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husbandhoshi · 4 months

Text

TO GROW LOVE (AND EAT IT TO THE CORE)

pairing: mingyu x gn!reader wc: 8.1k summary: your whole life, you've only wanted one thing. then you meet mingyu. suddenly you want too much, and you wish the summer never ended. notes: farmer!au, established relationship, angst/hurt/a little comfort

this is a birthday fic for my one and only cat @wuahae ! yes this is about half a year late but what can i say. all good things come with time. thank you for being so kind, funny, and thoughtful (and patient)! not a day goes by where i’m not thankful for our friendship :)

and a million thanks to hana @wqnwoos and jackie @97-liners for helping me with edits. literally you guys are insane writers and i will never stop looking up to you.

i. strawberries (the summer we were young)

When a strawberry is ripe, the seeds push out from the heart of the fruit, as if it's bursting from the inside out.

This is one of the few and only things you've learned by living in Seogwipo, where strawberry season comes like a supernova. The May sun, full and heavy, peels into summer, and the roadside farms open their doors, trying to catch stray vacationers from Jeju City on the other side of the island.

That being said, there are approximately two things to do here. One of them is farm. The other is pretend like you have a life, which is your childhood friend Yizhuo's favorite thing to do when she's back from university on summer break.

Today, this involved convincing her ritzy, too-good Seoul friends that they're missing out on this side of Jeju. (Missing out on what? You're not sure. Perhaps the chipped paint of the mural walls, or the endless flat-topped stretches of seagrass. Yizhuo isn't fooling anyone, but you've always liked stretching your legs out in the bed of her pick-up, even on the long drive to nowhere.)

Unsurprisingly, her friends quickly came to the same conclusion. Just one look at your local strawberry patch, with none of the glamour of the bloated tourist traps in the city, and they decided they'd rather spend the afternoon at the beach.

It was then, between the fragaria blooms, when you met Mingyu. He asked for your name, and the rest was history. Yizhuo and co. scattered like the grasping hands of an overripe dandelion and you learned that he was, one, the newly-graduated son of a pair of local farmers, and two, very, very attractive. Almost too much so, especially for a place like this.

Now he holds up a berry, a bright red murder between his fingers, and tells you to try it.

"You must be delusional if you think i'm taking food from a stranger," you laugh, perched on the fence bordering the field. It sprawls before you, melon stripes on the sunbaked ground.

"No, my name is Mingyu," he replies. "No idea who delusional is." His smile, all bright lip and snaggletooth, tears into the scarlet belly of a newly picked strawberry.

"We all know what happened to Persephone."

"Well, if the underworld was a strawberry patch, I wouldn't mind being stuck there for all of eternity."

"What're you picking all these for, anyway?" you ask, watching Mingyu struggle with his too-big straw hat between the vines. His woven basket bleeds over with little berries.

"Jam. I make it on the very first day of every summer."

"Why?"

"You ask a lot of questions for someone who trespassed on my farm. You're cute, but I won't let you off easy."

He laughs at how you balk, clearly red-handed. You're not sure how to tell him you don't think you were supposed to be here either. You don't do things like sit in the back of trucks, trespass, or talk to pretty farmer boys who take a fancy to you, but it's the summer before you graduate and you're not even sure how long you'll have to continue making bad decisions.

"Are you gonna take my first-born now?" you joke instead. The daylight runs down the rim of Mingyu's hat, trickles down his brow, and you wish you could pour the image of him into a jar and keep it forever.

"No, but I will invite you in for some fresh jam on toast. I baked a loaf this morning." and when you say nothing, he continues. "The strawberries are only good once a year. It's the best you'll ever have. Promise."

It's a whine and a half, and somehow you convince yourself this will be the last bad decision you'll make. You've been here long enough to know that good things don't come twice in Seogwipo, and he is unlikely to be an exception.

Yizhuo blows up your phone, you tie the gingham apron around Mingyu's tiny waist, and the basket turns to blood in the saucepan.

Mingyu is right. Love comes to you in that kitchen, high and red like the sun, and the jam never tastes as good as it does that summer.

ii. watermelon (hollowed out, like a magic trick)

"A good watermelon sounds like a heartbeat."

You watch Mingyu heave the fruit, small and striped, out of his grocery bag. It joins the array of egg sandwiches and banana milks you picked up from the store together earlier. (There should have been chocolate Pepero too, but you split the box on the walk).

You're on a picnic, sprawled out on the outcropping overlooking the water. The path up is basically right behind your house, but you had never cared to visit. It had always been the local makeout spot, a schlocky teen crawl for those with nothing better to do, and yet, with Mingyu stretched out beside you, it seems newer. More exciting.

You're still just friends, or at least that's what you told Yizhuo. But ever since you sat on Mingyu's kitchen counter and ate from his jam-covered spatula, you don't think you've gone a week without seeing him. It's been almost two months, which seems so long and yet not long enough—he makes it easy to be greedy.

"See?" He thumps the watermelon with the heel of his palm. "Try it."

You already went through this entire charade at the grocery store, right in front of all the local aunties, but you indulge him. There's little point to triple checking if it's still ripe, but you think he just likes hitting it.

"It sounds good," you say. "But how are we even gonna eat it? We don't have a knife."

"Watch this." Mingyu procures a coin from his pocket. "You didn't learn this in elementary school? I feel like everyone was doing it."

"Here?" you ask, incredulous.

"Yeah, here. I grew up here too, you know."

He holds the edge of the coin to the skin and slams his palm into it once more, so that it lodges itself into the rind, and begins dragging it around the fruit. You start to wonder if he bought the watermelon just to show you a party trick—not that you mind, though. The strain of his biceps peeks through his rolled up white tee, and you remember why he was able to stop you with just one look back when you first met.

"No way." The watermelon is so ripe, it bleeds around the incision. "I feel like I know everyone here. And I definitely would have remembered you."

"I was probably, like, two grades above you," he replies. "And my parents shipped me off to live with my cousins after elementary school. They said I should get out of Seogwipo and experience the real world."

"Good call. There's nothing here." You watch Mingyu spin the melon over to cut through the other side. The coin catches the sunlight, and it looks like gold. "I wish I left for university. The one here is so small."

"Really?" He pauses to show you his handiwork. The two melon halves roll over on their backs, their cut edge cruel and jagged. "Cool, huh?"

"Impressive," you say. "Honestly. I really didn't think that would work."

"I didn't either when I first saw someone do it. But I’ll try anything once," he replies, ripping open the packaging of the plastic spoon from the bag. "I can't believe you don't like it here."

"You do?"

"Yeah. A lot." He shoves the spoon in his mouth, and you watch the watermelon juice pool around his lips. "I missed home. The trees and the tall grass and the ocean. All the fruits. Everything. I learned to ride a bike, right down there by the water."

"Hm." He passes you the spoon. You don't want to hog it, so you carve out a piece bigger than you need. "Are you gonna work at the farm?"

"Maybe. Haven't decided yet," he says. "I think I want to be here, though. Maybe do something with food, but I want to be home."

"That's funny, because I think I’ve always wanted to live a different life. Or at least one somewhere else."

"You want to go to law school, right?"

"Yeah." Mingyu is right. The watermelon is all sugar, and you would almost feel guilty for eating it if it wasn't technically good for you. "I’ve always wanted to be a lawyer. It's something about the people watching, I think."

"That’s really cool," Mingyu says, mouth full but no less sincere. It's then that you notice your shoulders are almost touching, and your heart crawls back up to your mouth. "You know what you want. I admire that."

He makes it sound like a compliment, but you're sure it's a curse.

You think of your parents. There's a permanent wrinkle ironed into their foreheads, the paper crease of expectations and high standards. It's not that they didn't care, but their kind of care was a humbled sort, made heavy by a hard life. It didn't help that your big sister Seohyun went straight from Yonsei to work a big tech job in San Francisco and never once looked back.

But you can't blame any of them—wanting has always been a hereditary failing. Sometimes Yizhuo will catch you frowning at nothing, and then you remember that life isn't a performance and every day ends at the same time no matter how hard you work. But you don't know how to tell her that the only thing you can do sometimes is want, because otherwise you wouldn't really have much at all.

It seems like the exact opposite of how Mingyu lives—everything about him seems to pass like the seasons. Maybe that's why you can't seem to get enough of each other.

"Thank you. Really." You dig the spoon into your half of the melon. There isn't much left. "You're way too nice to me."

"It’s not hard to be," he laughs. "Maybe you're just too hard on yourself."

You're losing track of the distance between the two of you. You can almost feel the heat playing off his skin.

"Maybe."

It's then, under the veil of summer, where you meet Mingyu's gaze and, finally, things seem close to simple.

All you know are his eyes, heavy with sun, and then the slow, slow move of his lips against yours. He tastes like August, long and sweet, and for once you know what it's like to not only want, but to have, and to have again.

The ocean sings on the horizon, and the watermelon bellies weep.

iii. adzuki beans (or, the blood of a headless taiyaki)

Mingyu eats taiyaki headfirst because he says it hurts less.

"That makes no sense," you tell him, your pinkies linked. You never really liked holding hands, but yours fits so perfectly in Mingyu's and there's some girlish, childlike shine to it when you watch his finger search for yours after just a moment separated.

"What do you mean."

He breaks your gaze to eye a red bean taiyaki, like an unwilling predator sizing up their prey. It's the lamest, most embarrassing iteration of National Geographic you've ever seen, and yet you cannot find any fiber within yourself not deeply in love with the lion.

Fall is a forgiving place for your relationship to settle. You're now a senior at university and he's started his gap year. Gap implies he's in the middle of something, but in true Mingyu fashion, he leaves it up to fate, or chance, or something not nearly as kind (whim).

"Taiyaki isn't alive. And why would you want to pretend it is? Eating gummy bears would become an extinction event."

"It kind of is." He holds out the tail end of the taiyaki, the pastry almost explicitly flayed open, in front of you to eat. "Why does the Haribo bear have a face? Why do the gummy bears live in a gummy forest?"

"Great, so now I can’t even enjoy gummy bears without feeling like a serial killer?"

You dig your pointer into his shoulders, broad from all the time he spends on the farm. To think that his hands, big and weathered, were made to pick berries (and now wrap around your pinky finger) is bruising, if not ridiculously funny.

"It's a crime of passion. Gummy passion. Prosecute that."

He kisses your cheek and your heart almost squeezes into two.

The terrible thing about being with Mingyu is how seemingly endless his affection is. Now he's feeding you in public and buying the two of you matching socks (cat and dog, to be exact), although you'll admit it's a little charming, even if the neighbors do gossip.

He's sweet, too sweet, and his kisses stick to the back of your throat.

But you can't be fooled. There's an unsaid violence to the way Mingyu loves. (The meticulous spiral of the peel he carves when you ask for him to cut you an apple. The grind, decisive and cruel, of a knife against a cutting board. A pair of canines against your neck, your jaw.)

Even now, he bites the head off another unwitting taiyaki before stuffing it back in the bag.

"We're still splitsing, right?" he says, with perhaps 1% of his mouth available for speaking and the other 99% murder machine.

Splits, he always says before you share food. You never had the heart to tell him that it's in the same family as mines or sharesies or takebacks—silly childhood relics, ones that no one uses anymore because they don't mean anything.

This time, you don't hear him because you're thinking about the law school fair you went to before Mingyu picked you up. The future is so close, it scares you. A year from now, what ground would you be standing on? Would it smell like this—the peat, the thread-spool fields, the balm of the ocean? Would you still have Mingyu's finger wrapped round yours?

"Have you decided if you're staying at the farm?" you ask.

"Not really." He uses the back of his hand to wipe off his chin. "If my sister decides to take over, I’m actually kinda thinking of going to pastry school instead of getting a masters."

Mingyu had been toying with the idea for some time after you had talked about it on the outlook. It started off as a joke (September; a galette), then a what if (October; green tea mochi), and now it sits at a kinda.

"Kinda?"

The word gathers speed in the pachinko machine of your mind. You never liked being a kinda person. For Mingyu, it seems like a luxury of a word, but for you, it's really just another thing to hide behind. Kinda talented, kinda ambitious, kinda just there. You're always one foot in, one foot out of something better.

"Yeah, kinda. Why?"

"I dunno. What if we both end up leaving?"

"Maybe. You still want to, right?"

You would be lying if you said you didn't—it's what you always wanted. Seogwipo has been a sun-rot, too-small crutch for you, but you would also be lying if you said you weren't terrified that you'd eventually come back, limping like some doomed Icarus, unable to truly make it in the real world.

Then you think of the pockmarked farmland beside your home, lacy with the fall harvest. Even now, you can trace the endless blue of the coastline all the way there, cut through all the maybes and just let the sound of the ocean fold you into sleep like you were a child again. You wonder if Seohyun, all the way on the other side of the world, ever misses it.

"I’m not sure," you say, because, as much as you don't like it, it's the only answer you have.

"It's ok. You'll figure it out. You always do." He squeezes your cheeks together between his thumb and index, laughing at how they pillow out underneath his fingers. "Screw pastry school. I could come with you. Who else would keep you fed?"

Mingyu's complete and unfounded belief in you makes you feel something close to betrayal. How could he say any of that? With what proof? Only someone like Mingyu would be able to hold the wrinkled fruit of your unremarkable life between his palms and see something better than that. Maybe it's because he grew up on a farm. Either that, or he already cares for you too much, too painfully.

Secrets are easy to keep when they look like yours. At least here, in the pit of your stomach, you can keep count, take attendance of them, all your tittering, small anxieties. Some days it feels like your ribs are pressing out, but it's better than cutting everything loose to spill out over what little you do have control over.

You can handle a little pressure. You have to.

What concerns you is the hand Mingyu's got across your chest. With one look, he just might gut you. A twist of the heart-knife, and all those carefully wound insides carved out in an instant—maybe he'd pity you, but worse than that, he'd likely be disappointed.

For you, expectation has always stood taller than shame, and the idea that he sees something past you makes you want to run away.

"I could be a house husband," he says as easily as ever. "You'll be off saving the world, arguing with whoever, and I'll be there to run you a bath afterwards."

"Let's not get too ahead of ourselves," you reply, binding up the strange, hollow feeling in your stomach with a laugh.

There's a scared little girl hiding inside you, and whether Mingyu sees her or not hurts the same. A spade is a spade. You can only pretend so long.

You look at the taiyaki floating in their wax paper bag, blinded and wrought open by the same grin that now peels you down, and you're not hungry anymore.

iv. winter pears (rotten, outside your parents' house)

Mingyu's family loves Christmas.

You think it's because of the pear trees they have in the front yard. They stand bravely before the house, all emerald ash and wisdom in the December freeze. Run your palms over the knobs and it's like you can see into a sleepy visage of simpler days past. (Below its heart, carved: 1982, the year the farm was bought. Along the tangle of the roots: gyu waz here, in an unsure, childish scrawl.)

Winter comes to the countryside crawling on its hands and knees. On days it doesn't snow, there's a mist, boggy and clingy. You've come to realize the cold is more of a threat than a promise, and so the pear trees still bear fruit; the silvery branches hang heavy, faithful.

The first day of December, Mingyu's parents had tasked the two of you with decorating the farmhouse, a duty you took very seriously. You wrapped Mingyu up in string lights and watched him blink in and out like your own personal firefly.

It wasn't until you watched the rafters, the barn doors, the joyous vault of the ceiling all glow, like a spectacular firework, that you finally started to understand why Mingyu was so into the holidays.

It was in the yellow blush of the string lights that you had your first pear from the tree, which Mingyu insisted was a holiday tradition. We make poached pears, he said, mid-bite. You simmer the pear in syrup until it gets so soft, you can cut into it with a fork. Just like butter.

That same night, he kissed you, mouth hot and trembling and tasting of honey, and pressed you against the bark so hard, you could feel the grit of its veins against your skin.

You think December became your favorite month, and pears your favorite fruit.

So much so, that for the entire month, you try to put away your worries about law school applications to celebrate with Mingyu and his family.

You learn his mom makes the best hot chocolate (a cinnamon stick and a dogged devotion to the whisk), and that Mingyu has no clue on God's green earth how to ice skate. (He careens right into your chest the first time. You spend the next hour with him attached to you like a backpack—he manages to find the most impractical ways to do anything, which you somehow admire the most). On Sundays, Yizhuo ditches her Seoul friends and instead accompanies you to the mall two towns over, where she watches you compare different ties and watches and collagen creams as you decide on gifts for his family. (Lilac is so last year, she'd say, stirring the straw of a watered-down milk tea.)

It's not until the weekend before Christmas when you realize just how serious things have gotten. Your feet understand the meander of the dirt path to the farmhouse, your bones the scent of the yellow-skinned apple, the faded wildflowers. Your palms crave the plush of the rug they have in front of the fireplace. Hell, you can't even eat soondubu without thinking of the kind Mingyu's dad makes, with extra anchovies and green onion.

