he deserved every harsh and bitter word she spat at him. He had a thousand of years of blood on his hands, the true number of all the lives he’d snuffed out still paling in comparison to the amount of power that radiated from Y/n, the amount of guilt and remorse she’d forced onto his shoulders with simple words.

“You are no fucking king,” she sneered, “at least, not compared to me.”

Silence made the air heavy with tension as the minutes passed by. Then, she sighed heavily and spoke, slicing the thick tension with an imaginary blade. “I will go with you,” he looked to her with relief, “but I meant every word I said. You will have to work to ensure your vindication. And it will not be an easy task.”

“I understand.” Klaus bowed his head, submitting to her and trading in his crown to prove his worthiness of her forgiveness.

She happily accepted it.

“Y/n?” He couldn’t believe his eyes. Last he’d checked, he hadn’t been bitten by a werewolf or hybrid, nor had he inhaled or consumed any witchy substances that would make him hallucinate. He didn’t pray much, but in his head, his thoughts muttered over and over, “please be real.”

“Elijah!” Her eyes lit up the second they met his form. She surged forward, lips colliding with Elijah’s for the first time in years. He wrapped his arms around her and twirled her round.

The world faded to an irrelevant blur. It felt amazing to be home, to be in his arms once more, to be free of Klaus’ ridiculous furry, free of the ill intentions previously directed towards her. Minutes had went by and yet, neither of the two noticed a single thing.

Years that had passed by soon drifted away, like they weren’t apart for any of it. Like time had hit pause when she’d left his arms and resumed when she returned to them. It felt as though time froze whilst the two embraced. The moment could’ve lasted an eternity had Klaus not cleared his throat to announce his presence.

“So uh...brother...have I earned your forgiveness?”

“I suppose you have.”

“And Y/n? Have I made progress on clearing my name with you?”

She made eye contact with Elijah, exchanging a small grin before returning her eyes to Klaus and nodding slightly. “You’ve got a ways to go, but you’re off to a great start. Thank you, Klaus.”

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loving-all-for-loki · 3 years

Text

Voiceless Love Chapter 6: Downfall

Loki x reader, Bucky x reader

Word Count: 3452

Warnings: angst, lots and lots of angst, some Loki fluff, swearing

A/N: I’m sorry. I cried while writing this and had to take a break to gather myself. It’s a rough one

Tag List: @caffeineoverloadandstudying @zizzlekwum @buckylokisimp @daddysfavoritesexkitten @lokiyoulittle @magicalpieex

You spend three days in bed with Loki resting after the Bucky incident. Even though you’ve been able to get up, Loki refuses to let you do anything and forces you to lay all day with him serving you hand and foot. The team watches in disbelief as Loki makes you lunch, gets you your clothes, and even slipped your fingernails once. They find excuses to walk past Loki’s room to spy on you two, but they always catch Loki reading to you or you asleep.

“You can’t be really mad at him. He’s taking care of her,” Natasha states. “Yes, that may be the case, but what are his intentions? She’s not a super soldier or a government trained assassin. She can’t defend herself if Reindeer Games decides to pull any tricks,” Tony pipes in.

“Tony’s right,” Bucky says, “She’s not a superhero in the sense we are.”

“You boys are so paranoid. Obviously, they got closer while we were gone. Is that such a bad thing? Loki finding someone who calms him and makes him kinder?”

“Yes.”

Nat rolls her eyes at Tony and Bucky, sitting down on the lounge seats.

“What are we discussing? I heard my brother's name.”

Thor enters the room which gains everyone’s attention. Steve and Sam put down their sandwiches and tune into the conversation.

“We’re discussing Loki’s intentions with Y/N.” Nat informs.

“Oh, it is very sweet isn’t it?”

“Not to Tony.”

“It’s like he’s grooming her!”

Everyone groans in disgust.

“Tony, I think you fail to realize how hard it is for Loki to connect to people, especially Midgardians yourself.”

“I don’t. I know he’s an arrogant prick whose head is shoved up his ass.”

“Yes, he thinks highly of himself, but he’s capable of feelings beyond pride and rage.”

“Most people aren’t like you Tony,” Steve jokes, which earns him a hard look from the billionaire.

“But with Y/N? Someone who’s so defenseless and vulnerable?” Bucky adds in.

Loki comes in with a bowl of mac n’ cheese, setting it before you.

“I had to get Thor to help me. I’m very good with Midgard technology. I’m not even sure what a microwave really is.”

You chuckle inside at Loki’s innocence and start eating the macaroni before he joins you on the bed, his arm resting over your shoulders. You lean your head against his as the two of you watch some history documentary Loki was intrigues by. Since you’ve been in bed for three days, you’ve only been watching shows and movies you like so you gave Loki a chance. He felt bad then complained about poor Midgard entertainment, but as soon as you showed him the history channel, he changed his mind.

You take your pen beside you and grab Loki’s hand that’s gently rubbing your back. On the side of his index, you write thank you for everything.

“Oh course, little one. You need to be well rested.”

Do you think I could get my own water?

Loki looks beside him to see your glass empty and sighs.

“I suppose you can.”

You smile up at him before getting out of bed. It’s weird to feel the cold floors on your feet after spending so much time under thick warm blankets. You shuffle your way over to the other side of the bed and take the glass. Loki keeps an eye on you as you make your way around, ready to pounce at grab you if you fall over and pass out. You give him a smile and pat on the shoulder before making your way to the door.

Taking your time, you walk down the hallway and hear your name come up in conversation. You stop right before the entrance to the living room, your hands shaking as you grip the glass cup tightly.

“But with Y/N? Someone who’s so defenseless and vulnerable?”

“I know it seems what you would say sketchy, but Loki’s intentions are honorable.”

“And Buck, you’ve seen the way she is with you. She holds onto your metal arm. She’s not afraid of most things other people are,” Steve adds.

