#one two or three times as big coming out from the blinds in the window directly to my left

[troglobite]

me before last night: yeah i've had panic attacks before

me after last night: actually i've had only One panic attack

[seattlesellie]

e. williams — moonflower.

pairing: ellie williams x fem!reader

synopsis: it’s ellie’s birthday, and you have three gifts for her. a moonflower bouquet, the latest savage starlight, and a pin from joel. maybe, you even have a fourth one.

warnings: smut (mdni), established relationship, dom!ellie, sub!reader, inexperienced reader, loss of virginity (r!), first time everything, loads of praise, loads of romance, cute little slaps, and as weird as it is to include this in these warnings; mentions of joel and ellie’s complicated relationship.

an: finally finished it. this is very very fluffy, as smutty as it may be. if you love flowers this one’s for you <3 i truly could have made this longer but i was super self conscious so i might post a little blurb instead!! constructive criticism and all comments n discussions are very much appreciated. thank you for being patient and sweet i love u 💗

enveloped up in a baby blue ribbon, it sits pretty on top of your duvet. the latest edition of “savage starlight” — ellie’s favorite comics series, and a bouquet of flowers. when you picked them out just for her— forehead glistening under the radiant june sun, you noticed a singular flower that set itself apart from the others. blinding white, trumpet shaped— it’s lemon fragrance wafted through the thick air. it's petals were curled up, but you decided to keep it nevertheless. you’ve never seen one quite like it. when you brought it to your house, along with the fresh daisies and the garden roses, you noticed something bizarre, and oh so beautiful.

the odd flower bloomed underneath the moonlight that snuck itself inside the big window of your room. as the white petals unfurled, there you stood— awestruck.

⋆˙⟡♡

you decided to bring it over to louisa, the frail old lady who ran the jackson community garden.

“s’quite beautiful, isn’t it?” you told proudly, taking a whiff of the flowers creamy white petals. louisa ran her fingertips delicately over the flowers green stem, and just like you— louisa was awestruck.

“oh dear, it certainly is. how did you… manage to find it?” louisa probed, and your heart skipped a beat. your relationship with ellie was new, and fresh as a daisy. your face flushed, but you told louisa— your precious confidant, nevertheless. “ellie’s birthday’s coming up soon… so i, was picking up some flowers for her. s’not much, i know… but,” you scratched your arm, feeling extra timid. “i think ellie will like them. i… hope”

louisa smiled soft heartedly, the aged skin around the sides of her eyes folding itself and forming three little lines. somehow, it felt like the old lady knew more about you two than you did. “she’d be a fool not to”, she assured, and pressed tightly on your shoulder.

“i would have asked you if you were in love… but, no need to.”

“how come?”

“it simply shows, pumpkin’”

louisa sighed deeply, and began guiding you towards the humble old basement, where she stored all of her gardening books.

ipomoea alba, the tropical white morning-glory, jimsonweed, or for those of us who are a tad scatterbrained— moonflower. the moonflower, is the most romantic flower of all. it is dreamy, and mysterious, and it yearns for the warm embrace of the sun, but it also requires a cold caress of shade. it slumbers amidst the daylight, closing and hiding its delicate petals up, but during the night— it blooms, and it’s magnificent. as wispy and precious as the moonflower may be, the bloom may also be deadly.

it reminded you of her.

⋆˙⟡♡

ellie and you had numerous conversations about things that were… hypothetical. if you were a planet, which planet would you be?, if you were an animal, which one suits you best, would you say?, make it more specific, even— if you were a bug, what bug would you be? ellie told you were a butterfly, and that she would be a spider.

“don’t… spiders eat butterflies?” you probed, your head resting on top of her shoulder. it was a quiet, chilly night in jackson, and for some reason, being around ellie made you feel scorching. ellie huffed and chuckled, “yeah, think they do”

“well… that sucks” you noted, as a loose strand of ellie’s auburn hair tickled your cheek. ellie thought for a while, and then chuckled again. she did it quite a lot, chuckle to herself without saying a word. “i wouldn’t… eat you though. i’d… build a little web around you. protect you from the other spiders. you could be my personal butterfly… pet, thing”

you hummed, being caged in ellie’s spider web didn’t actually seem all that bad. in fact, it had a certain charm to it. but, wait… “wouldn’t being around me make you hungry?”

ellie’s breath caged in her throat.

it already does.

“guess i’d have to fight against my urges” she rasped, and you nodded.

if you were a butterfly, ellie would be the brave spider who protects you.

if you were a lily; who blooms during the daylight, the resurrection of spring, the goddess oestre, enlightened and wise, ellie was your missing piece. the moon to your sun, and the darkness to your light. the universe thrives because of it’s harmonious balance, and so do you.

⋆˙⟡♡

sugar, flour, cocoa powder, salt, two fresh eggs, a cup of milk, and one cane of sweet vanilla. the chocolate cake was damn near perfect. writing her name on the cake with a thick layer of vanilla icing was extremely precious and necessary to you. woefully, the can was nearing on empty, so— the cake read; “happy birth, el”

you impishly giggled to yourself. sounds like ellie’s going to give birth. with one more dip of your finger inside the rich ganache, you came to a firm and final conclusion— it was heavenly, the perfect balance of sweet and chochlaty bitterness. the secret ingredient that must have made it as amazing as it was, was the espresso powder you traded for a bargain. or maybe, maybe it was love.

“ugh, quit it. cheesy” you silently mumbled to yourself.

⋆˙⟡♡

the weather was hot, and the air felt thick. you always deemed it funny, ellie being a june baby and hating the heat. the town bustled with noise of chatter on a busy monday mornin’, and maria stood with her arms crossed against her chest in the corner. she seemed to be in the midst of scolding a guilty looking tommy, and next to them, were a handful of children giggling in the background.

balancing the chocolate cake, alongside with the gifts sitting inside the brown paper bag (with the pretty blue ribbon you clasped onto it), and the flower bouquet was hard. waddling around the town, on your way to ellie’s house, no wonder you nearly dropped it all on the floor when you bumped into a large man, that hit your front like a stone.

“oh— uh, easy there, kiddo”

you could recognize that rasp and that texas twang everywhere, even when your eyes were squinted, avoiding the rays of the sun.

joel.

you hastily managed to balance it all together again, apologizing profusely to the middle aged man— whomst you almost smashed the entire cake onto. he wore a black button up, it seemed… festive. huh. “headin’ to see ellie, i assume?” joel rasped.

you nodded and smiled politely. you’ve never been completely alone with joel, and most importantly, you’ve never talked to him about ellie. things between them were… complicated. you didn’t know why, and sometimes— you were too afraid to even ask. it all seemed too sensitive. ellie would nearly wince when his name was mentioned, and her eyes would fill with something that seemed like sorrow, or regret, or anger. usually, all of those emotions— all at once.

“that her gift?” he pointed towards the brown paper bag.

“mhm! savage starlight. s’the latest edition… i think”

joel smiled softly, and hummed in response. his eyes too, were filled with something that seemed to hold a droplet of sorrow and regret, but no anger though. different than ellie’s.

“she’s still into it, huh?”

“she’s obsessed” you giggled. truthfully, she had a good reason to be. savage stralight was fucking awesome, you grew to realize. it was even more awesome when she read it to you in the dark, cuddled up in her squeaky bed, holding a flashlight to illuminate the written words. when you dozed off, she’d continue reading out loud, maybe to herself, or maybe for your subconscious to absorb.

“i have… this, thing, uh—“ he shifted awkwardly, and began searching for something in his pockets. joel took it out, and showed it to you while holding it in his palm. the thing he mentioned, was a golden, diamond studded pin of the fallen apollo 1. it was beautiful, highly detailed, it’s unmistakable shine reflecting the rays of the sun.

“found it last week while i was patrollin’”

“it’s… woah” you marveled, running a delicate finger over the polished metal.

“is she… still into the space thing?” the stony man asked with a slightly shaky voice. something in you had to physically fight the urge to pull him into a warm hug.

“yeah… we… well, we went to look at the stars the other day”

joel placed the pin in your hand, and wrapped your fingers around it. “could you give it to her? don’ gotta say it’s from me. tell her you found it”

you nearly choked up.

“joel… you should come with me”

joel sighed, and smiled softly again. joel wasn’t into smiling, but you made ellie smile, and that made joel smile.

“maybe next birthday, kid”

joel, just like louisa, knew ellie loved you before she did. and joel, saw his girl turn from a sulky, sullen teenager, to someone who looked like she had something, someone, to live for.

⋆˙⟡♡

12:00pm, and exactly three knocks on ellie’s wooden door. you’d be lying if you said you weren’t filled with anxiousness. being anxious around ellie wasn’t a strange new feeling. you had butterflies swarming around your belly when she looked at you, had butterflies when she talked to you, especially when she used that one tone, when she got out of the shower with only a small towel wrapped around her glistening body, you had butterflies, or better yet— a painfully lage bee colony growing in your tummy. when she kissed you softly, the bees calmed down and were a little more subtle, you could imagine them having black oogly heart eyes— but when she kissed you roughly, forcefully against the wall (or against the concrete floor that one time), the bees buzzed uncontrollably, and somehow flew down to a lower part of your body. when she grabbed your waist and gave it a squeeze, as she ravished your mouth with her wet tongue, they went even lower and…

well, anyways— ellie made you nervous. handing her her gifts made you nervous and having her first birthday with you made you even more nervous. you were a fuzzy ball of nervousness and anticipation, and now ellie opened the door and you nearly dropped the cake on the ground.

again.

usually, ellie would greet you with a shy “hey”. exactly a week ago, she added a “babe” to it. (the belly bee colony buzzed and they were tremendously loud, you thought ellie could possibly hear them — so you had to hold on to your tummy) today, ellie greeted you with blown out eyes and a gasp. “oh…”

“happy birthday” you mumbled adorably as if it was a hushed little secret, too shy to look her in the eyes. ellie was too shy too, a coy smile painted on her lips, rosy cheeked, with her hands clamped in two fists inside her oversized grey sweater (it’s june, she would not let that hoodie go). her pupils were glued to the “happy birth, el” written in white icing.

when she felt bold enough to look you in the eyes after not speaking (just staring) for one whole minute, as soon as she caught your gaze— your orbs began dancing around everything you saw, purely avoiding her look but with a huge grin plastered on your sweet, overly excited face.

would it be stupid for ellie to tell you that she loved you right now? because it was getting incredibly hard not to.

instead of a (perhaps) misplaced i love you, ellie decided a pure “thank you” would be have to suffice. she held the door for you, and you shyly tiptoed in. when you placed the chocolate cake on top of the oakwood counter along with the paper bag, you felt ellie’s hands shyly creeping up to your waist, pulling you in a tight hug. “you really… really, shouldn’t have” she whispered. her voice was still groggy, lazy, raspy.

it was her morning voice.

funnily enough, this was your first time hearing it. you never stayed over past 2am— the night was dangerous in your eyes. the night meant going to sleep, it meant staying in her bed, and it meant sleeping with her inside of it. the idea of a night with ellie felt as if the bee colony in your stomach was about to erupt and explode and splatter everywhere.

“you know i don’t… celebrate these things” ellie rasped again, breaking you off from your idle thoughts. you placed your hand over hers, and giggled. “s’not a thing, el… it’s your birthday”, ellie hummed in agreement, and you continued. “besides, it’s an—“ she planted a soft, chaste kiss on your neck. it made you shudder and it made your voice break. “an… excuse to eat some cake”

“just cake?”, ellie sighed, her raspy voice tickling your cheek.

“mhm” you nodded, distracted as ever.

“whats in that paper bag then, huh?”

the flower only blooms during the night, and savage starlight was meant to be consumed with the help of a trusty ol’ flashlight, under a thick blanket. the sun was still out, so the moonflower slept. for the comics, you wouldn’t need a flashlight, and that would simply demolish all of the fun.

the sun was still out so unfortunately, ellie will have to sit and patiently wait.

you pull yourself out of her hug, and waltz away slowly. “well… paper bags for later”, you tilt your head, drawing out your words just to tease her and then some. “so, not gonna show you what’s in there”

ellie raises a brow, a slight half smirk creeping up on her face. saying ellie was a patient girl, would be similar to saying a cat doesn't walk on four. technically, it could… be biped, but— well, wouldn’t quite work. so similarly, patient and ellie couldn’t quite work either.

“you gonna say no to me on my birthday?” she jests, pulling her arms and crossing them over her grey hoodie ridden chest.

“oohh…” you nod twice, “so now you do celebrate these things?” you teasingly raise an eyebrow, mirroring her stance. ellie chuckles and it comes out from deep within her throat. she squints her eyes, “you’re such a tease”

she must not know one of the bee’s just stung the insides of your own stomach and dropped dead. or maybe it’s not dead yet, because you can still feel it’s erratic buzzing and the venom makes you feel as if you’re about to pass out.

“mhm… it’s okay, i’ll wait, babe” — there’s that babe again, and the little bee is definitely dead by now.

“can we eat the cake outside? s’nice, warm… we could do a picnic!” you chirp, each and every single one of your words laced with that syrupy sweetness that makes ellie melt.

ellie smiles and feels a little blush creeping up on the apples of her cheeks. “could do… whatever you want, it’s your cake” she states, and you roll your eyes at her sweet humility. “s’not my cake, it’s yours” you mutter serenely as you point towards the vanilla icing. “see? has your name on it and all”

ellie tries plunging a slender finger into the icing, a foolish attempt to taste it, but you slap it away, a faux pout forming on her face.

“can’t taste my own cake?”

“nope. outside” you speak, popping the p’.

“yes ma’am”

⋆˙⟡♡

you take a sip of the freshly squeezed lemonade, a droplet of sour and sweetness flowing down from the corner of your lips. ellie— propped up by her elbow, brings her thumb and wipes it away. “so messy” she jives playfully, putting the pad of her thumb in her mouth and joyfully sucks on it. she’s squinting her eyes, attempting to avoid the rays of the sun, and you giggle impishly. “can i finally taste my cake now?” she drawls.

impatient as ever, ellie doesn’t even bother pulling out the white plastic fork. instead, she shoves her hand into the cake and takes a big bite. her eyes shut as she devours it, humming at the taste. with her mouth full, she utters “happy birth, el, huh?”.

you breathlessly laugh and nudge her arm away so she almost falls on the checkered, red and white picnic blanket. “sounds like… mmh, fuck, this is good”, she licks her finger — “sounds like m’giving birth”

“i didn’t have any more icing left!” you raise your tone brightly. ellie looks you in the eyes and swallows a sly smirk. this time, it’s your turn to wipe some residue off the corner of her lips. you taste it, and god damn was she right— it’s finger lickin’ good.

“i think that like, when we have babies, you’d be the one to give birth… not my thing. don’t want some… little intruder in my stomach”

before you have time to answer, ellie bites the insides of her cheeks and feels like slapping herself in the face or burying herself 7 feet in the ground. she’s talking about having babies with you?!

she’d smack herself so hard right now if she could.

for you, however, it’s becoming insufferably hard not to start jumping up and down and ripping your hair off in excitement.

“let me get this straight…” you begin, and ellie’s convinced you’re about to tell her that she’s too much and leave. “an intruder, as you put it, can live inside my belly for nine whole months, but not inside yours?”

ellie has to stop herself from breathing a sigh of relief. “it’ll suit you, is all i’m sayin’”

ellie manages to eat half of the creamy chocolate cake all by herself. she was never one to have a big appetite, did you sneak something inside of the batter, perhaps?

maybe it’s love, ellie wonders. she scolds herself internally, quit being such a sap. it’s definitely the espresso powder her taste buds managed to pick up on.

laying face to face with her eyes closed, you manage to count some of her splattered freckles. one… two… fifteen…, some of them grew darker, tanner. ellie’s chest rises up and down, and you almost think she must have dozed off like a little kid having a post—dessert nap, until;

“hey” she whispers.

“hi” you whisper back.

ellie opens her eyes, a soft, lazy half smile adorning her face. she bites her bottom lip, “can i open my present now?”

impatient.

you shake your head softly. “nuh uh, sun’s still out. sorry, els”

she wants to scoff but she loves it when you call her by that little nickname. “but…” you look down shyly, reaching out for your pocket. “i ran into… joel, on my way here” you speak quietly, afraid of saying the wrong thing. ellie blinks twice, and clears her throat. taking it out of your pocket, you place the little precious pin in between ellie and you. ellie only looks at it, doesn’t touch. you can’t quite describe the expression on her face. surprised? dreadful?… doubtful, maybe, and a tad curious perhaps. “he wanted me to give you this… s’the fallen apollo eleven, i think”

ellie let’s out a quiet chuckle.

“apollo one”

she lifts herself up, taking the pin in her hand. her green eyes begin examining it, brushing her fingers on the golden metal. you sit quietly for a while, allowing ellie to be one with her thoughts. she doesn’t know what to think, what to feel, really. sorrow? regret? tears threaten to fill the brim of her eyes, so with her back to you, she sighs deeply and swallows them up. you bring your hand to lay a small caress on the small of her back, and ellie gazes to the side. she grabs your hand, and plants a small kiss on to your fingers. “ellie…” you silently whisper, and ellie sniffles.

“it’s alright, m’okay” she assures, and lays herself on top of the blanket again. her hand still holds your fingers, and you bring them around her thumb and squeeze. “thank you” she voices. before telling her that you’re not the one she should thank, a small tear flows down her cheek. you’d wipe it away, but ellie grabs your other hand and interlocks her fingers with yours. “sometimes it… fuck—“ she laughs, it occurss to both of you you’ve never quite seen her cry. “it’s okay” you comfort. keep going, you got her. ellie deeply sighs, “feels like i don’t deserve any of this”. the tear is hanging from her chin now, then flows down to her neck. you don’t ask her why, because now is not the time, but you’ll ask her one day. for now, all you do is assure her that she does. and for once in her life, she actually might start to believe it.

⋆˙⟡♡

apparently, chocolate cake, raspberry jam and some bubbly champagne (that you stole borrowed from the tipsy bison) can really get you two going. after hours of aimless giggling, tummies hurting from all of the fine delicacies, it’s time for your favourite past time— ellie and yours hypotheticals corner. naturally, with your head laying on top of her firm chest, you’re the one who starts. “okay, so… plants”, you gush. “mhm, so plants” ellie repeats, her fingers tracing lazy circles on your half covered shoulder. “which plant would i be?”

ellie thinks for a while— you two really take this seriously. she hums before responding, puffing some air from her nose. “chocolate plant, for sure”

interesting. you thought she’d say a certain flower, a delicate one, a soft one, one that blooms in the day. chocolate plant. “intersting… why chocolate? — ellie doesn’t quite know either. perhaps it’s because she loves chocolate and she loves you, and the champagne is making her feel giddy and silly and you’re her little chocolate bean, plant thing.

“cause it’s tasty” she responds, and you almost settle on that except… you seem to have an important anecdote you have a blinding urge to point out.

“well, it makes zero sense. you’ve never even tasted me”

that she hasn’t. yet.

ellie’s breath hitches inside her throat and she nearly chokes on her spit. do you know… what you’re doing? you muttered that sentence so innocently, so absentmindedly, and of course she hasn’t tasted you, but did that thought occur in your mind like it did in hers? you’re still smiling, patiently waiting for her response, and ellie can’t help but feel so… well, she couldn’t quite put her finger on what she was feeling. her cheeks however— light up in a shade of dusty pink.

“imagine if you like, ate me! i’d probably taste so…”

sweet? intoxicating?

“gross!” you exclaim, exaggerating and blowing your eyes out. ellie’s cheeks calm down a little, the pretty pink diminishing slowly. “thank god you’re not a cannibal…”

nah, she thinks she might be something worse.

slowly, ellie pushes her body closer to yours. you feel her faint breaths on the tip of your nose. “tickles…” you murmur, and ellie huffs out and smiles. it’s that smile she gives you before saying something. the way her eyes dart from your lips to your eyes… it makes you feel vulnerable, coy, and it’s as if she’s studying you, taking in your features one by one. perhaps, she loves seeing the way your eyelashes flutter like small butterfly wings when you feel her gaze on you.

“i have tasted you though” she rasps, her voice low and husky. her eyes are focused on your lips now, as hers slightly part, and then close up again. “you have?” you mumble, shy under her gaze. she hums, bringing the pad of her thumb to your lips again and pulling on your bottom one slightly. this time, you don’t have lemonade juice running down your chin. this time— the gesture is truly just for her. those lips… she thinks.

“you taste… good. and sweet, like…”, your lips curl up to a smile. “chocolate?” you complete. ellie hums again, her palm cupping your cheek. you feel warm, how are you always so warm? — even when you’re shivering cold, warmth is all she can feel.

“and vanilla… and coconut” she caresses your cheek with her thumb. you giggle, “you’ve never even had coconut”

“nah, but i can imagine…” — and oh, imagine she can. is this the champagne talking? it must be it, because that fizzling bubbly voice in her head would not let her go. funny, she doesn’t even feel drunk. “you taste sweet too” you state, nearly purring into her hand as she keeps delicately caressing your skin. she chuckles, “no i don’t” — and she’s right. she doesn’t taste sweet, in fact, she tastes minty and earthy and it makes you feel dizzy each time.

slowly, ellie gets her face even closer to yours. she sees your eyes twinkling, and she swears they shine brighter than every star she’s ever seen. back in the old times, nasa would have a field trip exploring your orbs. they might even find new galaxies in there, and ellie wishes she could explore each one. she really should have been an astronaut.

“ellie?” you quietly whisper. ellie nearly gets lost in the way you say her name, but responds to you nevertheless. “yeah babe?”

“can i taste you? to prove how… sweet you are?” — she knows you mean her lips, regardless, that dusty pink turns a deeper shade of crimson. she thinks it’s absolutely adorable, how you still feel the need to ask. however, she forgets that she asks you that question each time as well. can she… kiss you here? right below your ear? that feel good?

she doesn’t respond with words, but with actions. she cups your cheek harder now and with fervour, and she knows she needs to be romantic but she’s famished, so as soon as she feels your lips part— she plunges her tongue deep inside and you surrender to her domination. almost like a waltz, your tongues dance together, swirling around each other and tasting— and she still doesn’t taste all that sweet, but you do, and it makes her brain feel like mush. you whimper into her mouth and it almost sounds like your “els”, and she knows she needs to come out for air soon and break off the kiss but how can she? how can she when you’re so damn sweet?

her hand dips lower, placing itself on your throat, and she gives you that little squeeze (that she realised must have made you feel good, because you always had chills when she did and she could feel them), and this time— you really did whimper out her name. ellie groans, but you abruptly break the kiss, holding on to your stomach. she pants slightly, before releasing your throat from her grasp. “did i do something?“ she asks quietly.

thing is, she truly didn’t. in fact, it was that damn bee colony that did. she must have heard them buzzing and flying into each other and bumping into your stomachs walls and dip even lower and�� “can you hear them?” you question— and you’re panicking slightly, she can tell.

“hear who?”, ellie looks around, but nobody’s there. intruders? clickers? you must have drank too much, but you really hadn’t so…

“it’s so fuckin’ stupid…” you whine, lowering your head and hiding your face in the crook of her neck. ellie still thinks you must have heard something for real— and by all means, it is real, just not… like that. “hey” she encourages, placing her hand on the back of your neck. if she dares to even move it to the front of it, you’d panic again and be totally screwed. ellie notices you’re holding on to your lower stomach, “does it hurt?” she questions, worrisome.

“no… no, s’not that…” you voice, an octave higher than a whisper. “just when… when you kiss me? like, when you kiss me like that, you know?”, you hide your face again, and ellie’s worried sick— oh god, you hate it. you hate it when she kisses you.

you take a moment to gather your thoughts, you can explain this.

you breathe deeply, and ellie still holds the back of your head. “you know how people say… that you have… butterflies, when you’re around someone you like?”

“uh huh” ellie sighs. she gets it now. you don’t have those butterflies. you get sick when she kisses you, it makes your stomach hurt and you hate it and hate her and she knew you were too good for her and fuck.

“well, mine feel more like… well, they feel violent. it feels like i’m going to explode. i call them my bees, my bee colony, it’s so fucking stupid and i feel like they’re everywhere—“

oh.

ellie laughs (finally), breathlessly so, and she giggles and squeezes your body closer to hers and you continue to ramble, your voice slightly muffled by the fabric of her hoodie. she’s going to squeeze you so hard you might die, and you start banging your hands on her chest and you’re embarrassed, mortified at your little confession and the bees are so mad! they're calling for a conference call and you nearly explode.

“babe, babe—“ ellie calls out, forcing your head out of her neck and nearly begging you to look at her. you don’t though, you shut your eyes tight as she looks at you and thank god you do because she looks so amused but so enamoured she nearly doesn’t even want you to look.

“you wanna know what i have?” she probes, and you finally open one eye to take a peak. “no!”, and immediately— you shut it again. “i don’t have butterflies either” she calmly states, playfully pressing on your nose so you can huff out and look at her. when you do, you expect to see a smile— but instead, you’re faced with a serious expression, ellies eyebrows furrowing.

“i have wasps”

“wasps?” you doubt her quietly.

“mhm…” her lips part and she licks her bottom one before she speaks. “more like… tigers, or like, lions. way worse than yours. i mean, i’m in terrible condition”— she chuckles, and she just might be.

her words don’t comfort you, in fact, they make you buzz even louder.

doe eyed, you look up at her. “lions?”

“mhm” she nods. lions that might just tear you apart on the grass if you keep on looking at her like that.

this time, when she kisses you again— you don’t hold on to your stomach, you place your hand on hers. as the bees grow even louder, crashing into each other and ruining your slippery insides, you swear you can nearly hear her own lions roar alongside with your buzzing. she grabs your neck and squeezes it again, you nearly shriek, and ellie groans into your mouth and she’s the one to stop, but for an entirely different reason now. “inside?” she murmurs, staring at your glistening, kiss swollen lips and at the drool that runs on one corner. “please…” you whine, and ellie’s eyes nearly roll to the back of her head. please…? she repeats in her mind— and oh fuck.

⋆˙⟡♡

so she takes you inside, your hand in hers.

with the chocolate cake and the bottle of champagne and it’s glasses far forgotten, the sweet raspberry jam slowly melting away, the chocolate cake growing into a chocolate… pudding, the ants are sure to come. how pitiful, that bees will always triumph over them, and the wasps— or the lions, well, they triumph over everything.

what ellie wants to do right now, is take you up to her bedroom and ravish you in all your glory, but you’re no forgetful fool. with everything else washed away, how dare you forget her presents?, her moonflowers?

“ellie!” you exclaim, squeezing on her hand. “it’s nighttime! your birthday presents…” you wiggle out your eyebrows.

shit— she nearly forgot, she’s pretty sure that if someone placed an actual living and breathing dinosaur in her living room she wouldn’t even notice because you keep on rendering her a distracted mess.

besides, its your own fault, because how do you do that? how do you go from driving her crazy and making her want to eat you on the grass, to making her heart flutter and burst inside of her chest the moment after? you’re a magician, a witch, what the fuck are you? not a fairy— that’s for sure, fairies are scary.

“so… you wanna open them up or not?”

she wants to open you up. no, no! bad ellie! that’s definitely the champagne still talking (it’s long gone.)

“fuck yeah”

you grab the paper bags (with the little blue ribbon), and drag her upstairs. you physically drag her, because for some reason, opening her presents is making her incredibly nervous. you expected her to be more eager, to snap the bag out of your hand as soon as you allowed her, but instead— she sits on the bed and just waits. she’s waiting for you to hand them out to her.

the nervousness seems to eat you up as well, tummy aching (still the bees, but also some normal excitement)— and as you hand her the bag, a few questions start to arise.

what if she hates it? what if she hates flowers? what if she’s allergic to the ipomea alba, what if she starts sneezing and coughing and dying?! or what if she already managed to get over savage starlight? (in a matter of two days…) what if the cake sucked and she was lying all along and you’d disappoint her and she dumps you and—

“HOLY FUCKIN’ SHIT!!!!!!!!!” — she yelps, you didn’t even notice she opened the damn bag!