You don't think about what this means. There are ten days left in December and love poured from a full cup never seems to run out.

"Please let me carry some of those," Mingyu wheedles. "Oh my god. I'm like the worst boyfriend in the world."

"No, you are not." you make your way up to his doorstep, taking care to one-two step over the stray roots of one of the pear trees. It's second nature to you by now. "The moment I hand you a box, you are gonna start trying to figure out what it is."

He harumphs and plucks the big one off the top anyway, the one he knows you can't reach. "I didn't even know you were getting us gifts. You didn't have to."

"It's the least I could do. Who shows up to a holiday dinner emptyhanded?" You stop at the front door. "And stop shaking it," you laugh, using the tip of your boot to nudge his shin.

"Okay. Okay," he says, saccharine, adoring, before grabbing the doorknob. "Ready? Are you nervous? You shouldn't be nervous, right? It's not fancy or anything, if you were worried about that."

And that's the thing that wedges itself between your ribs. Mingyu and his whole family are like this. They love and worry and love again; it presses deep into you, fills you, and overflows.

So here you are, standing in your nicest dress and balancing a stack of gifts you hope will amount to something, never enough but something, to repay the people who you feel have loved you more than you deserve. It's all you really have. You do your best, and yet you know when that door opens, it'll all be washed away in a high-tide flurry of hugs and laughter and the familiar press of Bobpul's wet nose against your leg. They're just those kinds of people—they would be just as happy if you didn't bring anything at all, and somehow that makes you feel even more guilty.

"No, no," you wave him off. "I’m fine. Excited."

When Mingyu opens the door, everything goes just as you expected. His sister takes your coat, your gifts are whisked away to the tree (Aji has already figured out which one is his), and his parents descend upon you in a choking swell of warmth and charity.

We baked some fresh bread for your parents (—Thank you so much, but you really shouldn't have.). You look so beautiful in that color (—No, no, you flatter me too much.). Mingyu better be taking good care of you (—He is. He really, really is.).

The kitchen is gauzy with cinnamon, anise. They must be making their famous poached pears, which Mingyu remarks on, just like clockwork.

Dinner passes the same way. It bubbles over with affection, and you feel swallowed by an impossible yearning. This—a full table and a hand to hold underneath it—did you deserve this? And could you keep it?

For an instant, you picture yourself, years later, at this same seat. Mingyu would be fussing over the rice cakes, his apron still gingham because it reminds him of the day you two met. His parents, grayer but no less happy, bickering over the shade of tinsel on the tree. And the dogs, coiled at your feet like they are now. The vision laps at your bones like you're a raft in a storm.

You're pulled back into the moment when Mingyu squeezes your hand, grounding and insistent. "Mom asked how school was going. I told her I think you're basically the smartest person I know, and I’m pretty sure you're getting into whatever law school you want."

Mingyu's parents laugh, and they cut through their pears.

"Oh, sorry," you say. "Um."

Clink. Knife meets flesh, meets porcelain. Your cheeks are hot. You wanted to talk about anything other than yourself tonight. Clink.

"The top programs are a reach, but it'd be nice." clink. "I just want to get in somewhere."

"They’re all so far away," Mingyu's mom remarks. "So grown up. Any school will be lucky to have you. You'll get into all of them."

Clink.

"Or maybe you can stay here." You watch the prongs of Mingyu's father's fork disappear into the pear. "Keep us old folk company."

"No, no, I think Mingyu should take notes and get off his lazy ass," his sister says, teasing. "Going back to the city will be good for him."

"So you can, what, burn down the kitchen again?" Mingyu grumbles, and the whole table seems to boil over with laughter.

"We’re kidding," his mom tells you. "No matter where you go, I’m sure you'll do great. We can even throw you a party at the end of the year. For graduating."

Clink. Clink.

There's a horrible uneasiness writhing around in your stomach. It's pear and syrup and clove and a blackness, an anxious, selfish one that sucks up all the generosity of the evening and turns it into shame.

Mingyu's mom is talking about throwing you a graduation party, something you didn't even think to do for yourself, and here you are, thinking about the shaking moment you open your rejection letters and the lonely path you'll draw on your way back home.

It's ok. They missed out, Mingyu would say, pouring you a consolation drink, and then it would be over. You'd go home and sit on your bed and the trifold piece of paper would go round and round your head like it was in a washing machine.

Your heart, an inventory of tasks and goals and tally marks. Things you've taken and things you've owed. It's a soft, boneless excuse. Be grateful. Give them that, at least.

Clink.

Dessert ends before you can tell his family not to get their hopes up. Mingyu's mom sends you off with your loaf of bread and a kiss on the cheek, and the moment is gone.

"Gyu," you call out on the steps in front of the house.

There are words at the seam of your lips. You want to tell him you're sorry for worrying so much. For making the whole dinner about you and then very possibly having nothing to show for it when it matters. For the heaviness in your chest. Your cowardice. But none of it comes out.

Instead you watch Mingyu pull at the leaves of a pear tree, watching the frost-filigree they get at the end of the season. He looks over his shoulder and smiles at you, as if he's on the hazy cover of a magazine. His eyes bend so wonderfully at the corners when he looks at you, and it breaks your heart.

"You had fun, right?" he asks. "My parents like you a lot, you know. I think they really do."

But that's the problem, you want to say. You all do, and I have no idea why.

Some of the pears are beginning to rot now. You watch one drop off the vine, and it caves to the pavement like it was made of nothing at all.

v. wild barley (grows like weeds)

In March, you play house.

Your parents leave on a two week trip to see relatives, and Mingyu takes it upon himself to make sure you survive.

It's a kind, blinding charade.

(7 am, breakfast. You usually don't even eat breakfast, but you wake up to doenjang and a smile, one that presses itself to yours until you're wearing it on the long walk to school.)

(4 pm, the stretch between lunch and dinner. You're muddling through another useless club meeting when Mingyu sends you a picture of him in your mom's apron, making kimchi. Kiss the chef, he texts you. You promise to, over and over and over.)

It's good until it isn't.

That isn't to say that it's Mingyu's fault. In fact, it's never really Mingyu's fault, and that's the worst thing about your relationship. Sometimes you wish he was worse just so there was someone else to blame.

(1 am, a fridge-cold glass of water and a hand on the column of your spine. Can't sleep? He asks. Just had a weird dream, you say.

It's a lie. You're a liar.

You miss your parents and the first wave of acceptance letters comes out in two days. You're not like him. Sleep has never been a cure for the exhaustion you're feeling, and you have no way of telling him that however warm the bed is won't fix that.)

It's on a Thursday afternoon when you open your mailbox and see the tiny, thin envelope that you've been expecting for the past week. You don't need to open it to know what it says, and yet you do it anyway.

The sun is white, a ghost in the spring sky. The ocean bleeds into the overcast, the curly barley stands tall around your feet, and you let the worst letter you've gotten in your life fall upon your shoulders, word by terrible word.

Then you close it, pinching the seam shut, and draw up your brave face. Nothing left to do but be brave. You're convinced you've used up all the sadness in your relationship—spend in pennies and the well still runs dry. Mingyu will cup your cheek and call you darling, pouring into your emptying basin, holey and broken.

You see him now through the kitchen window, Venus in his clamshell of a kitchen. Galbijjim day, he had said this morning. Now, he waves at you, glittery with recognition.

Your throat feels like crumpled paper.

Mingyu smiles at you, hazy through the glass. Your cheeks hurt and your mouth is paper mache, but you smile back anyway.

///

The letters come one after another.

You know what the envelopes hold and yet you keep opening them. The little folder you keep stashed in your bottom drawer gets fatter every passing day because you can't help but revisit your misery, almost as if you need to remind yourself it exists.

Mingyu is none the wiser. Today he decides he'll put off pastry school for one more year. "It doesn't feel like the right time," he says, rolling a log of burdock kimbap up. "You know what I mean?"

No, you don't. You never really do.

You do know, however, that it would feel really fucking bad that, come the end of the year, to have nothing. All your friends would be going somewhere—even Yizhuo opened her acceptance to an MFA program in Shanghai yesterday—and you would be here, still, feet firmly planted in the muddy Jeju dirt like they always had been.

"Hey, don't look so disappointed." he jokes. "Don't tell me you're already trying to get rid of me."

You're not, you really aren't. But part of you wonders if it's just a race to the bottom. If you got rid of him before he decided he wanted to get rid of you, maybe it would hurt a lot less. One less letter for the folder.

"Never. But imagine if you picked up a French accent at pastry school. Then I’d consider it. Maybe."

You watch his knife rock back and forth on the cutting board as he cuts the kimbap.

"Some for you. And more for me," he says, in what you can only describe as someone attempting to speak French when they've never heard it before. "Unless you want more, mon cherie."

He brings the plates to the table, his grin nothing short of dizzying.

"I’m irresistible, huh? Still wanna leave me now?"

"You're gonna have to try a little harder than that, I think."

The words roll off your tongue, easily, traitorously.

You watch the kimbap disappear off of Mingyu's plate.

Going, going, gone.

///

Seogwipo is always dark at night, only kept alive by the glow of the moonlit sea.

You can't sleep. Again. And so you sit out on the steps in front of your house, letting the twilight wrap around you like a blanket.

You got your last letter back earlier today. You held your breath and tore it open like you would a birthday card with money in it.

Waitlisted.

It was surely better than a rejection, but some naive, child-eyed part of you thought that if you had just closed your eyes and hoped hard enough, things would work out the way you had planned. Tragically, it wasn't enough this time. You wanted and wanted and you thought maybe that would mean you'd come close to deserving it.

Your parents called today. After managing to sideline the issue of basically the rest of your entire life, they had finally cut through your sad little charade. No good news yet, huh?

No, but—

It was always like that with you. No, but it's not as bad as you think. No, but give me a chance. No, but I’m trying. I've been trying.

You wish things didn't come out of you so complicated. That you could be like Seohyun, who could go through school with her eyes closed and still graduate at the top of her class. Instead, you parade around your little failures, trying to convince people it all could mean something only if they squinted. See? It isn't so bad.

You think you're past the point of crying about it. Your stomach hurts, you're cold, and most of all, you just want to go back to bed. Plus, although Mingyu sleeps like a log, you think he's developed a sixth sense for whenever you get up too early.

Time to be brave, you've been telling yourself, although you don't know who you're pretending for anymore.

So you nudge the front door open—it's so old, it wails if you come at it with any more force—and, to your surprise, see the light above the kitchen sink turned on.

It's not very bright, but it's enough to make out Mingyu's broad silhouette, back turned to you as he makes a cup of tea. He's humming one of his made-up songs.

"Mingyu?"

"There you are," he says, turning around. "Just came out to check on you. And make you some tea."

The kettle whizzes. Your gut twists.

You still haven't said anything to Mingyu. To manage your own disappointment was one thing—you don't think you could handle another person's. And yet when he stands there, Pororo mug between his huge hands, you feel as if you are holding a knife, big and guilty and bloody.

"I-I'm fine, Gyu. Honest." you watch his expression flicker, unreadable in the persimmon lamplight. "Sorry you had to come out. It's chilly out here."

"You know, you can tell me what's going on. I won't judge."

No, no, no. This is the last conversation you wanted to have, with the last person you wanted to have it with.

You feel feverish. You think your hands are shaking.

"Mingyu, I swear—"

"Whatever it is, we can fix it. I know we can."

That almost makes you want to laugh if you didn't want to cry so bad. Of fucking course he would say that. Mingyu, who treats life like it's the watermelon trick he showed you on the outlook, wants to put a bandaid on this whole thing, as if that could come close to fixing it.

He'd tell you to curl up on the couch with a bad movie while he orders takeout. Kiss you on the top of the head. It's ok, baby. Just another bad day for the person who has the worst luck in the world. Another lump of problems for him to try and make better. If he isn't sick of you now, he sure would be soon enough.

"It’s okay," you say, steeling your voice. "It really isn't a big deal. Let's just go back to sleep."

You try to walk away, but the hardness in Mingyu's eyes roots you down to the tile.

"Stop doing that."

"Doing what?"

"Pushing me away," he swallows. "Like you always do. I know something's going on."

"I’m not, i just—"

"You just what? You can't help it?"

"No, I—"

"Because you like to know that you can? That you can say whatever and then watch me come back?" A fragmented, heavy silence thrums between you. He's looking at you like he's daring you to say something, anything. His gaze is black. "What am I good for if you can't tell me anything?"

There's that familiar, stinging pressure behind your eyes. You think you're crying, but you're not sure. Maybe you've been crying this whole time.

"Fine," you bite. Your blood feels like hot metal. "You really wanna know? I didn't get into law school. There. Happy now?"

Mingyu looks stung.

"W-why didn't you tell me?"

Because I thought you would stop loving me. I thought you would have finally had enough.

"Because it's not all about you, Mingyu."

The words, selfish and damning, burn your tongue. Mingyu is right. This is what you always do. You fuck up and then make everyone else hurt for it.

"I'm sorry," Mingyu says. His voice doesn't sound like his. Instead, the words seem to hang in the air, trembling and holding their breath, waiting for an apology you can't give yet. "I shouldn't have—"

"It's ok." You swallow hard, and it hurts. "Let's just go back to bed."

It's getting colder and colder. You think there's a little hole in your sock, right above the cat's whiskers.

Mingyu doesn't reach for you as he passes to get to the hallway. Maybe he doesn't know how to anymore.

The Pororo cup is left abandoned on the counter. You walk over and read the label on the tea bag—barley, because you have class tomorrow morning.

You pick it up, let the ceramic buzz between your hands with whatever warmth it has left, and hold it to your lips.

It's cold now, but all you can think to do is drink it. Erase all the evidence that tonight ever happened, and maybe it'll be nothing more than a bad dream in the morning.

There's honey at the bottom of the cup. It sears the back of your throat, but you drink until there's nothing left.

vi. the peach blossoms (without fail, bloom every August. I miss you.)

You broke up the next day.

Even now, you remember what happened. You had woken up early that morning to make your own breakfast because you couldn't allow Mingyu to give you any more of himself. Your hands could only hold, shatter, so much.

"Mingyu, I think we should...." You looked at the zigzags of jam on your toast, angry and uneven. "I think we should stop seeing each other. For now," you had added, as if that made anything better at all.

Somehow that seemed more merciful at the time. Really, you think it just showed your cowardice. If you were going to break his heart, you might as well have gone all the way the first time.

Maybe it was a good thing that Mingyu saw right through you. He always did.

"So that's it, huh? You're just gonna give up on us?"

"No, I just...need some time."

"How long?" he asked. "Be honest with me. Because you know I’ll wait."

"I don't know." You couldn't meet his gaze. His eyes reached and reached over that kitchen table and you denied him even that.

"Don't you always know?" he asked, pitifully, desperately. "Don't you want this to work?"

And you did. In fact, you don't think you had ever wanted anything more, and it was that that scared you. You had already lost law school—you couldn't let the only other thing in your life let you go. So you pulled the trigger first.

"We should just end things. I'm sorry. I can't give you what you need."

He packed his bag within the hour, and you think everything, from then on, froze inside you. You didn't move from your seat until your parents came home from the airport later that day and asked why there were two plates of toast still on the table.

You think you knew, someplace, inevitably, this would happen. You, who only knew hunger, had reached deep inside Mingyu and rooted out a love you didn't think you were worthy of having. And yet you still ate from the vine, bite after guilty bite, until you couldn't take any more. The only time he asked you for anything at all, you couldn't give it to him—such was the irony of your relationship.

Maybe you were doomed the moment the first strawberry hit your tongue, just like you had said, all that time ago.

About a month later, you got another letter in the mail. Chungnam National University Law School, it read. This one was fat, in one of those brown envelopes lined with bubble wrap. Somehow, miraculously, that position on the waitlist had turned into an acceptance. You held the package to your chest and cried, loud and with abandon, as if taking a deep breath after almost drowning.

Ironically, the first person you wanted to tell was Mingyu. But the good news you needed to save your relationship came too little, too late. Perhaps that meant it had no legs to stand on in the first place, but that didn't stop you from missing it. Instead, you told Yizhuo, and she drove you to Jeju City and treated you to dinner. "You should just call him," she had said. "Hey, don't look at me like that. He'd probably pick up on the first ring."

The city is swathed in August's crimson summer—peach season. The narrow streets are lined with peach trees, the fruits glowing like fat drops of sunlight. All you do these days is plan for your eventual move to Daejeon and the start of a life that seems newer and shinier than your own. But surrounded by the cicada song, the velvet treeline, the rain-soaked asphalt, somehow you think you're going to miss Seogwipo more than you think.

(Fickle, fickle heart. You always needed things to be taken away to really be able to appreciate them. Somehow, all that wanting had boiled down to something more satisfying, more filling.)