Listening to them discuss you like they know you is irritating. Bucky goes on to talk about how weak and fragile you are and the others don’t disagree. They add comments about Loki that infuriate you. ‘He’s dangerous’. ‘He’s using her’. ‘He’s tricking her’. It didn’t feel like manipulation when he made you tea last night. It didn’t feel like manipulation when he explained book plots you didn’t understand. Why did they see him for someone he isn’t? Why do they still hold New York against him as if it was completely him?

You get pulled out of your thoughts when you hear Bucky speak again.

“I don’t like that he went after someone so innocent and defenseless like her.”

You step into their sight as soon as the words leave Bucky’s mouth. Everyone turns to stare at you, realizing you heard them talking about you. Bucky’s eyes go wide at the hurt expression written across your face, realizing he had messed up.

“How much did you hear?” Steve asks.

You slowly and nervously shake your head in disgust. Bucky takes a step forward to come near you but you stumble over your feet as you back up, falling and landing on your wrists. Tears start forming in your eyes as you look back up at the team, specifically Bucky who looks likes he just ran over someone’s dog.

“Y/N, you know I didn’t mean-”

You shake your head and run back down the hallway, ignoring Bucky’s pleads and the Avengers trying to diffuse the situation. Your vision was so clouded by the tears that you miss Loki coming up behind you and run straight into him.

“Woah, woah,” he gasps, grabbing your forearm as you stumble, “what’s-”. He notices the tears slowly falling down your face. “What did they do?”

You shake your head and push past him, retreating into yout room and under your blankets. Loki storms straight to the Avengers instead of with you.

“Tell me what in the nine realms you did to make her cry?”

The team is stunned as Loki raises his voice. There’s fury raging in his eyes, popping his veins out in anger.

“She overheard something. It’s fine.” Sam says.

“Then tell me why she looks like someone hit her dog?”

Bucky puffs up his chest and walks straight up to Loki in a threatening manner, but Loki doesn’t react even an inch.

“Why do you care, huh? Why are you so attached to her? I thought you hated humans! That’s why you attacked New York right? You wanted to take control of us ‘weak humans’, but you failed, so what gives you the right to take her?”

“Are you implying she is weak?”

Bucky stays silent and holds his stoic look.

“You are. That’s what you were saying, wasn’t it? She heard you call her weak.”

Loki scoffs at the soldier and looks to the other avengers for a sign of confirmation. They don’t meet his eyes with trigger alarms in his brain.

“You are all despicable. You know nothing about her. She is not as vulnerable as you think she is.”

“That’s not the point, Reindeer Games,” Tony cuts in, “The point is what are your intentions with her? Why do you want her so bad?”

“What? You think I’m manipulating or messing with her in some way. Is it impossible to imagine me liking someone’s presence?”

“Honestly, yes. We do. We’ve seen you do it in New York. Why can’t you do it now?”

There’s a deafening silence looming over the room. Loki’s eyes go cold as he clenches his fist, trying to not knock Tony out on the spot. Bucky still stands in his face, searching for some kind of vulnerable moment, but all he sees is fury in Loki’s face. He realizes they may be wrong in this situation. No one gets angry like this over nothing. They have never seen him like this before, so much so that even Thor takes a step away from his seething brother. Like nothing happened, Loki swivels and rushes away down the hall, but passes his room and goes straight to yours to find you balling underneath your sheets.

His anger does not go away, but only lessens as he removes the barrier between you two. He sees you curled into yourself, crying as if you had to get rid of every ounce of water in your body. No human has ever seemed so in need comfort to him before than now. Picking you up, he adjusts in bed with you on his lap, gripping your hands tight to his neck, burying your face in his chest. Loki pats your head and shushes you, trying to calm you down while his own burdens flash through his mind.

“I am absolutely outraged by those people,” he says, “how dare they speak like that about you. Do not listen, little one. You are stronger than you know and they are not aware. They do not know you like I know you.”

You continue to sob into him but the tears slow down. Heavy gasping turns into staggered breathing as your heart races less.

“I cannot fathom their incompetence. Pathetic Midgardians. I don’t think they’ll ever forgive me for my advances.”

“I forgive you.”

Loki snaps his head to look down at you, who is staring up at him, face flushed with tears. You had spoken.

Your voice. It’s unlike anything he’s ever heard and he only heard three words. Three so very important words he never thought he’d hear anyone say and you said it with such meaning. Such kindness and heart. It sounded like the heavens themselves opened up and relinquished its glory to him. He felt his body get a rush of warmth flowing through him, one that reminded him of being home with Frigga.

“Thank you,” he says, “I fear you may be the only one.”

He’s scared to say anything about you speaking and freak you out. If he has to go another lifetime without hearing your voice again, he’d never forgive himself.

“I’m tired,” you say sheepishly.

“Then go to bed, darling. I’ll still be here when you wake.”

You wake the next day to the sounds of crashing. Manly voices you have never heard before boom. Springing awake, you forget about Loki falling asleep next to you and accidentally elbow him in the face. “What the-”

“Loki, I’m sorry! I forgot-”

“It’s okay, little one. Accidents happen,” he groans.

The two of you get up off the bed for you to change. With a flick of the neck, Loki uses his magic to change into a three piece suit as he usually wears. You come out with a deep green overalls that makes him smile.

“I like it when you wear my colors.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Hearing your voice in the morning reminds him why he’s around. You’re so perfect in so many ways and that angelic noise only proves that more and more. The sounds of a male booming voice brings him out of his paradise. Taking your hand, the two of you enter the main room where the other Avengers are gathered with a man you’ve never seen before talking to Thor.

“Heimdall,” Loki announces, “what are you doing here?”

The man turns to see Loki standing next to you and doesn’t miss the interlocking of your hands. He turns to Thor who gives a weak smile and whispers something for only him to hear before looking back to you and the god.

“I am here to take you back to Asgard.”

“Father has requested you to come home and get punished for your actions on New York since you have been spending time here. He wants to take proper precautions on behalf of Asgard,” Thor adds.