“this is…..” her eyes are bright and she smiles so big it nearly damn hurts the apples of her cheeks. “savage fucking star— fuck! s’the latest fucking one! how did you even manage to, fuck— gotta fuckin’ kiss you right now or i’d die”

ellie practically pounces on you, kissing you all over your face. cheeks— two kisses on each one, your nose, your forehead, your chin, both of your earlobes, “close your eyes, gotta kiss ‘em too”, your jaw, your neck…

“are you into me or something? cause it looks like you’re super into me, giving me this fuckin’ gift… dude. if you have feelings for me…”, she places her pointer and her middle finger on your chin and makes you look up at her. you stifle a giggle, “you gotta just tell me, might be into you too” she pecks your lip slowly and you instantly melt.

“we have to read it today… but only eight pages! gotta save it up”

she nearly buries her entire face in the comic book pages. she sniffs, “shit… even smells new” — a layer of fine dust adorns it, so you know it doesn’t.

“rented it from the library!” you chirp, the concept of libraries being one you merely only read about.

“there’s… something else in there too…” you begin. for some reason, giving her those flowers you picked makes you even more nervous. she curiously looks up at you. “there's more?”

you bend down to grab the paper bag off of the wooden floor. the moonflowers’ petals opened up, and there you were— awestruck again. “you can’t give me more things… it’s too much i don’t…” deserve it? you know she thinks so. regardless, she looks up at you adoringly, as your hand tremors and you lift the flowers out of the brown paper bag. you look at them, trying to decide if maybe you were just being delusional, maybe they’re not nearly as pretty as you thought they were when you came across them for the first time. perhaps they’re…

“woah…” ellie gazes at them, wide eyed. she doesn’t even know the meaning of them but yet she is nothing but mesmerised. “wh… what flower is this?” she asks, running her fingers on their dark green stems. when she reaches their creamy white petals, she moves her fingers even more delicately. caressing it, her knee nudges yours.

“moonflower” you reply silently, watching ellie’s digits adoring the bloom. “it’s… it’s really pretty”

you take a deep breath. “i picked it up cause… it reminds me of you”, you exhale, fiddling with your fingers. when she notices, she puts her hand, the one with the flowers in it— on top of yours. the room is quiet, except for ellie’s shallow breaths.

“it um… well… first of all, it’s beautiful, like you”, you flush, and ellie flushes as well. she swallows deeply, and involuntarily, a small “fuck” escapes from her throat.

“and… they’re not supposed to grow in jackson. it was purely by accident, so they’re special… like you, and uh… well, they only bloom during the night, which is why i waited. they’re strong, and they’re deadly, i mean— the venom is… so don’t… eat it, i guess.” you chuckle, and you barely even notice two fat tears streaming down your cheeks. “they remind me of you because they’re the prettiest flowers ive ever seen, and when i saw them… i was kinda of like… woah, just like what happened when i saw you for the first time, remember?” — ellie sniffles, and ellie’s crying. “so… you’re my moonflower”

ellie doesn’t know what to do. she looks up, covering her face with her hands. she wipes away a stupid tear, and then wipes away your precious one.

one whole minute passes.

“if i ever…” she begins, swallowing hard. “if i ever lose you? i think i might die” — because the moonflower needs sun to live, and you’re her sun, her lifeline.

you take her face in between your shaky palms. ellie’s lips hold a slight tremor, and then she laughs.

“i’m in love with you”

you don’t have to say it back. you really don’t, because again — actions speak louder than words. your soft lips meet her slightly chapped ones, and ellie hums into the kiss. different than the one before, this one is gentle, dim, the lust hasn’t disappeared— it’s still there, but it has something more to it, not diminishing it, just hovering above. could you guess what it is?

“i love y…” you whisper out, attempting to break the kiss, just if you could simply say this one thing, but ellie knows, she knows. she pulls you by the back of your neck more forcefully now, deepening the kiss. because you couldn’t finish your sentence, you pout— but ellie suckles on your bottom lip and wipes your silly pout away. her hand goes lower, from the back of your head to hold on to your waist, and she squeezes the covered flesh. you moan into the kiss, tasting her spit and her tongue, and oh god— the bees. you think you might have just another precious gift for her. one she’s been waiting for, one she’s been fantasising about, one that you’ve been fantasising about. when you moan into the kiss, ellie breaks it. she’s staring you down, panting again. “think i… have… one more gift” you whisper, and ellie— her lips parted, nods once. “one more?” she rasps, squeezing your waist again and pulling you up to straddle her. “mhm”, you hiccup as you feel yourself snugly pressed up against her.

she places one hand on your thigh, simply caressing it back and forth. the more up she goes, the more your breaths become uneven and so do her’s. it’s not entirely an unfamiliar territory— you've been seated on her lap a few times before (seven, but whos counting? she is), but this is… different. “whats your gift, huh?” she teases. you? are you going to be her gift? you always have been…

you whine when she traces small circles with her slender fingers on your clothed inner thighs. you whine and it makes ellie throb— you’ve never quite made that noise before, and she yearns to pull every single noise you could possibly make out of you. a whimper, a moan, god— a scream. she feels like she’s about to explode and christ, you’re still fully clothed.

like a hunter examining it’s prey, ellie moves her face forwards, and then downwards, towards your neck. she places a few chaste kisses, “ah! tickles…” ellie chuckles darkly, yearning to “tickle” you once more. she plants two more delicate, tickling kisses before suckling on the flesh. at first, her tongue meets your skin and she laps up at it. then, her teeth bite into it, and you nearly jump. “sorry… that hurt?” she asks, and really, she’s not sorry at all. “feels…” ellie cuts you off and sucks again. this time, she’s determined to leave a mark. “oh… feels…” you continue, shuddering in her arms like glass. she hasn’t even touched you, not really, and yet everything feels damp. your face, from your tears and from her tears and from spit, to the flesh of your neck that’s being sucked on and played with, down to the small wet patch inside your panties that you’d be mortified if she noticed.

when she finishes the assault on your neck, she moves up to your lips again and grunts when she sees how your lips were already parted, just for her. the kiss is slow, wet, her tongue kitten licking your own. it’s nasty, really, wet smacking and sucking noises filling the air. almost involuntarily, your hips start moving and grinding up against her thigh. ellie moans deeply. “mmph… yeah?” she teases, or at least tries to, because her voice is shaky and turned on to the max. she helps you move slightly, and my god she needs to take your pants off and feel your naked heat against her like this. when she thinks about what it must be like for you— she imagines your fat pussy lips squished up inside your panties, grinding on her thigh and she nearly loses it. she wants to help you grind harder… could she make you cum just from that? cum inside your pants whilst using her thigh? “fuuuck”, ellie groans and lifts her hand up, nearly smacking your ass but it ends up just landing on her own leg.

“s’not fair… what you’re doing…” she murmurs in your ear, “what did… what did i do?” you respond back, your voice high and needy. ellie doesn’t even know what she meant to say. all she knows is that it’s not fair. it’s not fair how you make her react and feel like this, the way your eyes glisten isn’t fair, the way you grind up on her thigh and make those sounds isn’t fair, the way you make her feel sticky and mushy and wet — without even taking your clothes off, isn’t fair.

still moving with fervour on top of her legs, her hand is dangerously close to where you need her the most. she nearly cups it, flips you over and ravishes you whole, but she stops herself. “can i please… take your fuckin’…” she rasps, running her short fingernails on your sides. she’s not scratching, but it’s not an entirely gentle movement either. she doesn’t know where to start, should she ask you to take your top off? your pants? — maybe she should just ask you to go completely naked. she settles on the little top, however.

you lift the fabric up slowly, but you do it out of nerves. as much as ellie wants it off, she lets you take it slow. you peel it off, exposing your skin inch by inch— do you even know how bad you��re teasing her right now? “ah, fuck” ellie groans out. when the shirt meets the top of your head, it gets stuck there for a second. you giggle nervously, your lacey bra on full display, and ellie considers just leaving you there to struggle by yourself. if your eyes are covered by the material, maybe you won’t notice how hard she’s staring. “need some help there, babe?” she teases as she leans back on her elbows. your laugh is muffled, and ellie chuckles. how are you so goddamn sexy and adorable at the same time? after ten whole seconds of struggling, ellie lifts it up for you. “there, good girl… wasn’t that hard, right? just needed my help?” she teases, and god is she mean— that little twinkle in her now much darker green eyes making you feel like your ears are about to melt off.

swiftly, ellie begins planting soft kisses all over your collarbones. her hand isn’t touching your breasts quite yet, but it’s hovering on top of them, and then you realize— she’s waiting for your approval, for your yes. you put your hands around her neck and push her forward, which makes her hands land on top of your breasts. ellie moans as soon as she feels them, and even though they’re covered by fabric — the lace is thin and she can feel your hardening nipples. she runs her thumb over the swollen buds and you shiver. “knew you’d be sensitive…” she murmurs to herself against your skin. “what did… uh, what did you say?”, you stutter, and then she looks up at you. “said…” she flicks it and you buck your hips. “fuck… knew you’d be sensitive”

she knew… you’d be? “you’ve, uh… thought about this before?” — and ellie chuckles, fully laughs nearly. if you only knew how many times she’s thought about this you’d probably crumble like a danish biscuit. “too many times” ellie confesses, and she almost gets too embarrassed to admit, but she swears she can feel a little wet patch on her jeans so she knows you must have thought about this as well, perhaps more than she has — but not likely. “i have too” you murmur shyly, and there it is.

“oh, really?” she asks, kissing right in between of your tits and making you jolt. if her lips feel this good on your chest… your eyes roll back to the top of your head. “so you’re just as filthy, huh?”, her right hand lands on your ass with the smallest smack, she knows she could make it hurt if she wanted to (and she does), but not yet. you jump and squeal, and in a random burst of confidence — “m’filthier…” you whisper.

with that, ellie grunts and takes your tits in her palms, she kneads the swollen flesh, pushing both of your breasts together and kisses right between the formed cleavage. “bet you’re filthier…” she whispers, opens her mouth so her tongue can stick out and lick between your cleavage line. when she does so, she brings her hand to your back and unclasps your bra with just her two fingers. she lets it cascade down, and she notices how shy you get, trying to bring your hands to cover yourself up. ellie is faster than you, and grabs both of your wrists so you can’t. you’re fully exposed, and ellie’s all pants and heavy breaths. when you try to wiggle yourself out of her grip, your tits move and bounce in the slightest, and ellie’s in trance. “you’re so… fuckin’ pretty” she takes your hard nipple in her mouth and you wince as soon as you feel her pink muscles wetness. “that feel good huh?” she takes your other breast in her hand and toys with it, palms it and making it shake.

with hungry kisses, she lays you down on her bed. you buck your hips forward, and ellie parts your legs with her own. she runs her hands all over your body, and before kissing you again, she stops. “els?” you ask, but ellie ignores you. ellie takes her top off, and fuck you’re nearly drooling. she wasn’t even wearing a bra, and her pretty pink nipples are just as hard as yours. you’re staring, and it’s ellie’s turn to go shy. “you like… ‘em?” she giggles, “shit, nevermind”

you don’t expect it, but ellie grabs the brown paper bag and pulls the moonflower bouquet out of it. “wh… what are you doing?”

“don’t worry about it” — she places the flowers on your chest. for some reason, your ears start to burn. “hold ‘em like that for me?” she asks, and you do. with ellie straddling you, it almost looks like she’s about to pull out a camera and take a picture. “perfect…” she murmurs, “feels like i marked you. s’over for you, you’re mine, y’know that?”

you think you’ve always known. “yours” you whisper coyly, giving her that toothy grin that makes her melt into a puddle. she leans forward, kissing the tip of your nose. “yours who?” she kisses your cheek, and then below it, and then on your jaw. “yours… ellie” — and she must be smiling, because you can feel her lips curl up on your skin.

she kisses you everywhere, on every scar, every blemish, sometimes she bites, but then soothes it with her tongue. you’re growing impatient, the pressure down your panties becoming insufferable. before she unbuttons your pants, she unbuttons her’s. she pulls them down, to sit right below her boxers covered ass. she comes up again, kissing on your tummy, and then — she puts her ear to it. “m’hearing them…” she murmurs. “they're… talking to me, the bees are begging me to fuc—“

“ellie!” you call out, embarrassed. you try and muffle your giggles with your hand but it’s all for nothing, because when she pulls your pants down you gasp. she takes a moment to stare, she could just stare at you forever, she thinks. ellie toys with the waistband of your panties, running her pointer finger on the line. she’s breathing heavy, and you’re nearly wheezing. she bends down to kiss your sopping covered cunt, “oh fu— wait!” you call out.

“i’m… i feel, i’m too shy i can’t…”, ellie smiles and kisses it again. she knows you are. “feels like i might—“ you cry out, feels like you might what?

“explode!”

“you might… but i got you, yeah?” ellie coos, and this time, she doesn’t kiss it, she runs her tongue along the wet patch. she wiggles it from side to side and fuck, she can taste you already and she thinks she might be addicted. your thighs tense and they involuntarily wrap around ellie’s head. she chuckles, and parts them apart. to soothe you, she runs her fingers on your inner thighs and caresses you gently. she kisses your clothed clit and she swears she just felt it pump. “awh… yeah?” she coos again, and it feel like she’s talking to your pussy and not to you. you whimper and drop your head back, and she sucks on it. she’s making the fabric grow nearly sheer with her tongue, and when she sees the outline of your pussy lips she moans deeply. “so wet…” she murmurs to herself, “this all for me, huh? did i do something?” she looks up at you, and your eyes are tightly shut, not even in a place where you feel like you can talk.

you’re fuzzy everywhere.

“can you answer me?” she warns, but chuckles when she sees your back arching as soon as she pulls your soaking wet panties to the side. you hum, “all f— for you”, but ellie doesn’t even hear it, because she’s faced with the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen.

your glistening folds, the tiny swollen button on top, and your hole practically clenching in and out over nothing and she thinks she might just die. she spits on it with a small “ptu”, watches as her warm saliva cascades down from your clit to your inviting hole. when you clench, your hole absorbs some of her spit and she groans deeply. “fuck that’s cute”

you’re panting, a sweet harmony of “please, ellie!” escaping your lips, and when you accidentally muttered a pathetic, squeaky “puhleaseee!” ellie scratched the idea of slowly, butterfly kissing your cunt till you’re begging and began placing an open mouthed kiss on it.

as her tongue meets your clit for the first time, you clutch your thighs around her head. it happens twice before she forces them open, “quit that, gotta see you” — she warns, and you listen because you just do. “look at me” she instructs, her voice muffled by your sweet pussy in her mouth. her tongue laps up the wetness from your hole, brings it to the top of your clit and sucks. ellie hums, she was right — you really are fuckin’ sweet. “so good…” she murmurs, “doin’ such a good job”, truly, you aren’t even doing anything, just squirming and whimpering under her touch. she moves her tongue around and you swear you just felt her spell something with it, “ellie!” you cry, and ellie’s breath hitches down her throat so she comes out for air and spits on your cunt again. she rubs the wetness with her fingers, then separates your pussy lips with her thumbs so she can see all of you.

you’re just like a flower, she thinks. slowly, she places her tongue on your clit again, but with her fingers on it still, she begins toying with your tight hole. she merely teases it, probing your entrance with her ring finger. “gonna put it inside, that okay?” she asks, but you’re unresponsive, a blabbering mess who doesn’t even remember her own name. ellie chuckles, she could probably do anything she wanted. she slips it inside, feeling your gummy walls squeezing her in, and she moans right when you do. “oh… gosh, ellie!”

“so fuckin’ tight” she whispers, returning her mouth on your clit and suckles deeply. she adds a second finger and now you’re gone, fully consumed by this filthy, pleasure filled monster. “i think m’gonna!” you cry and ellie whimpers out, nearly going cross eyed when she notices you’re toying with your nipples just like she did. “explode?” she breathlessly says. “c… cum!”

“good fuckin’…” she wants to complete that sentence, but instead her tongue dips lower and her hands push your thighs so your knees are pushed up against your chest. it goes even lower, licking your tightest entrance, the one that’s never been explored, not even by your own hands, and when she flicks her tongue upon it and then immediately goes back to your swollen clit you’re—

“cum’… m’cumming! m’cumming!” and yeah you are, ellie thinks, and slaps one of your thighs. you're jolting when you do, her name leaving your mouth like a prayer, and pray as much as you want but heaven will not be the one that accepts you, perhaps it’ll be purgatory, but with her in it it’s more than perfect. “uh huh… cum for me”

when you do, you see stars, and ellie sees moonflowers.

she laps up your saccharine juices, sucking them off her fingers one by one. you’re feeling faint, buzzing everywhere, from the tips of your toes to the top of your head. ellie looks up at you, eyelids half shut. when you see the index finger that was deep inside of you just a moment ago, go inside her mouth, her pouty pink lips around them and she’s lapping it up and she’s greedy— you cringe a little. she’s tasting and tasting and humming, “told you… you’re sweet”

[sukunas-wife]

Can you do a story where the reader died? And sukuna’s reaction

As Jesus once said “Someone has touched me”

In this case, I was working on “Sealed” when I got hit with this. I refuse to be moved until I finish this ask There's another question similar to it and I wanna do it also but I was inspired after reading an article on a man whose wife died. I was moved, inspired! My heart ached and for that we all need to ache 😔🤍

Inside the temple Sukuna had built himself for your family, it took him years to perfect every room, every arch, every window until he was pleased to bring you here. It was a flat mountain top he had carved using his own technique, it was beautiful, secluded. Far away from the dangers of humans and sorcerers, you had finally convinced him, your soft voice, laying on his chest in the middle of a summer night. Fingers pulling at his robes in a nervous fidget, his arm tucked behind his head the other wrapped around you. One foot hanging off the hammock pushing you both back and forth when you spoke up “Ryomen… what would you say if I said I want to move away from here, from the village, to someone where no one can bother us.” You sat up looking down at him with a smile, his face was straight but his eyes were amused following you, “we could start a family far far away so no one could ever hurt them! We could have a son or a daughter! Or two boys or two girls, or one of each, or if you want three or four I wouldn’t mind but…” you looked around before you looked at him feeling his hand on your side, thumb rubbing slowly against your side, you smiled at him “ I just want a family with you, I life with you.” He closed his eyes letting his head fall back against the cushions you’d brought earlier, “I’ll see what I can do.”

————-

It wasn’t long after Sukuna was levelling a city for pure enjoyment, that he saw a ridge of mountains. He thought of you, coming home to you to tell you that he found the perfect place for you to have your silly little family… he stopped his attack on the city waltzing over to the ridge, he spent weeks away from you, away from his home to perfect the biggest mountain behind the ridge. Levelling it, carving out land to give you a little stream he knew you’d love. Pulling together everything, making the survivors of the village work for their lives bringing him the material to build a home for you. Every time he came home to you he never let a world slip of his endeavours instead he’d hold you close listening to the things you’d done in his absence. Finally months had passed and he woke you up early one morning taking you with him on what he called a very special day. You assumed he would be conquering another city and that he just wanted you by his side. Yawing you leaned against him wanting to just sleep where you stood. Sukuna rolled his eyes supporting your weight before he picked you up entirely, “‘m tired kuna.” He held you tighter against his chest, “I know, we’ll get there soon.”

It was early afternoon when Sukuna made it to your new home. Uraume was behind both of you, Sukuna tried to wake you up only for you to bury your face into his chest. He hummed amused, bouncing you in his arms, “y/n, get up or I’ll drop you.” You groaned trying to get out his grip, he let your legs drop supporting your back as you steadied yourself. Looking up you were blinded by the sunlight, holding up your hand you tried to block out the sun. Sukuna moved you into the shadows and you saw it, the big wooden doors and the white marble walls and pillars. You moved closer up the stairs touching the door pushing it open. You turned around, the big smile on your face and your teary eyes led you to run at Sukuna and jump into his arms. He held you against him letting you cry against his chest and neck, “Ryomen” he was confused why you were crying so loudly. But he held you rubbing his hand on your back. “Ryo…” your whispered cries against his skin made him hold you tighter. He tilted his head pressing his nose to the top of your head, “What’s wrong princess?”

“I need to tell you something,” you let your hands slide down his chest when you slipped from his hold. He held your face in his hands looking down at you, his eyes were searching yours for anything before he leaned in closer his lips ghosting yours, “Tell me.” You did your best to smile “I’m pregnant.” Your smile dropped when you saw the way he looked at you, eyes wide and his mouth was open just slightly, his forehead met yours and he closed his eyes. His hands slid down to your sides, he squeezed you slightly, you brought your hands up to his face wiping the stray tears away with your thumbs, you laughed lightly “Ryo…”

————-

“Y/n, cmon.” Sukuna tried to pull you out of bed, your body was weak as you tried your best to get up. Sukuna ended up dragging you with him to get you into a chair. He was scared shitless, ever since the bump in your stomach started to show you looked pale, weak. You couldn’t walk on your own and you slept more.

He’d take you out to the sun to sit in the grass by the stream. Your trembling fingers picking flowers talking to Sukuna about how you couldn’t wait for your child to see these beautiful flowers. Your tears had found a permanent place in your eyes, never falling but always present. Leaning against him, you never saw how he’d dig his hand into the dirt trying to get a grip of life, his reverse cursed technique no matter how often he tried to help it never really helped. You didn't need Jujutsu healing, you needed human help.

He felt hopeless but he decided even if he had to hand carry you over those mountains he would do it. That night he bundled you up in a blanket laying you on the bed. He told Uraume to pack anything they would need, that night when you were asleep he picked you up bridal style the way he carried you into your house he carried you out. He held you close, never letting you shake, making sure you never felt cold. He did his best taking a worn path that went around the mountain ridges. It would be days before you made it to the city, but he held on tight, looking at your face, how your eyes would just barely open to see him, that faint smile on your lips, the tears in your eyes finally falling. When you told him you were sorry, he was enraged it wasn’t your fault, his throat was tight and he fought back the tears in his eyes. Chest shaking when you fell asleep that night in his arms, he refused to rest pushing forward for the third day. It was sunrise when he found an opening by a river, he settled down helping you sit on a large flat stone. Your hand came up to touch his face, he closed his eyes feeling your cold fingers rub the dark circles under his eyes. He brushed the back of his hand over your cheek before brushing stray hairs back out of your face. He dropped to his knees pressing his head against your stomach, he could still hear the heartbeat. You guided his face up, kissing him and telling him, “You’ll be okay Sukuna, let’s just go for a short walk please.”

He helped you up, both of you moving slowly up the beaten path to the top of a hill. There was a willow tree and stone around Sukuna’s height at a pool of water that trickled down the hill side. You moved closer to it, “look you can see our home from here.” You leaned against him and he held you tight in his side, “Our home.” His chest had that same ache and sickness when your breathing evened out and eventually stopped. He slowly felt your bodily slipping in his hold, the tears forming in his eyes as he slumped to the ground holding your body. You were just coming near 4 months, there was no doubt in his mind it wouldn’t make it even if he had the heart to pull him out. He slowly folded over, hugging your body while he trembled. His eyes were forced closed, jaw clenched and tears started to fall, he started to scream, a raw horrifying scream that scratched his throat and vocal cords. His nails pressed into your skin when he took in air and let out another scream Uraume was standing a ways off head bowed, his open eyes staring at the ground, Sukuna was emitting emotions of distress so strongly he could feel them resonating inside himself. His Lord's screams were desperate, full of angst and rage. He watched how his Lord’s face changed, how the cursed presence around him became far more intense. He watched Sukuna lay your body down carefully tucking your hair away. His hand running over your stomach, that was the last time he ever saw Lord Sukuna look at any woman without malice, without annoyance, without intent to kill.

He watched as lord Sukuna was quick to take his anger out on the mountain ridges that separated you from the city, IT SEPARATED YOU FROM THE CITY, IT WAS THAT DAMN HOUSE HE BUILT ON THAT MOUNTAIN IT WAS THE FAMILY YOU WANTED IT WAS HIS CHILD THAT KILLED YOU IT WAS HIS HANDS THAT BROUGHT YOU YO YOUR END IN THE END

He was screaming and tearing the world to its core, he levelled the city that night he levelled the entire mountain ridge. The beauty of this forsaken land wouldn’t be allowed to exist if it took your life. The land was left in shambles and the city was in fear they would be next when they saw his hulking figure standing on the hill where he left your body staring down at them. It was an elderly woman who tried to approach before Uraume stepped in threatening to end her for getting too close. She saw how Sukuna held your body against him, your stomach bump was evident in your robes. He sat back against the stone, the old lady didn’t leave. She watched how Sukuna cradled you, a hand never leaving your stomach, he looked dead, he was tired, his hands were bleeding.

“It happens all the time, people die travelling to get around those mountains looking for some form of help. There is no consolation for death, you’ll only ever mourn when you think of her young man. But if you do love her, remember her in every instance even if it brings you pain. You don’t know this but in one day you’ll have managed to save more generations to come by levelling those forsaken mountains. What’s beauty at the price of death?”

Sukuna never looked at her, he sighed. He sat there for days. Sending Uraume in his way to the temple, the old lady never returned. He buried you under that willow tree. And he carved your figure into that stone opening the water way so the trickled became a waterfall, in your stone arms he made sure there was a bundle hugged to your chest. He stood under that tree the droplets of water running down his face from the vines mixing in with the tears that fell from his face, void of emotion he truly had nothing left. He went without eating, every time Uraume would urge him to head he’d say he wouldn’t eat without you he’d rather starve. Inside your broken him he sat in the same chair slouched staring at the fireplace in your shared room. His fingertips tingling at the memory of tracing your skin when you’d sit on his lap hugging him whispering your plans to the future. When he walked the cold halls he saw everything you’d used to decorate. The wilted Sakura branches you put in a vase long ago now dry twigs in vases. The flowers outside being overtaken by weeds, it made him sick seeing the nursery you had persistently decorated even in your frail state.

He never starved to death because that day he had become a full fledged curse he ripped out his heart burying it in your chest when he buried you. You were the holder of his heart, the only, and you would only ever be the only one.

————-

Centuries had passed when Sukuna found himself reincarnated in the iconic teenage boy Yuji Itadori. He materialised on his cheek to insult the boy for stating a young woman for too long. “Hey brat do you really think staring a woman like that…” until he saw her, his voice went quiet. Eyes wide mouth agape, if we’re in control he’d have run over to see if it was you. It was almost an exact copy of you, that same damn smile that made him slip into madness all those years ago, those eyes that held a light even in death. But her scent, there was a hint of your sweet scent but it was almost non existent, she had to be a descendant of your family. Aside from that hint she smelled putrid like every other human. Every memory of the years you spent with him, he thought to himself ‘she reminds me of better times when you were alive…’ he quickly disappeared from Itadori's cheek, leaving the boy puzzled. There he sat on his throne, slumped, head resting against his fist, one leg kicked out the other resting normally. His face was void of emotion, except for the single tear his free hand caught with his pointed nail, “After all this time it’s you who haunts me hm?” He let out a dry laugh, the stray tear clinging to the tip of his nail, watching before it dropped over his chest where he had so brutally ripped out his own heart.

Permanent! Tags: @sakuxxi @mercymccann @certainduckanchor @najiiix @bakugou-katsukis-wife @amitiel-truth @souyasplushie @mylovelessnightmare @ynjimenez @simpforyoubitch @domainofmarie @dolliira @ilovemybabies378

[ghostlythunderbird]

The Pack ~ The Letter

Pairings: Alpha!Konig, Alpha!Simon “Ghost” Riley, Alpha!Keegan P. Russ X Omega!Fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+ Minors/Ageless Blogs DNI, Omegaverse, Mentions of Anxiety/Panic attack, Ghost and Keegan are kinda mean for this one (Im sorry!), Konig being a big softie for Reader, Mostly Fluff for this one!

Words: 4,437 (Went a little too wild with this one!)

Author’s Notes: Please do not repost, edit, or translate my work. This blog and all content will be marked 18+ even if there is no NSFW content, if you are underage or have no age I don't want to deal with you. So sorry for the long time to update, I'm currently recouping after my hand surgery so ill try and update when I can, it sucks trying to write with one hand XD.

Summary: After being introduced to your new pack, you are taken to your new home or 'Den' at this point. While the introduction part went almost seamlessly, your starting to figure out that these alphas might be a little hard to get along with.

The drive home was nothing less than silent; aside from König sitting in the back seat with you, the two other alphas were quiet. 'Maybe they are the strong silent type.' You had told yourself. While you wanted to ask anything about themselves, you had a strong feeling that you would be told to be quiet by these alphas.