You wonder how Mingyu is. Now that you think about it, he seems just as much a part of Seogwipo as the farm he lives on. It was only last summer when you had first met him in the field, set on fire by the strawberry harvest. You think about him now, peddling around that ridiculous wicker basket to make jam. Maybe talking to another pretty girl, someone as naive, cruel as you had been.

Not long ago, you considered calling him to apologize, but that'd just be another thing to be selfish about. A little time and some warm weather, and I’m calling to finally wash my hands of you. That's what it would sound like, no matter what you said. Still, it didn't stop you from thinking of him, every flower, every season.

"You know, I always wanted to grow peach trees. But I think we've always been a pear kind of family."

Mingyu. If a voice could cut through air, it'd be his.

You whip around, half-believing you're hearing things. Certainly that would be easier, but you're learning that there are some things you can't run from.

And like a picture, Mingyu stands tall, golden, framed by the peach blossoms. Not a thing about him has changed. Not even the way he looks at you.

"Mingyu," you breathe. Unfortunately, none of the times you replayed your last conversation with him help you come up with something to say, because in none of them did you anticipate him coming back. "W-what are you doing here?"

"I live here, silly."

"No way," you reply, scrambling. "Crazy, because I live here too."

You both laugh nervously, a silly, bubbly thing, but you feel like you're going to throw up. It's only now that you realize you're kind of on the walk to his place. Seogwipo has never had places to hide.

"I...um." You try and disentangle the guilt from the nostalgia from the scent of the peaches and the warmth on his face. They all look the same. You missed him. "I got into law school. In Daejeon."

"I heard," he says. "Not surprised at all. I always knew you would."

"Thank you. I mean it." The cicadas buzz around you, as if they know they have an important silence to fill. "You're staying in town, right?"

"Actually, I decided to apply to culinary school. It finally felt right, you know? I'm leaving at the end of the summer, but it's just in Jeju City. I couldn't leave the island."

"Thank goodness. I don't know if you could tell, but I kind of always hoped you would. I don't think I’ve ever eaten better food." Your voice wobbles, but it gets there. "You'll do amazing."

Then time stretches and forces you to recognize, reckon with, the moment you're in. You wonder if he feels the same way you do—bruised, overripe. If there's still a space in his heart for you.

Deep breath. Life only gives you so many chances.

"Mingyu, I’m sorry. I'm sorry I couldn't make us work. You deserved better." Saying it feels like peeling the skin of your heart back. There's still a palpable distance between the two of you—you think that had always been there—but it feels more comfortable in a way it never did before.

"Don’t apologize," he says, easily, as he always does. Everything seems to flow off him like water, and you think that's the part of him you loved the most because it was the one thing you couldn't touch. "We loved each other. I think that much was true."

A jasmine breeze curls through the trees, sending the blossoms fluttering around you like ink in water. The very first time you met Mingyu, you thought the image of him, haloed with the sunset, was the one you wanted to keep forever. And yet, somehow, you don't think you'll ever forget the way he looks right now.

"Will you ever come back to Seogwipo?" you ask.

"I was gonna ask you the same thing—you were always the one who wanted to get out of here." He grins, ear to ear. "Of course I'm coming back. There's nowhere I'd rather be."

"Yeah. I think I know what you mean."

The sea, the clay dirt, Mingyu. Even yourself, clumsy and care-worn. You think, somewhere along the line, you forgot how to love. But you're learning—one step at a time.

"Friends," you say. "Let's be friends. If you'll let me."

"Thought you would never ask. Gladly. Always." The space between you seizes, like it's holding in a breath. Maybe one day, you'll think of closing it once more, but you like where you stand now. You can admire him better from a distance, without your fingerprints all over him. He stuffs his hands in his pockets, something he does before he gets ready to leave. But before he does—"I'll see you soon, okay? You better come back. Promise me."

For the first time, you see the honesty in his eyes and you really, truly believe him.

"Promise."

The Seogwipo sun is high and red in the sky when you wave Mingyu goodbye. It feels like you're coming to an end of a long summer, but you're not afraid. You watch the wind dance through the peach blossoms, their branches never searching, never wanting, and you finally feel as if you've arrived home.

#literally on my hands and knees begging for the tags to work #mine #mingyu #mingyu x reader #mingyu x you #mingyu angst #seventeen angst #mingyu imagines

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keeperofthebox · 1 year

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we flushed those plumbers down the toilet, now time to school those summer vacationers... do it for them!! ninjas never quit!!!!!!

#talking abt a bracket btw #rgb siblings #ninjago #kai ninjago #kai smith #lloyd garmadon #keeperofthebox art

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escapingrealityforamoment · 10 months

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Jeremiah Fisher has entered the chat… my first go at a Jeremiah imagine 🙈 hope you guys like it!

A local girl, (Y/N), and Jeremiah Fisher find a summer romance at the beach house bonfire, changing their lives forever.

You, (Y/N), have always been a local at the beach where Jeremiah Fisher's family owns a beach house. Every summer, you'd catch glimpses of him and his family, knowing them as familiar faces around town. There was always an air of mystery surrounding Jeremiah, an unspoken allure that drew you in.

This summer, however, everything changed on the night of the first bonfire of the season. The beach was alive with laughter and music, as locals and vacationers gathered around the crackling flames. You found yourself standing near the fire, chatting with friends, when you noticed Jeremiah out of the corner of your eye. He was leaning against a driftwood log, his dark hair tousled by the ocean breeze.

Curiosity got the better of you, and you decided to strike up a conversation. With a nervous smile, you approached him. "Hey, Jeremiah. Long time no see."

He turned to you, his gaze warm and inviting. "Hey, (Y/N). Yeah, it's been a while. How have you been?"

As the conversation flowed effortlessly between you, you discovered that there was more to Jeremiah than meets the eye. Behind his brooding exterior, you found a kind soul with a genuine interest in getting to know you. Time seemed to fly by as you laughed and shared stories, your hearts connecting amidst the vibrant atmosphere of the bonfire.

The night air was filled with the scent of salt and sea, and the sky above was studded with stars. The beach was awash in the soft glow of the fire, casting a warm, intimate ambiance. You and Jeremiah moved away from the crowd, finding a quiet spot by the water's edge. The waves lapped gently at the shore, creating a soothing rhythm that echoed the beat of your heart.

"I've seen you around every summer," he confessed softly, his voice barely audible over the crashing waves. "But this summer feels different. Being here with you, talking to you... It's like everything has changed."

Your heart skipped a beat as you locked eyes with him, feeling an electric spark between you. "I feel it too," you whispered, your voice barely carrying above the sound of the ocean. "There's something about this summer, about being here with you."

As the night wore on, the crowd began to disperse, leaving just the two of you behind. The crackling flames provided a comforting backdrop as Jeremiah took a step closer, his eyes filled with a mixture of uncertainty and longing.

In that moment, the world around you faded away, leaving only the two of you under the moonlit sky. And as Jeremiah leaned in, closing the distance between you, you knew that this summer would be unlike any other.

His lips met yours in a gentle, tender kiss that sent shivers down your spine. It was as if the universe had conspired to bring you together at that very moment. The taste of salt lingered on your lips, a sweet reminder of the beach and the magic it held.

As you pulled away, both of you were breathless, and a blush colored your cheeks. "I never expected this," Jeremiah admitted, his voice filled with sincerity. "But I'm glad it happened."

You smiled, feeling a newfound sense of joy and anticipation. "Me too."

From that night on, your connection with Jeremiah deepened. You spent lazy afternoons on the beach, watching the sun dip below the horizon, and shared secrets under the starlit sky. Each moment brought you closer, and it felt like the summer was slipping away too quickly.

But as the season drew to a close, you knew that this wasn't the end. The magic of that first bonfire had ignited something special between you and Jeremiah, something that would endure beyond the summer. And as you looked forward to the future, you were grateful for the serendipitous turn of events that had changed everything, all because of a bonfire on a summer night.

#jeremiah fisher imagine #jeremiah fisher #jeremiah fisher x y/n #jeremiah fisher x reader #tsitp x reader #tsitpedit #tsitp x you #tsitpbookseries #tsitp spoilers #tsitp fanfic #tsitp season 1 #team jeremiah #tsitp conrad #tsitp #tsitp jeremiah #conrad fisher x reader #conrad fisher imagine

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photoboothphotos · 2 years

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Honest Character

Jake Peralta x Reader - Dating the Captain's daughter [1.2K Words]

The Brooklyn summer heat had taken a toll on the city. Everyone at the office was dripping through their shirts this morning due to the absence of air conditioning, courtesy of a broken fuse that impacted all of New York City. The entire squad was forced to dress summer casual, looking like a bunch of vacationers that had washed up into the precinct, with only Capitan Holt abiding to the work-place dress code.

So, when you walked into the police station with your yellow sundress swaying up your thighs, Jake Peralta had no choice but to look you up and down like a tall glass of water. With sunglasses adorning your head like a crown, you walked straight into the Captain’s office without saying a single word. The Captain had shut his office door behind you, forbidding any eavesdropping of the conversation.

“Jake, stop staring down the new sketch artist,” Terry commanded from his desk, “You’re going to scare her away before she even starts.”

The detective turned towards Terry, confusion running through his brows, “We hired a new sketch artist? How come I was never told this?”

“Because you always hit on the new hires,” Rosa chimed in dropping off a shared file onto Jakes desk, “Holt asked us all to keep her transfer a secret until she got here.”

With genuine hurt, Jake shot his friends an accusing look, “That’s crazy. I am a delight to meet, I can keep this profresh. It’s all of you making this unprofresh.” He huffed with frustration earning sympathetic gazes from the rest of the squad. Before anyone had the chance to add to the conversation, the room went quiet with Holt calling Jake towards his office before closing the door once more. Standing up, Peralta turned to the sargent with a smirk, “See! I am a delight.” With determination he marched to the Captain’s office, smoothing out his short-sleeved flannel.

“Jake, I’d like to meet (Y/N) H.C.” The Captain introduced the two of you with a gesturing hand.

“Nice to meet you, I’m Jake Peralta. You must be the new sketch artist,” Jake stated proudly reaching for your hand and giving Holt a smug look, “What does the H.C. stand for, Honest Character? We sure need more of that around here.” The detective gave his superior another annoyed look, still frustrated from being kept out of the loop.

You looked between the officers, clearly you had stepped into a separate argument. Deciding to ignore the unknown elephant in the room you took Jake’s hand, giving him a shake. “No, it’s short for Holt-Cozner. I’m from the Seven-Three’s forensics division, my dad said you needed some help with the Davidson murder.” You clarified, with question taking over your voice. The silence ran thick throughout the office, both Holt and yourself confused beyond belief. You slowly retrieved your hand away from Jake’s when it was evident that he’d been shocked frozen.

“Your dad?” Jake quipped, bewildered by the fact.

“Yes,” Holt confirmed hesitantly, unsure of what had taken over his subordinate. “I had Santiago inform the team that my daughter would be visiting and helping you with the case.”

With twisted lips Jake shot a look at his desk, now crowded with snickering friends and an apologetic looking Boyle. Peralta knew this was payback for when he embarrassed his co-worker during last week’s briefing. In an awkward haste, Jake led you a spare room leaving you with no choice but to mumble a quiet “I’ll see you at dinner” to Holt before exiting.

You reviewed the photos and DNA evidence quietly, unsure of what was going through the detective’s mind. With a slight cough you cleared your throat before speaking, “It’s odd that there aren’t any fingerprints around the apartment that match the ones on the weapon,” you started “How did they enter the apartment in the first place? And even then, why not take the same precautions with handling the weapon. It’s like they’re a ghost and only moralized to kill the victim.”

Jake looked at you excitedly, a lightbulb illuminating in his head. “Because they were framed!” He yelled excitedly shuffling through the files bringing your attention to a picture of the apartment owner, “We dismissed this guy’s prints because it’s his apartment, but he must’ve blackmailed our suspect into putting his prints on the weapon – the suspect kept on saying he was there returning a favor, and that’s it.” The detective shook his head in disbelief, already over the embarrassing moment from earlier, “You’re a genius.”

“It was your solve detective, I’m just happy to help.” You smiled, getting ready to show yourself out.

“Wait, don’t you want to stay for the interrogation?” Jake asked, hoping he would have the opportunity to make up for his horrible first impression, “Or at least long enough for me to take you out for lunch?” He could tell that the latter offer took you by surprise. So, he offered you a welcoming arm, inviting you to link with it, “Do you like Pizza?”

The awkwardness from earlier had washed away as the two of you shared a laugh over two slices of New York’s finest pizza and ice-cold orange sodas. Jake had explained the entire situation from this morning and in return you had described to him your life with your dads: Raymond Holt and Kevin Cozner.

“You have the coolest dads ever,” Jake exclaimed taking another slice of pepperoni pizza. The cheese stretched as he placed the slice back down, “I can’t believe that this is the first time I’ve heard of you.”

You shook your head, laughing at the hanging cheese string dangling from Jake’s lips. You were thankful for the bright sun leaving a pink tint on your skin, effectively hiding your growing blush. Your dad had told you many stories about the detective. Nights of going on and on about his awful handwriting, his silliness during Halloween, and how he had set every precinct record since Holt had taken command. You had been curious about Peralta, but you would have never thought he’d be this charming. Maybe it was the romantic pop song playing on the radio, or the heat coming from the kitchen, but desire had bubbled in your heart, and you were itching for more time with him.

With his permission, you wiped off the extra sauce and cheese off the corner of Jake’s mouth, making you suddenly shy. “Yeah, and yet I’ve already learnt so much about you.”

Jake’s smile grew bigger, happy that he’d manage to turn the situation around. The way your sundress hiked up your legs had not left his mind since this morning. Though he felt himself enchanted to meet you, he knew with certainty that he wanted to go about this spontaneous date correctly – with you being the Captain’s daughter and all. He felt it in his gut that you were going to be a forever thing, and his gut feelings were always right. “To even it out, maybe I can learn more about you over drinks tomorrow at the bar?”

You leaned in gifting the detective a light kiss on his cheek, unable to resist those dimples for any longer than you already have, “It’s a date.”

And it was one of the best dates both of you had been on. From that day forward, Jake no longer wanted or needed to hit on other new hires, not with you and your sundresses frequenting the precinct. The squad had grown fond of your budding relationship, with even the Captain showing signs of enthusiasm. As Jake meet you downstairs for another summer night of exploring the city, he thought to himself about how lucky he was to have been pranked by his friends that morning.