“That’s ridiculous. He can’t beg for me now.”

“He can, brother, as I am afraid.”

You take Loki’s collar and bring his ear closer to you.

“Does that mean I won’t get to see you?”

“Don’t worry, darling. I won’t let them take me.”

Steve looks between Bucky and Tony who are staring wide eyed at your interaction with the god. Even Clint and Nat stare in awe as you have a private conversation, clearly speaking to Loki.

“What is happening?” Heimdall asks.

“She’s never spoken before,” Thor whispers.

“And she’s speaking to Loki? Why him?”

“I’ve said ‘I’m afraid’ many times and I’m going to say it again. I’m afraid they’ve bonded greatly. This will be an issue if All-Father intends to keep Loki in prison on Asgard.”

“Wonderful.”

Loki walks away from you and takes Thor’s arm, pulling him away to the side.

“Do you really expect me to fall for this?”

“For what?”

“Father wants me home. I know all he wants is to throw me in some cage for eternity. I’m not going no matter how much you plead or even if Father wants to come down here himself and drag me through the Bifrost.””

“There’s nothing I can do. Heimdall had strict orders.”

You walk over to Bucky who puts a protective arm around you, trying to ignore the pain of being second to comfort. He kisses the top of your forehead which you smile for. A glimmer of hope rests in Bucky’s heart that you still have feelings for him despite spending all your time with Loki. You hold to him tight, hugging him around his waist, in anxiousness. You can’t imagine if Loki is gone, the one person you trust the most, you haven't hurt before.

“I can’t leave Y/N,” Loki whispers, “I don’t think you understand that.”

“Brother, I understand your connection to her, but I-”

“Don’t say you have no choice. You can go back to Father and tell him that I’m not coming.”

“You know I can’t do that.”

“Yes, you can.”

“No, I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.”

“No, I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.”

“There’s no point in arguing about this, Loki. You have to go home.”

“What will happen to her, then? She’ll be stuck here with people who treat her like a child.”

“She’ll be fine. She’s a big girl.”

“Not to them. To them she’s weak and useless. She’ll never be used for her powers properly. She’ll never be treated as an equal.”

“I’ll make sure that she does.”

“Brother, I’m the god of lies. I can see straight through you. You’re not going to do anything but sit by and watch them.”

“I’ll watch out for her.”

Loki’s chest rises as he takes in a deep breath, knowing his brother won’t do anything. He contemplates his options: either go with Heimdall or stay here and face worse punishment when he sees his Father one day.

“How long will I be gone for?”

“My hope is a month or two, but most likely two or three years.”

“I can’t leave her that long.”

“Then I will fight for your freedom or escape every day.”

Loki takes a look at you hugging Bucky. The exact image in front of his is what he fear most: losing you to the soldier who looks at you the same way he does. He knows he has no choice if he wants to face a lesser punishment.

“Fine. Give me a moment to say goodbye.”

“Of course.”

Loki walks to you who lets go of Bucky and hugs him. He wraps an arm around your waist and walks with you over to the entrance of the hall where no one can hear you.

“I have to go, darling.”

“Please, don’t.”

The team watches as you open your mouth and speak to Loki, proving to them there was a situation at hand with your attachment to Loki.

“Oh no,” Tony mumbles.

“We’re in trouble,” Nat agreed.

Bucky tries to drown out the anger and instead, a wave of depression over comes him. He knows he messed up with you, but seeing how quick you moved to the god makes him sad, knowing he could have had that with you had he not gotten hurt or even gone on that mission.

“I have no choice, Y/N, but I promise whatever happens, I will come back.”

“What do you mean ‘whatever happens’?”

“There is a good chance I’m being locked away for some time. Thor said that if that is the case, he will help me get out and return to you.”

“You promise you’ll come back?”

“There is not a soul in the nine realms that can stop me from coming to you, because you are my home and you can’t rip my heart away from you.”

Silver tongue. You knew they called him that for a reason.

“I promise, my darling.”

“I’m scared if you don’t come back.”

“I know. I am too. I fear that I’ll never forget you and spend the rest of my days in a cell longing for your touch.”

“Please, don't’ say that.”

“I’m sorry,” he chuckles, “I take it back. I’ll see you in good time.”

Loki gives you a tight hug, burying his face in the crook of your neck. You start crying on his shoulder, leaving dark spots on his suit. Before walking to Thor, Loki lifts your chin up with his hand, connecting his lips to yours.

You taste like strawberries and wine. Loki thinks to himself that he could get drunk on your lips all the time, always thirsting for you. You’re so soft, like floating on a cloud. He thought your voice was the closest thing to nirvana, but he was wrong. He is just the same. He tastes like whiskey and is sensual with his touch. You can feel the butterflies in your stomach flying around, fluttering their wings and bumping into the insides of you. A chill runs down your spine as the two of you hold each other. You never want to stop kissing him.

Thor coughs under his breath, distracting you and Loki, breaking your kiss. Loki turns to his brother with sadness in his eyes that every person sees. The Avengers look at one another, seeing how painful this is for him, but they don’t dare to look at you. Tears roll down your face, flushing you over. They’ve never seen anyone look so desperate for help. It breaks them, but they don’t dare go against Odin’s word.

Loki walks over to Heimdall who places a hand on his shoulder. He turns back to face you across the room.

“Goodbye, my love.”

In a flash, the two are gone, leaving you a blubbering mess in front of the heroes. Bucky takes a step forward to console you, but you fall backwards shaking your head.

“I’m sorry, Y/N, but Loki needs to take responsibility. He’s a criminal.”

“No!” You scream.

Everyone is taken back by the anger and desperation in your voice. Nat and Sam share a look, in awe of your vocal power. Bucky goes wide eyed, staring at you whose eyebrows are furrowed and mouth wide open. You’re choking on your own breath as you hyperventilate. No one dares to say anything as they urge you to break the silence, not wanting to miss a single thing you say.