Close to an hour later, the car had come to pull into a short driveway. Looking out the window, the house itself was decent from the outside. A standard brick suburban house, copied and pasted much like many others on both sides of the street. The red bricks and white paneling nearly blinded you as you stared at it. Before you could ponder more on the look of your new 'home' the door on your side opened, The Alpha known as Ghost stood there "Come on, out ya get."

Sliding out of the vehicle you were snatched up by König who gently guided you up the steps to the front door. "Don't worry about your stuff right now, Schatz. We will get it later." Without another word, the front door was finally opened.

Your new home was lackluster; if you googled a Bachelor pad, this would be the definition of one. While there was furniture, it didn't feel as homey as you had expected. The living room was bare other than the oversized L-shaped couch and T.V. stand it faced. Hell, these guys didn't even have a fucking coffee table, of all things. As you further overlooked the room, you noticed the bare white walls. No different colored paint, picture frames, or calendar was hung up.

Just an empty minimalistic house. Perfect for three military bachelors.

As you stepped through the front door, you nearly lost your breath after the mix of alphas scents. The overall musk almost sent you to your knees, through the overbearing scent hints of Cinnamon, Vanilla, Mint, Smoke, and Leather blended in almost perfectly.

 Minutes passed as you regained yourself before you looked back towards the door to find König waiting for you to continue. "Are you okay, Schatz?" His voice was soft as he began to approach you. While you knew his second gender and the horror stories your family had told you growing up, none seemed to fit his character. His sheer size alone would make anyone panic if he approached, but with him nervously clutching his hands to soothe his anxiety. It made him appear much less intimidating and rough around the edges, reminding you more of a large shelter dog being welcomed into a new house for the first time. He wanted you to accept his home, his den, as somewhere you would feel comfortable and safe. 

From Konig's point of view, None of this seemed real to him.

In two weeks, König went from a pack-less and omega-less Apex to not just having his own pack but an omega that he could protect and care for. Everything was a mirage that could disappear should he touch it. But seeing you here before him, nothing less of a goddess, made it much more believable. "If you two are going to have an emotional moment, at least move out of the fucking doorway so people can get into the damn house." Ghost growled out as he passed both of you. Keegan followed close behind, but unlike Ghost, he gave you a blank stare as he passed. 

Looking down towards you, König felt his anxiety rear its head. Your face had fallen and a sour tone began to line your once relaxing scent. as you watched the two alphas walk away from the door.

As wordlessly they came in, they disappeared up the stairs to their shared room. This brought König to sigh heavily as he looked down at you again. "Don't worry, Schatz. They will warm up to you……eventually" He wasn't sure if he was telling you this or trying to reassure himself at the pair's attitude that one eighty once they were back in their den.

He didn't want you to feel they despised your existence as soon as you entered their lives. "Why don't we get you settled? I'm sure you're ready to rest." With the Apex mentioning this, your eyes lit up, and you couldn't help but smile at him. "Definitely; it seems like we all need a fat nap."

Both you and König laughed before he led you up the stairs. Reaching the next floor, he showed you where the single bathroom was and his, Ghost, and Keegan's bedrooms, just in case. At the end of the hallway was the final room. "This was Ghost's room originally, but once we were accepted, we all decided to leave one room open for you. So that you have your own space away from us." Upon opening the room, you were presented with one of the most enormous beds you'd ever seen. Resting on top were bags on bags of not just new nesting material. This ranged from thick fluffy comforters to sleek silk sheets; however, they lacked color.

It was a swirl of black and white with an underlying mix of grey.

It rendered you motionless as you took in the sheer amount, had these alphas gone out and bought you a whole nest and a half of material? You had never heard of alphas going to these lengths to make an omega comfortable. As you looked toward the Apex in the doorway, the anxiety in his posture was evident.

His hands were drawn up to his chest, clutching pieces of his shirt into his hands. He was even slouched forward to lower his overall height to match yours, even with it being impossible without him going to his knees.

"Well, I uh.....I'll leave you to get settled. Just call for us if you need anything." Without another word, the Apex left, closing the door behind him.

With that, you turned back to look at the covered bed before finally moving to clear off the excessive amount of nesting material lumped together. What you thought was an easy 15-minute job turned into 45 simply because your omega was getting too far distracted by the number of gifts she was given.

'Soft and Secure. Alphas are perfect, bringing nice gifts for a nest. The perfect nest for Alpha's pups.' She yipped. You were startled back to reality, god you haven't even known these alphas for a whole day, and suddenly, your omega is presenting herself, begging to be bred by these practical strangers. 'Jesus, you need to focus' Shacking your head to rid your mind of the intrusive thoughts, you attempted to finish your task.

Why would your omega be so enamored even after how the other two alphas seemed to want nothing to do with you?

Once all the material was put away for the time being, you had a yawn slip from your mouth. How long have you been up today? It was well over 14 hours at this point. Why not take a quick break. Deciding to rest, you had walked towards the sorted assortment of nesting materials before you settled on one of the larger and softer blankets. The void color overtook your view as you pulled it from its packaging.

'So soft,' You tiredly thought. After making it onto the bed and ensuring the blanket fully covers you, you finally lay down. Letting the bed hold the weight of your body.

It was quiet as you brought the blanket further up your chin. The only audible noise in the room was the sound of the ceiling fan. You hadn't realized how mentally exhausted you were from the entirety of not just today but the past few weeks. Each blink drew slower and slower until your vision went black, and your mind drifted to dreamless slumber.

~~~~~Flashback~~~~~

The sound of the T.V. did so little to drown out König's thoughts; König primarily spent the little time he had away from his rather dangerous occupation thinking about the 'What ifs' of his life. He was so caught in his thoughts he didn't realize Ghost had come back into the house, his hands full with mail. Most were bills, but one was large and thick compared to the rest.

Ghost placed all the envelopes on the counter before sorting them; the largest was addressed to König. From the Alpha Pack Selection Program. Something that the resident Apex had waited for close to 4 weeks for a response, one that hopefully bared good news. "König." His gruff voice echoed out.

Being pulled from his overreactive mind, the Apex leaned slightly to look at the other Alpha. The manilla folder being held transformed into a brightly lit target to the Austrian sprawled out on the couch.

The large man lunged off the couch, startling the smaller Alpha, who had just descended the stairs. "Jesus, König, a bit of a fucking warning." Keegan couldn't help but snarl after nearly getting run over by the Apex. It was rare for these sorts of incidents to happen in the house; the two alphas and the Apex were incredibly aware of where each was and their schedules. 

König was zeroed entirely in on the envelope in Ghost's hand, while he may have been eager to receive this letter. He couldn't help but fear their answer; after their last response, it would make seven rejections from the program. Each time was for the same reason "Due to your Apex representation, we regretfully have to decline your enrollment to our program." But it still didn't stop him from taking it and tore the envelope open. "well, come on mate, what does it say?" Ghost nudged his arm; the Apex hadn't realized that Ghost had even rounded the corner to stand beside him.

König took in a deep breath before releasing as he unfolded the papers to read the words printed onto the paper.

Dear Applicant,

It has come to our attention that you have sent multiple applications over the last few years. Each one followed with a swift rejection from our programs as your representation would cause an upset in both our application alphas who may be paired with you and in the omegas who could be assigned to your care.

While we appreciate the time and effort you have invested in becoming part of this program, we have concluded that we will no longer accept any future applications from you. However, with this harsh news, we will allow a new application with you, but you must have at least two other alphas willing to become paired with you in a pack. 

This envelope contains four applications for alphas willing to work and be assigned to a shared omega. These applications are only viable for 30 days; afterward, we will no longer accept any attempts to pair you. As well as, all previous information you provided will be deleted from our database.

~ The Alpha Pack Selection Program council 

The silence that surrounded the air of the Alphas was suffocating. Even with the tv playing in the background, it was drowned out by the tense atmosphere. König felt like he couldn't breathe; until a sob forced its way out, and air seemed to flood his lungs again. How was he supposed to find someone willing to pack with him? and within 30 days? No one wanted to be stuck with him, and he hardly knew any other Alphas outside his work. And those he did work with? Most were already packed or swore off mating altogether. 

This was it, his final chance to be accepted. With no potential pack-mates, he would lose his only chance of finding a mate and having pups. The world wanted him to live the rest of his life, never knowing the sweet touch of the omega for which he would lay down his life. To never know the feeling of pure happiness looking at a pup made from his omega and himself. A piece of him that he helped create.

Why? Why. Why. Why. WHY.

He hadn't realized that he was beginning to have a panic attack until Ghost dug his fingers into his shoulder. König could feel his body trembling, rolling off in waves, making his balance waver. "König, mate, you need to breathe," Ghost told him hushedly. Ghost and Keegan shared a look as the Apex slumped forward onto the counter, his head falling forward into his hands. 

Steadying his breathing, König straightened his back and pushed the papers away as they burned him. While his day may have been uneventful, he wished he had never opened the damn letter now. The crushing weight that bared on his shoulders now seemed to grow heavier as the seconds passed. Looking at the stack of papers, Ghost couldn't help but look at the pages that caused König to damn near crumble before them. 

The words spilled out before he made him sick. Why are they just now sending this? After all those years König spent trying to be accepted in this shitty program and getting rejected every time, they decide now to tell him what he needs to be accepted. Talk about hitting a man while he's down. Looking towards the dark-haired Alpha, leaning against the back of the couch, "Keegan, take a look at this fuckin' shit." While reading over the papers, the smaller Alpha couldn't believe the audacity of these fucking people. All this just because he was a slightly different second gender?

Casting a glance at the large Apex, who seemed to be on the verge of shutting down completely. While Keegan was a hardass, usually, he couldn't help but feel bad for his brother-in-arms. "So they are telling you to find a pack outside this program to be accepted? What a load of crap." His brain couldn't help but reel at the fact they were giving him only 30 days to figure this out; who could even help him now? He paused. Looking between Ghost and König, he knew what he was about to say would either be genius or he was about to be hit for. "What if Ghost and I pack with you?"

König and Ghost both wheeled around, both wearing surprised expressions. "The fuck are you on about? Did you hit your head on your last O.P.?" Ghost exclaimed as he stepped toward the smaller Alpha. "How are we the best options for a fuckin pack?" Keegan took a step backward as Ghost entered his space. 'Fuck, probably should have kept my mouth shut.'

Clearing his throat, "Think about it, Ghost, we're both unbonded alphas who know König the best; hell, we already live with him. And he needs a pack to be accepted. Why not throw us in and see where we go?" The air between them grew tense as the larger Alpha stared at him. "Right, and we're the best choices to take care of an omega; last I checked, neither of us have been around one." Ghost spoke through a tense jaw. As much as he was against being anywhere around an omega, he knew it was the best option between them.

König looked at them both. "A-are you guys sure? I know you guys aren't comfortable with this; I don't want you to force yourselves into this just because of me." The Apex was ecstatic to hear that they would try, but he knew he couldn't get his hopes up with this. There was still the possibility they would all be rejected. 

"If this gets you into that program, I will push for it as much as possible." Keegan calmly stated. The Apex looked towards Ghost, who still looked unsure, giving him a kicked puppy look.

The blonde Alpha signed before giving König a look. "Alright, we'll give it a go. But if they reject us, this Program business stops. Are we clear on that?" König nodded ecstatically while Keegan released a deep chuff. The emotions swept over the Apex so much he didn't realize he had dragged Ghost into a bear hug. "GET OFF ME, YOU FUCKIN MUPPET; Keegan, help me out ere'!"  

~~~~~~

After sending in the paperwork, they got their response two weeks later.

They were accepted.

König felt like he was about to pass out; everything was starting to work out. But it was only the beginning for the newly formed pack. Not only were they a pre-formed pack, but due to their extended military service, they were also notified that they could choose their omega. Hence the giant pile of files on the kitchen table.

It felt like they'd been at this for hours, passing the scent samples for each one to inhale. Each Alpha had the scent samples they liked, but when presented to the other two, it was met with a swift rejection and sometimes with a comment. While some omegas looked good on paper or had a decent scent, the Alphas couldn't agree.

"How about this one? She comes from a wealthy family in Italy, and it even says, 'She enjoys the finer things in life.'

"No, Keegan, It sounds like she'd be more of a glorified brat. Anyone born with a silver spoon in their mouth is nothing but trouble for people in our job."

Or it's a same-answer vote.

"Yeah fuck this one; smells like a Hospital."

"I'm going to have to agree with Ghost on this one. It reminds me of when my mom used so much cleaner in the house when I was a kid."

They thought this would be the easiest part, but they were definitely over their heads. Ghost finally stood up in a rage. "We've been sitting here for fuckin HOURS, and not a single one we have agreed on. Most of them smell like shite too." The Alpha raised his hands and walked to the fridge to grab another beer. KKönig stood as well at the other Alpha's tone. "No one said the selection was easy, and there's only a few left. Let's get through them, and then we can take a break." The Apex pleaded.

That only seemed to rile up the exasperated Alpha more "How the hell are we going to find an omega at this point? We can't agree on a single one?" Both alphas stared at each other "HOW DO YOU KNOW? WE ARENT EVEN DONE!"  

Keegan watched as both alphas continued to argue; their conversation slowly was tuned out as he watched while resting his head in one hand. As much as he wanted to pipe up to aid König in calming Ghost down, He knew better than to get between these two during times like this. Before Keegan could intervene, a quick breeze of something sweet passed his nose, and the Alpha couldn't help but follow it back to the remaining folders. This scent was the best one he'd had all day, so he couldn't help but be curious.

It led him to a file towards the bottom that seemed much newer but was thinner than the other files in the stack. Once he opened it, the sweet scent was no longer teasing him. Taking the scent sample from the file, Keegan couldn't stop himself from pressing it to his nose and inhaling deeply.

It felt like he became weightless for those seconds; how had he not noticed this one earlier? It reminded him of the smell of fresh rainfall, a sweet yet calming scent. His Alpha couldn't help but be drawn to whoever the smell belonged to; without a second thought, Keegan pulled back from the cloth to look at the pages in the folder. Whoever's file this was about was the smallest one he had seen from the entire stack.

The picture attached gave him a view of the person that caught his Alpha’s attention.

You were stunning; His Alpha yipped in delight. ‘Yes, yes! Pretty mate! Must mate, Must protect!’

However, something felt wrong in the picture. Looking closer, the smile that graced your features didn't seem to reach your eyes. Your eyes held sadness and hidden anger that could reveal itself should you choose to snap. As his eyes flickered across the pages, Keegan stored everything he could about you away.

Omega Profile

Name: (Y/N) (L/N)

Age: 23

Sex: Female

Second Gender: Omega

Personality: N/A. Omega and Family declined to file the Omega Attribute survey.

The sickening sound of glass crack made Keegan snap his head upwards; the sight before him was far from good. Ghost and König stood only a few feet apart; the Apex and Alpha had their teeth bared and chests puffed up. Ghost was making his displeasure clear to the Apex while König was getting close to putting him back in his place among the three. It wasn't often it happened due to each other's work schedule, but when it did, someone was going to have their ego bruised, and some furniture might end up being broken.

“I highly recommend to watch what you say next, Simon.” The Apex spoke. His voice had dropped an octave; His Apex was close to taking over to deal with the Alpha. Ghost was silent before scoffing, moving to clean up his broken glass of bourbon. Keegan took this as his chance to break the tense air. “If you two are done with your pissing contest, I think I got one.” He slowly held up the small cloth between his index and middle fingers. As much as Keegan wanted to hoard the small cloth to himself, he needed to let at least his newfound packmates have a chance to decide if the omega was a good fit.

König was the only one who returned to the table to remove the cloth from Keegan’s hand. Lifting it towards his nose, he caught the scent almost immediately. It had him completely forgetting his altercation just minutes prior. “wow….I like this one; her scent is not overpowering and smells good. Simon, wanna try this one?” The Apex had turned back to the Alpha, who was leaning on the counter nursing a new glass of bourbon. The look in his eyes made Konig nervous; the Blonde Alpha was definitely over the whole experience, but seeing how both Keegan and König agreed on the scent patch, it seemed to be at least a contender.

Sighing, He set his drink on the counter before returning to the table. König slowly held the cloth towards him, but before he took it, he looked towards the two Alphas. “If this one smells like shite, I'm punching both of you.” Simon grumbled before snatching the small fabric. He stared at the cloth before finally giving in; as soon as the scent filled his nose, it was as if all the tension in his body had just melted away.

The other Alphas held their breath as they waited to see what the blonde alpha had to say. Simon looked at the pair as he set the cloth on the table near the open file. “Well, she doesn't smell bad. What's in her file?”

Keegan and König shared a look before handing Simon the file; It seemed they finally agreed on their potential omega.

~~~~~

The days counting down to them finally meeting you and bringing you home were absolutely hectic, to say the least. So many emotions filled the small townhouse as all three alphas cleaned and organized the house as best as they could, no omega should have a dirty home when they come home in the alpha's mind. Most were bouts of Anxiousness and Frustration, a vast majority were from the poor Apex who checked everything twice to make sure everything was perfect.

At the one-week mark Ghost and Keegan decided to move into the same room to make sure you have a space for yourself as you settled down. The move sparked from just the simple question "Where is our omega going to stay until she's warmed up to us?" To say it had the alphas taking multiple steps back was an understatement. Another thing that was brought up (By Ghost mind you) was what were you going to use should you decide to make a nest.

It may have not been something the Alphas were well versed in, but they at least made an effort. Cue the three alphas going out and buying almost two whole carts full of nesting material, plus the whole material selection boot camp.

"What about this one? It's big and it's super soft!" ~ König

"No no, She needs something that won't stick to her if she uses this for her heats. What about that silk sheet kinda stuff?" ~ Keegan

"Why not just get her some fucking blankets and pillows, This nesting shit can't be that complicated" ~ Ghost

It was definitely quite the scene watching these big alphas carry multiple bags worth of nesting material due to them being unsure what to get.

Once everything was settled, the day when they finally got to meet you arrived. The checking-in process was seamless, soon leading to the alphas being led to a smaller room waiting for the actual introduction. From what the receptionist had told them the Omegas family still needed to finalize paperwork, It had been the longest wait any of the alphas had ever done. But when the door finally opened to reveal the betas and you, time seemed to stand still.

They collectively decided they would die for you if it made you happy.

~~~~~

It had been a few hours since König had left your room. Call him paranoid, but no noise was coming from the door. Worried about you, he walked back to your door before knocking.

"(Y/N)? Is everything okay?" Hearing no response, he slowly opened the door and was greeted by a dimly lit room. And there on the bed, you laid completely still on the massive bed, sound asleep.

Once you walked in through that door, all his fears and worries seemed to implode and no longer existed. You were more than everything he could have dreamed of; how you weren't already paired was beyond him. You entangled him. Everything about you was beautiful, from your hair and eyes to your body. It wasn't until he had heard his name from downstairs that he was brought out of his trance.

He was casting you one last glance, taking in your sleeping form before turning to leave. König told himself he would make this work. Because now that he had you, He wasn't ever going to let you go.

Tag List: @silentmel, @thisperspective, @thebestgirlever2, @ghostalina, @pascallllllll1, @jujitsuito2069, @hypernovaxx, @frazie99, @v1naco, @littlezarp, @thatoneautor0123, @credince--writes, @4ndjelij4, @alonelyteenagebroncinbuck, @alonelyteenagebroncinbuck, @random0lover, @wintersnnowie, @operatorinvestigatesco, @marytvirgin, @nightriver99, @l-lend, @kelpiesummer, @quietlyignoringyou

[eldritch-thrumming]

i’m so in love that i might stop breathing.

i want to brainwash you into loving me forever, i want to transport you to somewhere the culture’s clever, confess my truth in swooping, sloping, cursive letters.

Eddie Munson is signed to a big-name label, one that monitors every move their artists make. The label practically runs half of LA, with so many artists under contract that Eddie’s not really sure how they can even keep track, let alone micro-manage every single one of them. But somehow they do it.

Eddie’s in the hard rock and metal division. Very rarely does he have to cross paths with artists outside of his genre. It’s not really an issue. It’s not like he’s going to collaborate with some bubblegum pink pop princess.

But then the label decides that they need to cross-market some of their artists. They’ve got lots of big names and Eddie’s on tour for his fourth studio album. He’s established, already done a world tour that was so successful the label had wanted to send him back out almost immediately, but he’d pushed back, asking for some time to write. So it’s been two years, but he’s written some of his best songs to date and the arenas are selling out.

Eddie’s so successful that the label decides that they’re going to pair him with some new up-and-coming singer-songwriter duo. The label wants at least one song, but hopes are high that Eddie will take them out as an opener for the last leg of the tour. Eddie’s given their EP a listen; he can’t really imagine that his demographic will ever overlap with theirs, but if this it what the label wants, then who is he to deny them?

It’s a sunny afternoon in LA when Eddie meets Steve Harrington and Robin Buckley at his favorite coffee shop downtown. It’s a safe place for celebrities, with a hidden back entrance and tinted windows, so he’s fairly certain they won’t be caught out together. Eddie’s ordered some lavender honey oat milk latte, something he would never admit to liking in a million years, but it tastes so good he makes the trip here at least three times a week. He’s sitting in a secluded corner, far enough from the windows that he won’t feel nervous, and he’s still got his sunglasses on, just in case.

He spots Robin and Steve almost immediately. They’re hard to miss, both beautiful and sun-kissed, smiling wide as they bicker before they both stop to look around the space.

“Hi!” Robin exclaims when she spots him, rushing over to his table. She grabs his hand between both of hers before he’s even had the chance to offer it to her and pumps it up and down a few times, like they’re shaking hands.

“Rob,” Steve mutters, placing a hand on her shoulder. Then, he turns his blinding smile on Eddie. Eddie had never believed in that whole ‘heart skipping a beat’ thing before but… he feels something happening in that region. “Sorry about her, she’s, like, a huge fan.” He offers his own hand to Eddie and they shake, the brush of skin on skin leaving Eddie just a little breathless, before Steve pulls out a chair and drops into it.

“Ugh, don’t make me sound like some creepy stalker, dingus.” Robin puts her hand on her hips. “What do you want?”

“Uh,” Steve squints at the menu before glancing down at the cup Eddie’s got between his hands. “What’d you get?” He directs the question at Eddie. Eddie tells him, only a little sheepish about it, and Steve smiles again. Eddie’s skin starts to feel itchy, too tight at his collarbones. “That sounds good. I’ll have that,” he tells Robin and she turns to head toward the counter, mumbling about having to order girly drinks.

Once they’re alone, Eddie slides his sunglasses off his face and up into his hair. He clears his throat before looking up into Steve’s face. Their eyes meet and something… happens. Something electric, something pulled taut between them. Eddie feels it and he’s pretty sure Steve does, too, judging by the way his lips part and his tongue darts out to wet them, quick and nervous. Eddie can’t stop staring. Neither can Steve.

Robin comes back with her hands full and glances between them. “Everything alright?” She asks slowly, cautiously, and their gazes finally snap away from each other, a blush rising in Steve’s cheeks.

Steve looks back into Eddie’s eyes like he just can’t help himself. Like he wouldn’t want to look anywhere else. “Yeah,” he says smiling. “Everything’s great.”

~*~

Eddie agrees to take them out on tour with him. The minute he saw Steve Harrington in the flesh, he knew he’d be taking them, but Robin turns out to be pretty cool too. He warns them that his fans can be pretty intense, that he can’t imagine they’ll be all that pleased with the kind of music the duo plays, but Robin and Steve assure him that they’re really just looking for some tour experience more than anything else. They’ll figure out the songwriting on the road, collaborate in a way that will bridge the gap between their style and Eddie’s.

When he gets home later that night, after a detour back to the label’s offices, Eddie can’t help but insta-stalk. He looks up Robin’s page first, upholding the pretense of ‘market research’ even in the privacy of his own mind. Most of her pictures include Steve and so it’s easy to be led away to Steve’s profile. It’s a natural progression. Totally normal.

Steve is… extremely cute. That’s usually not a word that Eddie would apply to someone he’s interested in—he tends to prefer the leather and chains variety much more than the sugary sweet type—but for some reason Eddie’s left breathless this time. He scrolls down Steve’s page, sees a picture of him with a herd of kids climbing on his back, another of him and Robin in matching sailor costumes. He hits the follow button without giving it too much thought and then slides back to his own page. Eddie is notoriously private, Instagram page consisting of only professional and promotional shots of him on tour with his band or in the studio recording. It’s not that Eddie is hiding anything, but he knows enough to know that the more you open up, the more that can be taken from you. He knows enough to know that the metal community can be somewhat closed-minded about some things, so he prefers to hide his personal life away, to keep some things precious and secret.

He wonders what Steve would think of his page, if he were to scroll through it. He wonders what it would be like to be open and honest about his personal life, about loving someone. What it would be like to not have to worry about losing fans, losing sales, losing bookings. To not worry about what the public would think of him.

He sighs and places his phone face down on his bedside table before turning out the light and drifting off to sleep.

~*~

Steve and Robin have been on tour with Eddie for two months and Eddie is almost positive that he’s falling in love with Steve. It was one thing to listen to Steve sing on their EP. It’s something totally different to watch Steve perform, to see his fingers slide up and down his guitar, the notes and his voice melancholy sweet. Eddie thinks almost anyone would fall in love with Steve if they’d just pay attention.

They haven’t done anything. Nothing has happened. But the green rooms and the tour busses have been full of lingering looks and soft brushes of skin. He’s pretty sure that Robin is close to saying something, clearly irritated by their pining. But Eddie’s still unsure. He knows it’s a lot, being on tour and in close quarters for the first time. It’s complicated and he doesn’t want to jeopardize Steve’s first big break. He doesn’t want to distract him. It’s easy to get caught up on tour, to mistake proximity for real feelings. It had happened to Eddie before; he didn’t want it to happen to Steve now.

Because this is a big deal, for Robin and Steve. Eddie had been unsure about taking them on, but, surprisingly, Eddie’s fans had embraced the duo. Their songwriting methods had complimented each other in a way Eddie hasn’t experienced since he first started writing with Gareth and the three of them had written five songs together already. Eddie would pull them both onstage halfway through his set to perform at least two of them and then again for one during the encore. The crowd went wild every time.

It’s the last night of tour when the space between them finally snaps in two. It’s the encore, they’re playing Eddie’s favorite of the five songs they’ve written together. They’ve made it through the complicated bridge, the final chorus, and now they’re closing out the last verse. The energy between Steve and Eddie practically crackles, almost visible under the harsh arena lights. Adrenaline is pumping, making Eddie feel invincible, and he can tell that Steve feels it too by the way he smiles across the stage at him. The final notes ring out and Eddie can’t help himself. He grabs for the strap of Steve’s guitar and pulls. Steve falls into Eddie’s chest, laughing, eyebrows raised, and Eddie can’t even think. His lips crash into Steve’s and it’s magical. Better than Eddie ever even dreamed it would be.

There’s a roaring in his ears as Eddie pulls back, reluctant. Steve’s eyes are still closed and he tries to follow Eddie’s mouth with his own, but Eddie laughs and gives him a little shake. Eddie glances around and realizes that the roaring he’d heard was the crowd going absolutely wild, screaming and cheering and clapping. Eddie looks back at Steve, who’s looking just a little dazed, blush on his cheeks and dopey smile on his lips. Robin’s screaming into her microphone, jumping up and down, egging the crowd on. Steve looks around the arena, still smiling, before looking back at Eddie and mouthing something in his direction. It’s too loud, Eddie can’t hear him over the crowd, so he shakes his head just a little. Steve tries again but Eddie still can’t hear him, so he raises his microphone to his lips.

“Finally,” Steve practically shouts, voice ringing out across the cavernous space. “Thought you’d never take the hint.”

All Eddie can do is laugh and pull Steve in for another kiss as the crowd continues cheering.

@grtwdsmwhr gave me “i want to brainwash you into loving me forever” and this is what I came up with i guess

[seeingivy]

style

actor!eren x f!reader

**part of my method acting series

previous part linked here

an: this is 10k. I decided to leave the what am I to you scene for the next chapter bc of it...apologies....also I jsut wanted to post it bc I promised this at the beginning of the week and yday and now its been a long time coming

songs mentioned: style by taylor swift and glimpse of us by joji (minor mention of peace by taylor swift too)

--

--

“Wait, so. I don’t get it. You’re basically…acting like a couple on purpose?” Zeke asks. 

Eren spares a weary glance to his parents, matching apprehensive looks in their eyes, as he slides the salt and pepper shakers towards Zeke. 

Leave it to him to bring up the elephant in the room. 