#jake peralta blurb #jake peralta imagine #jake peralta x reader #jake peralta x y/n #jake peralta #brooklyn nine nine #brooklyn nine nine imagine #brooklyn 99 #jake peralta fanfic #jake peralta oneshot #jake peralta drabble #jake peralta fiction #jake peralta fluff

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where-dreamers-go · 21 hours

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“Summertime” Leon S. Kennedy x Reader — Part Three

(A/N: Part one and two are up. We’re back with lifeguard Leon Kennedy! What happens after Reader and Leon’s date? Does Reader ever get his number? Does the Reader’s friend get to see the pairing they’ve been cheering for? Have you had water recently? The last part will be part four. Warnings: Mentions of sea creatures, fluff, romance, Leon being Leon with phrases, puns, and kissing. Word Count: 4,514 words)

~~~

Blue skies and happy vacationers made for a bright summer.

Thinking of the previous evening spent with a certain handsome lifeguard made the summer utterly delightful. It made getting out of bed in the morning easier.

You were happy; eager for a new day.

Within your wishes of the day, you hoped that Leon was also happy.

Being a lifeguard held huge responsibilities. Each day was different and Leon held his own while under pressure. He had dealt with people yelling in his face, rip tide, and lost children. That wasn’t including everything a lifeguard had to do either.

I hope today is a calm day for him, you thought. He definitely deserves it.

“Lifeguard duty again, I see.” Your friend stated from beside you.

The pair of you walked towards your preferred spot on the sandy beach. A little ways ahead of the lifeguard chair that was in clear view as you approached.

“Don’t be weird,” your friend added and zipped ahead.

“Sure, thanks.” You called after them. Shaking your head, you walked closer to the chair shaded by a red umbrella.

Sitting with an elevated view of the beach sat the very handsome man you had been crushing on for multiple vacations. One who happened to set out the lifeguard chair closer to the water and to where your friend always set up the towels. The larger lifeguard tower sat quietly behind it all, slightly off in the back, but not by much.

Just be casual. It’s fine.

“Hey Leon.” You grinned at him.

He leaned over the armrest and removed his sunglasses, a soft smile on his lips. “Hey you. Any adventures planned for today?”

“Might go swimming later.”

His smile widened. “Have fun. I’m here if you need me.”

“I appreciate that.” With a wave, you went to join your friend.

On the towels, your friend crossed their arms. “I’m going to need more salt in these chips to counteract you two and your sweetness.”

“Sure.” You stretched out on the towel, grinning unapologetically.

“I’m serious.”

“Oh, I know.” You chuckled and tilted your head back to take a peek at your favorite lifeguard.

Leon’s smile only grew upon meeting your gaze. After a tiny wave, he put his sunglasses back on.

Oh, that smile, you thought and brought your sights ahead of you once more.

What could that smile do to you?

If only you could see that smile of Leon’s more often.

***

Summertime held the perfect atmosphere for grilling, swimming, and sweet treats. Hot weather also brought a collection of clouds. Some of which caught attentive people’s notice.

Lunch time was around the corner and an offshore thunderstorm was quickly rolling in to meet it.

That’s a little too dark, you thought while eyeing the horizon.

Glancing over at Leon seat at his appointed chair, his gaze was focused on his phone. A rarity in his position. He nodded to himself before putting the device away.

Having locked with your gaze, Leon pointed out towards the water and said, “I’m going to start calling people in. The lightning is getting too close. You should get indoors for safety.”

“Okay.”

He didn’t need to tell you twice. You knew what lightning could do, especially the risk on a flat, sandy beach.

Together in record time, you and your friend packed up your belongings. The air around you had already felt different, charged and ready. The two of you scurried off of the long expanse of sand before the sky broke open into a downpour.

***

Much later, after thunderstorms and an early dinner, you headed to the gaming room. You were in dire need of entertainment. Checking the weather and hearing your friend repetitiously give critique on how you should talk to Leon more was enough to push you outdoors. The idea of playing in the arcade was rendered the preferable option.

Only a couple of minutes walk across wet concrete and various paths took up your time. Thunder still rolled in the distance, but the worst had passed, as you expected.

What you had not expected was to see Leon as you entered the gaming room. Well, his back, anyway; a clean white shirt and red swimming trunks. The man was leaning forward with full concentration over the pinball machine across from the main door.

Walking closer, you did your best not to startle him.

But who were you kidding? He was Leon.

“Checking on your high score?” Leon asked as you stepped up beside him.

“Maybe. Just curious.”

Risking a glance, Leon sent you a half-smile that weakened your knees.

How did you manage such strength the day before?

You shifted your weight from one foot to the other.

“I’m trying to put what I learned from you into practice.”

“And how’s that working out?” You watched the pinball ricochet through the middle section.

“I could use your professional guidance.”

“Yeah?” You peeked at his score, as his numbers had yet to put him in the top players.

Letting out a small grunt, Leon barely saved the pinball from dropping out of the game.

How should I do this? You thought, eyes flickering between his stance and the pinball itself.

“Would it help my case if I said, pretty, please?” Leon hit the side buttons repeatedly and unnecessarily. The newly placed pout on his lips made his attempts at pinball appear more desperate than initially seen.

“It wouldn’t help your timing,” you chuckled lightly and inched closer. “May I?” Your hands hovered over his on either side of the machine.

“Go for it.”

With most of your subconscious mind screaming, you proceeded to help Leon with his timing by placing your hands over his as he played. The small bit of logic in you hoped it would teach him to anticipate the pace of the game.

“Keeping the pinball in play for as long as possible,” you pressed his right fingers against the button, “is almost more important than getting the highest points on the board.”

“That sounds counterproductive.”

“I mean… If you’re only focused on getting the ball to those higher points, only, rather than keeping it in play, you’re going to lose out on more points in the long run.”

“Long term goals versus quick and big points. All right.”

As you two spoke, the pinball sped from one side of the board to the other. The traction leading it closer to following the loop towards the bottom.

“Okay. You can’t be too early because it’ll either fall in or you’ll be holding it there before trying to get the momentum back. It’s a tricky spot—so try avoiding that.”

The pinball was hit, its direction more favorable.

“Got it. Strategic not over zealous.”

“Exactly.” You kept your eyes trained on where the pinball traveled. A much more difficult task as Leon leaned closer to your level.

Goodness, you could smell him. It reminded you of vacation mornings and the baking aisle. Light and sweet backed with a quiet earthy scent. To be wrapped up in it for even an hour would be heavenly.

Focus. Focus. Fo— Crap.

Time ticked by without your attention on anything but the task set before you.

Spending one on one time teaching Leon ended up much more intimate than you imagined. He learned quick and not once did he downplay your own playing abilities.

The final pinball fell away. Lights and sounds ceased as a score was finalized.

Leon had gained a high score under your own. The illuminating numbers displayed for all to see.

Removing yourself from him quietly was a test of your composure. Your hands felt colder without his.

“Not bad.” He mused, eyeing the scoreboard. “Room for improvement, that’s for sure.”

Turning to you, Leon and yourself shared a smile as you gazed at each other. All warm and familiar.

“You did great.” You said softly.

“I had professional help.”

“Is it my turn?” A voice piped up from behind the two of you.

Startled, you both looked over to see a kid, no older than ten, waiting patiently and a tad confused at whatever he just witnessed.

“Oh!”

Apologizing to the kid, the pair of you quickly sidestepped away from the pinball machine.

“Oops,” you covered up a laugh. “Good game though.”

“Thanks.” Reflexively, Leon checked his watch and his eyebrows rose. “Ah. Didn’t realize it was that late. I should head home.”

“Oh. Get home safely, okay?”

“I will.” Leon’s smile was small, but incredibly sweet. “May I call you some time?”

Flutters erupted in your stomach.

It’s happening.

“If that’s alright?”

“Yes— It’s…it’s fine. Uh.” You dug out your phone and he did the same.

In a blur of numbers and bashful laughter, you both exchanged numbers and bid one another a good night.

***

The following day, clouds were building higher in the sky. Still blue and exceedingly warm. A promise for a fun summer day.

“Hey.”

You turned to see Leon jogging up to you. A minor interruption on your way back to the rented condo to give your friend their favorite snacks.

“Hey, Leon,” you greeted him happily.

“Hi…uh.” He pulled at his shirt. No lifeguard or safety symbol in sight. “Are you busy today?”

“I’m on vacation.”

“Right.” Leon rotated the watch on his wrist. “Are you all right with aquariums?”

“Sure. Depends on the aquarium, I guess.”

“Would you like to go with me as a date?”

You smiled.

“To the aquarium. There’s one in the town over. I can drive us there; it’s only about twenty minutes or so.”

“Today?” You asked.

“Yes. Today.”

“Right now?”

“Oh! We don’t have to go right now. Not if you don’t want to. We—”

“I’d love to.”

Leon’s shoulders visually relaxed.

“Let me just change shoes and we can go. If you’re ready?”

“I’m ready,” he said quickly. “I’ll wait here.”

You gave him another smile and discreetly rushed inside.

***

Your date had assured you that the aquarium was both a research and animal rehabilitation center. No catching creatures for show and profit. Only education and hopefully giving the animals better lives if they could not be released back into their home. A home so close.

Leon had picked you up and drove you out on about a twenty minute drive. The time spent in the vehicle held various music choices and comments of other people’s driving skills. It wasn’t necessarily awkward, just a new environment. Leon made it fun either way.

“So, which animals are you most excited to see?” He questioned after paying for your ticket.

“Sharks.”

“No hesitation.” He chuckled, walking beside you.

“Well, we can see the other animals too, obviously.”

“Yeah, but now I’m learning which is your favorite. All the shark’s teeth meant something, huh?”

Leon slipped his fingers along your palm and your hands effortlessly clasped together.

“It did.” You smiled to yourself. “And thank you again for helping.”

“Of course.”

Shades of blue and a wide spaced interior offered a calm atmosphere. Not crowded or loud. Out of the way, signs directed visitors towards specific exhibits and animals, colorfully spaced every so often. Nothing overwhelming to deter you from exploring.

Your date, delighted as he was to be in your company, eagerly and curiously walked with you towards a wall of thick glass. Beyond it, fish of all shapes and colors swam between their decorated environment.

“I heard they keep their octopi locked up pretty tight.”

“Octopuses.” You corrected.

He raised an eyebrow.

“It would be octopi if the word octopus was latin, but it’s not. It’s weird. I know. Sorry.”

“Knowing isn’t weird.” Leon gave your hand a squeeze. “Knowing is understanding more about the world.”

“And hopefully respecting it.”

“Yeah. Hopefully.”

In front of you both, a large fish with old scratch marks languidly swam by. Possibly an injury from propellers of a boat or netting. The fish was, without a doubt, not young and may have even been in a few scraps with others sea creatures.

The sea and the creatures within were a wonder.

Swimming closer to the glass, the fish slowly passed.

“Okay,” you added. “That one was pretty big.”

“It could probably eat me whole.”

“No.” You hushed his outlandish thoughts.

“It could. You saw that thing, right?”

Walking along the tank, you said determinedly, “I’m not letting any fish eat you. Not on purpose and not on accident.”

At your words, Leon held himself higher and gave a satisfied look over to the fish. “Hear that? I’m off the menu. And not just because I’m on a date.”

You laugh came suddenly and short.

He’s a goof too, you thought while shaking your head in good humor.

Further inside the aquarium, after seemingly traveling through a tunnel with tanks on either side, you two spotted multiple pools in the center of an area. The small pools had numerous people gathered around them; even to the point of leaning against ‘Do Not Touch’ signs around the short exhibits.

Probably fish and stingrays, you thought. Not the delicate ones though.

“I’ve seen videos where fish keep circling back to get scratches.” You told your date as you two strolled passed.

“A dogfish?”

“No.” You bumped his arm lightly.

“A catfish?”

“Neither of those and I don’t remember what it was.”

Leon nodded and said in a serious tone, “Could definitely be related to a dogfish.”

Laughing quietly, you pulled him along towards the next exhibit of interest.

“Oh,” Leon exclaimed playfully. “I think I see where you want to go.”

“Hmm?” Following his line of sight gave way to a bright smile on your lips. “Oh, yeah.”

“Called it.”

Mutual delight added a skip to each step.

The pair of you headed toward an unobstructed view of another tank, taller than either of you could reach. Watery depths decorated with corals added more color to the shades of blue. One of the far sides were indistinguishable to its true distance as it kept a large environment for many fish; neither rectangular or perfectly round. An informational sign listed more than a dozen sea creatures in that tank alone.

Of all the fish, one caught your attention first. A hammerhead shark.

Hands intertwined, you and Leon observed the few visible hammerheads as they as almost swiveled through the water with their flattened head. It was peaceful. Everything there an ease to approach in order to learn and witness animals almost as if through a screen; close and mostly clear.

“When I was little, hammerheads were the first shark I liked.” You stated, wistfully thinking of a moment in your childhood. “No one ever told me they were scary or anything. I could just look at them without being fed terrifying tales.”

“Are they still your favorite?”

“I may be a little partial to great white sharks.”

“Movies didn’t scare you off?”

“Nope. I’ve watched too many nature documentaries for that.”

Softly, Leon’s thumb caressed the side of your hand. A soothing and comfortable gesture; touch that came naturally as if done a dozen times before.

“Nurse sharks are really nice too,” you said as you spotted one at the bottom of the tank. “They’re still cool even though people don’t get all crazy hype about them. They’re important too.”

“Important animals should be considered cool regardless. Or at least not badmouthed in groups. Do you know how many shark movies there are where the shark is the antagonist?”

“More every summer, I’m sure.”

“There’s always someone at the beach trying to scare people or asking if there are any sharks in the water.” Leon gestured widely with his free hand. “Technically, yeah, there are sharks in the water. It’s just a huge body of water. They’re likely not near shore depending on the time of day.”

“And time of year.”

“Yeah. I hope there’s not a new shark movie this year…”

“Nah. I think it’s romcoms and zombies.”

“Great.” Leon chuckled sarcastically.

Patting his bicep affectionately, you steered him around a curve of the tank to see more.

And more was seen amongst all blues and greens. Both of you enjoying the views full-heartedly. The large tank of sharks held true as a definite highlight.

Minutes turned into hours and comments lengthened into conversations. The pair of you went through almost every exhibit sharing facts about animals and memories of each other’s past.

A lovely date nearing its end.

Near one of the exits of the aquarium stood a well-lit gift shop. The two of you wandered into it with curious eyes. It was small, but stuffed full of merchandise.

You could easily be in there for half an hour glancing around.

Somewhere between souvenir cups and being distracted by detailed figurines, you did not see Leon’s movements. When you had peered over next, you found that Leon had disappeared from your side.

Huh. Where’d he go? You thought as you glanced around the shop. Did he find something?

Finally, you spotted him at the register being handed a bag.

He bought something. Okay… Not a big deal, but why’d he veer off so quickly?

Upon grabbing the bag, Leon turned away from the counter, eyes scanning the shop.

Raising a hand, you gave a tiny wave.

His bright smile greeted you once he found you. In a few strides, Leon returned to you with an air of excitement.

“Found something good?” You asked.

“I did. It’s for you.”

“What?”

Seeing your smile, Leon grabbed your hand and lead you out of the shop.

“You didn’t have to get me anything.”

“Wait ‘till you see it first.” Leon held open the bag for you to look inside.

Peering up at you was the grey and white face of a plush great white shark.

“Really?” You practically squealed in glee as you lifted the plush out of the confines of the bag.

“Yeah. All yours.”

“He needs a name.” You announced as you begun rotating the soft plush in your hands, checking every detail of cuteness.

Leon hummed in thought.

“Something that makes sense.”

He hummed again.

You turned the plushie at different angles before poking its nose.

“Finn.”

“Finn?” You looked to Leon with an approving smile. “That’s so cute.”

“Well, he is yours.”

“I love it. And I love him too.” You gave the plush a light hug. “But… I didn’t buy you anything.” You glanced back at the gift shop.

“Trust me, giving you Finn is better than anything in there.”

A bubbling warmth filled you, eased you and made you smile continuously.

How is Leon real?

***

Another hot summer day and window shopping was on the agenda. You and your friend went exploring the local shops to your hearts content. Options wide and catered to tourists. The perfect opportunity for your friend to ask a hundred questions about your date from the day before. At least your friend and your own curiosity for artisan goods could be satisfied more directly. Just the two of you. A normality during and outside of vacations.

Late in the evening, back in the rented condo, your phone alerted you of a text.

It was from Leon, asking if you’d be up for a swim in the pool later. The pool at the beach club had lights and usually people were gone by nine o’clock the latest.

You informed your friend before they could ask.

“Go with him.” Your friend urged.

“But it’s already late.”

“You stay up late. What’s the difference?”

“I’m inside when I stay up late.” You stated.

They fell back onto their bed.

Hugging your little shark plushie closer, you said, “I’m just….a creature of habit.”

“Do you want to go swimming with a fun, kind, and super fine with-and-without-a-shirt man that saves lives for a living?”

“Yes.” You answered quietly.

“Then what’s stopping you from answering the man? He’s into you.” They pointed to Finn and then the shark teeth. “Very into you.”

Taking a few deep breaths, you replied to Leon.

Sounds fun. I haven’t been able to use the pool yet. :)

Then it’s a date? (crossed fingers)

Yes, I’ll have to leave Finn here then.

Break the news to him gently. Don’t need him tearing up the room (fish)

I’ll do my best. :D See you later!

Can’t wait. ;)

“He sent a winking emoji,” you exclaimed.

Bolting upright, your friend squealed, “Show me! Oh my god!”

“There.” You turned your phone.

A little exchange of enthused exclaims later followed before you went to freshen up and change into a swimsuit.

***

Folded towel held in the crook of your arm, you found your favorite lifeguard standing beside the pool chairs.

“Hey you.” Leon’s smile was infectious.

“Hey.”

“You ready for a swim?” Tilting his head, Leon’s eyes held your gaze warmly.

“Yeah.” You set your towel on a lounge chair.

In one swift movement of flexed muscles, Leon had removed his shirt.

You swore that your brain malfunctioned for a whole five seconds.

Giving you a cheeky smile, Leon hopped into the pool. Water droplets sprinkled along the tile by the seating.

My brain really needs to catch up with me, you thought while regaining your sense of self amidst the small splash.

You knelt by the edge of the water as your date’s head breached the surface.

“Finn isn’t too mad at me for stealing time with you, is he?” Leon asked and shook his hair out of his eyes.

“A little, but I think he understands.”

Carefully, you slipped into the water. It was a comfortable temperature despite the late hour. You swam further out into the pool to join Leon.

“That’s a relief. Don’t need him bumping his nose into me when I least expect it.”

“Cant’ have that.” You smiled softly. “We’ll make it up to him.”

“How’s fish crackers and Jaws sound?”

“Fin-tastic.” The words left you before you could filter them out.

Bringing his hand up through the water, Leon splashed you. He laughed as soon as you retaliated. The two of you went back and forth until you were wiping water from your eyes.

Now is not the time for this. You internally scolded your eyes.

“Sorry about that. Does it sting?” Leon asked. His voice was incredibly close.

“I’m fine.” You opened your eyes, but squinted almost immediately.

Leon shook his head. “May I see?”

You nodded.

Gentle hands cradled your face as he inspected your eyes one at a time. His thumb prodding your skin only enough to nudge your eyelids to open more.

“They might get a little irritated from all the chlorine they put in here. You should rinse with some water when you get back to the room, but you’ll be alright.” His warm breath fanned over your face, sending a chill down your side. One of his thumbs rubbed across your cheek affectionately.

“Nothing serious?” You questioned quietly.

“No, you’re—” Leon’s voice caught in his throat as his gaze locked with your own.

The pool’s water settled. Sounds of the waves in the distance were mere whispers.

Leon’s hands remained in place as you lost yourself in the depths of his blue eyes. Neither of you shied away from the vulnerability.

How were you suppose to react when all you wanted was to know more?

Your attempts at steadying your breathing was near impossible.

Bravery had its moments and yours came as your fingertips ghosted over Leon’s biceps. His gaze flickered down to your lips. Just centimeters away from his own.

“Leon,” you whispered.

“May I?�� He swallowed and added quietly, “Please?”

The questions melted your heart.

How could Leon be so….endearing?

Fingers curling around his arms, you answered softly, “Yes.”

Eyes fluttered shut as your lips were greeted by a light pressure. Tenderness seeped into your skin every second Leon kept you close. Everything else faded away.

All too soon or much later, you couldn’t tell, the kiss ended.

The beauty of it still shined in Leon’s eyes, more stunning than the night sky. His smile tickled every ounce of happiness into light. So genuine and sweet.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Leon asked softly.

“Like what?”

“Like…you discovered something. Like you’re looking at something for the first time.”

You ducked your head, smiling then. “In a way, I guess.”

“What?” He chuckled and lifted your head to look at him again. “You discovered that I don’t kiss weird?”

Grinning, you shook your head. “I’m happy with you.”

Steadily and all over, the humor on Leon fell away to reveal open gratefulness. Pure and fully content.

“I’m happy with you too. So happy.” Circling an arm around your waist, Leon brought you even closer. The warmth of your bodies very evident, arousing.

Something within you both clicked.

Lips met again, firmly and passionate in each minute movement. A series of affections on repeat between quick inhales for air.

A light bump to your back signaled that Leon had you both by the pool’s edge for support. One strong arm at the edge to keep you both afloat. His lips traveled along your jawline. Exciting and thorough. Your hands tangled into his wet hair and encouraged him to continue kissing down your neck.

You sighed blissfully. Letting one of your hands travel down his toned back.

At the junction between neck and shoulder, you felt his open-mouthed kiss slow. The warmth of Leon’s exhale raised chills down your back. He gave another kiss. Still the same spot, well heated from the intimacy.

But how much further would you two go? In a public pool, mind you.

“Leon.” You whispered.

In response, he hummed. A delightful vibration that made you almost change your mind.

“We should…slow down a little.”

Leon raised his head to see your face. “Are you okay?” His eyebrows knit together in concern.

“Yeah.” You breathed out. “Just…” Trailing off in words, you glanced around you at the few overhead pool lights and dark buildings.

He nodded.

Chills ran over your water droplet-covered skin as the night air touched you. A fair reminder of where you two were.

Ever the observant one, Leon nudged his forehead against yours and stated, “Why don’t we get you warm in a towel?”

You smiled and gave a small nod.

Taking ahold of your hips, Leon lifted you out of the pool to sit on its edge. He snuck in a kiss to your knee. It was healing nicely.

He’s so attentive, I might melt or…something.

Leon waited for you to stand before pulling himself out of the water. Another glorious view of his being.

After making sure your towel was securely around your form, Leon kissed your forehead.

“Let’s get you inside.”

The short distance walking you back to your rented condo was filled with lingering looks and one of his arms wrapped around you.

“Good night,” Leon kissed you on the lips tenderly.

“Good night.” You smiled as he bumped your nose affectionately and squeezed your hand one more time.

“Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow.”