“You don’t get to say shit!” You yell. “You don’t know him! You don’t get to say ‘he’s a criminal’! He’s a good man and you all are disappointing children! You’re children! Only mature people don’t try to hurt those who hurt them! They understand and listen and make them better! You’re only out to destroy! You’re not heroes fighting for vengeance! You’re villains wanting revenge! You disgust me! The way you treat him and me, so don’t say anything about Loki! People say things happen for a reason, so when I punch you in the face for ever saying anything bad about him ever again, remember I had a reason!”

You turn to walk away from the paralyzed group. They try to take in everything you said, shocked by your first words to them being rage over Loki. There’s no words they have left in them as you’ve taken all of them, except for Bucky. He stand there, heart shattering in a million pieces from watching you pour your heart out for a man who did his people wrong, for a man who is a war dictator.

“Why do you care so much about him?” He screams at you.

You stop in your tracks, facing them with your face full of pain and sorrow.

“Because I love him.

#loki fanfic #loki fan fiction #loki x reader #loki laufeyson #loki #marvel x reader #marvel fan fiction #marvel fanfic #bucky #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reaser #bucky fanfic #bucky fan fiction #lovingallforloki #voicelesslove

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thatmultifandomhoe · 4 years

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Knitting You a Home - 1

Pairing: Wolf Hybrid Namjoon and Human Reader

Word Count: 2k

Genre/Rating: Hybrid AU - Established Relationship - Angst - Fluff - Smut - PG-13

Overview: Things have changed for you and Namjoon. It’s been a year since the two of you got together, and despite a rocky start, it was impossible to deny the bond and love you shared for each other. But ever since Hoseok had been separated from his Mate, Namjoon has been withdrawing himself from you and doesn’t come home until late at night.

With questions far larger than either of you imagined, you can’t help but wonder if he’s let his past and old fears come back to haunt him. You had shown him that it was possible to have a home and be loved once before, but will you be able to do it again?

Warning: Besides a storm, none. Maybe a few editing mistakes.

Playlist:

Main Master List:

Knitting You a Home Master List:

Mated Love is Never Easy Master List:

Sneak Peak - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11 - Part 12 - Part 13 - Part 14 - Part 15 - ?

June 2018…

The wind howled while rain pelted your house as the storm refused to let up. You softly groaned, scrunching you nose up as you tugged the warm blankets tightly around your body, burying your face into the pillow. It was a weak attempt at trying to fall back asleep, but it was necessary since you had to be up to open the shop at nine in the morning.

It was silent in your house with the exception of your room, where you had a playlist of instrumental music playing. Absolute silence unnerved you and the music served to help sleep at night when the shadows haunted you as you slept. Tonight however, the soothing notes of the violin did nothing to ease you back into your dreams.

You squeezed your eyes shut as thunder rumbled overhead, wishing once again that you hadn’t woken up during the storm. Living on your own had its perks, but going through storms all alone wasn’t on that list.

Lightning cracked in the midnight sky, lighting up your room briefly just as your phone vibrated against the nightstand. Groaning, you forced yourself to roll over, blinking until you were able to read the numbers glowing from your alarm clock. It was almost four in the morning. Why the hell was someone calling you?

It took a few tries, but after fumbling around you nabbed your phone and successfully swiped the green icon.

“Hello?” Your murmured, huddling back under the blankets.

“Thank God you answered; I need your help.”

Frowning in confusion, you lifted the phone up, squinting as the bright screen came back on. The number wasn’t one you recognized. “Who’s this?” You asked instead.

“It’s Luna,” the voice answered. In the background there was rustling and multiple voices talking over each other. “Listen, I know it’s wicked late, but I’m at the Homeless Center and I have a huge favor.”

You turned the lamp on as you sat up, pulling your knees up to your chest as you tried to listen easier. “Luna? What’s wrong?”

“I’m at the Homeless Center for Hybrids,” Luna answered, raising her voice to be heard over all the noise. “This is probably me asking too much, but I have a hybrid here and with the storm we don’t have much space left. I was thinking and I thought you had a spare bedroom but I couldn’t remember…is there any way you’d be willing to let a hybrid stay with you? It wouldn’t be forever.”

“Whoa whoa whoa,” waving your hand as if she was here, you leaned your head back against the headboard. Outside, lightning flashed again making you flinch. “It’s four in the morning Luna.”

There was a bang and at first you thought it was just another clap of thunder, but on Luna’s side you heard whimpering. Her voice was hushed as she reassured someone that it was going to be okay. “I know, but I wouldn’t be calling unless I thought it was important.”

It was insane to be going outside during the storm. Glancing out your window, it was obvious that it wasn’t letting up anytime soon. The best thing to do was to just stay inside where it was safe. That was the sane idea.

“I’m leaving now,” you said instead. Throwing the blankets off, you hurried to your closet to throw on some warm clothes as Luna informed someone, most likely the hybrid, that you were coming.

Time was on the line so you hurried to dress in the jeans and sweater that was thrown over the chair in the bedroom. Despite the lack of information you were given about this hybrid, you nabbed some towels and two umbrellas. In a matter of a few minutes your rain jacket was even thrown on.

“This is absolutely insane,” you muttered, rushing back to your room for the purse that you forgot contained your car keys and everything else. But even as you thought that, you tied the bag that you had stuffed the towels in so they wouldn’t get wet, and after throwing up the hood on the jacket, hurried out to the car.

You didn’t live in the center of town and with the storm still going wild, you were forced to go slower than usual, but it gave you plenty of time to think. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for Luna to call you during the middle of the night, sometimes when it was extremely important you would wake up to her banging on the front door until you answered. Out of everyone she knew, you were the only person who would answer her calls, even if it was at a time like this. When she did give you a heads up though, you were sure to have coffee or tea on the stove by the time she arrived.

It wasn’t unusual for her conversations to turn to her place of work, but this was the first time that she called you to let a hybrid stay at your place. Shaking your head, you increased the speed of the windshield wipers and glanced at the tall pine trees, hoping that the lightning wouldn’t hit any of them. Luna would explain once you got there.