One mention of attending an award show or a red-carpet event had the three of them dropping everything to come to New York at the drop of the hat. Especially when Scott Clarkson was going to be attending. 

Levi was more than happy to oblige them at the hotel they were all staying at, much to Eren’s dismay, which left him in his current predicament. 

That unlike his friends, who were secretly letting him indulge in something he probably shouldn’t and turning a blind eye, the three of them were never going to let it go. 

Eren knew that part of what he was doing was wrong. That he was walking a very fragile line and that their concerns, in some sense, were very valid. 

He had promised you a show. The problem was that it wasn’t just a show for him. It wasn’t even the slightest bit difficult for him to give the public exactly what they wanted to see – to go above and beyond to prove that the two of you were better than ever. 

He wanted that deeply – for it to be true. Fervently, desperately. It wasn’t hard to pretend when Eren had spent a majority of his life thinking about you, about what this would be like, anyways. 

It started out simple. Eren offered to accompany you on your first walk out in public that morning – after watching you stare at the people through the window the entire morning. There was a big crowd lingering outdoors, supplied by rumors that the group of them were staying in the hotel, and he was positive that some part of it was making you feel green. 

That and the fact that as much as you could front, some part of this had to be some level of nerve wracking to you. You had put on a brave face very well, but Eren’s deep rooted fear is that this’ll just send you deeper into that cave you retreated into last time – and that you’ll leave him waiting outside again. 

So he offered to do your first paparazzi walk with you. Cited that it would have been the perfect thing to build up more publicity, give them a greater chance of stealing the morning headlines about how today was Hyla’s birthday and the buzz around what she was going to wear tonight. 

It gave him an excuse to make sure you didn’t run off this time – that he’d be able to catch you if something happened. 

Except Eren took it too far. He had given you the permission to pump the brakes whenever you felt like it was too much and the fact that you almost never did made it impossible for him to stop. So he pulled you close whenever the paparazzi were near, brushing his nose against yours as the two of you smiled sunshine into each other’s faces. 

It was a disaster waiting to happen. Though from Eren’s expert point of view, he couldn’t fall any more than he already had. 

The problem would come later – when it would just become another memory that he cherished, had to relive after he was finally denied the promise of your company and friendship for good. 

When the show ended in two months and when you would have no reason to talk to each other again. 

Eren shakes the thought from his head as he looks back up at them. 

“Yeah. But trust me, it’s actually working. The record label dropped Ricky James and now that Y/N promised them her new album, they’re going to sever ties all together.” Eren states. 

“I just don’t see what that has to do with pretending to date. You know, especially when you’re still in love with the girl.” Carla states. 

“It’s sadistic. Even for you.” Zeke states. 

Eren shoves him in the side. With his parents' eyes averted, he takes the chance to knee Zeke this time to catch his attention. 

Could you just back me up? Eren mouths. 

Zeke rolls his eyes, before quietly mouthing his response back. 

Okay, fine! Just relax. 

Eren turns back to the two of them, mustering his best smile. And hoped that deep down, that fleeting flare of hope that’s been burning in his chest won’t go to waste this time – that there are real grounds behind actually bringing Scott Clarkson down. 

“There’s a certain publicity that you can’t buy with people who have…such a drama filled history like us. We’re aiming for a solidified deal with Ethan Cole by the end of the Met Gala.” Eren states. 

He flinches when his dad drops the fork against the ceramic of the plate. 

“Ethan Cole? Are you crazy, Eren? He’s never going to agree to a deal with you guys.” 

“Maybe a little. But I think that we could do it. I spent years being played by idiots like Scott Clarkson – it’s not hard to tell that’s how he keeps people around. And…we have an idea of exactly how to do it.” Eren states. 

“I don’t know, Eren. I don’t exactly like this idea. I wouldn’t exactly put your hopes on this.” Carla murmurs. 

Eren gives her a smile, reaching to tangle his ankle with hers under the table. 

He gets it. Deep down, he does. Because the last time Eren did this – with the court case and Connie and Lana at his side – Eren was downtrodden when Scott Clarkson’s life virtually stayed the same. Almost everyone knew, or had some semblance of an idea, that Eren had sued him, that Scott had terribly wronged him. 

He had gone through the lengths of an entire court case, just for it to amount to nothing. 

He still had his career. He still had the movies, a beloved producing company, and the godawful tabloids that ruined Eren’s life. People continued to work with him despite everything that had happened. 

“I won’t be like last time. It…it almost feels better this time around. I have everyone around me and I don’t feel alone, so.” Eren adds. 

“Well, you weren’t exactly alone the last time.” Carla states. 

“You know what he meant. It’s different.” Grisha murmurs.” 

“I do think she can do it. These people only care about what makes them money or…or moves their business forward. No one can do that for them like her. And even besides that, she’s really earnest in the way she moves. I feel like people could even become more aware of this type of thing if she spoke out about it.” Eren finishes. 

Eren looks over, looking to his mom’s brown eyes hoping for her approval. He doesn’t exactly find it, but there’s a nod. He understands it all the same – that he’s the one who gets to make the calls here, regardless. 

“Oh, let’s all relax! If Eren wants to kiss her and run around doing god knows what, that’s his business! He’s a grown man.” Zeke adds, sliding one hand around his shoulder and using his free one to pinch his cheek. 

Eren seethes, stomping hard on his foot under the table. 

“I don’t kiss her.” Eren defends. 

“Not yet, you don’t. That’s for next month, right?” Zeke responds, with a wink. 

Is this what Zeke thought backing him up was? 

Eren can feel his cheeks burn. Leave for the empty spots in the script – that Levi had stated he had some special plan for – the last part of the show was almost finished. And much to Eren’s dismay, Hange and Levi overrode his opinion in the writers room and included a kiss in the script. 

He’s just hoping for his own sake that they end up cutting it before the day comes like they did the first time. There were only so many things that he could stomach. 

“That’s filming, Zeke. That’s different.” 

Zeke rolls his eyes. 

“Right.” 

Eren’s thrown out of the loop when the door swings open, with Connie and Mikasa barging in with you at their heels. The three of you look particularly disheveled – sopping wet from the rain outside, giggly smiles on your faces – as Connie and Mikasa shake their hands at the group of them. 

“We ran out of toothpaste over there, Eren. We’re just gonna take some.” Mikasa states. 

“You needed three people to get one tube of toothpaste?” Eren asks. 

“Well, I was going to come. Then, Connie decided he wanted to accompany me. And then Y/N realized we were going to get it from your room, then decided to come.” Mikasa responds, dragging Connie off to the little bathroom at the side. 

Eren lifts his head to find you standing at the door, with…an almost awkward look on your face. The big smile that he saw seconds ago was virtually gone. 

“You know what! I think Falco’s actually calling me…so I’m just going to…” 

“You should sit. Eat breakfast with us.” Carla states, gesturing to the empty seat at her side. 

That’s when Eren realizes it – and it sends an overwhelming amount of relief through him. That you didn’t feel awkward around him but around his family instead. 

Eren racks his mind trying to remember it – when you were with them last. And if his memory isn’t deceiving him, it was the last Thanksgiving that you guys were together, a snowy November years ago. 

And he gets it, the immediate nervousness. God knows he felt the same way around Falco and Colt when they arrived – after Levi hadn’t listened to his advice to not cast the two of them in the show. Just to spare him some torture. 

Levi, obviously, refused to listen. 

You always had your guard up around Zeke and if he knew you half as well as he thought he did, he knows for a fact that you must feel embarrassed to show your face around his parents now after everything that happened. 

“Mom, it’s okay. You can go see if Falco’s good, Y/N.” Eren affirms. 

Eren watches as your eyes meet his, slightly faltering before you shake your head and drag yourself to the table. From his peripheral, he can see that Zeke’s already too delighted for his own good as Zeke quickly offers you the seat at Eren’s side and sits directly across from the two of you. 

“Thank you for inviting me, Mrs. Jaeger. I appreciate it.” you respond, smoothing the little cloth over your lap as you knit your fingers into knots. 

Eren busies himself with filling your plate, carefully sectioning small amounts of each dish, before he puts his hand in between yours. You welcome the touch, linking your fingers in with Eren’s under the table, as you shoot them all a smile. And Zeke’s godawful delighted smile back almost makes you sweat. 

“Eren. You should go check on Falco, since he was calling Y/N.” Carla states. 

“Huh? Oh, I-I’m sure he’s fine. Colt’s here and Gabi too, you know.” you mumble. 

There’s no way you’re sitting alone with his family. 

“I think Eren should check on him. That way, it won’t be in the back of your head while we talk.” Carla responds. 

Eren shoots you a questioning look at your side, as you release his hand, and give him a nod. You can tell that he’s hesitating, his movements painstakingly slow as he exits the room and closes the door behind him, leaving you with the three of them. 

“I apologize for that. He wasn’t going to leave unless you gave your approval.” Carla murmurs, as the three of them relax with his presence missing. 

Zeke takes the opportunity to take the seat at your side, filling the empty space Eren left. He leans closer, voice quiet as he whispers and nearly makes your heart drop in your chest. 

“Don’t worry. I’ve got your back. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to hold your hand under the table like he did.” 

You fight the urge to spit the water in your mouth straight into the glass – but swallow the shock and battery acid sensation down as you spare the two of them a glance ahead of you. 

There’s a twinge of regret – that at one point, you used to be like their chosen family and now it feels like you’ve allocated a lifetime of hurt to their son. 

“I want to start by apologizing.” you state. 

The two of them look up at you confused. 

“For?” Grisha asks. 

“Everything I did to Eren. I…I care for your son an awful lot, though it may not seem like that at times. And I hope that you know that even causing the smallest bit of pain is something that I have to carry with me everyday. Something I’ll spend a lifetime trying to rectify.” you state. 

Carla sighs, setting her fork down in her plate and crossing her arms against her forearms. You can tell that Zeke’s priming some sort of response against her just from the almost enraged look in his face and you make it a point to spare him a warning glance not to. 

Whatever wrath she had prepared for you was what you deserved. And just like Eren and Mikasa, you’d spend your entire life fixing it till it was better with her too. 

“I’m not going to pretend to understand what it was that happened between you and Eren. I can read news articles and watch interviews and documentaries but…it doesn’t exactly make sense to me. I can admit that. I don’t know why you broke up with him and…and I surely don’t know why Eren thought it was okay to say everything that he did to you.” 

“Oh. That’s nothing, really-” 

“I don’t understand how you guys can make these big, love confessions without even confronting each other in the first place. Because…you’re not together, right?” Carla asks. 

You bite down on your cheek. 

“That’s right. It’s just for the paparazzi, trying to build up the hype around-” 

“No, I get that part. But the interview, the documentary. You guys did that for each other, on some level. So I’ll ask again. You’re really not together?” Carla asks. 

You sigh. 

“No. I’m sorry. I…I haven’t thought much about that because I want everything settled before I even consider it. Being careless ruined everything last time…and I can’t afford to do that again. I want to be careful with his feelings this time around.” you state. 

Carla pauses, before standing up and joining you at your side. And you’re caught completely off guard when she wraps her arms around you, pulling you up until you’re nestled in her arms and she’s rubbing at the sides of your biceps. 

You forgot – she used to do this to you all the time.

“You…you’re a good girl. We’ve always loved you, always loved how Eren was around you, but…just be careful with our son, okay? I don’t want him to be hurt again and he’s sensitive, if that much wasn’t obvious at this point.” 

“I appreciate that. Really, I…I don’t think you guys understand what it means to me. And I won’t, I’m making my sincerest promise that I’ll try not to. He’s….he means the world to me. He’s been my best friend as long as I can remember and…no one is going to be who Eren is to me.” 

And for the first time, the two of them spare you a glimmering smile. 

“He feels the same way.” Grisha states. 

You sigh, offering the two of them a smile. And right on cue, Eren barges right through the door, the worry on his face melting as the two of you offer him a smile. You can tell that he’s a little confused – as he settles back into his seat and gives a questioning look to Zeke. 

The two of them return to eating, as you dig your own fork into the food and push it around. That’s when Zeke slides his arm around the back of your chair, leaning forward as he gives you a smirk. 

You can’t help but feel annoyed. Not in the genuine, hatred way, but in the same way you did when Colt used to tease you when you were a kid. 

“So…family that I chose now that I see your brother as my brother? That is about me, right?” 

You roll your eyes, sparing him a laugh, as you elbow him in the side. 

“I’m so sorry to break your heart here, Zeke, but that line in peace was about Eren and Falco. Not about you and me.” you state.

“Yeah, dumbass. She doesn’t even like you.” Eren mutters. 

Zeke feigns hurt as he clutches his right hand to his chest and groans. You watch as Grisha rolls his eyes in front of you and Carla fights the urge to smile at his theatrics. 

“You’re a bitch.” 

“Language, Zeke! God.” the two of them cry, rolling their eyes at Zeke. Eren rolls his eyes as he stands up, stacking all the plates and placing them at the island as you turn back to look at the group of them. 

You shake your head, laughing, as you thank your lucky stars at how comfortable it is, that you’ve floated right back into the ease that you always seemed to be in when you were around them. And Zeke too, for the first time. 

Zeke spares you a genuine smile this time, as he gets closer to you. 

“I think that you and I could be really good friends. We both love Eren and…and maybe we haven’t always done right by him but…” 

You can tell that he’s getting tripped up by the words, that the sentiment that’s underlying is something the two of you have never really shared before. A closeness that brings you together. Because for you, Zeke was always something you needed to protect Eren from and for him, you were positive now, knowing what you did now, that maybe Zeke felt robbed of some part of that. 

Getting to meet his little brother’s first girlfriend. Tease him about it, give him some brotherly advice – the way Colt did with you. That maybe he wanted the relationship that Eren and Falco had with each other with you, if things were different. 

“Yeah. But…we’re going to do right by him this time. We’ll make sure of it.” you whisper back, averting your eyes to where he’s standing. 

Zeke breaks out into a smile, extending his closed fist out to you as you push your own against his. 

“One thing?” Zeke states. 

“What’s that?” 

Zeke has a nearly murderous glint in his eye when he says it. And it fills you up with a searing feeling of warmth. 

“You give that asshole Scott Clarkson hell. For all of our sake.” 

You give him a smile back. 

“That’s a promise, Zeke.” 

--

Eren can feel himself sweating on the opposite side of the red carpet. The stickiness of the hairspray is sitting heavy in his hair, the collar digging into his neck, and palms embarrassingly sweaty as he stares at the group of people around him. 

Lana and Sukuna are fussing over fixing Connie’s outfit, Jean and Mikasa are taking shots at his side, and you can tell that Suguru Getou is truly cutting his losses at this point. 

Satoru’s wearing an outfit with literal, raw meat on it. 

“It’s camp!” Satoru whines. 

“That was the theme last year, dumbass. And it’s not camp, you’re just a nuisance.” Megumi grumbles, pinching his nose as he joins Eren at his side. 

Eren gives him a nod in acknowledgement, as he watches Yuuji at Satoru’s side, snapping excited pictures of Satoru’s meat hat and pokes his fingers into the red flesh. 

“Can you believe you’re dating that guy?” Eren asks. 

“Everyday I question my sanity.” Megumi mumbles. 

“Could be worse. You could be married to Satoru.” 

“Don’t remind me.” Suguru groans at his side, the two of them sparing a laugh. 

Megumi chooses to keep the comment to himself. He swallows, pointing out that you had said the same thing to the pair of them when Satoru dressed up like that godawful cat years prior. Megumi figures that he’ll keep this thread of your invisible string to himself, for the time being – that it might not exactly be productive for right now. 

Eren catches Levi’s head shifting towards him in the peripheral, as he looks over and tries to follow Levi’s line of vision. And feels his throat constrict as Ricky and Hyla walk past, the two of them sparing him and Lana a sickly sweet smile, and take their spots at the end of the line. 

Eren notes that despite the fact that you had side-swept all of her designers to work with you, naturally she still put together an outfit. He was hoping that it would be worse than it actually ended up being. Though he supposed the birthday girl would always get what she wanted in the end. 

“I’m ready to wipe that smug smile off of their fucking faces and I’m so serious.” 

Eren nearly jumps as he realizes you’re now standing at his side, your eye nearly twitching as you watch the two of them. But all he can feel now is his own throat itching, Ricky and Hyla the least of his problems as his skin ignites at the sight of you so close to him. Your flowery perfume is invading his senses, as he fights the urge to ogle your dress full on. 

“Y/N.” he whispers. 

“Do I look stupid? The underslip they had for the dress didn’t fit me because Hyla’s so much taller that they just…told me to wear this matching set. I feel like I’m going to be flashing everyone.” you mumble. 

“Better for you. You look fucking hot. And apparently, Hyla stole her dress from a piece that was already in the museum. I’m sure she’ll ruin it by the end of the night.” Lana states, as Sukuna joins her at the side and links his arm through hers. 

The two of them have matching stitching on their outfits, wedding rings sparkling on their fingers. Eren clears his throat, your eyes expectant as you wait for a response, and his head nearly spinning from the overstimulation. 

“She’s right. You’re beautiful.” 

“You can say she's hot, Eren. It won’t kill you.” Sukuna complains. 

Eren watches as your eyes widen, a soft pink blush running up your neck, as you avert your eyes. And Sukuna, naturally, ruins the moment by making gagging noises only to get smacked by Lana after the fact. 

The two of them shuffle off, giving you a thumbs up behind their backs, as you turn to each other. Eren links his hands in with yours, giving you three squeezes, as he looks down at the dark makeup smeared around your eyes, making your eyes appear even bigger and brighter. 

Eren gestures his head to the left, snaking his hand around your bare skin in the dress, and lines up directly behind Ricky and Hyla. And the two of you wait for them to walk out and follow directly after. 

It goes exactly how it thought you would. You haven’t walked a red carpet since the last awards show – and from what Eren told you – it had been years since he had too. 

It was simple. 

Seeing Hyla and Ricky at a carpet together was almost a given, almost too predictable. It would hardly spare a headline in comparison to you two – together. Years after the fact, with Eren’s documentary behind you. 

The clicking and the flashing immediately throws you off your guard, coupled with the screaming of your name, that you almost fall off the stiletto of your heels. But Eren’s quick with it, hands looped around your waist as he held you up against him. 

“Thanks. I-” 

“Don’t look at them. Just look at me.” Eren whispers, voice almost gravelly. 

“What?” 

“It’s better that way. Just act like you’re above them. Like you and I are the only people in the room.” Eren murmurs. 

You give him a nod, catching his drift as you follow his lead. And it almost works too well – easing your red carpet nerves when you literally don’t have to acknowledge them and just have to hold hands with Eren all the way down the carpet. 

Eren stops dead center, right before the steps, as you spare a glance over your shoulder. The group of them are following – Satoru’s raw meat causing a commotion at the start – and you turn back to him. 

“Ready?” 

“Yeah.” 

“I know you just asked me to get you a necklace for the Ricky thing, but I actually did ask them to design a custom one for you.” 

You smile. You had made it a point – that you were going to stick it to Ricky for that stupid night that he left you drenched in the rain – but you failed to consider that this would happen. Though in hindsight, you should have expected it. 

Eren was always thoughtful when it came to things like this.

“Really?” you ask. 

Eren nods, as he reaches into his pocket, pulling out the little charm necklace. You take it in his hands, admiring the little charm at the center, of the planet Saturn. You frown, turning it over in your fingers. 

“Does Saturn have some connection to Uranus that I don’t know about? I thought that I was supposed to be the moon.” you mumble. 

Eren laughs, as he shakes his head and gestures for you to spin around. You oblige, moving your hair to the side and feeling your cheeks heat up as the paparazzi snap what feels like hundreds of pictures – of Eren clasping the necklace and then pressing a kiss to the nape of your neck. His voice comes out as a whisper on your skin as he pulls you closer to him, the two of you posing for the picture. 

“I mean, Marco was always a big fan of immature jokes. So I guess it does?” Eren states. 

You widen your eyes as you press your fingers to the charm, realizing what it means. 

Your braids like a pattern, love you to the moon and to Saturn. 

The last time that you were at the Met Gala was when you performed with Marco. You can feel warm tears accumulating in your eyes as Eren cups the side of your cheek, a soft smile on his face. He taps the little pin on the lapel of his jacket, a matching little saturn charm as you bite down on your cheeks and smile back. 

“He’s here with us. Haunting us from his grave like he promised.” Eren jokes. 

You give Eren a teary laugh. 

“Yeah. I think he is too.” 

You lean your head against Eren’s shoulder, as the two of you walk straight up the stairs into the venue. There’s a glimmering chandelier hanging from the ceiling, the stage decorated a sparkling silver. 

“Do you have a Maya Angelou quote for me? She always was Marco’s favorite.” 

Eren smiles. 

“I can be changed by what happens to me. But I refused to be reduced by it.” Eren states. 

--

Falco and Colt are the ones by your side backstage. You can feel your hands shaking, throwing the mic from one hand to the other, as the two of them lean their heads against yours. 

You’re performing for the first time in years. Since you performed the grudge, at that godawful awards show years ago. 

You choose to use the wall of pictures as a distraction. One of your favorite things about performing at the Met was that they took pictures of each of the performers and pasted them to the big walls behind the curtains. People would sign the walls, the pictures themselves – to mark that they had performed here, to immortalize themselves on the wall. 

And it takes a few seconds, but you find the picture dead center. Of you and Marco. The two of you are hugging each other, cheeks pressed together with pink, teary eyes, with your names scribbled in Marco’s loopy handwriting underneath. 

seven by y/n l/n ft marco bodt 

And directly next to it, is a picture you’ve never seen before. Of Eren and Marco – their hands clasped together – and the same loopy handwriting underneath with the song. 

“He didn’t want to take that picture. He…he made me do it. Said he should still remember the moment, even if he wasn’t at his best.” Armin states. 

“Oh. Hey, what are you doing here?” 

“Just checking you’re okay. First time performing and all that. And I was back here with you the last time this happened too.” Armin murmurs. 

You smile, lacing your hand through his as you both stare at the pictures of Marco and you wrap your arms around Armin at the first sound of his sniffling. 

“Well, this is hardly about me performing, Armin.” you mumble. 

Armin gives you a watery laugh, before pulling back and wiping the wetness on his face away. 

You frown as you lightly dig your elbow into his side, trying to gesture him into talking. 

You were a little harsh when you talked to him last – when you had to convince him to finally forgive Eren. You regretted it after, being so rigid and forcing him into it, but you figured direction was what Armin needed at the time. 

“Marco said that even though that moment was bad for Eren, that even though he felt like he was never going to recover, there would be a day that he looked back on it and would relish in the fact that it was never going to be like that again. I hate the fact that Eren’s probably having that moment right now and shit is still so awkward between us that I can’t even tell him that I’m happy for him.” Armin murmurs. 

You stare at the pictures. 

“I didn’t realize you were…with Eren that day.” 

“Yeah. Yeah, I was. I called him a lot after the whole Girlfriend thing, he was kind of convinced that we all hated him. And I did the same when the whole Satellite Port thing happened too.” 

Armin pauses. 

“I was always there for him, until I wasn’t. And I feel like I’m fucking groveling but things still won’t be the same between us.” 

“Well, don’t lose hope about that. Mikasa and I-” 

“You and Mikasa are different. You’re…you overlook things easier than we do. Mikasa wanted you to be her maid of honor again after you said you wanted to sleep in her room – just because she realized you still loved her. Even if Eren knew I loved him, I doubt that would fix what happened with us.” 

You lean your head against your shoulder. 

“Did you finish the script yet, Armin?” you whisper. 

“What?” 

“Did you finish it?” 

“Yeah.” 

You look over at him and smile. 

“That last conversation? Between your character and his? He wrote that all on his own. It’s obviously a little bit more dramatic than he intends it but…the premise is still there. You and him, still best friends at the end of it.” 

Armin looks back at the pictures, running his hands through his hair, and ruining any semblance of styling in his golden locks. 

“You think Marco would be pissed at us? All of us?” Armin mumbles. 

“No. I know he would have loved to seen us all reconcile. That he would have been really happy for us.” 

Falco and Colt give you a gesture over your shoulder, as you shoo Armin back to his seat, and readjust the feathers on the sleeves of your dress. You give Colt a smile as he hands you the last piece of the outfit, the glittery garter belt that you wrap over your thigh as you take your cue. 

--

Eren gives you props for hundreds of things, but this one specifically. It was hard to find something that you were bad at, since it felt that you were naturally skilled at everything, but when he watched you, like this, he couldn’t help but feel like you were born for it. 

You really knew how to put on a performance. 

It’s pitch black, leave for your purple silhouette against the back of the stage. Of your fingers running across the neck of the guitar, playing the opening notes to the song Maki requested days prior – that you named Style. 

Midnight You come and pick me up, no headlights Long drive Could end in burning flames or paradise Fade into view, oh It's been a while since I have even heard from you (heard from you)

And I should just tell you to leave 'cause I Know exactly where it leads, but I Watch us go 'round and 'round each time 

Eren watches as you pause, the entire backtrack and music stopping, as the entire crowd jumps to his feet and starts hollering for you when they finally shine the lights on you. Eren watches as you give everyone a little wave, pressing your hands to your cheeks unable to contain your smile before you gesture for everyone to be quiet so you can keep singing.

And feels his chest fill with immense pride as you walk all the way down the stage, fingers fast and smiling from ear to ear as you sing again. He can’t help but feel embarrassed as the group of them – Connie, Reiner, and Jean – start smacking him on the back, screaming about how crazy his girl was. 

You got that James Dean daydream look in your eye And I got that red lip classic thing that you like And when we go crashing down, we come back every time 'Cause we never go out of style, we never go out of style You got that long hair, slicked back, white T-shirt And I got that good girl faith and a tight little skirt And when we go crashing down, we come back every time 'Cause we never go out of style, we never go out of style

When you reach the end of the stage, Eren watches as you slightly trip on your steps, before averting your eyes down to your leg. In the mess of walking and the notches on the guitar, a part of your stockings had ripped. 

Eren was impressed that you were still singing, as you reached down and took the halves of the garter belt in your hands, before you started looking out in the audience. And Eren can’t help but feel like in that moment, that some divine power might actually be real. 

Because three years ago, it was Hyla’s birthday and he was stuck at a dinner table thinking about you. About how he’d never feel that rush, that thrilling electricity that seemed to thrum in his veins whenever you looked at him. 

And he knows for a fact that really, it almost has to be real – a higher power that was looking out for him the entire time. Because years after the fact, he’s sitting here, blushing profusely as you throw the garter belt to him to catch, before you like down on the stage and scream your heart out. 

To a song that you wrote about him. 

Take me home Just take me home Yeah, just take me home Oh, whoa, oh (Out of style)

Oh, you got that James Dean daydream look in your eye And I got that red lip classic thing that you like And when we go crashing down (now we go), we come back every time  'Cause we never go out of style, we never go out of style 

--

--

“Ethan Cole! You’re just the person I wanted to see.” you state. 

Fresh off of the performance, with the little note card tucked in your hand, he’s the first person that you beeline towards. 

On first impression, he’s younger than Scott Clarkson by a landslide – beachy, golden hair as he stands from his share to take your extended hand. 

“Y/N L/N! Quite the performance up there, my daughter is a huge fan. To what do I owe the pleasure?” Ethan asks. 

You give the girl at his side a warm smile, the girl barely above the age of fifteen, as you turn back to him. 

“You know, I’ve really missed doing romantic comedies. I’ve heard that’s your forté,” you state. 

“Is that right?” 

“As fun as Attack on Titan can be, the drama can…be a little draining. I would love to get behind you if you produced a romantic comedy that I could star in.” 

You watch as he pinches his smile, eyes strained as he looks around the room. 

“I’m not sure how keen…some people at the company would be about that.” Ethan murmurs. 

“Who said you had to do it with them?” you state. 

“Huh?” 

You give him the best, most sickly sweet smile that you muster. “Who said…you have to do it with him?” 

You pull the little note card out of your backpocket, with your phone number scribbled over the top, and hand it to him. 

“You could easily produce it on your own. And if it was a star studded movie, you could avoid the risks of being associated as a start-up all together.” you state. 

Ethan pauses, for a while. 

“My own company?” 

“That’s right. You’re young, younger than your competition, and with how things have been going lately…I’m doubt they’ll stay afloat longer. If I were you, I’d capitalize on the fact that your own competition is about to be eliminated.” you state. 