~~~

(If you love my writings and want to support me, I have a Ko-Fi where you can buy me a coffee. I would be eternally grateful. coffee

Best wishes and happy reading.)

~~~~~

DreamerDragon Tags: @cubedtriangle

Leon Scott Kennedy Tags: @

**Let me know if you would like to be tagged in insert readers, either through replies, ask, or message.**

#leon kennedy x reader #lifeguard! leon kennedy #lifeguard au #leon kennedy #leon scott kennedy #where dreamers go #leon kennedy fluff #leon kennedy fanfic #summertime lifeguard leon kennedy #leon kennedy lifeguard au

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toomanybandstocare · 10 months

Note

Congrats on your account anniversary! You’re an awesome person and friend! ✨💕

I’m submitting the .𖥔 ݁ ˖☾𖤓.𖥔 ݁ ˖ Sneaking Around request…

with Captain Rex x Reader!

Perhaps something fluffy and sweet? 💓

.𖥔 ݁ ˖☾𖤓.𖥔 ݁ ˖ - Sneaking Around

Drabble for character x reader. @starrylothcat requested something fluffy and sweet with our resident Captain with puppy dog eyes. I hope you enjoy it!! Thank you for celebrating with me, an dI so enjoyed chatting and getting to know you, friend <3

Pairing: Captain Rex x GN! reader

Genre: Fluff

Length: 800w

Warnings: Mention of alcohol, Barely proof read

Counselor Note: So sorry this is shorter! I really wanted to write this for you and just share a piece of sunshine fluff with our boi.

-> Celebration Announcement Post <- -> Celebration Masterlist <- -> Camp Resolute Masterlist <-

A warm sea breeze lazily drifts over the beach club as sun beams lightly kiss the skin of vacationers and employees. Cheers and shouts from the shoreline harmonize with the ocean’s rolling waves as children splash around in the crystal blue waters. Parents sit under umbrellas with blankets and coolers of snacks while they keep a careful eye on their kids as they enjoy a moment of relaxation. Other patrons chat excitedly as they wander around the cabanas and different restaurants on the property.

Arching your back with a satisfied hum, you sink further into your lounge chair. Although your movement is limited with the weight of your lover’s body resting on your chest. Rex’s sleeping expression pinches at your movement, and his arms tighten around your waist.

“Where do you think you’re going,” he asks. His voice thick with sleep now rumbles against your skin with its low vibrato that sends shivers through you.

You peer down at him over your sunnies with an amused expression. “No where, I promise. I was, however, trying to get more comfortable, but it seems like someone’s more concerned about their afternoon nap,” you lightly tease. Rex presses his face into the crook of your neck and groans, which pulls a melodious laugh from you.

The two of you were granted an extended leave after the most recent battle. Without a second thought, Rex started to pack both your bags as he muttered under his breath about everything his commanding officers and brothers put him through with the latest so called plan. As he flew across your room looking for your favorite outfits, you quickly reserved a private cabana for the two of you to hide away and enjoy from prying eyes. Neither of you want to lift a single finger, and both of you made a secret promise to make sure the other didn’t as well.

Rex has never thought too much of what his future would be. The sensitive heart that makes it home in his chest shies away from false hope. After losing so many brothers and close friends, Rex isn’t sure he could survive even one more crack in his tattered heart. Yet when he pulls away from your soft skin, he melts when he meets your adoring expression. Late afternoon sunlight frames you in a breathtaking glow that makes Rex fall in love with you all over again. Only this time it feels like the air is knocked out of him, and Rex falls harder for you. “What would you like to do, hm?” Rex asks as one of his arms slips from your waist and cups your cheek.

Even with the summer heat, you alway find comfort in Rex’s warmth. Leaning into his palm, your eyes flutter shut for a moment as you hum in thought. “How about dinner and drinks? Been here all morning, and we forgot to bring a cooler and our beach bag today,” you muse out loud and look at him once more. Your mind finally slows into a languid peaceful bliss after half a month disconnected from the rest of the galaxy. Never in a rush to get from place to place as you focus on enjoying the taste of normalcy with your riduur.

“Then dinner and drinks, we will find,” Rex agrees with a groan as he pulls away from you. Slipping off the lounge chair, Rex stretches his arms above his head. When he opens his eyes to catch you unabashedly checking him out, Rex’s cheeks blush a deeper red from the already existing sun kiss to his cheeks. “Alright, enough of that. There’ll be plenty of time for whatever daydream you’ve come up with later,” Rex rushes to try and tame the butterflies soaring in a flurry within his stomach. He dips down and loops on arm under your knees as the other rests on your lower back.

As Rex pulls you up to his chest, your chest sears with excited nerves as laughter falls from your lips. “Rex,” you cry out in giddy disbelief. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you rest your head on his shoulder while he begins to walk towards your favorite of the club restaurants. “Please, don’t drop me,” you breathe out. You trust Rex implicitly, but the lingering nerves make you press closer to him.

Rex glances down at you with a soft expression. “I will never drop you, cyar’ika. I’m always going to be there to catch you,” he promises you. Something squeezes at his lungs when you look up at him in utter adoration, and Rex swears to himself that he will always try to keep that expression on your face. Wholly devoted to your wellbeing and happiness, Rex has never felt more at home than he has in this moment.

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sigritandtheelves · 9 months

Text

All Along, Like Fire (Part 6)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

Mature | 2.9k words | MSR, AU

A/N: I’m sorry this part took so long, I’ve been working at it bit by bit for like 2 months 😣

—

September, 1995

Washington D.C.

Diana Fowley knew that her life was in danger. She’d failed in monumental fashion, and she could insist to her dying breath that it hadn’t been her fault—that Fox’s stumbling onto the DAT tape happened while she was out of town and there’s nothing she could have done to stop it, but it wouldn’t matter. They would crush her like an empty soda can if she ceased to be useful, and especially if she proved a liability instead.

The city was under a late-summer heat wave that made the air feel even thicker than the tension around her alone. Violence seemed imminent as tempers so easily flared with the temperature. Diana paced the apartment she shared with Fox, a man that she told herself she still loved, despite the lies between them: her secrets, his shifting devotions. His basketball peeked out from the closet and his dirty clothes were in the hamper. Diana picked up one of his shirts and fingered the ratty collar above its FBI logo. She held it to her nose and felt a wave of sadness, of longing. He was a good man, and she’d lost him, let him slip away from both herself and the project she’d hoped he would come to embrace. But in the last year, the deceptions had become too much. She’d had to spend more and more time away in order to live with herself, and after the plan for Scully’s abduction had backfired, she knew that he had crossed some kind of invisible barrier. He would never be hers again. Everything she had done to try and put a wedge between him and his partner had only drawn them closer together.

Diana had a right to be jealous, didn’t she? In spite of her lies? At least she hadn’t fallen in love with someone else. She sat on the bed worrying her lower lip between her teeth. She knew she’d lost her husband, but perhaps she could still make it through this with her life.

What she needed was leverage.

—

Farmington, NM

The public library had three computers connected to the internet for public use. Mulder and Scully sat huddled around one of them, carefully wording an email to the Gunmen from a temporary account.

“Where should we meet?” Mulder kept his voice low.

“I don’t want to put the Hosteens in any more danger,” Scully said. “Maybe Albuquerque?” She oriented herself to the map in her head. “Or we could head north into Colorado.”

Mulder nodded. “Yeah. Get the map.”

They decided on a tourist town called Pagosa Springs, where they could blend in like late-season vacationers. “Hey, if things go downhill, we can always hide out in the mountains,” Mulder said.

“Too bad I forgot to pack my skis.”

He smiled at her, but it was only a half-smile. They both knew how dangerous this was—how much was a stake. They had aligned all their pieces on the board, and now it was the other team’s turn. He just hoped Skinner was really on their side.

—

FBI Headquarters

Everybody wanted a damned meeting, had a plan, had a dog in this fight, it seemed. Walter Skinner was giving himself a headache with all this jaw clenching. He was everyone’s middleman, though he was just as vulnerable to the powers circling them all like sharks. This playing field was full of snares and trapdoors.

“Agent Fowley, you said you had reason to believe your life was in jeopardy? Why not go to your own AD about this?”

The woman seated across from his desk maintained perfect composure, but cleared her throat before answering. “My work has put me in a somewhat compromised position—something I’m sure you can understand, Sir.”

The eyes were so deliberate. Skinner frowned, not liking either her implications or the fact that she seemed to have a lot more information than he realized. “How do you mean?”

“I’m afraid that Fox’s acquisition of the D.O.D files has put more than a few lives at risk, my own included. I was out of town when the DAT tape was handed over to him, but certain… factions,” she paused to choose her words carefully, “seem to think I can be held accountable.” Again, she looked directly at him. “They’re willing to set more than an underground train fire to keep that information in check.”

Another jaw clench. That cigarette smoking bastard had been in here again today trying to weasel information out of him, and Skinner had no doubt that there would be more bodies if the tape, and the information on it, didn’t reappear soon. “I didn’t realize you were involved at all,” he said.

“Not with the tape directly, but it’s been made clear to me that I need to protect it,” she said cryptically. “I have to get in touch with Fox. It’s essential that I arrange a meeting soon.”

Skinner grunted. “Well, you’re in luck on that front.”

Diana’s eyebrows raised. “You know where he is?”

“Not exactly, but I know someone who does.” He eyed the brunette suspiciously—so cool, always—and wondered if it were safe to bring her to a meeting with her own husband. It was a risk he thought he'd have to take if they were going to make any kind of bargain. “Meet me at Dulles tomorrow morning at the United counter. Seven o’clock.”

Diana nodded briskly and stood. “Thank you, sir.”

—

Pagosa Springs, CO

Mulder and Scully sat at the back of Brenda’s Diner, which looked like the kind of restaurant Cracker Barrel was trying to be. The tables were glass-covered wagon wheels, and there were more than a few cowboy hats between their booth and the door. The two agents barely looked away from the entrance to sip their coffees.

“There,” Mulder said when he spotted Skinner’s bald head and glasses. Then he stiffened when he saw the brunette with him. “Shit.” He reached under the table to quickly squeeze Scully’s knee. “Diana is with him.”

Scully forced herself to breathe deeply, to keep her anger tucked inside her, despite everything they now knew. She watched Mulder’s face as Diana approached, as he bottled his own rage into a careful mask.

Skinner spoke first, nodding at them and sliding into the booth. “Agents.”

Diana reached out to touch Mulder’s arm. “Hello, Fox.”

He didn’t meet her gaze or reciprocate her touch, but instead focused on his boss. Diana glanced at Scully only long enough to take note of her husband’s protective position and body language toward the other woman. She sat beside Skinner, and the wooden table was like a vast ocean between the two parties.

“First,” Mulder began, “you should know that we’ve read everything in the files.” He looked pointedly at Diana, who paled, but to her credit, didn’t flinch.

Skinner nodded. “I had assumed as much, based on your prolonged absence.”

“But we're not the only ones who have read it. If their plan is to kill us, all of that information will go public. We have multiple contingencies in place.”

"And you don't think the men we're dealing with could hunt all of those down?"

"No," Mulder said, displaying a confidence he was only half sure he felt. "Not all of them."

The older man grunted in acknowledgement.

“We want to go home,” Scully explained. “And we want to keep our jobs. But there are things we learned from that tape that we can’t pretend we don’t know. Personal things.”

Skinner cleared his throat, as if to speak, but Diana beat him to it. “I realize that you’ll want to distance yourself as much as you can from me,” she said to Mulder specifically, her eyes pleading, "Especially after the things you read." She couldn't bring herself to look at his partner. “But I can also help you make your bargain with them.”

Mulder had tried to keep his calm, but his anger bubbled up beyond his self-control. “Diana, why are you here?” he asked in a sharp whisper. “Are you representing the project’s interests? You’re gonna take our bargaining chips back to that smoking son-of-a-bitch so he can twist us around even further?”

“No.” Her voice was firm and steady; she had her own anger to contend with. “You don’t know what they have on me, Fox. You don’t know what they threatened me with, how I worked to keep you safe—keep you alive—by stopping you from knowing too much.”

Mulder’s jaw dropped open for a moment before he barked out a humorless laugh. “So that was your role in this sham of a marriage? Gatekeeper of what I was allowed to know?”

“Partially,” she said, perfectly frank. “Their plan was to bring you in slowly.”

“Bring him in?” Skinner asked.

“To the project. He’d always been slated to take his father’s place.” She locked eyes with Mulder, and there was something pleading and earnest in her gaze. “Fox, whatever you may think about the things you read—about me and about the project—no matter how horrible they sound, you have to know that the goal has always been to save humanity. The project has always been about helping people survive.”

“Which people?” Scully asked, her voice sharp. “The women you abducted and rendered infertile? The children and family members you took as collateral? Or the hapless people you’ve tortured and experimented on in the name of ‘progress’? How are you any different than the Nazi scientists you’ve collaborated with?”

“I’m not the devil here,” Diana said quietly. “I didn’t devise these methods or decide who would suffer.”

“No, you just carried out their orders,” Mulder said. Their voices were hushed, but some restaurant patrons had noticed the tension at their table. Mulder sat back and took a sip of his coffee.

“Look,” Skinner said, “we could argue about this all afternoon, but we need to decide—“

“Tell me about the babies,” Scully interrupted, unable to contain the question any longer, to let the conversation move too far away from her burning need to know. “The children. Do I—“ her voice caught. “Are there babies out there with my—“ and she couldn’t finish.

“Yes,” Diana said. “Just one viable specimen at the moment, an eight-month-old in California.”

The breath went out of her lungs, and Scully squeezed her napkin so hard, it was shredding to pieces. Specimen. The word was like a hot fist crushing her heart. Mulder’s face had gone grey, and even Skinner looked stricken. Her baby—genetically, at least. An experiment. A specimen.

“Is it… okay?” This from Mulder, who was also trying to find words. Scully heard the subtext in his voice: is it human?

Diana fidgeted, like she didn’t have time for this, like she wanted to talk about more important things. How she’d weasel out of this situation with her own life, for example. She sighed. “Yes, for the most part. It’s a girl.”

“What do you mean for the most part?” Scully asked. It’s a girl, it’s a girl, it’s a girl, she heard over and over in her head. She couldn’t help it: she thought of pink blankets and solemn blue eyes looking out of a round face. At eight months the baby would be crawling, smiling, almost pulling herself to stand. Then Scully imagined cold surgical gloves reaching down to pick up the child and hold her with curiosity and detachment instead of love, to poke her with needles and test her in a cold white place.

“The child has an induced condition that manifests as a form of anemia. She requires regular treatment from a specialist.” Diana’s voice was deadpan, but Mulder and Scully both caught what she was saying. A “specialist,” meaning a project doctor. They locked eyes in understanding.

Skinner, however, was confused. “Induced condition? What does that mean?”

Mulder turned to him, his voice low. “They made her sick on purpose,” he said. It wasn’t a question, and Diana said nothing to either confirm or deny.

“So they can keep her on a leash,” Scully added. “So they can keep anyone who tries to love her on a leash.” She looked across the table and met Diana’s eyes. The fury inside her was grounding her, keeping her still, like ice-water, but inside she was screaming. “Isn’t that right?”

Diana gave the barest of nods and looked down at her hands. Silence around the table grew heavy, broken only when their waitress came to refill their coffee cups. The woman must have sensed the awkwardness, because she left without a word.

“I want what they took from me,” Scully said after a long moment. “All of it. Every strand of my DNA, even the ones in your specimen.”

With that, she stood and walked out of the restaurant.

—

Outside, back to the setting sun over the San Juan mountains, Scully leaned against the hood of their rental car. She wanted a cigarette. Barring that, she wanted to smash something into pieces and scream into the wind. But when Mulder came up beside her and placed a hand on her shoulder, she just deflated. Her head drooped, and she stared at the dust and rock of the parking lot that flecked her leather boots.

“You okay?”

She shrugged one shoulder, not sure she could ever really be okay again. “What did Skinner say?”