When you entered the Homeless Center for Hybrids, you didn’t see Luna anywhere. Instead, various of Hybrids filled the building as the staff ran around. It didn’t take a genius to realize that this was a result of the storm, which wasn’t unusual and typically everyone was prepared for times like this, but never before had you seen it this wild.

Cots were everywhere in the building, and not just in the large open rooms they typically had set up for Hybrids to sleep in. The waiting room and hallways had cots lined up everywhere with names written on makeshift signs to show that they were taken.

Nobody spared you a second glance as you tried to find the office. Hybrids who were soaking wet with towels draped around the shoulders and dry clothes in their hands were heading to the locker room to change, and staff workers were rushing around with arms laden with various supplies and Hybrids in tow.

“Hey!”

Spinning around, you spotted Luna standing in the middle of the room, a stack of blankets in her arms as she waved to catch your attention. You raised your hand and gave a little wave, watching as she made her way to you, passing out blankets to Hybrids she passed along the way.

“Thank you so much for doing this,” Luna greeted you, a tired smile appearing on her face when she finally reached you.

Nodding, you looked around when the sound of a baby crying filled the room. “So, where’s this hybrid?” You asked, looking at her.

Her hair was pulled up into a ponytail and the shoulders of her shirt were wet. Despite how early in the morning it was, Luna was wide awake. “He’s in the office. All the noise and smells were overwhelming him.” Gesturing for her to follow you, she led you through a hallway passing Hybrids who glanced up from making their cots. “That’s why I called you. You live away from the center of town, which is perfect for him, and it’s quiet so he’ll be able to relax.”

“What kind of hybrid is he?”

Luna glanced over shoulder, slowing as you stopped in front of the office. “He’s a wolf Hybrid.” She didn’t give you a chance to answer before softly knocking on the door a second before poking her head in. “Hey there, is it alright if we come in?”

You didn’t hear a reply, but apparently it was okay because Luna was walking into the office, holding the door open for you. The office was small, with only one desk in the corner with a computer on it, a row of file cabinets labeled A-Z, a mini fridge in the other corner, and along the wall to the left of the door was a green couch.

He was sitting on the couch, silently watching as you carefully closed the door behind you.

“Namjoon, I want you to meet my friend. You’re going to be staying with her for a while.” Luna smiled as she introduced you, not minding how quiet Namjoon was.

Softly smiling at Namjoon, you waved as you stood next to Luna. He didn’t say anything else, simply glancing at you before his eyes focused on the bag in your hands. “Oh,” you said, opening it. “I wasn’t sure if you had been caught in the storm or not, so I brought towels.”

When you looked up however, the words died out. Namjoon had raised an eyebrow and looked down at himself, more specifically, his clothes. His jeans had dirt stains on them and his once white sneakers were grey. His white t-shirt was in the same state as his jeans with the addition of a few holes in odd places, and the leather jacket was well worn out. But he was completely dry.

“Namjoon came here a few days ago,” Luna answered. “But with this storm, it’s been so chaotic and loud…”

You nodded in understanding, glancing at Namjoon’s Hybrid ears. They were twitching and flickering back towards the hallways. The door only muffled everyone’s voices. You could only imagine that if it was loud for you, it had to be painful for him.

“Alright,” you breathed out, gaining the attention of Namjoon. “If you want to stay with me at my place, I think we should leave soon. I don’t know how it was here, but the lightning was bad up by my place, and I really don’t want to get halfway home and find a bunch of trees knocked down.”

Luna settled a hand on her hip, smiling at Namjoon like his silence wasn’t unusual. “Like I told you earlier Namjoon, I wouldn’t have suggested staying with her unless I one hundred percent knew you’d be safe. I trust this girl with my life.”

Rolling your eyes at her joke, you ended up grinning anyways. “You’re just saying that because I make you stuff.”

“Don’t you try and steal my thunder here.”

You giggled, but when you looked back at Namjoon, you were startled to see that he was already staring at you. It was a little odd, but you mentally shook it off. He came to the Homeless Center for Hybrids, and from the lack of a collar around his neck, anything could have happened to make him suspicious of humans.

“Namjoon, do you, want to come with me?” You gave him an encouraging smile, hoping that it would help him to feel more comfortable around you. “It’s okay if you don’t want to, but you’re more than welcomed to come home with me.”

The spot between his eyebrows crinkled as he frowned, his lips parting for a second before he pressed them together. He looked back at Luna, who gave him an encouraging nod.

“We’re not going to make you do anything you don’t want to,” Luna softly answered. “Here, Hybrids have free will. You, get to make the decisions for yourself Namjoon. Not me. Not my supervisor or boss, and not my crafty friend here. It’s up to you.”

It hurt to hear Luna explain that, but it was common around here. Hybrids came in from all different backgrounds either finding their way here on their own, or were abandoned by owners who no longer cared or loved them. When it was cases like that, the road to moving on and trusting another human took a long time.

With the two of you watching Namjoon, it didn’t go unnoticed when he stood up with a nod. There was a rip in the green fabric of his backpack, but he slipped it on his shoulder and focused on you, waiting for you to lead the way.

Opening the bag, you handed him an umbrella as you zipped up your jacket. “I parked as close as I could, but it’s raining like cats and dogs out there.”

He didn’t say anything, his face remaining neutral and unwavering, but his hands were gentle as he accepted the umbrella. For a brief moment, his eyes softened when his fingers brushed against yours, only to become guarded once you took your hand back.

“Well then,” you said, unaware of how that touch had affected him. “Let’s go home Namjoon.”

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ncssian · 4 years

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A Favor: Part Four

Nessian Modern AU

Masterlist

a/n: hey y'all. my new job has been draining the life out of me so i have very little energy left for writing, which is why these updates are taking so long. im still very passionate about this fic though, it just takes me more time to write :(

in other news, this chapter is saturated with descriptions of pain, both physical and emotional. i hated writing it but it was worth it.