You can tell that he almost doesn’t believe you. 

“I’ll have to think about it.” Ethan states. 

“Sure thing, Ethan. If the situation was right, I could even be persuaded to get some of my….friends to join. And I know you’re a smart guy – there’s some publicity that other people couldn’t even dream of buying.” 

You spare a glance over your shoulder to Eren at the stage with Lana, as she takes her seat at the piano and Eren begins adjusting the microphone at the stand. 

“I look forward to talking to you, Ethan.” 

And you give him a sickly sweet smile before you walk away. You settle back into your seat next to Levi and Connie – who had decided to take Eren’s open seat while he performed. 

“How did it go?” Levi asks. 

“He didn’t buy it.” you state. 

Levi gives you a terse nod, as you shake your head and readjust your seat to face the stage. Connie pulls his seat up right next to yours, the two of you giving each other a smile as you link your arms together and lean your head against his shoulder. 

“It’s your song!” you whisper. 

Connie leans his head on top of yours, voice quiet as Lana starts playing the piano. 

“It’s actually not. It’s even worse.” 

“Huh?” 

You lift your head off of his shoulder to eye him, and he only smiles, deviously, in return. 

“Let’s just say if it was my birthday today, I’d commit a murder after this.” 

You turn back to the stage, eyeing the little star decals hanging from the little ceiling, and watch as Eren nervously shakes his hands, before placing them on the mic stand. He turns to his left, giving the group of you a smile, before he starts. 

“I wrote this song exactly five years ago today when I was twenty. I was stuck at a birthday party, with a bunch of people I hated, and all I could think about was how I just wished that I was somewhere else. And really, I was hoping that the person that I really wanted beside me, had some semblance of that feeling about me too. This is my new song, it’s called Glimpse of Us.” 

When you're out of sight In my mind

'Cause sometimes I look in her eyes And that's where I find a glimpse of us And I try to fall for her touch But I'm thinking of the way it was Said I'm fine and said I moved on I'm only here passing time in her arms Hoping I'll find A glimpse of us

Eren always claimed that singing was never his forté and even from the way he moved – you could tell that he clearly felt more comfortable when he was acting. That he most definitely believed that his talents lied on a set rather than on a stage. 

And for maybe the hundredth time, it’s clear that Eren’s own visions of himself have clearly limited him. 

Because he’s beautiful. 

The stage design makes it look like he’s suspended in the sky, in between the moon and the stars, and the lack of production to the song – the fact that it’s just his voice and Lana’s fingers on the piano is chilling. 

It reminds you of that song that he wrote for you on the beach. 

Eren dislodges the microphone from the stand, tossing Lana a smile over his shoulder, before he walks directly to the edge of the stage that’s closest to you and Connie. And uses his hand to gesture for you to come closer, as he takes a seat and dangles his legs off the edge of the stage. 

You can feel the butterflies erupting in your stomach as you pull your chair closer to the stage, right until you’re looking up at Eren from your little seat and he’s looking down at you. And as he sings, he reaches down and places one of his hands on your cheek – the biting cold of the rings on his fingers cooling the warmth on your cheek – but doing nothing to help the burning in your chest from his dark green eyes, filled with such warmth and sincerity that it makes your heart race. 

You bring your own hand up to where his is on your cheek and he gives you a dimpled smile in return. 

'Cause sometimes I look in her eyes And that's where I find a glimpse of us And I try to fall for her touch But I'm thinking of the way it was Said I'm fine and said I moved on I'm only here passing time in her arms Hoping I'll find A glimpse of us

When he finishes, you press a kiss to the top of his knuckles and try to memorize the way the smile spreads across his face.  

--

Your last chance to convince this cowardly idiot Ethan Cole to agree with you guys is at the afterparty for the Met Gala, which coincidentally, you’ve never attended. 

The last time you were here, the entire ordeal was so draining – considering it was the first time that you had seen Eren since you broke up and you were here with Ricky – that you just skipped the party afterwards and went home. And you would have done the same thing now, since your hair was feeling sticky and your legs felt like lead from the heels, but you had to give it one last shot before you left. 

You had taken Mikasa and Jean’s lead, and decided to take four shots with them, by the time the party was in full swing. And right before the fifth, Eren suddenly materialized after being missing for the first half of the party and slipped it away from your nimble fingers and downed it himself. 

“Are you drinking?” he asks, shaking his head from the burn, before handing the glass back to Jean. 

“Well, obviously not if you’re taking my glass.” 

Eren reaches forward, fingers on the little ribbon around your neck, before you smack his hand off. 

“I like the outfit. It’s like the scarf from the show.” 

“That’s the point.” you state. 

Eren rolls his eyes as you both lean back against the wall, eyeing the crowd of people in front of you. 

“You should have told me. I would have matched.” Eren states. 

“How are you supposed to match? Your costume on set doesn’t have something as…obvious like the scarf.” 

“I would have just done the titan marks and called it a day.” Eren mumbles back. 

You nod, mulling over the idea, as you reach for the back hanging around your shoulder. And luckily for you, your lipstick is still in the bag – though most of the time, the bags that you have on red carpets have literally nothing on them – and instruct him to crouch so you can reach. He obliges, flashing you a smile, as you intently focus on drawing the lines under his eyes. 

Eren takes the distraction – the focus that you have from drawing on his face – and uses it to observe you. 

“Did you like my song?” Eren asks. 

“You’re insane. Did you really write that five years ago or did you make that up?” you whisper. 

“Nope. I wrote it after the last Met Gala, I think Hyla’s birthday was like a week or two after that.” he mumbles back. 

“Well, if it’s any consolation, what you were hoping was actually true. When I was at that Met Gala, I really just wished that I was with you, sitting with the rest of the cast.” 

Eren laughs. 

“Who said the song was about you?” Eren jokes. 

You pause, only to look up to glare at him, before you lightly shove him. And you can tell that he’s joking but it’s still irritating. 

“You’re such a dick, sometimes.” 

“You were thinking about me?” Eren responds, closing his hand around yours and snatching the little tube of lipstick from your hand. 

He lifts his phone up, looking at the reflection from the screen of his phone, as he messily finishes off the marks on the other side, more messy and jagged. And as annoying as he is, it’s extremely attractive when he does it – capping the lipstick and curling it back into the palm of your hand. 

“You wish.” you respond. 

Eren leans against the wall and you join him at his side, the two of you eyeing Ethan Cole at the end of the hall, with Ricky and Hyla posted up on the other side. You can’t help but seethe with anger as you watch the two of them together, curling your hands into little fists at your side. 

“I saw that video that was going around on Twitter a little while ago. Of you and Ricky, last time you were here.” Eren responds. 

“What video?” 

“It was on the red carpet. He like…grabbed your arm and shoved you.” Eren clarifies. 

“Oh! That’s right. He was trying to introduce me to John and I said some crap about him to Historia. Then, he got all pissed saying that I had to be nice to him or whatever since he was nice to you guys.” you respond. 

Levi and Hange walk up to the pair of you, arms linked together, as you straighten up. The two of them had weary eyes, focused on Eren, as they look around. 

“Eren. He’s here.” 

“Who’s here?” you ask. 

“Scott Clarkson. He just walked in – guess he’s not deciding to skip after all.” Hange responds. 

Eren leans forward, angling his head over the crowd of the people, towards the opening at the front of the hallway and feels his throat turn to sandpaper. Eren clenching his fists so hard that he’s sure he’s drawing blood, the entirety of the conversation almost lost to him as he feels himself nearly losing balance on his legs. 

“You’re free to leave, Eren. We have a car ready for you. If you want to stay, we’re here with you.” Hange states. 

You look around to the other side of the room to find Connie talking to a group of people, none of which you knew. Mikasa and Jean are a few feet away – but clearly drunk out of their mind – and you can’t seem to find anyone else who could stay with him. You jerk your head back, to the two of them. 

“Listen. I’ve got Eren. Could you guys check that Connie’s going to be fine?” 

Hange and Levi turn their heads to the side, giving you a nod, as they speed walk to the other side of the room and you link your arm in with Eren’s. He’s still staring at the other side of the room and you lightly tug on his arm to catch his attention, his eyes almost dazed when he looks at you. 

“Sorry. Did Hange and Levi say something?” 

“Just wanted to make sure you were okay. We can leave if you want to, there’s a car and everything.” 

“No…no, we didn’t talk to Ethan Cole yet. And, it’s fine.” Eren responds, shaking his head. 

It’s not that Eren’s exactly scared of Scott Clarkson, though there was a point in time that he most certainly would be. It’s more that he’s intimidated by what could go down, because while Eren knows that he isn’t exactly being swayed by him anymore, it’s a debilitating reminder every time he makes a comment that sends Eren tumbling back down. 

“Lana and Sukuna are together. I sent Hange and Levi to check on Connie. And I’m here with you, so…so all the bases are covered.” you respond. 

Eren smiles. 

“You’re here with me? What are you going to do?” 

“Punch him in the face.” you respond. 

Eren laughs. 

“Are you crazy?” 

“Do I look like a comedian to you?” you ask Eren. 

“You look more like a clown to me.” 

You feel your eyes widen, as you turn to your side and find Hyla and Ricky standing right to the left of you and Eren. You’re not sure what it is, but Eren suddenly squared his shoulders back, muscles tense at the sight of them. 

“Do you need something?” Eren asks. 

Hyla rolls her eyes as she looks at Eren, before turning back to you. And her eyes flicker to the necklace around your neck, before she looks back up at you and smiles. 

“Cute necklace!” 

Eren grins at your side. They took the bait. 

“Do you like it, Ricky? It’s custom Tiffany. I had it made special for Y/N myself.” Eren asks. 

You watch as Ricky furrows his brow, slightly clenching his jaw and nearly pink in the face, as he rolls his eyes in response – very clearly understanding the reference. 

“I don’t know where the fuck you think you get off, Eren. Need I remind you, that while I was at the top of my fucking career you were cleaning up a baby’s diapers.” 

You watch as Eren’s eye twitches, knuckles white at his side as he doesn’t respond. And it only gets more agitating since Ricky clearly gets off on the fact that Eren refuses to fight back, and takes it as an invitation to keep going. 

“Seriously, dude. You started at the fucking top of the food chain – your parents are literally Grisha and Carla Jaeger – and yet you’re slumming it with Lana and Sukuna. Lana’s quite literally the biggest bitch I’ve ever met in my life. Don’t pretend like you’re both not trying to get your five minutes of fame by talking about me. And don’t even get me started on how pathetic Sukuna is for what he said in that dumbass documentary the two of you made. Donating to sexual assault victims won’t fix a lack of talent.” 

“Where do you get-” 

“Y/N.” Eren states, silencing you all together. 

“That’s right, Eren. You better keep my sloppy seconds-” 

Ricky doesn’t get to finish the statement, because Eren’s punched him in the face. Not once, not twice, but three times to the point where he’s tackled him onto the floor, a bright red decorating his knuckles. 

“Y/N. What the fuck? Get him to stop!” 

You know that it’s petty. That maybe if you were a little bit of a better person, you actually would have asked Eren to stop. But Ricky James was quite literally the worst person you had ever met and deep down, there wasn’t even a single part of him that didn’t deserve what he was getting right now. 

You crouch down on your knees, Eren momentarily stopping to look at you, before you shake your head and look down at him. 

“I’m so sorry, Ricky. I don’t think I can do that right now.” 

Eren smiles, as he lands one more punch, before a very drunk Jean and Reiner are able to pull him off – Maki and Pieck at your sides as they rub into the softness of your arms. You shake your head, signaling to them that you were fine, as Eren looks over at you over the accumulating crowd of people, and gives you a gesture. You nod, as Eren extends his hand out to you, and the two of you walk to the other side of the room. You eye the blood on Eren’s hand, all Ricky’s you’re sure, as Eren stops at the table and starts filling the cups with the lemonade. 

“We need a drink.” Eren states. 

“That’s what got you pissed off, Eren? When he started talking bad on my name?” you mumble. 

“I love your name.” Eren defends. 

You smile. 

“Though, I always felt like it’s missing something.” Eren adds. 

You roll your eyes. 

“And what’s that, huh?” 

“My last name.” Eren responds. 

Eren watches as a blush creeps over your cheeks and try not to laugh when you mutter something that sounds an awful lot like fuck you under your breath as he passes you one of the glasses of lemonade. Which is right when Lana comes up and snatches the glass from his hand and slams it down on the table. 

“Are you a fucking idiot, Eren?” Lana seethes. 

“What?” Eren responds, giving her an annoyed shrug back as he takes the glass back and hands you one. 

“You promised, Eren.” Sukuna responds. 

“You two can get your panties out of a twist. I didn’t break any promises.” 

“Do you think I’m blind, Eren?” Lana asks. 

Eren rolls his eyes, as he leans down, bringing his face closer to Lana’s. It’s the same thing that Colt does to you – on the rare occasions that he’s able to prove you wrong. 

“You made me promise that if Ricky said anything about Teddy or you, I wouldn’t say anything. And Sukuna made me promise that if Ricky said anything about him, I wouldn’t do anything, because it would upset you.” Eren states. 

That’s why he didn’t say anything. 

“Our princess over here didn’t force me to make any promises like that. So the second he called her sloppy seconds, I did what I had to do.” Eren responds. 

Lana’s eyes widen, as she turns her head to you. 

“What a dick. Are you okay?” Lana asks. 

“I’m fine. He said worse about you guys, I wanted to punch him myself.” 

Eren smiles, as he leans down to look at you. 

“Too bad. He’s getting escorted out on his ass now, so you lost your chance.” Eren responds, pointing towards the door. 

And surely enough, the security are taking him out with his hands secured behind his back – no thanks to the obscene screaming he’s doing – while Hyla looks maybe the most irritated you’ve ever seen before. She spares you one last glance, to which you and Eren respond with glimmering smiles, before she walks out. 

Lana gestures towards the bathrooms as Eren follows, presumably to wash his hands, leaving you and Sukuna by the table, nursing the little glasses of lemonade in your hands. And wordlessly, you extend your glass out to Sukuna – and thank your lucky stars that he understands – as he pulls the little flask from the pocket and pours it into your drink and then his. 

“Eren’s been waiting for that one.” Sukuna states. 

“I’m shocked you haven’t.” you respond. 

“Maybe before. But you know, with the kid, you have to be a good role model and all that. Plus, I hate when Lana lectures me because she gets really mean.” 

You snort. 

“I’d be scared of her too.” you respond. 

“Speaking of scared, how many drinks until he falls off?” Sukuna asks, pointing to the left. 

You follow his line of vision to find Yuuji standing on top of the bar, tie loosely hanging around his neck and pink in the face with Satoru, as he sings along to the music playing from the speakers. 

“Which one are you talking about? I think they’re both well past that point.” you respond. 

“Yuuji, obviously. I’m going to stop him before he ends up on a headline.” Sukuna responds. 

“You have fun with that. I’ll watch from over here.” you respond, as Sukuna walks away. 

When you scan the room for Ethan Cole, you find that he’s already looking at you. You give him a polite wave, positive that whatever Eren just did with Ricky James must have swayed him some type of way, as you lean back against the edge of the table. And the table dips slightly under you, nearly making you spill the glass of lemonade, when you find Scott Clarkson leaning against at your side, his beady eyes fixed on you. 

“Y/N. It’s nice to see you.” 

“I’m so glad you were finally able to learn my name.” you respond.  

Scott clicks his tongue in his cheek, before extending his hand out to shake it at you. You begrudgingly oblige, skin curling with disgust as he presses a kiss to your knuckles, and leans back. 

“I’ll admit, I had you pegged all wrong in the beginning. But I’m sure that you can understand, it can be so hard to trust new and upcoming talent like that when you run a big company.” 

“Yeah, I’m sure.” you deadpan. 

“I think we should let bygones be bygones. I even think that we could be useful to one another. If you really wanted full ownership of your albums back, I could get it for you. Just a few movies, here and there, and they’d be back in your hands.” 

You feel your throat dry. 

“What did you just say to me?” 

“I’m sure you know I am well acquainted with Danny and Sareen. I’m sure I could persuade them, after a little give and take.” 

You thank the heavens that the stylists had stacked each of your fingers with a perfect set of silver rings. You sure it made it hurt even more when you slapped him across the face. 

“You have some nerve, you asshole. Don’t even think about-” 

You feel a set of arms on your biceps, squeezing hard, as you turn your head to find Levi at your side. You shake your head, turning back to Scott, who no whas a group of people around him, inspecting the red mark you’ve left on his cheek. 

“Levi. Fucking, get off.” 

“This is not the time for this. You and Eren are leaving, you’ve had too much to drink.” Levi responds, pushing you out into the cold air outside the hall and near the taxi. 

Eren’s leaning against the car door and he quickly jumps up at the sound of your voice, meeting Levi at your side. 

“Did you hit him, Y/N? They’re saying that you hit him.” 

“I slapped him.” 

Eren pinches his mouth into a line. 

“Did he hit back?” Eren asks. 

“What? No. Levi started yanking me off of him before I could get another one in.” 

Eren passes Levi a thankful smile, before ducking your head into the taxi, and tuning back into your rambling. 

“He’s such a dick. He fucking had that coming, trying to offer me a career like I don’t know who he is and what he fucking does. Like really, even down to being an opportunist, does he really think I care about my album that was already stolen from me over all of my friends? Over you? I think he’s a psychopath and we didn’t even get to solidify the deal with Ethan Cole or-” 

“Okay, Y/N. Relax. It’s-” 

“We have to do something to get his attention. Something crazy. I have an idea but…you have to follow my lead, okay?” 

Eren’s slightly hesitant. Only because he can tell that you really are tipsy from the light pink tint in your cheeks and the way that you’re shaking your legs. But he hates to tell you no, especially when you’re staring at him so expectantly, waiting for an answer. 

And when you drag Eren into a sweaty tattoo parlor, Eren realizes that maybe you’re well past tipsy. 

“I technically picked what we did last time, Eren. So it’s your turn. Just make sure it’s something like…fucking crazy. Like iconic.” 

Eren has an idea. But he can’t say it. Because you can’t possibly get that tattooed. And he’s sure that it’s showing on his face, because now you’re giving him an excited smile, jumping up and down on your feet waiting for him to tell. 

“Oh my god. What is it? Tell me right now.” 

“Uh. The moon and the ocean.” Eren responds. 

You frown. 

“We already basically have that as a tattoo, Eren. With the fish? And I can tell that’s not what you were going to say.” you respond. 

Eren sighs. 

“Y/N. It’s too much.” 

“Nothing’s too much! Come on, it’s you and me that we’re talking about. We got fucking matching tattoos when we were like eighteen and released songs about quite literally fucking each other on the same day! We can get a crazy tattoo!” 

“You’re so crass when you’re drunk, Y/N.” 

“The word Levi used was homicidal.” you respond. 

Eren sighs, as he tells you his idea, and watches your face light up. And after the fact, Eren can’t help but feel like he’s on top of the world.

Because for a second time now – the two of you are running down the streets, bathed in the dim lamplight and laughing into the night. Matching tattoos of each other’s names on the inside of your lips, a confession on the tips of your tongues like you were two soulmates destined to be together.

That’s the moment you’re able to coin it. 

You’re head over heels in love with Eren Jaeger. Again. Maybe even worse, more desperately than the first time.

And as the perfect cherry on top, Ethan Cole sends you a message confirming the deal the following morning.

--

--

next part linked here

an: are you catching my hint for the songs in our next chapter.....which is an AWARDS SHOW CHAPTER ARE WE READY. and don't worry....scott clarkson and danny/sareen welcome to your tape...this next chapter is for you

(pls tell me someone gets the pussy joke that megumi made and that im not just horrendously chronically online)

taglist: @k0z3me @kayleegomez @yihona-san06  @bsenpai @sweetenertea @mykyoon @violetmatcha  @rebeccawinters @cutiejg @bokutosthings @bookwrmm @mblrrr @wheredidmycrowngo @somethinginyoureyes7 @chilichopsticks @okaystopwhore @you-always-made-me-blush @itzmeme @firelordazulaaa @whoami-72 @g-ghostly @intimacywithceline @erensmoodygf @cocomellxn @princess-ackerman @jaegerfiles @cacapeepee @rui-0836 @moonmalice @invisible-mori @sofiasber @bbybeeb @timetobegone @tee4str @ttokki2 @leave-rae-alone @ec3lipsy @officialsimpp @gojojang @yookayyo @lordbugs @multiplefandomthings @iobeyfandoms @camilo-uwu @justanotherkpopstanlol @mel-star636

[jamesmydeer]

Would you do a first big fight type of thing for the marauders? I love angst to fluff stuff. I also love how you write them so...

thank you so much!! i’m a sucker for angst to fluff as well, so everyones happy :)) hope you enjoy <3

masterlist

james

(i’ve already written one for james x, but another one won’t hurt)

- this boy is so precious

- he would never consciously do something to hurt you

- ever

- but oh boy is he dumb sometimes

- you had made plans to study in the library

- and i know what you’re thinking, but HE was the one who organized the whole thing

- he picked the exact spot, time, and material you would be studying

- and all day he had been talking about it

- remus asked if you wanted to work on the potions essay together?

- james is sprinting to tell him no

- you don’t think much about it when he doesn’t show up to walk with you

- but 30 minutes in and there’s still no sign of james?

- suspicious

- you decide to stay, you still have work to get done after all

- 1 hour, no james

- hour and a half, no james

- at the two hour mark, you’re done with your work and you are PISSED

- because you could have gotten this done in one hour had you accepted remus’ offer

- you trudge back to your dorm and head straight to the shower to distress

- once you come back, you’re startled by a very regretful looking james potter on his broom outside your window

- you walk slowly towards the window

- and you can see the hope building up on his face

- only for you to close the blinds and walk back to your bed

“y/n! please let me explain! it’s cold!”

- you begrudgingly walk back to the window and open it for him

- in true james fashion he stumbles inside and is about to start laughing about it

- until he sees your face and he straightens up real quick

- explains that there were first years who needed extra help after practice

- and he was really trying to keep track of time!

- but before he knew it it was dark and you weren’t in the library anymore

- you tell him that’s not a good excuse

- and that he really hurt your feelings

- he hesitates for a moment, then grabs your hand and leads you to your bed

- he motions for you to sit down and kneels in front of you

- he’s so so sorry

- and he lets you know that

- apologizes while holding your hands and looking into your eyes

- he looks pitiful

- you know how much the thought of you being upset with him must be bothering him

- so you remove your hand from his to run it through his hair

- but the second he feels your hand leave his, he looks at you with the saddest eyes you have ever seen

- and it breaks your heart

“aww jamie!”

- you cup his cheeks and lean down to kiss his forehead

- he wraps his arms around your middle and hugs you tight

“i’ll make it up to you baby”

“i know you will jamie”

- he gets up and sits beside you, pulling you into his lap

- he caresses your back as he tells you all the things he’s gonna do to make up for it

“i do still need help on that paper though”

sirius

(i also already wrote one for sirius x, this one is pretty much the same but with an alternate ending :))

- sirius is flirty by nature

- blame it on his hot shit mentality

- so if there ever were any problems between you two, his flirtatious tendencies usually played a part 

- one day, when you and sirius are walking through the halls, a member of his fan club walked up to you

- and completely ignored you, as they tend to do

“hey sirius, are you free this weekend?”

- you had already had a bad day, and you just knew this would set you off

- so you just tuned out the conversation, which you expected to not last more than three seconds

- because all sirius had to say was no

- but of course he couldn’t do that

- of course he had to make a show out of it

- you were tired and just wanted to get to the common room

- so you decided to shorten the conversation yourself

“he actually has a girlfriend”

“i do?”

- and he was joking

- you knew he was joking

- but it sent you over the edge

- so you pulled your hand away from his and stormed off in the opposite direction

- he would yell after you, easily catching up and stopping in front of you

- the glare you sent him was enough for him to let you walk past him

- you stayed in the dorm during dinner

- you needed a good cry, and what better time than when no one else was in the dorm

- hours later you hear the door open and you assume it’s one of your dorm mates

- then your curtains are being pulled back

- and it is a VERY disheveled looking padfoot

- he’s holding a cute little tray of food and there’s little spills all over it and a small one on his shirt

- but he tried <3

- and you can tell by his demeanor that he knows what he did was wrong

- not very good with verbal apologies

“i’m the worst”

“yeah”

“you shouldn’t forgive me”

“i shouldn’t”

- he sets down the food and plops down beside you

- rests his head on your shoulder and looks up at you with puppy dog eyes

- when you smile he knows he is in the clear to hug you

- so he pulls you into him and rests his head on top of yours

- muttering apologies and reassuring you he’s gonna do better

- he’s so good at reassuring you

- he doesn’t need to be told it’s okay

- when you snuggle into him and kiss his neck lightly, he knows he’s forgiven

“is this a bad time to mention how hot you being all jealous was?”

remus

- if you could use one word to describe remus, it would be gentle

- the boy is the definition of "gentle giant"

- so its hard to imagine him getting angry in general, much less at you

- its common knowledge that werewolves get agitated around the full moon

- however, its not common knowledge that remus is a werewolf

- so not only are you not used to him getting angry, you're clueless as to why he is

- unlike the other two, it’s not one big thing that causes the fight

- for the past few days, remus had been short with you

- you would ask him how his day was and he would say “fine” instead of going into detail about how james and sirius did xyz

- or you would ask about his book and he would look at you over the top of it and point to the blurb on the back

- he’s so sassy y’all

- but he’s not doing it on purpose!

- and he actually really likes your company during that time of the month

- needs the quality time

- sure he gets snappy with you, but you bring him a lot of comfort that no one else does

- but you do not know that

- so you assume that he is trying to tell you he wants some space

- during class you only give him a soft smile of acknowledgement instead of your usual greeting

- in the common room you don’t sit as close to him as possible

- at dinner you decline his offer to make your tea

- and it’s hurting his feelings dammit!

- the last straw is when he sees you wearing one of your own sweaters instead of his

- he walks up to you and apologizes to whoever you’re talking to, then proceeds to drag you away

- when you’re alone he lets go if your hand and crosses his arms

“what’s wrong with you?”

“what’s wrong with me?!?”

- he explains how you’ve been distant lately

- and you look at him like 🤨

- because YOU’VE been distant lately???

- isn’t he supposed to be smart?

- and you convey these thoughts to him

- and it clicks

- his shoulders sink and he pinches the bridge of his nose

- you think he’s still mad so you turn to walk away

- but he comes up behind you and hugs you to his chest

- he nudged your neck with his nose and you relax against him

“i’ll explain everything, just let me hold you for a minute”

- you swear you hear him mutter “just in case”

- you turn around in his embrace and hug him back

“you know you can talk to me about anything mus”

- and he does

- but everything has been so good up to this point

- he doesn’t know what he would do if that came to an end

- you pull away just enough to look him in the eyes

- he knows what you’re thinking

- he always does

“i’m scared you’ll think of me differently”

“i might. but it could never be a bad different”

- you kiss his cheek and he visibly relaxes

“let’s go sit down. you’re gonna have to give me a minute to figure out how to tell you this”

[starstruckkittensweets]

puppy love (iii)

Chuuya Nakahara x Reader

fandom: bungo stray dogs

I didn't mean for this to be so long. I'm so sorry. I just really like writing about Chuuya interacting with dogs. Again I apologize (but I hope you enjoy)! (And the panel comes from the manga Kimi ni Todoke!)

warnings: fem reader, pet names (doll, lady, etc.), mentions of pet abandonment in the past, mentions of stray dogs, slight angst towards the end, a bit of mutual pining (but they don't know it yet bc they're kinda dumb) || words: 5.5k

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV

Chuuya has never known himself to be nervous.

Wary? Sure. Itching to get something over with? Absolutely. Pissed off beyond all belief? Of fucking course—he’s put up with Dazai for all these years, hasn’t he?

But he’s never felt quite like this. Standing in front of the shabby little shop you call home, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, fingers twitching in his pockets—not to mention the swarm of butterflies that’s taken refuge in the depths of his stomach. His throat is unnaturally dry, beads of sweat gathering at his forehead.

Why the fuck is he so damn nervous?

He has no reason to be. He knows no danger lies beyond that door, none whatsoever. And even if there was a fight waiting for him, he’d come out on top in two seconds flat.

Nothing to worry about. It’s just you and those dogs you keep yammering on about.

(Maybe that’s why he’s so worried.)