Mulder had shoved his hands into his pockets, but he leaned his left side along the length of hers—a gesture of comfort that maintained the boundary between them. “He said they’re going to want a deal. Well,” he clarified, “Diana explained that our silence wouldn’t be enough, not if you really want… everything back.”

Scully reached up and touched the scar at the back of her neck. “They already have me on a leash too, don’t they? What else could they want?”

There was a long pause, and when Mulder didn’t answer, she looked up at him. He had a look of far-off anguish, of dread.

“Mulder.”

He chewed his lip for a moment, and then said, “My work.”

Oh. Scully swallowed hard. So the price for the truth was the power to do anything with it—the power to prosecute these men, to hold them accountable. “Your badge, too?”

He shook his head. “Just the files.”

Scully nodded. “They mean to drive us apart, then.”

She felt him turn to look at her in the dimming light. “What do you mean?”

The breeze coming from the mountain chilled her, and she crossed her arms over her chest. “They know I could never ask you to do that, Mulder. Or they should know it. If you give up your work, our work, you’ll come to resent me, if you don’t already.”

He tried to speak, but Scully cut him off.

“And if you let them keep my…” She couldn’t say future children, couldn’t say baby. “…ova,” she swallowed, “and everything they create from them in exchange for the X-Files…”

“How could you ever stay with me?”

She nodded again. “The thing is, I don’t even want children right now. That wasn’t on my radar, not for a while, anyway, because I have so much other work to do. I’m committed to our work too, Mulder, and I know it’s not compatible with a baby. I mean, maybe in a few years but…” She was rambling, but God, it was impossible, wasn’t it? Every choice seemed wrong, seemed designed to push them apart and alter their lives irrevocably. She chuffed out a humorless laugh. “I guess they’ve kind of won, haven’t they?” She couldn’t look at him, imagining the gears churning his thoughts into a steady resentment toward her.

He was shaking his head. He didn’t want it to be true any more than she did, but they were only two people standing against a tidal wave of power and corruption. “They can’t have won,” Mulder said, but his voice came out defeated.

She looked toward the restaurant, where she assumed Skinner and Diana were waiting for their reply, two sore thumbs in their east-coast suits drinking tepid coffee. “How long do we have to decide?”

“Diana said we should make a call tonight. They know where we are now. We need to play our hand while we can.”

Scully wanted to tell him that he should decide, that he should take this terrible decision away from her and leave her alone to lick her wounds. But of course that wouldn’t be fair to him. She watched his face, silhouetted by the setting sun, and ached for him, for things to have been different between them—no conspiracies or wives or impossible ethical dilemmas. When he looked at her, met her eyes, she thought she felt the same ache coming off him in waves.

“I love you,” he said without warning, and it made her heart skip and slam against her ribcage—warm and unexpected. “I could never resent you for wanting back what they stole from you. Never.”

Scully felt tears filling her eyes, and she bit the inside of her cheek to try to stop them from falling. “Okay,” she said, voice raspy.

“I love you,” he told her again. She was trying to believe him, beginning to, maybe. He reached out a hand to hold her cheek, and it almost undid her. She sucked in a quick breath, a half sob, and a tear escaped down her cheek. He wiped it with his thumb.

Her fingers found his against her cheek, and she turned her head just slightly to kiss his palm. Though he’d said it first, she was terrified to tell him how she felt. But now was the time for bravery, for playing their hands, wasn’t it? Scully closed her eyes and concentrated on the sensation of his skin on hers. “I love you,” she told him back.

He let out a breath into the cooling air that brushed her face. “Good,” he said. “That’s good.” He leaned his forehead down to touch hers. “They won’t force us apart, Scully. We’ll find another way.”

Despite all her rational objections and her skeptical nature, she believed him.

—

End Chapter 6

Go to Part 7

#a thing i wrote #all along like fire #xf fanfic #msr #au #part 6

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thelarriefics · 1 year

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BEACH FIC REC: Below are fics that take place on or near a beach.

📖 Tired Tired Sea by @mediawhorefics (113k)

As a B&B owner on the most remote of all the British Isles, Louis Tomlinson is used to spending the coldest half of the year in complete isolation, with his dog and the sea as sole companions. Until, one day, a mysterious stranger on a quest to rebuild himself rents a room for the winter.

📖 Jade by @halohamilton (91k)

Harry was in a shipwreck, lost at sea with an injury to his head that causes him to lose part of his memory. Louis happens to notice the boy and dives in to rescue him, then aiding him to health again with his mother’s help.

Harry may have lost part of his memory, part of his life, but he gained something better than he could have ever imagined; he fell in love with Louis.

But, the life that Harry couldn't remember may just come between them.

The Amnesia AU where Harry and Louis still end up falling in love.

📖 Ace of Spades by @allwaswell16 (78k)

Living as a sheltered omega in a farming village has not prepared Harry for life aboard the most notorious pirate ship to sail the Atlantic.

Or Louis is a pirate, Harry is his captive, and no one is who they say they are.

📖 Si Pudiera Volar by @softfonds (69k)

When Harry’s fiancé leaves him for his cousin, he looks the other way for the sake of his happiness. He’ll do anything to forget about him, including joining a monastery. It isn’t until his cousin’s former lover, a pirate, appears that he realizes everything is not as it appears, and an honest pirate might be the only person worthy of his heart.

Or, a fic loosely based on Corazón Salvaje.

📖 In Four Colours by @ireallysawanangel (59k)

Harry's a workaholic who threw himself headfirst into his work after his divorce ten years ago and hasn't come up for air since. His two daughters and his best friend notice how overworked and stressed he is, so they surprise him with a trip to the coast of France. The last thing Harry expects to do on his holiday is relax, but when he meets the kind, beautiful stranger staying in the cottage next door, his holiday starts to look a little more promising.

Or, the older larry AU featuring sun, sand, and the French countryside with a sprinkling of divorced Harry and silver fox Louis.

📖 Full Moon Dreaming by @jacaranda-bloom (43k)

Every month, Full Moon Dreaming reveals a person’s soulmate. Sometimes it’s an object or a place, or for the lucky ones, the love of their life.

Louis has given up hope of dreaming of a person, resigned to living a life devoid of that kind of all-consuming love for another and receiving the same in return.

But when a new neighbour descends on Louis’ beloved Hanson Bay and moves into the other beach house, could all that be about to change?

📖 Flowers in the Window by @justanothershadeofblue (33k)

Harry is a lonely and depressed popstar who sailed out of his hometown on Eroda years ago to chase his dreams. He comes back to the island only to find his shining childhood best friend Louis just as cold and dreary as the island they grew up on.

📖 Away From Home by @marchessa (12k)

the one, where Harry is a servant to the Tomlinson family and he ends up as one of the lone survivors of a shipwreck. But maybe he can still find paradise in the tragedy.

📖 Tan Lines and Some Memories by @harrieberrie (11k)

It’s summer in California and blockbuster movie star Louis Tomlinson is looking forward to a break and spending his days lazing away at his beach house.

Harry Styles is the indie movie darling he’d been avoiding ever since Louis saw his movie at Cannes and harbored an unreasonable grudge against him.

A unicorn t-shirt finally brings them together in person.

Summer romance ensues.

📖 Heat Waves by @chai-hat-tea (10k)

Louis, a surf instructor by day and a bartender by evening, meets vacationer Harry for the first time, and he knows that he doesn't deserve someone like Harry. Harry proves him wrong.

📖 come my love be one with the sea by @larrydoinglaundry (6k)

Pirate captain Louis gets saved from the storm by mermaid Harry, and grows particularly fond of this mysterious creature.

📖 Climbing The Swells by @cyantific (6k)

One surfer out of his depth amongst some territorial locals makes a bold move and a very unwelcome entrance. After things go wrong, another surfer reluctantly takes mercy on him, offering some first-aid and unexpected hospitality aboard his Airstream. A couple dimples and a few wayward curls go a long way to soften one surly local, and what started out as a rough morning becomes a very sunny spot to the day.

Or… The one where a clumsy Harry and a stubborn Louis reconcile their grievances on the beach with a heartfelt apology from Louis on his knees without saying a word.

📖 The Way You Smile Golden by @moonhusbands (5k)

it's 1967 and two boys find themselves alone on a beach.

📖 beach tits by @jaerie (2k)

Louis catches Harry pumping in the car. He can't help that he's really turned on by it.

📖 wet sand by @ialwaysknewyouwerepunk (1k)

harry and louis are part of the same friend group that's on a trip together. after they play a drinking game, louis and harry run to the beach in the middle of the night, where things get heated.

📖 Oh, Those Summer Nights by @beelou (1k)

An extended scene of the beginning of the movie Grease as a larry au

#beach fic rec #masterpost #1dsource #hljournal #hlcreators

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abeautylives · 11 months

Text

Trip Around the Sun - Day One

a/n: Beach Josh is near and dear to my heart, and this is just an upgraded and grown version lol

pairing: Joshxfemale!reader

word count: 5.3k this part

summary: A persistent and charismatic stranger disrupts the serenity of your tropical escape. What’s the harm in a vacation fling?

warnings: 18+ minors stay far away, summer Josh requires his own warning, tiny bit of voyeurism, graphic sexual content, public sexual activity, digital penetration ✌️

☀️☀️☀️

This is exactly what I needed.

Through the green tinted lenses of your Ray-Bans, you let your eyes travel lazily down the length of your own body. Oil-slick and sparkling as your sweat beads on the surface, your skin is glowing a shade of bronze you haven’t seen in what feels like years. The contrast against the vibrant lemon yellow of your bikini is exactly as you’d pictured it, just a week ago as you’d hastily added last-minute vacation essentials to your Amazon cart.

A shadow makes its way into your blissful bubble of sunlight, falling over your outstretched legs and asking if you’d like another Tequila Sunrise.

“I would love one, thank you so much!”

Your gaze follows the woman as she makes her way around the pool deck and back to the bar to retrieve your order, then skims over the sunkissed faces and shoulders of your fellow vacationers bobbing in the crystalline water of the pool. It’s calling to you, a cool reprieve from the midday sun, but you’re just not ready to move yet.

With a fresh drink in hand, you reach down to rifle through your beach bag with the other, digging for your phone. This would make a great photo, and an even better Insta post, just enough to make your coworkers jealous. Arranging your legs attractively, bent at the knees with one foot kicked out just a bit further than the other, you lift the phone above you and take a test shot. You peek at it quickly, make sure most of your body is in it, need to adjust your feet, palm trees in the background? Move the hand holding your drink in just a little, stretch your torso a tiny bit more, snap the picture.

Perfect. Damn I look good.

Your tongue draws your straw into your mouth and you take a long pull of tequila, orange juice and grenadine as you add a subtle filter and… post.

The phone sinks back to the hidden depths of your bag as you let it drop from your fingertips, unconcerned with anyone who dares to try and reach you this week. Settling back into your reclined position, your lids almost flutter closed against the harsh rays before something across the pool catches your attention.

There’s a guy, leaned back on his palms at the edge of your concrete oasis, head tilted to the side, just so. You almost mistook him for a child, his legs are dangling in the water and from this distance he appears tiny but the longer you evaluate him, the more detail you can make out. Both tinted pink (no surprise, the UV index is obscene today), his shoulders and chest are way too broad to belong to a kid. Not to mention the mustache. What had first seized your awareness though, were his eyes. They’re shaded by the bill of some kind of cap, but you’re pretty sure they’re trained on you. And his stare hasn’t wavered since you started analyzing him.

Great, creeper alert.

Your legs shift against each other, tingling with discomfort, uneasy under his ogling. With another long sip of your drink, you push it out of your mind and finally let your eyes close.

Time seemingly moves differently in paradise, you dig again for your phone when it feels like thirty minutes or so have passed, only for your screen to illuminate and reveal it’s been… twelve. Just to ensure you’re seeing that correctly, you slip your glasses down the bridge of your nose with the tip of a finger before lifting your cup and downing what remains of the orangey pink liquid. Your skin feels like it’s about to ignite, and as you shift to flip onto your stomach you notice that the spot previously occupied by your unwanted observer is now vacant. Settling in and resting a cheek onto your folded arms, your lids lower again and the rest of the world effectively disappears.

“You’re burning, y’know.”

Soft and smoother than silk but entirely too close to your ear, the voice wakes you violently from your swelter induced nap. The owner of said voice has to jolt backwards to avoid the crown of your head colliding with his face.

Clambering ungracefully to sit up, hair hanging over your face and knotted in the sunglasses sitting askew across your nose, you open your mouth to chastise the idiot with the audacity to disturb you but he doesn’t give you the opportunity.

“Sorry about that, didn’t realize you were sleeping.”

He watches, bemused as you awkwardly swipe at the strands that refuse to unstick from the sheen of sweat coating your face, tug through the tangled mess wrapped around your shades. By the time you can see him clearly, he’s relaxed into the lounge chair beside you and shut his eyes.

The creep from across the pool.

“Can I help you?” You feel a bit more composed, hands still smoothing down the wild mass of waves that you’ve pulled forward over your shoulder, sunnies fixed back into place.

Unfazed and without turning to face you, he casually states that he had been attempting to help you. “You need sunscreen, it’s barbaric out here today.”

Suspicious, you examine him warily for a moment. Completely aloof, he’s at ease in his reclined position and his scandalously short swim trunks are riding high on his thighs. You scan upward from there, he is tiny but the lightly defined muscle at his waist leads up to a slightly more sculpted chest. At the base of his neck you can now see that his hair, a tuft of what might be considered curls, is pulled into a frizzy ponytail. His profile is strong, a dark brow framing the curve of an eye that’s still closed to you, a subtle bump in the bridge of his nose that ends in an attractive point, full lips turned up into a smirk. Ugh, whatever.

“Thanks, you can go now.” You bend forward to reach into your bag, shuffling things around until you feel the smooth surface of the bottle of tanning oil at the bottom. He’s still next to you when you straighten, but now his eyes are open and his gaze is lingering somewhere distinctly lower than your face.

“That probably doesn’t have a high enough SPF.” His words are quiet, reticent, barely rising above the ambient din of the crowd formed at the swim up bar. Glancing down at the bottle, you take note of the large font 15 on the label and catch a glimpse of alabaster skin.

Even through the oppressive heat from the sun, you can feel the creeping flush of embarrassment as you slap a hand over your right breast, nearly half of which had been exposed by your still disheveled bikini top. Twisting away from him, his smug chuckle manages to reach your ears as you adjust the strings of your top and put the girls back in their assigned seats.

“It’s clearly working for your tan, though.”

You twist back to him, appropriately covered and lifted, and watch his eyes dart down to your chest before they meet yours. Your own eyes narrow, hidden behind your dark lenses, a silent challenge for him to say something else stupid. Predictably, he does.

“You need any help gettin’ that on your back? Pretty red back there.”

He’s just… grinning at you like this is the most normal interaction he’s had all day. Now that you’re face to face, and he’s not thirty yards away, you can see that he’s sort of cute. Unfortunately he’s aggravated you enough that you’re not impressed.

“Are you okay? Are you losing a bet right now?” You glance back to the side of the pool from whence he came, searching for a group of frat bros or some other type of rabid alpha males that may be watching. When you find none, you let your eyes land back on his face. He's upright, feet on the ground and elbows resting on his knees as he leans closer. He’s still just smiling patiently, probably thinking that he’s wearing you down with what he must perceive as his own charm. “What do you want?”

That is a question he apparently has an answer for. Before he offers it, his smile stretches slowly across his face. You watch it transform his features, a dimple pulled into his left cheek as plump lips slide apart to reveal an impossibly straight row of impossibly white teeth.

Fuck.

“I wanted an excuse to talk to you. I found one.”

“So you came over here,” you emphasize your words with a manicured finger pointed at the concrete between your chair and the one he thinks he’s claimed, “from all the way over there,” your hand lifted to indicate the place at the edge of the pool where you’d first spotted him, “and watched me sleep. To find an excuse to bother me?”

You find yourself matching his posture and putting even less distance between you as you speak. His eyes, an uncertain shade of brown that you can’t decipher under the shadow of his hat, even at this proximity, are practically sparkling with delight at your question.