***

Nesta, 14

Sometimes it all becomes too much. Feyre asking for help with homework and Elain begging for more money to go to the strip mall, and their dad ignoring them all as if they aren’t even there. Sometimes she wants to leave it all behind and pretend she isn’t anchored to three other people, wants to pretend she is a lone being in a lonely world.

When she needs to go away, she comes here.

Cherrywood House is quiet, as it always is this time of year. One of several expensive vacation homes in the Smokies, Cherrywood is Nesta’s favorite for a multitude of reasons— it’s empty for ten out of twelve months of the year, it’s the only house with a clear view of the nearby lake, and cherry blossoms bloom on trees out in the back every spring.

It’s early June, and she has a few more weeks left with the house until its owners return. The family that owns the place never leaves a trace of themselves behind when they leave each August, so Nesta returns the favor by never leaving hints of her inhabitance either.

She takes her worn Converse and socks off at the back porch and climbs in through the unlocked window barefoot. This is where she belongs. A ghost roaming the empty halls, with no one to care for and no one to care for her.

She makes her way upstairs to her preferred hideout spot: an airy bedroom with a bay window seat that looks out onto the cherry blossom trees outside. Cracking the window open to let the fragrance of flowers in, she settles into the bench seat with her book of the week and starts reading.

Absorbed in dreams of deep love and deeper kisses, Nesta doesn't notice the sun going down until she can barely make out the words on the page before her. Glancing up with sore eyes, she realizes she needs to leave soon if she doesn't want to take the wooded path back home in the dark.

“Damn,” she sighs, but she gets up and shuts the window firmly.

She keeps her nose in her book all the way down the hall and down the stairs, and doesn't sense anything off until a large shadow flashes in the corner of her eye. Her head whips up, and the face that greets her looks just as surprised as she is.

Nesta freezes.

“Um,” the guy says. He’s maybe a few years older than her, seventeen or eighteen, and tall with shaggy dark hair. The front door of the house is still cracked open behind him. “What the fuck?”

Nesta unfreezes. And then she runs.

All the way through the main hall and to the back door, while the boy’s shouts chase her through the house. “Hey, wait up!”

They weren't supposed to be here this early—

Her hand wraps around the back door handle and she flings it open, shoving through the second screen door and shooting right down the porch steps. Heavy steps behind her ignite a panic in her, and she gains a burst of speed.

“HEY!” he calls again. Soft grass becomes dirt and twigs beneath Nesta's feet, and she knows she's reached the tree line. Dark shadows fall over her as she darts into the safety of the woods.

Still standing on the back porch and waving a raggedy pair of Converse, Cassian tries calling for the girl one more time. “You forgot your shoes!”

Cassian wakes up at five in the morning to the sound of the house’s pipes creaking, a telltale sign that someone is using one of the faucets. Blinking his eyes open, he hears the distant sound of the shower running.

Who would get up in the freezing cold at this hour just to take a shower? He checks the time once more to make sure he isn't imagining things, and gets up to peek his head out of his bedroom. Sure enough, light leaks out from under the bathroom door.

Cassian walks up to the bathroom and listens closely for any sound beside running water. He knocks hesitantly. “Nesta?”

Her muffled voice calls back to him, but he can't make out a thing.

“Are you alright?” he asks. “How long have you been in there?”

There’s no response, and now he’s concerned. Raising his voice, he says, “I’m going to come in to hear you better, is that okay?”

A soft affirmative answers him, and he tries the doorknob. It’s already unlocked, which is odd, but he pokes his head into the steam-filled bathroom cautiously. “Nesta?”

From behind the curtain of the shower, a pale, tired face appears. She’s sitting on the floor of the tub, he realizes. “Hey,” she attempts a feeble smile at him.

Cassian fully enters the bathroom, the humidity dampening his skin. “Are you okay? When did you get up?”

“I’ve only been in here for an hour, maybe.” Her voice is weak enough that he has to move closer to hear her. “Don’t worry about your water bill. I’ll pay it, I swear.”

He shakes his head, confounded. “I don’t care about the water bill. You still haven’t told me if you’re okay.” He moves to crouch beside the bathtub, the opaque shower curtain the only barrier between them.

Nesta rolls her eyes, looking embarrassed. “It’s just cramps. I get really sick on my periods, and I would have warned you that they suck ass, but that would imply that my period could affect you. It doesn’t have to affect you— if you just leave me to myself for a few days, I won’t even be a bother.”

Cassian blinks, not really knowing where to start with that, so he just says, “But why the shower?”

Nesta shifts uncomfortably behind the curtain. “Sometimes hot water is the only thing that helps with the pain. I already tried getting out of the shower, but it hurt so bad— I had to go right back in. I’ll get out eventually, don’t worry.”

Cassian frowns. This all sounds incredibly worrying. “This is normal for you?”

She’s about to answer when her face pinches in a look of discomfort. “Cassian,” she says, strained.

He leans closer, wanting to help. “Yeah?”

“Get out.” She doesn't look like she has the energy to add anything else.

Cassian wants to defy Nesta and stay right there, but that would require arguing with her, and she clearly is no longer in the mood to hold up a conversation.

Reluctantly, he nods. “I’ll be right down the hall. Yell if you need anything.”

Nesta is already sinking lower into the tub, trying to get more fully under the burning hot spray. Her eyes drift closed and she hums in answer.

Cassian doesn't return to his room like he said he would, but heads downstairs instead. He spends a good ten minutes reading the drug labels of various painkillers from the medicine cabinet before carefully arranging a nonlethal cocktail of them on a tray. He adds a cold glass of water and various handpicked snacks before returning upstairs to set the tray by Nesta’s bedside, and turns the heat all the way up to combat the chill in her room, just in case.

Then he goes back to his room and waits. He tries to listen closely for the sound of the shower stopping, but he’s not used to being up this early on a Saturday, and his bed is so warm…

He falls asleep waiting.