He shakes his head and knocks on the door. You’ve already turned the lights down, placed the closed sign right there in the window, and yet he can hear you scurrying on the other side of the door. A few seconds later it swings open, and the sight of your smile immediately puts him at ease.

“I’m so glad you could make it!”

He steps inside as you shut the door behind him. One of the lights flicker on, bathing the room in a warm golden glow.

This is the first time he’s actually seen your shop, and he’s pleased to find it looks much more comfy than the outside. A bit small in size, but the selection of pet supplies is plenty enough to brag about. Different brands of dog and cat food, assortments of leashes and collars in all kinds of colors, rows of dog toys and treats lining the counters. The floors are clean, the blinds are shut, and everything seems to be in order.

But not a single pup in sight.

“You want anything to drink?” You’re already motioning him to follow you behind the counter, towards the back of the store. “It’s alright, I’m the only one here. I won’t tell anyone,” you add with a wink.

Fuck, more annoying butterflies.

“That’s fine, I’m alright.” He sheds his overcoat and hangs it on one of the hooks by the door, but leaves the hat perched on his head. Luckily you don’t question it.

“They’re in the back, follow me.”

There’s a spring in your step as you lead him through the back hall, through a set of double doors and into what looks like a lounge of some kind. A slightly-worn couch rests by the corner, as well as a table with only a couple chairs to keep it company. But he doesn’t have time to survey the whole room before you disappear through another door, and he picks up the pace just to keep up with you.

Finally you come to a stop, resting a hand on the doorknob and throwing him a smile over your shoulder.

“They’re inside. You ready?”

He swallows the collection of cobwebs in his mouth. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

But you don’t open the door. Don’t even move an inch. You just stare at him with those big eyes, those pretty eyes, as your lips shift into a frown.

“…What?” Did he do something wrong? Did he fuck this up already?

“You don’t have to be nervous, you know.”

“I’m not nervous,” he says a little too quickly, and he bites back a groan when you give him a knowing smile.

“It’s alright, they can be a lot to handle sometimes. But they’ll love you, I promise! Besides, you’ve met three of them already. The other five are gonna be all over you when they see you!”

Two, he corrects you internally. He’s met two of them so far, the third one keeps his distance and fucking glares at him. Hardly a win in his book. Are any of the others like that? Or is it just that one who’s got a stick up his ass?

No, don’t be like that. It’s not the dog’s fault it doesn’t like people; hell, Chuuya himself doesn’t even like people all that much. The nerves are just making him feel on edge.

Fuck it, he’s not nervous!

“They won’t bite,” you add with a laugh, but he still remains locked in his spot behind you. So you hold out a hand and tilt your head, reminding him of the night he first met you. So much like that one dog you have, the shiba pup. “They love meeting new people. And if Kotaro already loves you”—oh yeah, that’s the shiba’s name—“then the others are sure to follow his lead.”

The way you’re looking at him, a gentle look in your eyes, hand outstretched hopefully in his direction…

It’s no big deal. It’s just a bunch of dogs. He loves dogs, right? Never met a dog he didn’t like! They just happen to belong to you, and you’ve…just got a lot of them. Nothing too major, he’s dealt with much worse in his life.

But that’s just it. They’re your dogs, not just stray animals he crosses paths with on the street. They mean the absolute world to you, he knows it in the way you talk about them. You show it in the way you clutch Kotaro to your chest, pressing kiss after kiss to his furry head. The way your eyes light up at even the slightest mention of one of your dogs, how you’re so eager to brag about the new trick they learned or what they did at the park earlier that day.

You love them with everything your heart has to offer…and Chuuya just hopes he’s good enough to give them the attention and adoration they deserve.

A heavy sigh passes through his lips; slowly but surely, he places his gloved hand in yours. “No biting?” he asks with a smile.

“No biting, I promise! Told them to be on their best behavior today, too.”

It’s only when he nods that you turn the knob and push the door open. You all but pull him in after you, all smiles and laughter and—

Holy shit, that’s a lot of fucking dogs!

All different breeds rush him at once, Kotaro taking the lead and nearly barreling right into Chuuya’s knee. The beagle follows soon after, accompanied by a corgi. (At least he thinks it’s a corgi.) Two little Chihuahuas are yipping and running circles around his ankles. A dachshund paws at the tip of his shoe before latching her teeth around it.

“Hey, hey, come on! Be nice!”

You clap your hands and wave your arms to shoo them away. Just like clockwork the dogs turn their attention on you, a blur of wagging tails and drool and perked-up ears. You scoop up the pair of Chihuahuas, holding one in each arm, and gently nudge the dachshund away from Chuuya with your leg.

Over your shoulder he can see the last two dogs: the grumpy bulldog he met a few days ago (the one who looks like he hates his guts), and a schnauzer whose tail hasn’t stopped wagging since he walked in the room. There’s a slight limp in the schnauzer’s step; it’s favoring its front left paw, but he can’t see any visible wound on the skin. Placing the twin Chihuahuas down, you give the schnauzer a scratch under its bearded chin before pressing a kiss to its head.

“Sit!”

About half the dogs listen, Kotaro not being one of them. He’s still busy sniffing the area around Chuuya, rubbing against his leg like a cat. You snap your fingers over and over, huffing when the dog blatantly ignores you. Finally you stand up and scoop him up in your arms, placing him down in between the dachshund and the beagle.

“You alright?” Your smile is a bit wobbly. Are you just as nervous as he is?

For some reason the thought quells the storm of butterflies fluttering in his stomach.

“I’m fine, doll. Nothin’ I can’t handle,” he adds with a smirk, and you quickly avert your eyes back down to the dogs.

You sink down to sit on the floor, patting the space beside you. Unfortunately Kotaro takes that as his cue to move—even before Chuuya can settle himself down, he’s wrestling a rowdy shiba pup off his lap.

But when one dog goes, the rest of the pack is sure to follow. And suddenly the two of you are swamped in furry bodies and swishing tails and scrabbling paws. One puppy on your lap, another in your arms, and one nosing at your pocket in hopes of finding a snack or two.

“This one’s Sora,” you say, holding the corgi up to him. Chuuya can’t even speak, too captivated by the pup’s sweet brown eyes. “He’s a cutie, isn’t he? And he’s—oh, hey! I would never forget about you, Ocha, don’t worry!” You reach over to pat the dachshund right between her ears. “This little girl is Ocha. She can get a bit jealous but she’s an absolute sweetheart! Oh! And these two are Yuki and Yui! They’re…the troublemakers of the pack!”

Are those the Chihuahuas? One of them is chomping on your shoelaces, while the other one is pawing at his pant leg. The corgi in his arms lets out a soft whine; immediately he brings it closer, letting it sniff his hand and lick his face.

“This is Haru,” you continue, motioning to the schnauzer. “She’s the newest one here. She’s not scared of humans though, so you can pet her all you like! Just let her approach you first. Oh, and be mindful of her paw, she’s recovering from a broken leg. Poor thing could barely walk when we found her! But she’s healing up so nicely…aren’t you, pretty girl?”

The dog lets out a whine, but it almost sounds happy. Her ears are pressed against her head and her stubby tail’s wagging a mile a minute.

Reaching around the corgi’s head—is it Sora? Sounds about right—he holds out a hand to the schnauzer. The dog, Haru, gives a cautious sniff, balances herself on her good paw, and takes another step closer. You’re practically bouncing in your seat as Haru wags her tail and lets Chuuya pet her.

“Aww, she likes you!”

And thank fuck for that; there’s nothing more depressing than a dog that doesn’t like you.

Like that one—he gives the bulldog a sideways glance, and the dog huffs and turns his head.

The beagle nearly trips over his own paws trying to reach Chuuya’s face. The tiny Chihuahua chewing on your shoelaces manages to untie them, and you scramble to grab the string from its mouth with a shriek.

Kotaro, Pochi, Sora… Haru, right?

Something nudges his elbow. It’s the little dachshund, staring up at him with big brown eyes, clutching a small stuffed toy in her mouth. She nudges him again, giving a whine and shaking her whole backside in the air.

“What is it, huh?” Fuck, what’s that one’s name again? “You wanna play, is that it?”

The dog yips and bats him with her paw. But when he grabs at the toy, she gives a hard tug and nearly rips the damn thing right out of his grasp.

“I can’t throw it if you don’t give it to me!”

She doesn’t give up, and neither does he. You laugh at the awkward tug of war between the two, all the while Sora is curled up in Chuuya’s other arm. One of the Chihuahuas crawls into his lap, throwing off his balance just enough for the dachshund to wrench the toy out of his hand.

“Hey, wait—”

It’s a three-way assault: Kotaro plants his paws right on his shoulders, Sora leans up to lick his face, and the dachshund—Ocha, that’s it!—practically throws herself right into his lap, all but knocking the poor Chihuahua out of the way. The poor pup tumbles to the floor, but you’re quick to scoop him up before he can whine.

“Sorry, Yuki,” you manage through your laughter, “Ocha didn’t mean it, I promise. …And sorry, Chuuya! Usually they’re not this rowdy!”

But he finds himself laughing along with you—of course, you apologize to the dog first—even when Kotaro’s weight knocks him over onto the floor. He’s on his back know, knees bent with the beagle ducking beneath them, and the tiny corgi curled up on his chest. Kotaro’s wet nose is pressed against his cheek, Ocha’s paw nudging his shoulder, and oh shit, now the schnauzer’s in on the fun—

“Come on, guys, let him breathe for a bit!” Your voice reaches him through the mess of fur and paws; he sees your hand snake around the dachshund’s body to pull her away. “No doggy pile today!”

Not that he has a problem with that. If this is what you have to deal with every day, living with all these dogs doesn’t seem like such a bad thing.

“Get over here, you little—”

He rolls over, propping himself on his hands and knees, still supporting the corgi against his chest. Kotaro barks and shakes his bottom in the air; the silly look on his face just screams “play with me, damn it!”

Pochi plants his paws onto his shoulders, while Ocha ambushes him from the front. Despite favoring her paw, Haru is quick to chime in with a yip and plants a sweet kiss right on Chuuya’s cheek.

The smug look on Kotaro’s face says it all: You’re surrounded. Give up already, feeble human!

“Alright, alright, that’s enough!”

You’re on your feet now, shooing the dogs away, cringing at the rumpled fabric of Chuuya’s pristine jacket and vest. The flecks of dog hair sprinkled along his dress pants. Not to mention the trails of drool and doggy slobber on his face—

“Come on, be nice.” You slide Pochi out of the way and gently pick up Haru in your arms. Chuuya catches the bulldog glaring at him from across the room; the little shit hasn’t even moved in the last ten minutes or so. “Give him some space, Kotaro!”

Chuuya manages to lift himself to his knees. The little corgi in his arms lifts his head and kisses his chin, his stubby little tail thumping against his hand. A laugh bubbles up in his throat.

“Lovable little shit, ain’t he?”

“Yeah, Sora’s a cuddle bug when he wants to be!” Once the dogs give you some space, you hold out a hand to help him up. “He’s also a sleepy little guy. Gets random bursts of energy but he’s always the first to fall asleep.”

His gloved hand slides against your own, and you pull him to his feet with a grunt. Immediately Haru and Ocha start whining and pawing at his pant leg. Batting their eyes at Sora, all snuggled up against the man’s chest.

“Are they usually just clingy, or is it just me?” he asks with a smile, and you giggle behind your hands.

“Must be you! They’re friendly, but never that friendly to people they’ve just met… They must really like you a lot.”

(Maybe it’s his roguish charm and handsome features. If so, you can’t really blame them.)

“Anyway, looks like they’ve settled down a bit.” He glances at the two pups nestled in your arms; the twin Chihuahuas are already fast asleep, snoring softly with their heads against your chest. “Come on, I’ll show you the rest of the shop.”

The “rest of the shop” isn’t really part of the shop at all; Chuuya learns quickly that it’s just the half-finished room where the dogs live, with the stairs leading up to your apartment just off to the side. He stops himself before he can wonder what’s up there, though.

Not the kind of thoughts he should be having about someone he’s only just yet. And about a lady, no less.

And now the dogs are safe and sound, sprawled out in their individual beds and tucked away for the night. The Chihuahuas sleep in a tiny bed between a mess of blankets, with a dozing Pochi and Ocha on either side of them. Sora is curled up into Haru’s side; when his paw twitches gently, Chuuya thinks he can feel his chest get all warm and fuzzy.

So fucking adorable, aren’t they?

The only ones still awake are Kotaro (who’s made his home at his feet, for some unknown reason), and Shiro, who’s planted his ass firmly on your shoes. Still glaring at him with his bottom teeth jutting out, only wagging his tail when you reach down to pet him.

The two of you are leaning against the counter, side by side, holding a pair of mugs in your hands. Might be too late in the night for it, but holy shit do you make a great cup of coffee.

“I’m glad you think so,” you chuckle, careful to keep your voice low. Don’t wanna wake the babies, right? “I don’t really like it, I kinda have to drink it for these little guys, though. Keeps me going the entire day!”

He looks at you then, really looks at you as you take another sip of your drink. Your frazzled hair, the bags under your eyes, the slight heave in your chest—and the familiar warm glow in your eyes as they sweep over the eight resting dogs.

Running a shop, catering to customers, taking care of eight individual dogs, all with different personalities and needs of their own… No wonder you look so drained. You look like you could sleep for a week straight, and then some with that look in your eye.

He clears his throat and averts his gaze before you can catch him. “You said she’s the newest one, right?” He motions to Haru with a hand, snickering as she snuggles deeper into her little makeshift bed. “How long have you had her?”

“Only a couple weeks.” You place your mug down and sweep a hand through your hair. “We found her wandering around the streets one night—well, Kotaro found her, really. Poor girl was digging through the trash and limping so badly! We took her to the vet right away, fixed up her leg so she could walk again. She had a collar but when we tried calling the owners there was no answer.”

Your hands suddenly curl around the edge of the counter. Nails biting into the surface, teeth clenched and eyes wild with fire. Chuuya stops himself from reaching out to you, instead tightening his grip on his mug and taking another sip.

“They wouldn’t answer our calls, and when the vet stopped by their place he realized they’d moved… Didn’t even have the sense to bring her to a shelter first. Just up and left her, like she didn’t even matter.”

Such a sweet dog, so kind and gentle, with her favored paw resting so nicely on the blankets… Little puffs of air escaping through her nose, brushing against the corgi’s fluffy head.

And suddenly he wants to shatter the mug in his hand. The thought of leaving a mess on your floor is enough to keep him at bay, but the white-hot fury is still blazing through his veins.

How could someone treat such an innocent animal like that?

He wouldn’t have guessed it, with how friendly she had been with him earlier. Eager to play and get to know him, licking at his face and wagging her cute little tail. And extremely loyal from what he’s seen so far, with the way she looks at you and responds to your voice. What kind of dumbass would let go of such a perfect companion?

“…Are they all street dogs?” His voice is strained, but his eyes are gentle when they meet your own. “Abandoned, I mean?”

“No, not all of them. This one,” you lean down to rub Shiro’s chest, “I knew his old owner. He was moving away and he couldn’t take Shiro with him. He used to work at the shop, that’s why he asked me. Sometimes I think he still misses him.”

That explains why the dog’s such a hard-ass. But he can’t find it in himself to blame him. Chuuya knows a thing or two about losing people he cares about.

“Pochi and Sora were hanging around the shop before I took them in. At first I thought they were cats, but then I heard barking one night and knew I had to bring them in.” That familiar smile is back on your face as you gush about your puppies. “Ocha? I found her while coming home from a friend’s house, in a thunderstorm of all things! Now she doesn’t like storms, but show me a dog that does!”

You slide your mug further away before lifting yourself onto the edge. Only when you pat the space beside you does Chuuya do the same, careful not to spill what little coffee he has left in his own mug.

“The twins, Yuki and Yui,” you point to the tiny Chihuahuas in the center, “…I don’t know where they came from, honestly. I just opened the door one day and they were there. Right on the doorstep, practically newborn, no note or anything. I don’t even know what happened to their mother.”

Shiro yawns and settles down at the base of the counter, his legs sprawled out in front of him. Meanwhile Kotaro turns his attention to Chuuya, whining until the man caves in and scratches behind his ear.

“What about this one?”

“Oh, Kotaro? Former shelter dog, the last one to be adopted before they closed down! No one else wanted to deal with his little troublesome ass, so I volunteered.”

And the smug little shit looks so proud of himself, too. Tongue lolling out the side of his mouth, tail swishing from side to side, stirring up the mess of dog hair already on the floor.

A comfortable silence settles over the two of you. The dogs are sleeping, Kotaro’s relishing in all the extra attention, and for once, the bulldog Shiro isn’t even growling at him. Eventually he finishes off his coffee, and you’re quick to take it to rinse it in the sink with your own.

“Hey, Chuuya? Can I ask you something real quick?”

He glances up from Kotaro for a split second. It’s easier to pet him from the ground rather than the counter, so he hops off and kneels down to the dog’s level. His gloves are gonna be covered in dog fur once he’s done.

“What is it?”

Another bout of silence. Your back is turned to him, still hunched over the sink, despite the mugs already drying in the rack next to it. Kotaro paws at his knee, silently begging for another round of pats.

“…You’re part of the Port Mafia, aren’t you?”

Every nerve in his body screams at him to run. No, to fight. Fight and fucking win, just as he’s always had to do. Eliminate the threat. Prove your strength.

It’s like a switch goes off in his brain. But he’s not the only one; Shiro’s head lifts off the ground at lightning speed, his lip curled to show more than just that row of bottom teeth. Kotaro stiffens as soon as Chuuya’s hand retreats, his huge eyes boring right through him.

You’re still glued to your spot at the sink, not even daring to move an inch.

The message is clear from the dogs. Touch her and you die.

He swallows the mess of cobwebs in his throat as he slowly rises to his feet. Kotaro and Shiro keep their eyes trained on him; out of the corner of his eye, he can see Pochi and Ocha stirring awake, too.

Insanely loyal dogs, aren’t they?

“…It’s alright if you are,” you spit out, still staring at the sink in front of you. “I promise I won’t tell anyone! It’s just… I’ve, ah, been wondering about it…for a few days now, and I just thought…”

The sigh he lets out sends a shiver down your spine. He’s careful as he makes his way towards you, and for some reason, Shiro lets him without taking a chunk out of his leg.

“…How’d you find out?”

He’s trying not to sound intimidating. He’s not angry, far from it actually. He knows you and your little pack of pups is no real threat to the mafia. (Although, the image of you storming HQ with a band of street dogs is strangely entertaining to him.) Sooner or later, you would have questions of your own about him. He just didn’t think it would be this soon.

But that horrible feeling from earlier is fluttering around in his chest. The same one that makes his palms slick with sweat inside his gloves, the one that sends his heart smashing against his ribcage.

Is he ashamed? Absolutely not; the mafia has always been a part of him, and it always will be until the day he dies.

Maybe the thought of you running away, too scared of what he is—and taking your little pack with you—is sending him in such a frenzy.

“I’ve…had my suspicions,” you start quietly. Slowly you turn around, keeping your back against the sink. Chuuya stands a few feet away from you, forcing his hands back into his pockets. “For a couple days, now. Maybe even more… I just wanted to be sure before I started suspecting anything…”

Dangerous? He fills in the blank with a swallow.

“…’M not gonna hurt you, ya know.”

“I know! I know… Believe it or not, I’ve had my fair share of run-ins with the mafia. This isn’t exactly a nice area of Yokohama to begin with.”

That raises the hair on the back of his neck. Who did you come across? Surely someone like Akutagawa or Tachihara couldn’t be bothered with a simple pet shop owner. A simple grunt then, perhaps? He can’t imagine why they would make themselves known to an innocent civilian like you.

Did they threaten you? Were you caught in the crossfire? Thrown in the middle of a turf war? Every possibility sends another wave of heat throughout his body.

“Honestly, it wasn’t that hard to figure out.” There’s an awkward chuckle on your end. “I only ever see you at night. You’re rich as hell, I can tell by the way you carry yourself. Only one kind of job around here could get you that kind of outfit, and all those fancy wines you like to talk about. Oh, and you kinda dress like a stereotypical mafioso, too… Not that it’s a bad thing!” you add quickly, holding up your hands. “I like it! Makes you look…good, I guess? No, not just good… Maybe handsome? Ah, I-I mean—”

You stumble over your words, burying your face in your hands when none of them come out right. That’s when Kotaro trots over to you, circling your feet before taking a seat right in front of you. Shiro stays right in his spot, eyes glued on Chuuya…but at least he’s not growling at him anymore.

Chuuya blinks. And then blinks again.

…You think he’s handsome?

He clears his throat—no time to get all distracted over a few simple words from a pretty girl. “You’ve got nothing to worry about, doll. I promise, the Port Mafia wants nothing to do with your little…pack of dogs.”

But he does.

As horrible as it sounds, he wants everything to do with you and your little family of puppies.

“It’s okay.” You wrap your arms around your midsection, finally meeting his eyes with a shaky smile. “It’s just…kind of a lot to take in… Sorry…”

No, he gets it. He could barely believe it himself, after joining the mafia years ago.

“…You ain’t scared?” he asks, despite his gut telling him to shut the fuck up already.

But you shake your head, and suddenly he finds himself frowning.

“A bit too trusting, don’t ya think?”

“Maybe.” Your smile becomes a bit stronger now. “But the dogs seem to like you, so that’s enough for me.”

His jaw nearly drops to the floor; he can feel the coffee from earlier swirling around in his stomach.

Are you fucking serious?

“I know it sounds silly, but it’s true!” You must’ve seen the look on his face; you’re starting to look a bit sheepish yourself, but you continue nonetheless. “Dogs have a great sense for this kind of thing. They can tell when a person has good or bad intentions. Pick the rotten apples from the rest of the bunch, you know? And they’re all pretty easy-going around you. So if they’re not scared of you, then I’m not either.”

Well sure, it would make sense if you were a fucking child. But placing all your trust in a bunch of dogs, no matter how loyal and protective it may be… It doesn’t sit right with him.

“You can’t be serious.”

“But I am.”

“What if I hurt you?” Even saying the words out loud make him feel sick. “You really think they would’ve warned you?”

“Yeah, they started growling at you right away, didn’t they?”

“What if it was someone else? Someone other than me?”

“I trust them. I protect them, they protect me.”

“You can’t always be sure of that, doll.”

He’s stepping closer to you, and for whatever reason Kotaro and Shiro allow him to. Until he’s face to face with you, so close you can count the row of freckles splashed across his nose.

But you’re still smiling. In fact, you look more comfortable right now in front of him than you have all night. Almost like you’ve totally forgotten about the whole Port Mafia thing.

“It all comes down to intentions. Believe it or not, they’ve saved my ass a few times before. Especially Shiro; more than once he’s kept a shady person away from me, or pulled me away from a dangerous situation. It sounds weird, but I trust them with my life. Just as they trust me with theirs.”

Words fail him in that moment; he opens his mouth, and they die right there on his tongue. On one hand, what you’re saying does make sense, but it also doesn’t, and he’s not sure which one to believe.

He knew you were close to your dogs. Treated them just as you would your own children. He just didn’t realize you put such a great amount of trust in their hands—well, paws.

Despite their smaller size and friendly natures, they did jump to your defense when they suspected you might be in danger. Shiro and Kotaro standing between you two, a protective barrier of claws and teeth, with Ocha and Pochi standing on guard.

A dog’s love for his human knows no bounds.

“Trust me, if they sensed you had any bad intentions, or wanted to hurt me in any way, they wouldn’t have let you come into the shop like you did. Kotaro wouldn’t have warmed up to you right away. Believe me when I say this, Chuuya, the pups love you.”

He grits his teeth, his gaze falling to the floor between you. “…Not the bulldog.”

Your laugh is a song to his ears, and when you reach for his gloved hand, he thinks his heart might burst right there in his chest.

“Don’t worry about Shiro. He’s stingy with everyone at first! To be honest, if he really didn’t like you, he would’ve tried to bite you the first time he saw you! But as for the rest of them? I’ve never seen them warm up to a stranger like that before. Especially Kotaro—the way he acted around you that first night… It kinda made me jealous!”

You shake your head and take his other hand in yours. His face grows warm beneath your gaze, his heartbeat echoing in his ears as you inch your face closer to his.

“If my dogs trust you, then that tells me you must be a good man.”

And suddenly, Chuuya wants nothing more than to sweep you into his arms and press a thousand kisses to your lips.

“Your secret’s safe with me. If you want to come back, you’re more than welcome to! And if you want, we can just keep it between us. No outside drama, no mentions of work—just you and me and all these dogs…if that sounds good with you.”

Chuuya doesn’t think he can smile any wider. There’s another strange feeling in his chest, so much more pleasant than the one from earlier. No more shaking hands or butterflies in his stomach; only a sweet, warm feeling that pools deep in his chest.

It reminds him of your smile, of your warmth and affection for the little family you’ve made for yourself, as he tugs you in closer with Kotaro yipping happily at your heels.

“Sounds perfect to me, doll.”

[icallhimjoey]

In 120 Hours

♥ ♥  Joseph Quinn x Fem!Reader

Summary: You work as a temp and are offered a very exclusive interview for a very exclusive job. You see, someone needs a personal assistant for a very eventful week, and you happen to be the perfect fit.

CW / disclaimer: 18+, language, mentions of drinking, rpf, fem!reader

Author’s note: I have no idea what being a personal assistant entails, or what London Film Festival is actually like, but we can all pretend that this is accurate shit, right? Enjoy!

Wordcount: 3K

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five

“Have you got any–”

You were already holding a hand out to him. Joe saw, grinned, opened his hand to receive a piece of gum from you and looked out the car window, hand on the door handle but not quite stepping out just yet.

Then he turned in his seat, back towards you a bit, but stared into the space in front of him.

“I’m not sure how I...” Joe trailed off, then looked at you, not finishing his sentence, but hoping that his eyes would do the talking for him.

“Could thank me? Have ever managed to function without me? Will go on living your life without me?” they were all jokes, and you were smiling, but Joe just nodded and went, “Yea,” with a crazed sort of look in his eyes. “Exactly all of those things.”

Joe stalled, looked at you, until you nudged him with a knee.

“Go on, the people are waiting,” Not just the people you could see from the car, but you imagined also all the important people, actors and actresses alike, in the cars queueing up behind you.

“Come with me,” Joe suddenly said.

“I will, I’ll see you right after the–”

“No, come with. Let’s do the whole thing together,”

You hesitated. This wasn’t in the job description. Lots of things hadn’t been, sure, but those things had been, you know, not quite so out in the open. Not like red carpets were, anyway.

“I think we’ve been spotted together enough as it is, I don’t want you to-”

“I kind of don’t want to get out without you.”

And you frowned, but only slightly, because there was that smile again. Fuck, that smile had gotten you into enough trouble as it was, and Joe fucking knew it too.

You checked the time. There was over twelve hours left still, technically speaking. That was over ten per cent of the entire job – quite a few too many hours to screw everything up and risk not getting paid. You had said you were reliable. Professional. You couldn’t, really...

“Please?” Joe opened a hand, presenting you with his palm.

But, ugh.

Fuck it. Why not?

You grabbed Joe’s hand and silently wondered if this was breaching the NDA you’d signed. Maybe not. You knew exactly who it was going to piss off though...

Stepping out of the car with Joe, you were met with girlish screams of adoration. Well, Joe was met with girlish screams of adoration. Then cameras flashed brightly, blinding you almost instantly, and you thought back to how precisely one hundred and six and half hours earlier, you would’ve never envisioned that this is where you’d end up.

Doing a red carpet with Joe.

In a slutty dress. With slutty high heels on. Without the engagement ring on.

Not even a full five days had passed...

Not even a full six days had passed, since you’d phoned your friend and she had told you about the vacancy. The whole thing felt like a vague fever dream now, like it had happened years ago.

“Please tell me you have nothing going at the moment,”

It was a weird way for your friend to answer her phone when you called to ask her if she had time to go for drinks that week. Because, consequently, you had all the time for all the drinks, you see, because you had absolutely nothing going at the moment.

No professional things. No personal things. Zero job. Zero fiancé – you really had to remove that ring, but you couldn’t yet. It used to belong to your grandmother before, after all, so it kind of felt like if you just wore it on another finger, it’d be fine.