“I didn’t watch you sleep. I noticed you were boiling like a lobster before I even made it over here, so I let you know right before I sat down. But other than that… yeah.” His shoulders lift into an easygoing shrug, you curse yourself for noticing the way his muscles bunch with the movement.

Considering his response, you tap the orange tip of your index fingernail against pursed lips. Entranced by it, he watches the motion with an eagle-eye and when your hand falls back between your knees, those eyes follow. Yours threaten to fall out of your face when his own hand, palm turned up and long fingers subtly curved, touches yours and lifts it back up between your faces. He moves your fingers with his delicately, as though they might break were he to apply any pressure. Once again, as if this is a totally average part of his day, he speaks.

“I like your nails.” His eyes snap to yours and you can finally tell what color they are. Brown, sure, but you decide in an instant that you would never describe them as such. Lined by long lashes you should be envious of, they’re warm, dripping honey and crystallized amber and you’re pretty sure they’re looking into your soul.

“What?” The sound of your own voice is borderline embarrassing, as if you’re under hypnosis, completely dazed.

“Your nails. They’re cute.”

You break from the spell of his stare to look at them. A rainbow, each nail a different shade. It’s sort of childish but you wanted something bright and unusual for your temporary escape from everyday life.

“I- um… thank you.”

He admires them for just a moment longer before lowering your hand and then letting it slip away from his, the pads of his fingertips sliding over your skin, a purposeful caress. Your hand tightens into a fist as if you’re trying to hold on to the feeling.

“You’re welcome… so, about that sunscreen. Want me to get your back?”

All you can think about are his hands on your skin again. It’s working, almost. The charm is having an effect on you, though you’re not even sure he’s doing it deliberately and it might not even be the charm. He’s not even cute, he’s actually verging on pretty and that probably has something to do with it.

Unnerved by the sudden flip in your own reaction to his presence, you scoot yourself back on your lounger, needing the few inches of distance from him that it gives you. “No, uh.. no thanks. I think I’m gonna, y’know, take a break. Go back to my room.” If he’s not going to leave, you will.

The ghost of disappointment drops the corners of his lips, for a split second but you’ve caught it though his smile never falters. His head nods in acceptance but it stops when you glide your sunglasses down your nose and pull them from your face. He touches you again, the warmth of his palm halting your intent to drop the glasses into your bag, your connected hands frozen there in mid-air.

This time when your eyes meet, his reflect something like surprise, skirting the edge of reverence. Your heart is fluttering in your chest, the way he’s looking at you makes you nervous.

“What?” It’s no more than a whisper, carried to his ears through air on the calm tropical breeze.

“You’re so lovely, captivating really.” He’d already believed this to be true, drawn into your orbit by the gravity of your allure, the revelation of your eyes only feeding his starving intrigue. “Beautiful.”

Your hand pulls away from his of its own accord, your face cast down in an attempt to hide the creeping blush that you can feel forming, the heat suddenly unbearable. The Ray-Bans land in your bag and you’re already looping your arm through the straps and rising from the chair, his body mirroring yours and standing with you.

“I… have to go. It was nice meeting you. I think.” Your unsettled mumblings don’t faze him, he’s enjoying the way he’s flustered you and it’s obvious in the way his eyes are dancing with laughter.

Afraid to touch him again, you step away and move from between the chairs without offering a handshake or a graze of your fingertips over the tempting shape of his upper arm. He simply watches you leave, unabashedly focusing on the way the bottoms of your bikini have ridden up and exposed the distinct tan lines on the curves of your ass.

Before you get too far, he calls out to you.

“See you around, beautiful!”

You glance back over your shoulder, your only acknowledgment that you’ve heard him.

Doubtful.

🌙🌙🌙

The bubbles tickle your tongue as they fizzle and burst before sliding down your throat. Effervescent. That’s how they describe it, right?

You’re not much of a champagne drinker, but it was complementary and it’s been sitting untouched in your room for days. It’s late, or early, probably after one in the morning at this point but you’ve left your phone behind. You left everything, actually, it’s just you, your champagne and the moonlight.

Unable to sleep, you’d slipped out of your room and made your way back down to the pool, clad only in your swimsuit. This one is black, as if that would prevent you from being detected in the cover of night by anyone who dared attempt to thwart your plans. You don’t know if you’re allowed to be here at this hour, but there’s certainly no one around to disturb you or tell you otherwise so you’d tossed your room key onto a chair, popped the cork and slid into the water.

The pool itself provides the only illumination out here, lights tucked under the lip of the concrete’s edge causing the water to shine with an almost neon-like blue glow, but the surrounding pool deck is nearly black.

You haven’t left the spot where you’d entered, forearms resting over the side and lower half of your body submerged, your own movements causing the only disruption in the glassy surface. Maybe half of the champagne is gone, swimming pleasantly through your bloodstream and you think that by the time you finish it, you’ll be able to sleep.

“Rule-breaker, huh? My favorite.”

He’d made his way toward you unnoticed, quiet as a mouse and just as much of a nuisance. The sound of sloshing water fills the void of silence, followed by the grating sound of his laughter as you’ve once again nearly jumped out of your skin.

You hardly recognize the man standing above you, in a plain white tank with hands tucked into the pockets of khaki shorts. This man has a wild mop of curls, some flopped over his forehead and framing his face that give him a much softer appearance than he’d had twelve or so hours ago, though the smirk on his lips is distinctly the same.

“What the fuck are you doing here?!” You’re shouting at him on a whisper, pissed off but wary of your surroundings. “Are you stalking me?!”

“Hm, nope. Just a bored night owl looking for a little trouble. It would appear… that I found some. How’s the sunburn?”

A huff of annoyance pushes past your lips. “Not as bad as you made it out to be.”

“Ah well, I’ve been called dramatic a time or two. Have you considered the possibility that I got to you just in time to save you from sun poisoning?”

Your eyes roll but his expression doesn’t change, clear amusement on his face as far as you can tell.

“I hadn’t considered any possibilities that concern you.”

His teeth are nearly glowing in the dark as they peek through his grin. “Sure you haven’t… So, what kind of trouble are we getting into on this lovely evening? Pretty sure the pool’s closed.”

You’re already lifting yourself from the water, an uncoordinated effort to sit on the edge made even less graceful by the alcohol buzzing in your system. “Actually I was just heading to bed.”

“Are you a habitual liar or am I special?”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Whipping your head around to look up at him causes droplets of water to fly from the ends of your hair and land across his feet, clad in a pair of stark white Tevas. His eyes fall to them and he ignores your question, bending down to remove his sandals. “What are you doing?”

Kicking the shoes aside, he starts to lift his arms behind his head. “Going swimming.” With that, he tugs the tank top up and over, shaking out his curls and tossing it to land on top of his sandals. He knows you’re watching him disrobe, he caught the way your mouth dropped open when he expressed his intentions, but he misses the way your eyes go wide when he reaches for the button closure of his shorts. Without hesitation, his fingers pop the button and deftly slide the zipper down.

Right before your appropriately scandalized eyes, this complete stranger pushes his shorts off of his hips and lets them land on the ground around his ankles.

You immediately wish you could see him better. In the dark, you’re pretty sure his boxer briefs are gray, maybe heather, but you’re positive that they’re snug and leave extremely little to the imagination. The shadows being cast by the light below are unholy, and suddenly your mouth has run dry.

A hard pull from your bottle of Brut helps, but barely.

“You gonna join me?” His head is tilted again, just so as his voice rips your attention away from his crotch, which you have no idea how long you’ve been gawking at. “You can keep staring at me, I’m enjoying that too.”

Drawing your focus back down, he tucks his thumbs into the waistband of his underwear and pushes them even lower on his hips.

“Stop.” You find your own voice but it’s unconvincing.

“Not into skinny dipping? That’s a shame,” he pulls his hands away from the elastic, “You sure?”

You’re not sure that you wouldn’t enjoy seeing him naked, but you’re certain that you wouldn’t be joining him. “Positive.”

“Hm. Will you at least stay and swim? C’mon, live a little.”

Another pull of champagne. Fuck it.

Wordlessly, you place the bottle gently back onto the concrete. To make up for the mortifying way that you’d hauled yourself out, you stretch your limbs and arch your back, allowing the ground beneath you to emphasize the curve of your backside, and then slip your body back into the water. An indistinct and nearly silent fuck drops from his lips, but he steals your chance to turn and see his reaction. From the corner of your eye you catch the flash of pale thighs as they take two bounding strides toward the pool and before you can decipher what’s happening, the collision of his body with the water leaves you drenched and gasping for air.

As you push the wet tresses of your hair away from your face, he’s still below the surface and moving toward you. He slows as he reaches you, nearly touching his face to your kneecaps before he emerges.

You’d swear it’s happening in slow motion. The breath he’s been holding bubbles and breaks the surface, his eyes closed and lips parted as he rises to stand, mere inches between you. His hands come next, arms lifted to push the water from his hair, slicked back away from his forehead again. He’s so close that you can feel him breathing, deep inhales followed by a gentle stirring of air that falls across your skin. Goosebumps raise over your arms before his eyes finally open and his lips turn up into a bold, completely genuine smile.

“Sorry, did I get you wet?”

You can’t help but laugh, it’s so obvious what he’s doing, and that he probably knows exactly what he’s doing to you. His little show had affected you just as he’d intended, and somehow he fucking knows. Two can play, however.

Your arms cross over your chest. “I’m soaked, what are you gonna do about it?”

He nearly chokes on nothing but air, you watch him process your words and recover quickly. It was almost too easy to chip away the icy wall you’d constructed, though he’d managed it with nothing but sincerity. Encouraged to topple it completely, he adds pressure.

“I can make it so much worse.”

The eye contact can only be described as intense, you can’t even make out the details of his face, you can’t see the honey and amber of his irises but his gaze is burning through you and the fire is spreading.

“Try me.”

A hand lifts from the water and you watch it, dripping and confident in its actions, as it moves toward your chest. You’re expecting him to go in for a handful but instead, a slender finger slides underneath the singular string that’s supporting your left tit. It trails, up and down the thin material twice as your arms fall away before he speaks.

His voice sounds different, deeper, with an edge to it that you haven’t heard from him yet.

“Can I touch you?”

It feels like you’re floating outside your body, watching the main characters of your favorite series eye fuck each other, two seasons of sexual tension having built up to this moment rather than two brief interactions. You’re dying to see what happens next. You can only nod your head, yes.

“Where?”

The thrumming pulse between your legs seems like a good place, but you can’t say that. Right? Your confidence wavers, he seems to sense it and continues to take the lead. The finger tucked under the string of your bikini slips lower, following the line of material down until his fingernail is skimming the still hidden skin of the side of your breast. It hardly crosses the boundary of virtue but your entire body trembles, a shiver that has your nipples straining against the fabric. His thumb moves in and brushes over the diamond-hard peak, the sound that you exhale is lust-laden and humiliating and inspires him to do it again.

“Here’s good?” He waits for your head to nod in confirmation before his hand dips below the water and just the pads of his fingers splay over your ribcage, just below the breast that he’s teased and left begging for more attention. “What about here?” His thumb strokes over the curve of a rib and your head moves again. “Tell me, I wanna hear you.”

“Yes, keep going…”

“I will, keep talking to me.”

When his fingers travel over the dip at the small of your waist, your muscles there tense and his hand pauses before it’s reached its destination.

“Please don’t stop…” You’ve wholly given over to it, the feeling of his skin against yours and apparently you’re not above begging for it.

“Yeah? Tell me where, beautiful.”

Your cheeks warm at his request. “You know.”

“Hmm, I’m not a mind reader. I can just stay right here.” He lifts the other hand from the water and cages you in on one side with it braced on the edge of the deck behind you. His palm flattens against your waist and he presses his fingertips into it, a light but almost possessive grip that leaves you in distress. There’s only one thing you can do.

“Pussy.” The word squeaks out of you and your face bursts into flames, but he’s grinning like a Cheshire cat. “Touch me there.”

“That is vulgar.” The grip on your waist loosens and his fingers continue their journey until they pass the knotted string at your hip and two slide up beneath it. “I like it.”

“I like not being teased.” Your teeth are gritted, frustrated and unbearably turned on.

“Oh?” Without missing a beat, his eyes drop and his fingers follow the hem of your bikini bottoms just as the one had over your chest, knuckles this time skimming over your mound and the sparse hair that covers it. He groans, a gravelly sound that starts in his throat and passes through flared nostrils, before he tugs the fabric to the side and exposes you. The shape of your bodies is distorted through the lens of the water but he can see the dark patch at the crux of your thighs as well as the hard evidence of how it’s affecting him. He drags his eyes away from the view and brings them back to your face, where he finds you staring at him, wide-eyed and anticipant.

“Was kind of expecting you to be bare down there.” You lift an eyebrow, confused. “Y’know, the nails, the tan, I just expected… something different.”

“Sorry to disappoint.”

He shakes his head, his hair moving with it, damp curls beginning to spring back to life. “You haven’t disappointed once, this is so much better. It’s sexy.”

The heat is back, the compliment fanning the flames on your cheeks as he finally blazes a trail with a finger run through you. Your breaths mix in the air between your lips, mutual sounds of relief floating up and away on the breeze. Instinctively your hands leave the water, one grasping at his arm and the other landing on his chest, finding purchase and holding on tight.

The finger moving between your legs slides through you again and he leans in closer, his lips nearly touching yours. He whispers, “Started to think you were never gonna touch me back.” You close the gap between your faces and let your head fall enough to rest your forehead against his. “You ready?”

He can feel that you are. Your skin is hot and slick, even under water and your hips are twitching with every swipe through your arousal. He almost corrects you when your head nods against his but he doesn’t need to.

“Do it.”

The tip of his finger slips inside as you both turn your eyes down to watch, the view warped and rippling in the blue glow. He pumps it into you until it’s tucked inside to the last knuckle.

“Relax for me.”

Relax. Relax? You’re about to melt into the pool and float away, but you focus on releasing any tension you might be holding onto and he can feel the difference. He starts to move within you again as you slide your hand up his chest and let go of his arm to lay yours over his shoulders.

“That’s good, does it feel good?” His finger curls and drags over a spot you’re not sure you knew was there, eliciting a shaky moan to escape you. “Tell me.”

“Yes…”

He repeats the motion and pulls another wanton sound from deep in your chest.

“You want more?”

“Mmhmm, yeah…”

His finger slips away with your dreamy murmuring, a second added and circling your entrance before pushing back into you. Your hands sink into the still-damp curls at the base of his neck, the stretch snatches your breath and you’re gasping to get it back as he pushes them as far as your body and his will allow.

You can’t tell exactly what he’s doing with them, but his fingers are moving against each other inside you and you feel full to the brim.

“You feel fucking incredible, god damn.” His voice is still as smooth as the first time you heard it and your body reacts, squeezing around him.

Remembering his request that you keep talking, you tell him exactly what you want.

“More, make me cum.”

He’s already pulling and pushing, thrusting into you slowly but with this new demand, he presses the heel of his palm into your clit. “Love it when you say those dirty words. I’ll get you there, I promise.”

The journey to the top is a leisurely one, his pace remains steady and slow as his eyes bounce from your face to his hand where it’s pressed tight and sliding against you. The night is almost dead silent around you, the only sounds to be heard are the water lapping against your bodies, the breathy whines you’re letting out and his soft words of encouragement.

You let your head fall back and your hips grind into his palm, the sky above you is inky black, glittering with stars and you feel like you’re there, weightless and floating in that space until he switches speeds.