***

Nesta stumbles out of the shower long after Cassian leaves her and downs a handful of pills without thinking too much about who left them for her. She already has an idea of how the next few days will go, and she just hopes Cassian will allow her the dignity to suffer through it alone.

She crawls into bed exhausted and shuts her eyes tight. The next time she opens them, sunlight is streaming weakly through the windows. Jarring pain lances through her abdomen, and she brings her legs all the way up to her chest and whimpers. From the edge of her consciousness, she notices the snack tray has been replaced with lunch— some leftover lasagna from the night before. Sneaking out her hand from her mountain of blankets, she goes for her phone. A text sent nearly an hour ago waits for her.

Cassian: please eat.

Nesta glares at the lasagna because she knows better. She might have spent this morning eyeing the bathroom tiles to determine if they were clean enough for her to curl up there and die, but she's not at a point to abandon her dignity just yet. The last thing her roiling nausea needs is solid food. Instead, she gathers the focus to text back Cassian: Leave me alone today.

It's only after she sends the message that she realizes it sounds harsh, but she can't bring herself to explain further or to soften her tone. Her pain always has a way of stripping her of any defenses and formalities and leaving only a primal creature behind.

Turning her phone off, she closes her eyes and inhales tightly through her nose. A wave of cramps that feels closer to what a brutal stabbing victim would feel like overtakes her, and— no, she has to get up.

During times like these, the bathroom is Nesta’s favorite place in the whole world. Cool tiles to rest her head on, hot water just a foot away, and a spacious tub if she ever feels like passing out. Heaven. Naturally, she escapes there first.

After maybe another hour of restless writhing and moving about, Nesta decides the suffering isn't worth it and hobbles downstairs in search of some Nyquil to knock her out. She’s got the medicine cabinet halfway open when a broad hand slams it back shut, and she turns to find Cassian standing behind her with a stern look. “You haven’t eaten anything all day. You can’t take meds on an empty stomach.”

Nesta wants to cry at the denial of pain relief, but she grips the counter behind her and manages a glare instead. “You can’t tell me what to do.”

“I will absolutely tell you not to wreck your liver, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

A desperate whine escapes her, and she can’t believe Cassian has to see her like this. Even worse, she sees sympathy soften his face as his hand slips off the cabinet next to her head. “I made soup,” he offers. “Can you have soup?”

Nesta hesitates. Her insides don’t hate the idea of soup. She nods.

***

Nesta insisted on avoiding Cassian for the rest of the day, and Cassian graciously eased off her back once he knew she’d eaten. He kindly pretended he didn’t hear her running back and forth from the bathroom all day because she couldn’t sit still, and only interrupted her once to make sure she took more Tylenol before bed.

Now, long after night has fallen, Nesta is truly alone. Her medicine either hasn’t kicked in yet or isn’t strong enough to do its job tonight. She can barely think straight, and this is when the most primal part of herself comes out.

Despite her age, despite everything, she still cries. She cries as if anyone would bother listening, physical pain intertwining with the pain and humiliation of being ignored. “Papa,” she calls into her pillow, again and again.

She hasn’t trusted her papa in years, and yet she still expects him to rescue her. She still waits for him to show up and make everything better.

A hot tear leaks from her eye, and the catharsis of it distracts from her cramps. She curls up into a ball and cries harder, as if she can weep out everything that’s wrong with her body.

A soft knock interrupts her helpless whimpers, and Nesta hears the door open a moment later. “Nesta? Were you calling for me?”

Somebody came. No one’s ever come for her before.

A sigh of relief escapes her, and she forgets to put her walls up. “I’m just—” she tries to say, “so tired.”

She hears Cassian come farther into the room and curse. “Fuck, it’s an icebox in here.”

A hand nudges at her mound of comforters, giving Nesta’s shoulder a shake. “You should’ve told me the heater wasn’t working. Are you okay?”

That question sets her on edge. “Do I look okay?” her voice cracks. She wants to cry even harder now that he’s here, for some reason.

“Obviously not,” he mutters. “You’re staying in my room tonight. Get up.”

Nesta groans and burrows further into her freezing cocoon of sheets. “Don’twannamove.”

“It’s either that or I’m carrying you. I’m good either way.”

Nesta finally cracks her eyes open, glad that Cassian is only a tear-blurred figure in the dark. She doesn’t want to read whatever is on his face right now. Gathering her heavy comforter around herself, she gets up and lets Cassian lead her down the hall to his room.

Toasty warmth hits her as soon as she’s inside, and she makes an exhausted sound and drops the comforter. In a blur, she’s tucked into Cassian’s bed, enveloped by his scent and his lingering body heat on the sheets. Under the dim lamplight, Cassian seems to finally take notice of the tear tracks on her face. Clicking his tongue in sympathy and concern, he rubs his thumb over the sensitive skin under Nesta’s eyes. Her whole body shudders under the gentle touch. Who knew just the pad of his finger could combat this inescapable agony?

“This isn’t normal,” he murmurs. “I’m taking you to a doctor as soon as this storm clears.”

If Nesta was in the right state of mind, she’d tell him absolutely not. However, she’s barely comprehending his words as it is, so she watches him click the lamp off in silence. Darkness fills the room, but she can hear him moving.

“I’ll be right back,” his voice rumbles, and then she’s alone again. More tears leak at the feeling of abandonment. She’s so sick of herself.

After what feels like an eternity but is only a few minutes, she hears Cassian return. The mattress dips behind her as he climbs under the blankets with her, and then Nesta feels something hot and dry being pressed to her side. A towel. “Does this help?” he murmurs, his voice surprisingly close to her ear.

Wordlessly, Nesta reaches down and takes his hand holding the hot towel, dragging it beneath the hem of her sweater so the heat burns against her bare skin. She sighs and allows her tensed body to sag, leaning back into the hard cradle of Cassian’s chest and arms.