Still adjusting to life as a single woman - with big bills that belonged to single women - working as a temp and having a best friend work at a temp agency, the two of you seemed a match made in platonic heaven. She always kept all the good stuff back for you, called you on her breaks to slip you information she definitely wasn’t meant to be giving you, so you could officially apply for the right jobs at the right times and use the right words to actually be invited to the interviews. It was perfect.

Sometimes, the good stuff would be going through PowerPoint presentations in stuffy conference rooms in deeply exotic places, like Belgium. Or you’d manage an entire office for two weeks, a holiday-cover that would start Christmas eve and left you in charge of a lot of empty desks because, didn’t everyone take time off around Christmas and New Year’s?

But then, other times, the good stuff was actual good stuff and had you help run huge music festivals, unexpectedly brushing shoulders with the likes of The Wombats and Liam fucking Gallagher backstage wearing knee high wellies, covered in mud.

“Oh my God, what have you got?”

No dillydallying. As a temp, there was never time. All jobs came fast, and all jobs went fast.

“It just came in, this phone call is unbelievable timing because I’m allowed to recruit for fucking once, finally, and you’d be so perfect for it!”

She had said that too when you’d been hauled off to dog-sit a poodle for some CEO of a company you had never heard of for two months, so you held off on the jumpy excitement your friend seemed to be exuding down the phone.

“It’s very short term and the money is amazing – I need a personal assistant for a high-profile client.”

“How short term, how much money, how high-profile?”

Like you said, no dillydallying.

“We’re talking not even a full week, just five days, all expenses covered and the salary’s generous. Very generous. And the money isn’t even the best part.”

Temping meant everything was short term, but this was the shortest a possible job had ever lasted you.

“Okay,” you said, knowing things were always too good to be true. There had to be a catch.

“If this is for a tory politician, or like, actual royalty, I’m out,” you warned, earning a huffed laugh from your friend.

“Don’t let this put you off, but there’s nothing else I’m allowed to tell you. You’ll have to sign a non-disclosure agreement before I can even send the job description over, and I’ll need you down in London for the interview as soon as possible, like, today? Could you do today?”

Oh, she was serious serious.

Okay, so... what was five days, really? If it was shit, it’d be over quick enough. You could really use the money too if it really was as good as your friend was making it out to be. And maybe you’d meet Meghan Markle, you know, if it was actually going to be royalty.

“Are we... are we talking like, Hugh Grant or whatever? Adele, maybe?”

Your friend laughed heartily.

“I can’t tell you anything else until you sign the NDA, but, I’m being so honest with you right now, you’re not going to want to pass this one up.”

And so, you’d given her the go ahead. Sure. Try get me in for an interview, why the fuck not? She said she’d make a call, get your CV into the right hands, and would call you back in a minute. When she did, not all but 11 minutes later, she’d already e-mailed you the NDA to sign. The interview wasn’t that day, but the day after – still too soon, but ok – and if successful, you’d start immediately too.

“Don’t worry, I think the interview’s just a formality – they love your CV, and from the sounds of it, they’re desperate. You’re a shoo-in. Get that NDA back to me and I’ll send you everything you need to know.”

She ended the call letting you know to reach out to her if you had any problems, and you said you would, knowing very well that you wouldn’t. You didn’t have problems. It was part of your charm. You carried solutions. You were dependable, reliable, one hundred percent guaranteed to make everyone’s life easier.

The only person you ever made things difficult for, was yourself. The proof of it was around your ring finger – on the wrong hand now, but still there.

From the names mentioned in the e-mail, which you’d immediately googled, you became none the wiser. They really kept you in the dark about who you were going to be working for, and the job requirements list was a lot. But you were good at job interviews. You knew the right things to say, the right energy to exude, the times to smile, the times to frown in serious thought – you could sell yourself better than you could sell anything else.

And you were competitive to a fault. No matter how arrogant of a celebrity was going to need someone handling their business for five days; you were going to get that job, and you were going to excel at it. Watch me, you thought, as you packed a carry-on with enough underwear to last you five days in case you were right. And if you were wrong, you could just spend money you didn’t have and maybe stay in London for a few days anyway. Visit old friends and old familiar places, because you kind of missed the place if you were being honest.

The next day your train had been late, and the tube had been packed, and you’d almost been run over three times, but you didn’t care. London was gritty and grimy and perfect. The London-shaped hole in your heart could really only be filled with the smell of searing, hot dust that lingered underground and became thicker and more prominent the deeper down escalators would take you.

You aced the interview. Of course you did.

Every question you were asked felt like they were trying to find reasons to not give you the job. They were all questions about what you thought about certain things, what your opinions would be about certain situations, what you really wanted, and you’d rudely interrupted. You’d said that none of it mattered, did it? It didn’t matter what you thought about anything, what your opinions were or what you really wanted in any situation – what mattered was that you would do your job. What mattered is whatever the client wanted.

They’d congratulated you. Said you got the job. And then, right on cue, the door had opened behind you.

“Joe, come in, meet your new PA who’s going to be with you for the rest of the London Film Festival.”

Joe mother fucking Quinn walked in, smiling, looking at you, like you were an actual person that people could actually perceive.

“Hi, nice to meet you.”

It was only a brief introduction before Joe was off again, called out of the room by someone else, and he said he'd see you later. Smiled again, and God, it was the kind of smile that could defrost the coldest of hearts. Joe's expression was objectively neutral, this was just his face, but his eyes exuded kindness in its purest form. Almost dreamily so.

You cleared your throat as the door shut behind him. All right. Back to business.  

You were talked through the things you had already read the day before; the things you'd received in your e-mail. Things that didn't really need further explaining, but you listened politely anyway. You got a long explanation of how NDAs worked and it was almost laughable. Yes, they'd sue you if you broke it. You got it. But they were very adamant, needed to make sure that you really did in fact get it. Having to drag you to court wouldn't just be an awful thing for you personally, they also didn't want to do it because it was a lot of work on their end which they didn't have the time for.

Noted.

"All right. Get your things and meet us downstairs, your car is waiting."  

"Car? Where are we going?" 

"We're not going anywhere. You are. The itinerary, his full schedule, you'll find it all in your e-mail."  

And when you looked at your phone screen, you saw you'd just received it, mere seconds earlier. Man, these people ran a tight ship. 

Opening your e-mail in the car, you were greeted by a digital calendar that had all of Joe's days planned out, down to the literal minute. You could see past the five days that you would be working for Joe too, and although less busy, Joe had things happening nearly every day for at least the upcoming three months it seemed.  

"Wow,"  

This was... a lot.

It had everything on there. Wake-up calls, car pick-ups, lunch time, phone calls, coffee breaks, fittings... 

There were several film screenings scheduled every day, obviously, that was how film festivals worked, and you wouldn't get to go to any of them. You weren't hired to sit and watch films with Joe, unfortunately. You were hired to haul Joe from one place to the next. Accompany him. Get him coffees. Check for schedule changes, because, “Everything is always up for change, so you better keep an eye out!”. Things could be delayed, or be postponed, or switched around – times, or locations – and it'd be up to you to sort things out. Make it all run smoothly. It was your job to make sure Joe would get to the places he needed to be on time.  

"And he needs close eyes on him, because he tends to wander. Keep him company. He's used to having someone with him. A family member, a friend, but none were available for this. So, now he'll have you."   

So... you were a luxurious babysitter, if you really thought about it.  

"What other things are important? Anything that’s not been mentioned yet that needs special attention?" you had asked, and were met with a fast answer. 

"Networking."   

This whole week was all about Joe being seen and being spoken to by industry giants. Joe was invited to see many films, just about all of them, but it wasn't necessary for him to actually watch all of them. As long as he went to meet the directors, he'd be solid. 

There were other obligations too. Besides the screenings there were screen talks, in depth-interviews, panels, debates, workshops, partner events (Joe wouldn't be going to those, no worries) and networking events (Joe had to absolutely be going to those, worry a lot). The industry happy hours were where it all happened, you'd been told several times. 

Then, on Monday, day four, there was Joe's film screening - not his film, but the one he starred in. That showcased him. It'd be followed up by a Q&A, and then of course, happy hour after.  

To make things even easier, more simple, not at all hectic or stressful: Joe also had studio photoshoots, two of them, and phone interviews to accompany the shoots. They were scheduled, slotted tightly in between all the in-person events and to be honest, it all seemed a bit much. Too much. No wonder they hired a PA for the week. This was overwhelming to say the least. 

Your duties would end after the most important day. The awards ceremony. Film Festivals were a competition, and there were awards up for grabs. You'd need to make sure that after five extremely busy days, Joe would make it to the ceremony in one piece, in the right outfit, and at the right time, because people had already been talking, and Joe was meant to give a little speech up on stage if his film was to win.

"Remind him of that. Maybe help him with the writing, too?"  

Sure. Why not?  

"And there'll be two boxes delivered, not huge ones, it'll only be about 5000 copies, but they all need signing,"  

Delivered where? Copies of what? 

"Copies?" you asked, deadly afraid of sounding stupid. 

"Photographs."  

Oh. Alright. Of course. Yes. Fine. 

In the backseat of a car, on your way to wherever they were taking you - they hadn't been clear at all - you saw that the signing of the photographs hadn't been added into Joe's schedule yet. You put down a few options and would check with Joe later until what time he minded working before you'd set it in stone. First task done. Your job had officially started. 

Five days. One hundred and twenty hours of this. You checked the time. One hundred and eighteen still to go, technically, but, who was counting?

The car stopped and you heard the ratcheting of the handbrake being pulled by the driver. You'd arrived. 

"Um, where are we?" you asked, undoing your seatbelt and gathering your things, but before the driver could answer, your door was opened from the outside. 

"Hey, welcome," it was Joe, and he held out a hand to help you out of the vehicle. What a gentleman. That warm smile, there it was again. 

"Are you ready?" Joe asked, taking your suitcase from you with an excited glint flickering in his eyes, and you weren't sure exactly what you were meant to be ready for. The whole week, was the correct answer.

Joe walked ahead of you, up the steps of a beautiful South London terraced house. Quite the mansion, by London standards. Joe stopped and turned as he reached the door. "I've only just moved in, so please, don't mind the boxes and, um, the lack of furniture. It's a mess. The only room properly done up is yours, so don't worry about that! They've made sure that at least one of us has a nice bed to sleep in,"  

 Oh.  

"They made it look like a proper hotel room, I'm kind of jealous of it,"

This was Joe's home. His actual place, where he... you know, lived, and stuff. And where apparently, you were going to be staying too.  

"This is your house?"  

Joe stood in the door opening, and beckoned you in.

"It's just easier to have you close, come on in,"  

Oh, this was going to be an interesting couple of days. 

"Wonderful, thanks."

---  

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[hockeyboysimagines]

would you write #1 from the smut list with Jarvy? I need more of him on this app thanks☺️☺️

So happy I got a Seth request. He’s definitely underrated and if you like reading about him, might I interest you in the fic I have for him? I’ll link it here!

Enjoy🤍

Seth Jarvis was a tease. There was no other way to describe him at this point and he was killing you slowly and he knew it.

His accidental touches and dirty text messages over the last few hours, had finally boiled over the second he closed the car door.

This is how you and him had ended up tangled in the back of the Tiguan, windows fogged up, thankfully because you were parked in a public parking lot.

He was more touchy than normal tonight and what would have been a quick make out any other time, was turning into something else. He had your skirt pushed up around your hips and was attempting to yank down your underwear, and hold you upright at the same time. The backseat was spacious enough to make it possible but not comfortable.

“What-what are you doing?” You asked breathlessly as he slid them down your legs and undid the button on his jeans. Your chest felt tight and your breath was coming out in gasps as you reached forward and gave the hair that hung down the back of his neck a small tug.

He grinned “I’m about to give you the ride of your life.”

You felt your cheeks redden and looked around. The parking lot was not empty, not even close and there were people walking around everywhere. The others were still inside and it would be mortifying is Svech came out looking for you guys and saw something he shouldn’t, but the idea of getting caught was kind of hot. Seth sometimes forgot he was an nhl player and just did things that normal people would get in trouble for, but taking a risk like this was a big one.

“Really? right here? you know people are going to see us...”

The cheekiest smile you’d ever seen spread across his face and he moved his jeans out of the way, patting his knee.

“Jump on babe.”

The sensation of him inside never ever got old, no matter what the situation was. It was chilly and cramped in the car, and you were almost positive you had thrown your back out and had a brush burn on your right knee, but he had one hand fisted in your hair and the other hand anchored on your hip as you moved up and down his length. His lips moved across your chest tongue wet and hot against your skin and you gave a little shiver

You knew people were shooting looks at the car, and they definitely knew what was going on in there, and you were thankful for the window tint and the condensation on the glass so they couldn’t see that it was Seth Jarvis in the car and not someone random.

“Seth I think people know we’re-“ you braced a hand on the window, fingers slipping against the wet glass.

“Let them look.” He said breathlessly “Let them see how beautiful my girl is.”

You didn’t have a chance to respond because he started thrusting harder and your vision went fuzzy as you got smacked with an earth shattering orgasm. Breathing heavily you leaned forward, forehead pressed against his.

“Okay that was pretty hot.” You whispered in his ear, lips grazing his skin. His heart was beating loudly in his chest and he looked down between you, reaching for your underwear and handing them to you.

He smiled “Told you. Now let’s get out of here before someone calls the cops for indecent exposure.”

“Really? No round two in the car?”

He raised his eyebrows “Oh you wanna go again?”

“Just figured since we’re already here, and you’re into exhibitionism now apparently. No one will see us at home.”

He smiled slyly, and started the car “We can open the blinds”

[athenamikaelson]

War of Scars

Luke Castellan x Reader Story

Ch. 2 

Warnings- Swearing, mentions of past chapter, injuries. 

Word Count- 2.2k

The searing pain was the first thing I felt. A pain that started at my toes and crawled up into my head was all I could focus on. If this was hell then whoever was in charge of constructing my personal punishment deserves a big-ass raise. 

I use the very little strength I have to try to open my eyes. After what feels like a hundred tries, a blinding light fills my burning pupils. 

“Jesus fuck.” 

A scratchy-deep voice sounds. Wait. That voice came from me. After realizing the strangled voice came from me, my attention was drawn to the dryness of my mouth and throat. I want to swallow but I have no moisture or saliva in my mouth to even try. Water. I need water.

“Gods, took you long enough to wake up.”

A masculine voice says from somewhere around me. I strain my vision to look around and feel my eyebrows scrunch together as I take in my surroundings. 

Around me are about 6 other beds, like the one I have realized I’m lying on. Two of the beds are occupied, but my eyes can’t seem to focus on who. The beds stand against dark wood walls with what looks like two windows in the small room. The overwhelming smell of antiseptic and sweat fills my nostrils as I glance at the figure leaning over in a chair. Their whitish-blond hair is covering their face as they lay with their head in their hands. 

“I almost had to drug her to get her to get some sleep,” I whip my head to the voice I had heard earlier, “She hasn’t wanted to fall asleep in case you woke up. She’s going to be pissed when she finds out you woke up without her being awake.”

I stare at the blond boy to my right. He’s tall and conventionally attractive. About six foot, sun blond hair, pale skin, and a boyish grin that covers his face. I go to speak but stop when the scratchy feeling in my throat comes back. 

“Oh my bad dude, I bet your throat is dry as hell,” He walks over to a side table and pours water from a pitcher into a glass, “I mean not having water in three weeks will do that to you.”

He starts to walk over to me and I visibly flinch away. Fucking hell! The movement made the pain burn somehow even more than before. 

“Woah, I mean to harm,” He raises his hands innocently as he drops the glass onto the side table next to me, “I’ve been your personal nurse these past weeks. If I was going to kill you, I would’ve done it while you were out of it.”

I stare at him cautiously for a moment. The smirk on his lips reminds me of the cat from Alice in Wonderland. I know I should be weary of someone new but the look in his blue eyes almost appears to sincere, and the burning in my throat is urging for me to gulp down the water. Because of that I slowly lift my left hand, not wanting to aggravate the pain anymore, and grasp the glass. I bring it to my lips and almost moan at the feeling of the liquid coating my throat. 

“Woah girly, don’t drink too fast you haven’t had anything in your stomach for so long. You’ll get sick drinking too fast.”

I glance up at him slightly and then slow down my sips. It takes about another minute before I’ve finished up the glass and set it back down. The Cheshire cat of a boy grabs the pitcher and refills the glance again for me. I stare at him for another moment before a feeling of dread fills my body. Three weeks. 

“Three weeks? You said I’ve been out of it for three weeks!” 

He gives me a slow nod, as if scared of my reaction. I can feel my chest begin rising up and down heavily and fast at the thought. Three weeks. Three fucking weeks. 

“Ok, I heal physical wounds not emotional so before you start freaking out,” He sits himself down on the bed next to mine, “Three weeks is an incredibly fast recovery time for someone who went through what you did.”

He glances at me and then drops his eyes down to my left arm. I follow his gaze to my arm to see it covered in white bandages going all the way up to my chest. 

“Do you remember what happened?”

I scrunch my eyebrows together trying to piece together my memory. The car crash. She was telling me about Gods and monsters when we got hit by something. The monster, that lion-goat thing attacked me and Keiko. I killed it, I think. My memory comes in flashes as I try to piece everything together. My headache made me close my eyes in pain. 

“OK, just take your time. You’re finally awake I don’t want you passing back out on me.”

Cheshire places his hand on my right shoulder in a comforting way. I open my eyes and glance at his hand which makes him take it away and bring it back to his side.

“We got attacked. Keiko and I.” I glance at the hunched-over person in the corner of the room who I’ve now figured to be Keiko.

“Is she ok?”

I watch as the boy glances over me to Keiko and his smirk deepens as he rolls his blue eyes. 

“Trust me she’ll live. Koko is the most satyr I’ve ever met. Not even the Ciimera could keep her down,” His haze comes back to me and an unreadable expression comes over his face for a split second, “Speaking of the Chimera, I’ve never met a demi-god who’s been able to survive it, let alone kills it.”

My mind runs in a frenzy as he speaks. Koko? Did he really just call Keiko, Koko? What makes me freeze up though is the memory of the monster, or the Chimera as Keiko and this boy have called it. The merciless look in its eyes after it clawed up my back, the hissing of the snake as I used it to strangle the goat, and the way those merciless eyes glossed over as I impaled the beast with the goat's horn. 

“I don’t understand,” I looked back at him and tears started to blur my vision as I looked down at my wrapped arm.

“I don’t understand what happened in those woods, or the whole demi-god thing,” I turn from him and then look at my wrapped arm, “And I don’t understand why my arm is wrapped since that monster didn’t touch my arm.” 

I watch with blurred vision as the boy glances at my arm with a weary expression and a mix of sorrow. He gives me a small smile and stands up.

“I think you should hear this from a more friendly face,” He walks over to Keiko and flicks her forehead stirring her awake, “Not that I’m saying my face isn’t friendly, because it very much is.” A playful smirk crosses his face.

Keiko leans up and I look at her. She has a fading bruise on her left cheekbone and a small cut on her upper lip. She rubs her eyes and begins to scowl at the boy before she follows his gaze towards me. Her mood instantly shifts as she jumps up and starts walking towards me.

“You’re finally awake,” A smile comes over her light features, “You were touch and go for a while there, had everyone worried. But I told them you were a fighter.”

“That’s true she did.” The boy backs up Keiko.

Keiko turns back towards the boy and sends him an eye-roll.

“You can go now.” She shoos him away with one hand. 

The boy just rolls his eyes and smiles anyway as he looks at me.

“Fine, I’m leaving. I spend all my time helping you damsels in distress and I don’t even get a single thank you,” He places his hand over his heart in a fake heart and then smiles at me, “Oh, and by the way Sleeping beauty, I’m Alastair, Son of Apollo. You should know the name of your nurse.”

Alastair smiles at me and Keiko looks over her shoulder at him.

“Don’t you have a mirror to go stare at?”

Alastair laughs as he goes to walk out the screen door. 

“I actually might go walk in front of the Aphrodite cabin to bless them with my presence. The ladies have missed me since I’ve been here taking care of Sleeping Beauty. I’ll be back to check on you later Y/N.”

Alastair smirks at both of us and then opens the screen door and lets it slam behind him as he walks away. 

“Don’t mind him, he’s a flirt but harmless. He should’ve been a Son of Aphrodite with the way he is obsessed with himself.”

I stare at Keiko silently as I listen to her talk about this stranger with a smile on her face. The longer I stare at the familiarity on her face though, I’ve realized that he was only a stranger to me. 

I drag my eyes down to Keiko’s feet expecting to see her usual Doc Martens, but in their place are, Goat Hoaves. What the actual fuck.

“Keiko. Where the fuck are your feet?” 

Pure shock must be written on my features, matching the shock I feel in my chest because Keiko sends me a small weary smile. 

“Ya about that. Do you remember how I was telling you about the Demi-Gods and Greek stuff before we crashed?”

She questions me as I nod slowly. 

“Good. Well, I am what you call a Satyr. I have half the body of a goat and the other half of a mortal. Satyrs are also protectors of demi-gods,” She gestures to me, “like yourself. That’s why I was sent to you last year.”

I stare at her in disbelief trying to make sense of everything she’s telling me. 

“I know this can be a lot to take in and I don’t want to pressure you with everything, especially after the lightning bolt and the Chimera.”

I meet her eyes in confusion.

“Lightening bolt? What lightning? All I remember is getting attacked by the monster and then killing it.”

Keiko goes quiet for a moment and then glances at my wrapped arm. 

“After you killed the Chimera I found you covered in blood. I was so worried about you, so when I saw you standing over it with the horn in your hand I was so surprised. I had lost a lot of blood myself so when I went to go to you I fell. You came to me but when you did,” Keiko stopped and I watched her chest deepen with each breath, “It came out of nowhere. A lightning strike. It was coming right at us, but you being your sacrificial self pushed me out of the way. That’s when it struck you.”

I glance down at my bandaged arm as I try to recall what she’s telling me. But nothing comes to mind. It’s like the lightning wiped my memory. 

Keiko goes to continue talking before I raise my right hand to stop her. 

“Did you know the whole time?”

I look Keiko in the eyes and watch the confusion enter them.

“Did you know that my parents, weren’t actually my parents? That I was some Greek freak of nature,” My voice hardening with each question, “Was it all a lie? Our friendship!” 

Keiko opens and closes her mouth multiple times and I want her to lie to me and tell me that she chose to be my friend because she liked me for me. That for the first time in my life someone wanted to be my friend. But once I see the pained look in her eyes I already know my answer. 

“Get out.”

Keiko stares at me and shakes her head.

“Y/N, I know this whole thing is a shock to you but,”

“Get. The. Fuck. Out!” I yell at her.

And for the first time in our “friendship,” Keiko flinches. She flinches because of me. Good. Fuck her and fuck this demi-god thing. Keiko shakes her head solemnly, then stands up and walks to the door. 

As she reaches for the screen door handle, she pauses. 

“I might have lied about a lot during our friendship, but I never lied to you about being your friend. I truly do care about you Y/N.”

She must be waiting for me to say something but all I do is stare at the wooden wall in front of me. I hear her let out a sigh and open the door. 

“You can come find me when you want to talk.”

The screen door slams for a second time today, as the tears that were building in my eyes finally fall onto my cheeks. The truth of everything I’ve learned brings sobs to my lips and I close my eyes again hoping to wake up from this nightmarish hell.

TAGS- @luvvfromme @potatochip-111

[19ndonboy]

illicit affairs - mason mount

words: 3.4k

A/N: this is my first imagine, be nice please. of course miss swift inspired me to write something. also, i’d really appreciate if i could receive feedback on this. thank you

you and mason had been best friends for as long you can remember. it was kind of like a love at first sight in a kids who have so much to discover way. you two met in primary school. you were on your way to lunch when a boy running without looking in front of him in the corridor shoved you. your food your mother had cooked you was all over the floor before you could even realize what happened. mason, who saw it all unfold, gave you his food. after much pleading from his side with you being too shy to refuse, you ended up sharing the sandwiches his mother had lovely made. until this day, his brother lewis never missed an opportunity to tease him on how big of a gentleman he is since his youngest age. 

neither of you would have thought you would be here years later. visiting the netherlands to see him play for vitesse, mason never missing the opportunity to score a goal and do the celebration you two created when you were in maths class. 

cheering for him when he scored his first goal for his beloved club, chelsea. the club he would talk to you for hours hopelessly dreaming about stepping a foot on the green rectangle at stamford bridge.

the day he lifted the champions league felt more like a dream to you than him. you often found yourself thinking about how he would be one of the biggest footballers in the world when he was playing football on your school’s playground during the lunch time. little did you know he actually made it. 

all these moments made you grow closer and closer each year that went by. you would go on holidays together with your mutual friends, he’d come to pick you up after uni or work whenever he had the time to. he even drove at 2am when you called him in tears after breaking up with your boyfriend of 8 months and listened to your rambling until you could see the sunrise emerge from the windows, having forgotten to close the blinds the night before.

you don’t remember what led up to the night you found yourself wrapped in his bedsheets after a birthday party at a club. you blamed it on the alcohol that day. a month later, you blamed it on a defeat from chelsea’s side. before you knew, two weeks later, he was in your bed. that time, your boss was the one to blame for letting out his nerves on you. sure at some point, you two needed to act like the adults you were and came to the conclusion that you could have sex when you two wanted to. 

it was easier for him considering he didn’t have much time to go out but he also didn’t want to put his trust in a girl he would know for two hours and half. that was the safest option. on the other hand, you guess you agreed to the deal because it was less tiring than going on dates with douchebags you found on the internet. what a deal that was… no strings attached. these were the three words he repeated approximately ten times. 

it’s been six months since you started this friends with benefits situation. no one in your mutuals friends is aware of this. you do your best to hide it from them, not wanting to be bothered with questions. he would just leave 5 minutes before you at parties and would wait for you in his car 200 meters away from the club’s entry. mason and you have always been close. you would always find his arm around your shoulder while talking to a friend or a teammate. you would often hustle your arm around his when weather gets colder outside. also the perfect opportunity for him to hold your hands to warm them up. these were the things you always did as best friends. yet lately, to this long list, you added lingering touches from his side on your lower back, his hand on your thigh in the car or so in front of your friends. something they quickly noticed. 

they always saw you as more than friends. to them, it was so obvious and they couldn’t understand how you would still deny it. the way he was always worried about you when you were in a club and he couldn’t find you anymore in the big crowd on the dance floor. the way he would always crack a joke in a public, yet you would be the only one he’s looking at to make sure you found it funny. the way he would already have his eyes on you before you even made it to the room. the way he would be the first person you’d run to when you have had a bad day at work. the way you would hug him a little longer than all your other friends when saying your goodbyes after a night out just so you could inhale his scent that always made you feel safe and at ease. the way your grip around your glass would tighten every time a girl would flirt with him in front of you.

the way your jaw is clenched right now as you seated on one of reece’s sofa. 2 feet away from you, here you have mason and a beautiful woman. why would you lie. she’s got long legs, brown shiny hair you only see on tv and a bright smile everyone could fall on their knees for. who were you compared to this woman. you feel like exploding every time you hear him laughing, even more when he throws back his head while laughing.

a weird feeling settling in your stomach thinking you were the only one who could make him smile this much you could perceive his eyes crinkle. that feature you loved so much, yet you despise it with everything you have right now. how naive had you been, you thought. you hated how much your friends’ words got into your head to the point you believed every one of them. because here you were seating between kai and ben, both of them joking about something you can’t even recall of, too busy paying attention to mason and her. it shouldn’t hurt this much, yet you can feel like your heart is ripped apart when she rests her hand on his thigh and he doesn’t budge.

no strings attached

hours passed by since you arrived at reece’s party and you only had one wish. to leave. you can see the clock ticking on the white wall to your left. it’s now 1am. to be honest, this is the only thing you’re paying attention to, at least trying to. you didn’t even notice reece sitting next to you until he nudged you with his arm. a playful smile plastered on his face until he saw your eyes full of sorrow. you wanted to get up and leave the moment you saw his grin replaced by a frown. you wanted to scream and tell him to stop looking at you with so much pity in his eyes. is this what you inspired to all of your friends present here? 