He’d looked up at you when your hips started moving and found you offering his praises to the heavens, as if they’d done anything to deserve what rightfully belongs to him. A simple reminder of exactly who holds your impending orgasm in the literal palm of his hand, he sends his fingers deeper, faster, until you’re bucking back against them.

“Fuck, oh my god.”

“No, he’s not here. Look at me.” The hand holding on for dear life to the pool’s edge comes to wrap around the back of your neck. When your eyes meet, his are burning with determination and yours are completely fucked out. “Are you gonna cum for me? All over my fingers?”

“Yes! Yes yes yes…”

You ramble on, riding his hand and so close to the summit that you can taste it. With a final push against your clit, a flourish of his wrist and a violent curl of his fingers, your mouth falls open to scream a name that you don’t even know. Before someone else’s can take its place, he jerks you into him and captures whatever was about to spill from your lips with his own. The orgasm rips through you, your cunt clamping down on his fingers and your fingernails digging into his scalp.

By the time it releases you, you’re kissing him back, tongues timidly meeting as his fingers slow to a stop and stay inside you. He breaks it first, pulling away and you suck a heavy breath past tingling lips, half of his mouth is curled up into an affectionate smile when you finally open your eyes to him.

“Stunning. That… was fucking beautiful.” He slips his fingers from you, the evidence of your tryst washed away instantly, a tragedy from his point of view.

Your hands fall away from each other as he awaits whatever you have to say, his eyes pleading for anything. Still coming down, dazed again and sleepy now, the gears of your brain are turning at half speed. When you finally feel that you can utter words, your question makes him blush.

“Who are you?”

“My name’s Josh.”

Taglist:

@lightmylove-gvf @spicedandicedtea @weneedsomehealing123 @milkgemini @why-ami-on-here @gretavanbitches @twistedmelodies @wildflowerxx-x @dannythedog @blissfulbellss @averagemisfit03 @dharmasdivine @thetroublegetssoloud71 @lucimoo @toxbexannouncedx @dig0930 @maddie-van-fleet @friska101-cg @welllauragvf @gretasimp @objectsinspvce @writingcold @gretavangroupie @sweetybre @gretasgoose @gvfjess @josh-iamyour-mama

#greta van fleet #gvf #greta van fleet fan fiction #greta van fleet fic #gvf fic #greta van fleet smut #gvf smut #josh gvf #josh kiszka #joshua kiszka #gvf fan fiction #gvf fanfiction #Greta van fleet fanfiction

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petitpiedgalbe · 11 months

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S U M M E R !

So, summer is in full swing! What kind of vacationer are you: are you more inclined to lie on the beach and sing with seagulls or to race mountain goats along hiking trails?

#summer #summer time #summer vibes #beach #sand #blue sky #relaxation #relaxation time #summer nails #photographer #foot model #soft soles

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paysonsmith · 2 years

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The Vacationers (Ep 10)

Be warned, good friends! The final episode will get disturbing and creepy...

#the vacationers #comics #summer #vacation #art

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blurscolours · 1 year

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The Devil And The Deep Blue Sea | Part Twelve

Masterlist

Summary: An attack on Arthur’s imprisoned brother Orm leaves him with no choice but to rely upon you, a friend made due to unfortunate circumstances nearly a decade ago, to provide safe haven while he restores peace to Atlantis. Suddenly tasked with sheltering a sullen former king results in a very different summer vacation than you had originally envisioned, but changes both of your lives forever.

Warnings: Violence, Weapons, Mentions of Death, Orm is Frustrating in Public, Arthur is a Puppy, Alfred is Vital, Reader Injury [broken bones, facial wound, blood] - 18+ only.

Word Count: 2651

The day of your departure arrived – with no word from Arthur. As you and Orm had since discussed, he packed up the things you had purchased for him in a spare duffle bag, and along with your suitcase, cooler, and garbage you loaded the boat and took off together. Orm would return home with you for the time being. Much as you both felt anxious about the lack of contact from Arthur, you were both keenly aware that it would not be safe to take Orm to Amnesty Bay – or anywhere too close to the ocean, until Arthur sent word.

The length of time he had spent with you only indicated the difficulty Arthur must be having with the faction that had disobeyed his wishes and attacked Orm. You loaded the car and hauled the boat up onto the launch ramp for the next family members to use on their arrival. You looked to him as you opened the passenger door.

“Did you ride in any vehicles during your trip up with Arthur?” You asked.

“Briefly. It was not the most comfortable but was bearable.” He replied, sliding in.

You pulled down the seatbelt.

“You probably don’t need this, but I can be fined money if you’re not wearing it.” You showed him where to click it in before closing the door and climbed into the driver’s side. You took it slower than you were certain Arthur had driven, and once you were on the pavement you looked to him.

“I need to go into town to get us some gas, there’s not a lot of chances after we leave the area…”

“I’m prepared for human civilization.” He nodded.

You pulled into town, driving along the lake that most businesses had been built beside. Pulling into the gas station, you filled the car efficiently, watching as vacationers walked past with cones holding a multitude of scoops of ice cream. You smiled softly and looked to him as you climbed back in the car.

“Just one more stop and then we’ll be on our way.” You drove a little further into town, parking across the street from the marina where a small seasonal ice cream stand was doing a brisk business. “Will you come with me?”

He nodded and undid his seatbelt, following you across the street to join the queue. You explained ice cream as he watched happy customers leaving the shop. When it was your turn, you gave him a brief rundown of the flavours and you each placed your orders. You pulled out your phone to pay, sliding the airplane mode off and blinking as your it lit up with an influx of notifications you had missed.

Orm led you to stand by the pickup window as you sorted through them, your eyes landing on a text from yet another new, unknown number. You muttered Arthur’s name bitterly and loaded it quickly.

They’re tracking you…they’re coming.

The entire happy summer scene around you narrowed to the scant words on the screen and you went cold. Your breathing shallowed. Orm was trying to get your attention, but you were overwhelmed with a fear you had never felt before.

The explosion from a plasma ray crashing into a nearby pleasure craft shook you out of your stupor. They were already here. You could feel the heat of the resulting fire even though it was fair distance away. Before you are able to clearly see who or what has come to kill you, Orm has swept you up in his arms, moving you to the other side of the small building, standing in front of you protectively to face the attackers.

The sound of a large aircraft permeated the marina, but you saw nothing to indicate where it was coming from.

You could hear the ominous clatter of armour approaching and peered around him to see at least a dozen armed soldiers in a muted shade of green. They were led by a figure in black with an almost comically large helmet with glowing red eyes.

“Orm Marius, we have come to see justice done!” It was difficult to discern who exactly was speaking at that point, but you were certain this was not going to end well. All was tense, each waiting for the other to make the first move.

There was a sound on the roof behind you and you turned with great trepidation to see figures shadowed by the sun behind you. You tried to shield you eyes to see more clearly until they were leaping from the roof to land in front of you alongside Orm. You immediately identified Arthur by his loosely flowing hair.

You exhaled a breath you had not known you were holding, looking to the six soldiers he brought with him, wearing red armour. Looking back to Arthur, you realized he was holding two…tridents?

“This is yours, little brother” Arthur growled, tossing the gleaming silver metal weapon to Orm who easily caught it, spurring their opponents forwarded into an attack.

The sporadic blasts of plasma rays encourage you to make yourself as small as possible against the wall of the building behind Orm, well aware of your human weaknesses. Arthur, Orm, and his soldiers quickly closed the distance to the opposing group, forcing them into hand-to-hand combat. Their skill with something so ceremonial as a trident left you speechless. You were staring openly at Orm’s strength and agility. There was a fluidity and grace to his ruthless fighting style, a stark and beautiful contrast that also took on a frightening edge as the casualties of his opponents began to pile up on the ground.

A flash of colour in the periphery of your vision pulled your attention away from the conflict in front of you and you tensed to see a soldier clad in green armor creeping up through the trees to your left. If you were to simply scream amidst the din of battle around you, it would only serve to create more confusion. And while your physical strength is nothing in comparison with this solider, he did not yet seem to be aware of your presence. You had the element of surprise, and you were not about to waste it and allow him to hurt either of the men in front of you, or their allies.

Creeping along the foundation of the building, you allowed him to edge closer before he stopped to aim him plasma ray at the group of unaware Atlanteans. Bracing against the wall, you pushed off, crashing into his armor. It felt as though you had slammed into a pile of bricks, save the sharp edges of the spikes on his helmet. You grit your teeth as one such ornamental detail gouged into your cheek.

But it had worked. The weapon fell from his hand, skittering across the ground and catching the attention of Arthur.

“Brokedown Girl!” He yelped, seeing you clinging to the armor of an enemy, before the fighter in black slashed at him with a wickedly sharp blade.

The soldier growled and easily threw you off him, the pavement of the marina parking lot rising quickly to knock the wind of out of as you landed on your side, arm thrown out to protect your head. A blur of motion tracked in front of your vision before you saw the flash of Orm’s trident as it sped towards the soldier who carelessly tossed you aside. You clenched your eyes shut before the crunch of its tines impacting the visor of his helmet reached your ears.

As you tried to get up and out of the field of battle your torso felt unstable and you groaned as your ribs shifted. Orm was at your side quickly pulling you up and you yelped but tried to steel your face, not wanting to worry him.

“I’m ok, I’ll be ok.” You panted once he had you sitting up, though it was painful to breathe too deeply.

His eyes scanned your face and as they landed on your cheek, his expression darkened. He rose with clenched fists, ready to demolish any combatants who remained, but all the soldiers in green were laying on the ground incapacitated while an Asian man you didn’t recognize was hauling the unconscious fighter in black into a motorboat before taking off.

Using a partially destroyed car beside you, you managed to get to your feet, swallowing your cries of agony as your ribs shifted once more. It didn’t hurt so much if you stood very, very still. Orm returned to your side, looking you over with intense concern but once again maintaining that respectful distance in public. He felt a thousand miles away.

Arthur rushed up to your side, wiping at the blood on your cheek with his thumb.

“Shit…I’m so sorry I tried to warn you…”

He looked to Orm has he stepped closer, fists once against clenched at his sides.

“Those were Xebelian soldiers…” He said through grit teeth and Arthur nodded with a deep sigh.

“Rebels who took offence to your failure to kill me…Recruited by Black Manta, but this is the last of them.” He gestured to the bodies, some dead, some living, being collected by the Atlantean soldiers who had arrived with Arthur.

You leaned against the shell of the car with a whimper you were unable to suppress and both brothers looked to you, brows furrowed in concern.

“We need to finalize things back in Atlantis…I don’t want to leave you alone, come with us, my Pops would love to see you…”

You looked between to two of them.

“Oh, there’s a hospital in town I can just…” You protested weakly.

Orm interrupted firmly, “We will escort her to your father’s.” He stated in a tone that brooked no argument and Arthur passed Orm his own golden trident before cradling you in his arms against his chest. You yelped and whimpered with each step, and he replied with muttered apologies, walking faster and faster until he was running up to a hi-tech jet that had landed near your car.

He jogged up the stairs with Orm hot on his heels, setting you in one of the seats and strapping you in. You pressed your head back into the head rest, trying to take slow breaths even though it felt like hot knives piercing your side with each inhale. A disembodied voice with a British accent filled the aircraft as the soldiers loaded into the back with their Xebelian cargo, Orm settling into the seat up front beside Arthur.

“Mr. Curry, I believe the lady passenger has several broken ribs, would you like me to administer pain medication?”

“Probably for the best, Alfred, and we need to get to Amnesty Bay immediately.”

“Right away.”

A tray with a cup of water and two white pills appeared from the side of the plane, moving to hover before you, and you wheezed out a laugh, the entire situation feeling utterly unbelievable. Your hands were unsteady but still functional enough to administer the dose as the stairs retracted into the plane. It hovered a moment before surging through the sky.

You clung to the arm rests with your eyes shut tightly, not even thinking about your vehicle or belongings back in the parking lot, simply trying to not vomit and lose the medication you had just swallowed. Mercifully, the flight was over in less than an hour, the plane landed smoothly, and you opened your eyes to the green expanse of Tom’s backyard with the lighthouse and Atlantic Ocean before you.

You let out a slow sigh and worked the clasps of your seatbelt open with your good hand, looking up as Arthur told Orm to head inside and change into a set of armor he’d also brought for him. Orm glanced back at you once, with what you recognized as concern on his features, and you tried to offer a brave, if shaky, smile. He nodded to his brother before exiting the plane with the Atlantean soldiers, who were managing the rebel soldiers. Arthur knelt in front of you before speaking to the disembodied voice once more.

“Does she need a hospital, Alfred?”

“No, Mr. Curry, I’ve performed a number of scans during the flight. Nothing but time and rest can heal her broken ribs now.”

“Right…you ready Broken Girl?” He grinned, reaching for you and you huffed.

“Arthur, you are the worst.” You hissed, bracing one arm against your ribs before sliding the other around his neck and biting the inside of your cheek in preparation.

The medication helped, somewhat, but it took a tremendous effort not to cry out in discomfort. Arthur carried you up the winding stairs to his old bedroom, walls covered in posters of Harleys and metal bands. He lay you down on the bed carefully before fishing in your pockets for your car keys.

“My Pops will be right in to check on you, ok? I’ll take care of your stuff. Thank you so much for keeping my brother alive.”

You nodded weakly, afraid to open your mouth lest a complaint escape, so you just squeezed his shoulders before settling back into the pillows. The pain medication’s hold over you grew stronger, making your eyelids heavy, and smudging the edges of your vision. You surrendered to it, letting your eyes slide shut as you listened to the sounds of Arthur and Tom and Orm speaking in the kitchen below you. Cupboard doors opened and closed; bottles rattled in the fridge.

They were gathering provisions, preparing to leave. Your eyebrows knit together into a frown, thinking it would have to nice to say goodbye – a proper goodbye to Orm. Having seen Atlantean battle firsthand, there was a very real possibility that even someone as strong as him might not come back. Tears stung at the corners of your eyelids, made you sniffle pathetically at the thought that you might never see him again and all you got was a parting glance and a one-sided nod in the jet.

The powerful medication made you lose time, and focus. Made you miss the sound of his footsteps on the stairs. The door to the room opened suddenly, making your eyes flash open to the vision of Orm standing there, in suit of black amor. He stepped in quietly, closing the door behind him before covering the distance to the bed in two long strides. He knelt by your side, setting something on the floor before removing his armored gloves and took your hand in his.

“Forgive me…I am truly sorry you are injured. It is all my fault...”

You put your other hand over his mouth and shook your head. “Stop that, I did this…I threw myself at a…. Xebel?” You repeat the word Arthur had used, reassured by Orm’s quick nod before continuing “soldier in armor…and I’d do it again…you’re safe.”

His eyes drifted to the wound on your cheek, and you watched as he pulled a strip of seaweed out of the pack he had set on the ground beside him. He applied a gray jelly to it from an unlabeled metal jar before carefully laying it across the wound. It was slimy and cold, making you wince a little.

“Leave that for two days, it should not scar.” He instructed before assessing your position in the bed.

He frowned a moment before collecting a few pillows from around the room before propping you up more, ensuring you were thoroughly supported before he nodded in satisfaction.

You looked up to him, bleary eyes full of uncertainty “Be careful…” You settled on, wanting to say more but truly not sure.

He leaned down to kiss you firmly, cupping your good cheek tenderly. “I will return…” And then he was gone. They were all gone. Off to Atlantis, leaving the house, leaving you and Tom, in eerie silence.

Read Part Thirteen

Masterlist

#orm x reader #orm marius x reader #orm imagine #orm fic #orm marius imagine #orm marius fic #ocean master x reader

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