In her ear, Cassian’s breathing has gone shallow. His hand slips from her side, only to find her back and start rubbing up and down.

Her eyes flutter shut.

“My mother was a Muslim immigrant from Algeria,” Cassian whispers out of nowhere. “And whenever I felt sick as a little kid, I would crawl into her lap and she would rub my back just like this, and say some prayers and blow on my face, and I would feel better.”

Nesta makes a weak sound of acknowledgment. That sounds nice, nicer than anything she ever knew growing up.

“I’m sorry I don’t know any prayers,” Cassian says. Then, Nesta feels a whoosh of breath tickle the side of her face. “Does that help?”

It feels weirdly good, and Nesta's shoulders start shaking. She doesn't know if she's holding in a laugh or a sob. Cassian’s hand stills on her back. “Nesta?”

A sharp wave of pain sets her straight. After she breathes through it, she tells him, “You don't need to pray. Just… keep talking to me.”

His hand resumes drawing circles on her back. “Alright.” And he whispers stories into her ear for the rest of the night, until she's fallen asleep and long afterward.

The next morning, Nesta is feeling much better. Cassian knows this because she’s sitting in the living room when he comes downstairs, straight-backed instead of hunched over in pain, and she’s regained the energy to glare at him.

Cassian’s relief at seeing Nesta okay hesitates at that glare. He slows on the bottom step. “How’re you feeling, sweetheart?”

“Don't call me that.”

He blinks, not sure what he did wrong. Before he can ask, Nesta says, “You didn't listen to me.”

“Excuse me?” He strolls deeper into the living area.

“I told you to leave me alone while I'm on my period, and you didn't listen. You dragged me to your room and made me spend the night with you.”

“You were crying for help,” Cassian says in disbelief. “What was I supposed to do? Ignore you?”

“Yes.” She looks even angrier. “It’s humiliating for me to have you see me like that. It's humiliating to have my own family see me like that.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way, but you’re—” He almost says overreacting, but some deep instinct tells him that word won’t fly well with Nesta. “You’re wrong,” he decides. “Whatever you think I’m thinking of you after last night, you’re wrong.” Cassian has no problem going into caretaker mode for Nesta; it's his natural state of being most of the time anyway. Besides, last night was… a new experience for him. For a multitude of reasons. “You can't tell me you go through that every month and have never had anybody take care of you.”

“I haven't, and for good reason,” Nesta seethes. “You had no right to see me like that.”

Cassian leans on the arm of a chair and crosses his arms, considering her. “Have you ever seen a doctor about your period?”

“That’s none of your business,” she snaps. Here is the Nesta that Feyre is always talking about: quick to anger and always on the defense, to the point that she comes off as unreasonable. Nothing like the helpless woman in tears from just the night before.

It brings out a rougher side of Cassian, one that wants to nip and bite at her boundaries instead of letting her be comfortable all the time. “That’s no way to talk to someone who stayed up all night to wait on you hand and foot, you know.”

“Don’t you dare hold that against me.” Nesta’s voice is dangerously cold.

“I’m not holding it against you. I’m taking you to a doctor.”

“No.”

“I already made an appointment.”

“Cancel it.” Her voice is brittle and she’s now trembling with restrained rage. Cassian doesn’t know if it’s because he’s refusing to give her a choice or if she just really doesn’t like doctors. Either way, it doesn’t change how Nesta ran out of bed at four this morning to puke her soup up. If it wasn’t for all this snow, he would have dragged her ass to the ER by now.

“I don’t have health insurance,” Nesta admits when she sees that Cassian won’t back down. “And I’ve made it this far without any cause for concern; there’s no reason to go.”

“Then I’ll pay for it,” he says simply. Her lack of care for her health astounds and angers Cassian at the same time. How is it that nobody, not even her family, has looked at this woman before and said You’re not okay, do you need help? How many times has she cried in pain with no one to listen?

Nesta has now stood up and is turning red in the face. “Absolutely not. Stop it.”

“Stop what?” Cassian smirks and straightens up.

“I’m not going to the doctor,” she barks. “Cancel the appointment.”

“No.”

“DO IT!”

In that moment, Cassian sees it. He sees how beneath the adult manner and adult words, the carefully crafted facade of cool, there is an explosive, tantrum-prone child. And he’s about to reveal her for good.

“It’s this Wednesday. I hope you don't mind skipping class.”

An enraged shriek shatters the air in the room, and before Cassian can even be shocked Nesta is verbally pouncing on him, yelling, “How fucking dare you, you complete shithead—”

“Nesta.”

“You have no right to— You’re so useless, this is why I didn't want to stay with you, this is why I never talked to you—”

“Nest—”

“You egomaniacal manipulative bastard— just because you let me stay in your house doesn’t mean you can tell me what to do—”

“Damn it Nesta, can you just shut up and LISTEN TO ME FOR ONCE!”

Nesta freezes and blinks, taken aback. Cassian immediately snaps his mouth shut, wondering if he’s finally crossed that line he’s been so cautiously toeing this whole time.

He watches her face closely, looking for signs of upset— or worse, fear. She only says, “Fine.”

He’s confused. “Fine, what?”

“Fine, I’ll go to the doctor’s.” Just like that, her fight is gone and the facade is back in place. She sets her jaw, but a hint of surprise and newfound discovery lingers in her eyes. “But I’m not letting you pay for it. It’ll have to come out of my own pocket.” She doesn't look happy about that part.

Cassian wants to argue her, but he knows how to pick and choose his battles. For now, he’s just baffled that he demanded Nesta to do something, and she listened.

He raised his voice at her. God, he yelled at her in anger and she only blinked in response, and now she’s listening to him. What kind of sick alien shit is this?

***

a/n: i love talking about these characters so if you ever get sick of waiting for part 5 just shoot me an ask and ill gladly discuss nessian with you

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#a favor #nesta archeron #cassian #nessian #ncssianwrites #nessian fic #nessian au

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