“hey what happened to the girl who loves to prank everyone with me during parties” he said with a pout, concern plastered all over his face. “not tonight… i’m tired” you answered, guilt written all over your face, which quickly went noticed by your friend. he’s one of those people who probably know you more than you know yourself. so he automatically knows it would be no use to ask what’s the matter when he already knows the answer is his chelsea and england teammate. instead, he does just as you needed in that moment. he proves you he’s here for you ready to talk to him when you will be ready but while waiting, he’s doing everything he can to crack a smile on your face by telling stories you already heard over and over again. making sure never to mention mason in all of them, both of you knowing he was the main part of every one of them though.

weeks had passed since that party. he ended up leaving with the girl he had passed the whole time with. to say it hurt when you saw them both leave without him even acknowledging you would be an understatement. this night led to the conclusion you were never more than sex between a win and a draining training session. you heard through some of his chelsea teammates how mason was having lots of fun with different girls on different nights. it physically became exhausting hearing about him wandering around london as if he never cared about you. what happened to all those times he would compliment you or tell you how you’re the best thing that happened to him. 

you distanced yourself from him and all your mutual friends. if he wanted to act like nothing ever happened between you two, with no explanation on this behavior changement, then so be it. as much as it hurt you, you couldn’t be arsed going out with your friends if it meant seeing him. eventually, you passed time doing activities that would keep your thoughts at bay. you spend more time at work, more time taking walks around in parks, reading books with your hot chocolate in your favorite café because you always hated coffee. and as much as it hurts deep inside you, you had never felt this amount of peace as you do right now. maybe mason wasn’t meant to be part of your life and you started to accept it.

until you saw him on a saturday night. he hadn’t noticed you yet, too focused in his heated conversation with ben. seeing him wave his hands everywhere made you wonder what was the topic of their conversation but it wasn’t your business anyway so you drifted away and went over where sophia and the girls were. a few meters away, oblivious to you, you were actually the person they were talking about.

mason feels weird to say the least. he misses seeing you almost everyday, having you on the phone when one of you couldn’t make it to each other’s place. he misses telling you about his day but most of all, he misses holding you in his arms. the weird feeling in his stomach he would get when he hears your laugh. this is when it hit him. he fell in love with you, so hard it scared him. and when he’s scared, he does the worst thing he could do. especially to you, he knows how complicated it is for you to trust people, being so used to them leaving you when you need them the most. he promised to himself he’d never do that, yet he was the reason your heart was aching now.

anyone could read the pain you ignoring him caused. ben felt sad for his friend but he couldn’t stop himself from telling him off on how badly he treated you lately. he wasn’t aware of your situationship you two shared, even though he had his suspicions something happened at some point. “i never thought you were this stupid mate. you fucked up. i shouldn’t even be telling you this but it’s so obvious to everyone she loves you. the way she’s with you, we’ve never seen her like that with someone else. sort this out or you’ll lose her.” ben said, which caused mason to drop his head and look at the floor. 

he knows he fucked up real bad, he knows it when he doesn’t get his favorite text every night with a random song she loved on that day. weird to others but to him, it meant the world knowing she would share something so intimate to him. he knows how much she loves music but also how much she keeps to herself, making her feel like she’s in her own bubble with her music. yet, she let him in and he wasn’t so sure he was still welcomed there now.

too engulfed in his thoughts, he didn’t hear what ben said until his friend reminded him how one manchester united footballer had once slide in her instagram dms. he wanted to tell his friend how he was well aware of this, remembering how irritated he was after finding out. yet he didn’t have the time as reece interrupted their conversation, informing them you were back within the group. 

what hurt him the most was what came after. he went to your side, fiddling with the end of his shirt, displaying how nervous he was to see you after what felt like an eternity to him. however, he wasn’t expecting you to greet him with so much indifference. as if he was some kind of acquaintance to you. so that was it? he had ruined the best thing he ever had in his life just because he couldn’t act like the adult he was and face his fear of loving someone, you. after this interaction, you went back to your conversation with the girls. leaving him standing there until he collected his thoughts and went to see his teammates.

hours passed with no sign from mason. you later found yourself at the bar, talking with a guy present at the party. he was nice to talk to and was funny. but he wasn’t mason. you were having a battle inside your head telling yourself not to think of him and just enjoy the moment. but that was quickly interrupted when you felt a hand grip your wrist and drag you away towards the backyard.

he couldn’t be arsed seeing this guy flirt with you. the sight of you laughing to whatever that man said was driving him wild. surely he couldn’t be that funny. the thought of you being with someone else other than him made him want to throw up right there. seeing your hand on his thigh was the last straw though. he felt his blood boil, it made him so jealous, he could feel his heart squeeze uncomfortably in his chest. 

as soon as you stepped a foot in the backyard, you removed your arm from his grip. he was taken aback by your reaction, not being used to you refusing his contact. he swears you could hear his heart beating so fast in his ribcage in this moment. 

“what’s your problem now?” you exclaimed, surprising him by your angry tone. “i miss you” was the first thing that escaped his lips, not even having the time to think twice before spilling those three words. and as much as you wanted to hear those words, you were so mad at him. how dare he?

“tell me you’re joking please. you started it. what we had, you ruined it. i should have never slept with you. look at this idiotic fool that you made me. i fell in love with you, so bad it hurt. and you were doing god knows what with all those girls knowing damn well i would hear about it. what i had with you, i can’t have it with anyone else.” he opened his mouth wanting to speak but you immediately stopped him saying “but the worst thing is that i still love you”. your voice breaking at the end. 

until then, you had managed to stop your tears from falling but they were now falling on your cheeks, blurring your vision. next thing you knew, mason had his arms wrapped around you, holding you so tight. minutes after you calmed down, he was cupping your face with his hands, wiping your tears away with his thumbs. 

“i’m sorry. i have no excuse for everything i did these past weeks. i acted like an arsehole. i don’t even deserve you. what we had, i wouldn’t want it with anyone else. i was so scared. i fell for you too, i was scared i couldn’t give you what you deserve so i started seeing other girls thinking my feelings would go away but it just got worse. i don’t even remember their names. but that was so stupid and i never want to see you cry because of me again.”

you attentively listened to every word he had to say. how bad you wanted to forget all of this and have him back in your life just like you had him by your side for years. but you couldn’t. deep down it hurt too much and you couldn’t let him come back in a flash. if he really loved you as he claimed it, then he would have to prove it with more than words. too many times for your liking, you forgave people only for them to stab you in the back later. 

and he knew that. with a smile, you turned your back to him and left him standing there dumbfounded. surely, he was expecting every reaction but this one. but he knew you like no one else does. and therefore, he couldn’t give up on you, this is not what you wanted. 

he was by your side for the rest of the night, always checking up on you to ask if you were okay but never in a way that could make you feel stressed. 3 am arrived quickly and the only thing you could dream of was your bed. to your utter surprise, mason was waiting for you by the door after you said your goodbyes to everyone, promising them you will see them soon again. you accepted his proposition to take you home, you couldn’t say no to his puppy eyes anyway. the second his car left the porch, taylor swift’s music was blasting in his car. you turned your head to his direction to be met with a grin on his flushed face. he knew the way to your heart, you thought.

if it wasn’t for the little voice telling you to make him earn you, your hands would already be cupping his cheeks, your lips on his. 

after a 25 minute drive, you made it home. he took you to your door, leaving after kissing you on the forehead, not wanting to go inside and overstep. he made sure the door was closed and waited for you to tell him you were in bed just like he had asked to. both of you feeling your tummy flutter when you opened your window to wave him off. finding him standing next to his car waiting outside, you felt like 16 years old again when you two would go on cinema dates, as friends.

eventually, 3 days later, you were on a different kind of cinema date. this time, it was at his home, in his cinema room with big blankets all over you and your favorite food. you wouldn’t have it any other way right now. 

never did he stop with those attentions and improvised dates in the next weeks. he took you home from work when he had a free afternoon. he would always send you a morning text to wish you a nice day and a goodnight text. you would sometimes receive phone calls during the day because he ‘misses your face’ as he would say. you missed his too. you could even feel butterflies erupt in your stomach whenever he’d send you a selfie, however you would never admit it. 

there was this day. he took you to portsmouth as you two were feeling homesick and were tired of the hectic life in london. you probably hadn’t been this happy in months, and judging by mason’s look, he could say the same. you felt at home, in this city but mostly in his arms as you were standing on the harbour, reminiscing the good old days. you felt at peace. how wrong were you thinking back then that maybe this man wasn’t meant to be in your life. 

you could cry out of happiness when you collected your thoughts and saw him staring at you, with a look you had never seen before. he must have seen the same one on your face, as his lips made his way to yours in the most loving way possible. pulling away seconds later to regain your breath, he murmured “can we always be this close?”.

his breath fanning over your mouth, you chuckled before putting your arms around his neck and kissed him again. 

tag: @mountpulisic

[runninriot]

another one for the @steddieholidaydrabbles

Day 12

prompt: only one bed | rated: t | word count: 998 | tags: sleepover, finding comfort, coming to conclusions, soft boys cuddling, open ending

🌙

Steve can’t sleep.

He’s been tossing and turning for god knows how long but nothing seems to work. The air in the room is stuffy, the light from the street lamp outside shines too bright through the open blinds, and the fucking noise...

    Ugh!

He hates himself for ending up here in the first place. Squished between the wall and Eddie fucking Munson who’s dead asleep on his back, happily snoring, legs and arms splayed out like he owns the fucking place.

Okay, maybe because he does. It's his bed after all.

They’ve been hanging out at the trailer – Eddie, Steve, Robin, and Vickie. And they really had a great time, that’s not the problem. The problem is, that Steve let himself be talked into having ‘just one beer’ and one turned into three which would’ve been fine, really. He could’ve sobered up enough to drive them home by the end of the night. But then Eddie had to bring out the good stuff and- Well.

Him and the girls decided to stay overnight. But unfortunately, Rob and Vic called dibs on the folding couch and while Steve would’ve been fine to sleep on the floor (‘Just hand me a blanket, I really don’t mind.’) Eddie insisted that his bed was big enough for two.

So, here he is now. Lying awake next to the loudest snorer in history, unable to get some much-needed sleep.

Steve turns again, facing Eddie now. He looks at the mess of tangled hair, the starfish-like display of limbs, the half-parted lips, and despite his annoyance he can’t bite back a quiet chuckle.

Eddie looks adorable.

I mean... like a dork!

The sound of his snoring has turned into a muffled sound, almost like he’s talking in his sleep but Steve can’t really make out the words. And then Eddie moves, turns to his side and-

    You have got to be kidding me!

One of Eddie's hands sneaks around his middle the same time he hooks one leg over Steve’s. Eddie shuffles closer, pressing his nose into coarse hair - inhaling deeply, sighing contently in his sleep.

Steve feels trapped, doesn’t know what to do. He can't just push Eddie away, doesn’t want to startle him awake by wiggling out of his grasp because Eddie looks so... comfortable. So cosy, all curled up against Steve’s body.

And it kinda feels nice because Eddie is warm and his skin is soft and the snoring has stopped, which is a big plus.

Surely, he’ll let go and turn back around if Steve just waits a little while. There’s no need to make a big deal out of it.

“Hmm, 's nice," Eddie mumbles.

Steve can feel his lips moving against his chest and it sends a hot blush to his face.

   “Eddie? You awake?” Steve tries but gets no verbal response from the other man. Eddie just tightens his grip, moves even closer to Steve.

The digits on the alarm clock tell him it’s 02:23. He should be asleep by now. He’s so tired, can barely keep his eyes open. Eddie’s skin is so soft and warm and Steve tries to keep his own body from sinking further into the embrace but it feels nice to be held like that. To feel someone else's skin on his own. It should be weird - because that someone is Eddie - but somehow, it's not.

The monotonous sound of Eddie’s now calm breathing works like magic, makes him drift deeper and deeper into a peaceful sleep.

☀️

   “Good morning, sunshine.”

Steve blinks and forces one eye open. He's greeted by a blinding smile that competes with the light of the sun shining through the window.

   “M’rning,” Steve mumbles sleepily in return.

He doesn’t want to get up, wants to sleep a little longer. He wants to stay hidden from the world just a couple more minutes.

Steve ducks his head back down, scoots closer, crawls back into the comfort of Eddie’s arms where it’s warm and safe and-

    Oh.

He freezes when he realises the position they're in – an arm wrapped around his shoulder, his own draped over Eddie's waist. Tangled legs. Steve’s face tucked into the space between Eddie’s shoulder and neck.

    Oh fuck.

Eddie doesn’t seem to mind though. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t push him away. Just lets Steve hold him and even starts drawing circles to the skin on his back.

It feels so fucking nice.

   “Hmmm.” Steve hums, nearly moans when he feels Eddie's nails scraping along his neck and into his hair line, sending a tingling sensation through his body.

   “You like that?” Steve feels Eddie’s hoarse, sleepy voice vibrating on his lips where they’re connected to his throat - feather light, barely touching.

  “Feels good,” Steve answers, lips grazing Eddie's skin almost like a tender kiss. Almost.

Beside him Eddie shivers, inhales shakily as he pulls Steve closer into his arms.

They stay like that for a while in comfortable silence, gentle hands stroking long lines up and down Steve's back in steady motion. They're holding each other closer than they should be allowed to. Because they’re friends and that’s not usually what friends do.

   “I could stay like this forever,” Eddie whispers and Steve secretly agrees. Thinks he could live in Eddie’s arms, wouldn’t mind if he held him like this, always.

But forever is a dream and always an illusion.

They both know the moment is over when they can hear the girls talking in the living room. They’ll have to let each other go and get up. Forget about this and pretend it never happened.

Steve peels himself off reluctantly, keeps one hand placed on Eddie’s side. He's not quite ready to leave.

Their eyes meet and there’s a sad smile on Eddie’s face. Steve wants to kiss it better, knows he can't.

He shouldn’t want this but Eddie is right there; hesitating, like he doesn't want to let go either and maybe...

"Stevie?"

Yeah, maybe.

[authorhjk1]

Yup I misspelled it. Not inan, Inah. Seol In Ah from business proposal. Sorry. Hehe

This takes place right before Business proposal. Kim Hari goes to Jin Youngseo's blind date instead of Youngseo herself.

Sejeong: Kim Hari

Seol Inah: Jin Youngseo:

Kim Hari's jaw dropped as she entered the restaurant. She has done this for Youngseo before, but she never expected someone like you to be her blind date. All the other men had money, but attractiveness?

For the first time, Hari is glad that she is covering for Youngseo. As soon as she hears your soothing voice, she can't stop staring into your eyes, her plans to scare you off long forgotten.

You didn't plan on going on this date either, but Youngseo's father is quite wealthy. You hoped you could be able to make yourself even richer with his money. And you do know what she looks like. You googled her before coming to the cafe. So who is this woman?

Her long hair and big eyes are only parts of her charm. The fishnets and her high boots would've been deadly enough already. But her top has you staring. You expect her to be wearing a push up bra or something. And yet, you can't look away.

You finally decide to take your chance. She looks as turned on as you are.

As soon as you are out of the cafe, Hari's lips are locked onto yours. The two of you are making out in your car, just like love drunk teenagers. Your hands start to wander over top, slightly squeezing her boobs. Hari looks taken aback at first, but soon moans into the kiss.

"We can't continue this here."

You mumble into her mouth, feeling her hand on your lap. Hari glances at the display of your car's navigation.

"It's only gonna take a minute."

She was right. A couple of streets later, you and Hari make out once again. This time inside of an office in an office building. You expect it to be hers.

You open the zipper of Hari's black leather shorts as she returns the favour, your pants quickly dropping to the floor.

"You are so fucking hot. You make me so wet."

Hari moans, still surprised at herself. She is usually a timid woman. What's gotten into her?

Your boxers follow your pants and Hari's worries are gone in an instant. She needs you. Right now.

"Please fuck me. I need that dick."

She moans as you keep squeezing her tits. They just feel so good in your hands.

Hari's hips lift off the table and a moment later, her shorts are on the floor too.

You quickly slide her panties aside.

"Fuck!"

She moans at your first penetration.

The two of you start fucking right there. While Hari sits on the desk, and you stand in front of her.

"Make me cum!"

After several minutes, you finally make her tremble. Hari's juices spill over the wooden surface as she cums hard. Too turned on by the fact that she is getting plowed by a hot stranger. On top of her best friend's desk.

Who is just opening the door in this very moment.

"Hari?!"

Youngseo is too surprised to say or do anything. She stands in the door, frozen.

You and Hari manage to convince Youngseo to join you almost effortlessly.

The short haired girl is lying on her own desk, getting fucked in missionary position. You are grabbing her full thighs, fucking her hard. As a punishment for not showing up for her own blind date.

Meanwhile, Hari is riding her best friend's face. While her moans are deeper and sound more erotic, Youngseo's pussy feels tighter.

The three of you continue your fucking until the end of the day. At one point, you have Hari's beautiful face pressed against the window as you pound her from behind. Afterwards, you unload on Youngseo's face, covering it with your thick cum.

Once it's 11 pm, the three of you are too tired to continue. You don't remember how often you came. Hari is lying on her friend's desk, jizz dribbling out of her pussy. You must have creampied her several times.

Your future wife has her limbs wrapped around your torso. As you carry her, lazily thrusting into her cunt.

During her last orgasm she promised again and again that she would marry you.

"Your cock feels so good! It perfectly fits into my tight pussy! Please marry me! I need to get fucked like this every day!"

Her mind is now a little dizzy as you shoot your last load inside of her.

"Please wake me up like this every morning from now on. With a creampie."

You chuckle at her as you watch Hari. She is scooping up some of your cum. After she got rid of her top, you just had to cover her tits with your load. She is now cleaning it, visibly enjoying the taste.

[ghostsvacuumcleaner]

Shades of Red - Chapter II | 4k

chapter one | chapter two | chapter three ao3 | masterlist ✦ Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x civilian f! reader ✦ Summary: The sole survivor of a terrorist attack that killed over a hundred. The soldier responsible for saving her. He wants to help you, but his own trauma make him withdraw when he wants to get closer and intoxicate when he wants to remedy. He kisses your scars and hopes you’ll runaway. He wants you to run away. But you won’t. ✦ TW: NSFW, explicit, f!reader, little to none f! physical appearence descriptions, canon typical violence, mentions of abuse and trauma/PTSD, bit of gore, mental illness mentions, slowburn;

✦ Chapter TW: slightly obsessive behavior hehe.., just a hint yet; mentions of trauma and violence

A/N: Dropping chapter two because I'm excited to start the real deal of this story! Also, chapter three might take a little while to come out cause I'm working on a request I received; hope y'all enjoy! If anyone's interested in getting into a tagslist just lemme know!

Chapter 02 - Survivor

The hospital room you were in was pleasantly cozy. A large bed in the center, a considerably large television right in front of it and the big window to the left, whose blinds were closed for the time being. There were a few empty chairs next to the bed - you were sure that at some point in the last hours, someone was sitting there, as there was a small vase of flowers resting on one of the chairs. Although you could not see the world out there, you knew it was raining by the sound of the raindrops hitting the window; the sound echoed through your ears in an almost hypnotic intonation as you dissociated.

Your daydreaming was abruptly cut off when someone opened the door to your room. A lady, a nurse, whose name tag said Doris. You shook your head and quickly looked in her direction, your eyes no longer as confusing as before, but equally expressive.

“You’re awake, finally.” She pointed, as she approached her bed with some caution. “You’ve been sleeping for at least fifteen hours since you came here. I was starting to worry,” she said, sounding somewhat caring.

You raised your eyebrows briefly.

“Fifteen hours? Fuck my life…” You whispered, and her face turned into a little grimace in response.

“Language, lady.” she joked, as her hands caringly wrapped your nearest arm and began to remove the tapes that covered your venous access. “How are you feeling?” She asked in a murmur. “I don’t expect you to say ‘well,’ for God’s sake.” she pleaded.

“Well, I’m not feeling any pain at least.” you said. For the first time in those twenty-four hours in which you were silent, your mouth bitter in the metallic taste of blood and the horrible feeling of a cake in your throat, you began to speak. There was still a lot you wish you could say, but felt like you might never get to do it. You could never take the weight you felt on your back, the unsaid words, the pain that grew restless in your mind.

“That 's good. Means the medication is working; you hurt yourself pretty bad let me say,” she commented, still trying to sound as caring as possible. The care that emanated from her made you feel a little better, you had to admit. “but you will be fine. Can you move your leg?” She finally asked, finishing by skillfully exchanging your access without causing further pain.

You looked into your legs, and felt that bitter taste invading your mouth again. Fuck. You didn’t stop to think about it: that wound on your leg, previously partially buried by concrete, was well, very extensive. 

After breathing deeply, you concentrated your energies into the hurt leg. Your face shrugged in a strenuous expression, you were giving your best; your leg began to tremble and the rest of your body too, by the effort. It was as if that concrete block was still there, preventing its movement, causing you to suffer in stuckness.

“It’s okay, you can stop now.” she said, but you were negative and shaken your head with all the strength you could, small tears forming on your red face as you tried to move.

“No. I can do it.” you grumbled between your teeths and closed your eyes.

“Dear, no-” she tried to say, but nothing seemed to be able to change your mind right now.

A little move was all you got, and then the relief. Your breath accelerated, exasperated and relieved by victory, but still concerned by the fact that all you could achieve was almost equivalent to a spasm. Doris sighed.

“Why can’t I move straight?” You asked, your eyes ran into hers with some despair and impatience. "Will I lose my leg’s movements? Will I need to amputate?” You asked anxiously.

“God, girl. No!” She assured you, striking with her head and placing a new tape on your arm. Doris then walked to the end of your bed. “No one will amputate anything. Just see, well,” she started, and pulled the blankets that covered you from the waist down. 

Your expression relaxed, perplexed as you looked at the scarring on your leg. Almost like a crack, in your thigh — it started near your hip, and went up to almost half your thigh in a diagonal angle. It was a red, ugly wound, a crack in your now imperfected shell. It was sewn with the help of so many stitches that you could barely count. “you hit a nerve. It didn’t break, of course, or could barely move this leg, but it hurt and badly. It will take some time for you to recover from it. But you will.” she said.

“It’s horrible,” you whispered, your eyebrows scratched in a sad expression. “I’m horrible.”

Doris looked at you, to the tears that formed in your tired eyes. Her lips were compressed in a line.

“Oh, dear... You’d never be awful, don’t say that,” she whispered. “A scar won’t make you any less beautiful. Got it? It’s your survival mark.” she said, trying to encourage you a little.

You wanted to curse her. You felt angry at the kindness she offered you, for trying to make everything seem less heavy than it really was, but it didn’t seem fair. You knew that this should be some reaction of your mind poisoned by the depression you felt now. 

It would not be fair to discount your frustrations on the only person who had offered you some comfort so far, would it?

No.

Your face formed a smile so weak that maybe it only made her more worried than she was already, but that was all you could do for now. Doris covered you again, fitting the blankets around your body in a very comfortable way.

“I’ll bring your lunch. You’ll need to eat enough to get some energy for your recovery now.” she commented quietly by changing the IV from the support over you. Your eyes followed the whole process attentively.

Although you were grateful for the treatment you were receiving from the hospital, there was only one thing surrounding your mind. The Ghost.

The man in the skull mask who had saved your life. He was nowhere to be seen, you knew that you might possibly never see him again, but the idea that you didn’t even have time to thank him correctly tormented your mind. He was in your dreams while you were unconscious, standing there looking at you, glaring at you with those dark eyes of his. The curiosity of what was hidden behind the mask was hitting you hard this time, the need to see something human in him; the way his eyes seemed to present him as nothing but a machine. He seemed unbeatable, but when he took you in his arms, gently as he could be, like he was holding porcelain - you could only see a human being. And you wanted to see it, you craved for confirmation, that there was a human beneath the mask and that this human was just the way you pictured him to be. Or perhaps the complete opposite. You liked surprises, and fairly - you just wanted to see him.

“Where are the soldiers? You know, those who took me out of the building.” You curiously asked, cleaning your throat. The nurse's eyes wandered around the room in search of the small window that turned out to the hallway, she could not see anyone there, a confirmation that they might have been there before but not anymore at the moment. “I didn’t have time to thank him.” you whispered.

“Ah yes. Of course. Captain Price said he would call you when you were feeling a little better. Do you want me to give  them a call?” Doris asked kindly.

“Yes, please,” you agreed.

━ ⟡ ━

Soap was watching the news on TV in the town hall of the headquarters. His eyes were attentive, his ears well opened; he heard the television reciting for the thirteenth time that day those words that echoed in his mind, "hundred and two dead." The news anchor was saying something about the intelligence’s inability to detect the terrorist threat before the bombing occurred. Massive criticism of the military staff responsible for national security; people were in panic. How would you feel safe after that?

After the 141 left the building back to the headquarters, the British intelligence team searched the ruins of the disaster looking for any indication of association of some terrorist group known to the incident. At first, nothing. Bombers usually leave no traces but a blast of blood and human flesh everywhere.

But then, an agent left the building with a piece of semi-destructed cloth in his hands. It was almost incomprehensible but soon they discovered a symbol in it. And to the most absolute disappointment of all, no soul even recognized the symbol in question. A new terrorist group.

Fuck.

While the population was hiding in fear, the press was rendering a disgrace to society and introducing even more chaos by spreading information that should be confidential. Soap was too distracted with their babbling to even listen to Price and Ghost’s conversation in the background. 

“She will need physiotherapy, and a good time to recover.” said the captain, releasing some smoke from his cigarette into the air. “She apparently suffered a nerve injury.” 

Ghost had his arms crossed, resting on the wall behind himself, facing Price. His eyes were fixed on the ground, as if he was thinking of something.

“I can imagine.” he whispered, with a head nod. “I hope it goes well. What these guys did there...” he closed his eyes and snorted, seeming nervous.

“Yeah... The press won’t give anyone no peace now. I get nervous just to think.” he grumbled as he threw his cigarette butt into the ashes. Ghost only shook his head negatively, in disapproval; in accordance with the captain’s speech. 

The silence that followed Price’s last words did not last more than five seconds before he spoke again.

“She asked about you.” he said, raising his eyes to Ghost. He was looking back at him this time. It was as if his words had caught his attention now. “Said she wanted to thank you personally.”

“She doesn’t need to. I just did my job.” he argued, pulling his back off  the wall and pulling one of the available chairs around. As he sat down, he grabbed a piece of a disassembled rifle that rested on the table, and went on with his work to clean it.

“I know that, but work sometimes involves accepting a bit of gratitude from other people for what you did for them, Riley. In this situation specifically.” Price raised his eyebrows, and watched the gun as Ghost cleaned it, his concentration quickly diverted from the conversation to the work he was doing. “You should go see her.”

“With all due respect, captain, I think the job of talking to the victims is anyone else's but mine.” he replied almost instantly.

“Maybe, maybe. But she wants to talk to you.” Price insisted.

Ghost released an annoyed, almost annoyed breath. 

“She doesn’t have to thank me. I know she’s grateful,” he tried to argue again, but the captain seemed irreducible for the moment. “Bloody hell, Price, hire a psychologist for once. She needs help, not to talk to me.” he continued, receiving nothing but silence in response.

“She wants you.” Price said, simply, unfazed by his upset behavior.

Ghost immediately stopped what he was doing and left the gun aside, the hand

supported on his knee, once again an uncomfortable breathing leaving his nostrils in a surely irritated mood now.

They would not understand. It wasn’t that he didn’t like you; there would be no reason for it, no. Ghost didn’t want to see you again. He followed the whole moment the ambulance left you in the hospital along with the rest of his crew, was informed of your situation, and like all other soldiers, he was discharged after that.

His job was to rescue the victims who survived the attack. Not to talk to a victim, sketch some sort of feeling – even if it is false. He would need to say something, comfort you, or at least try to look positive. He would have to face the idea that getting in touch with your trauma could remind him some more of himself, could bring back past memories he wanted to bury. There was no good in it, no. He wasn’t a therapist, wasn’t built for it.

Although he wanted to, he couldn’t feel compassion for you. He couldn’t feel sorry – He thought it was an extremely illegitimating, invalid feeling. Affirming that someone was worthy of pity was almost like treating someone like garbage, no; he would rather die than have others pitying him, why would it be different with the people around him? He wasn’t the right person for that.

As if the universe laughed at his face, the moment the conversation between the two became silent and he raised his eyes to the television, the image of the building's debris was replaced by one of the only survivor of the attack; a recent photo you had taken in London, two months ago. You were smiling, you could still do that at that time. The screen displayed your name, while the reporter was now talking about you.

“It’s her; poor girl.” Soap said, turning a little to observe them, and turned up the volume. The news said something about your success in keeping yourself alive: you were treated as a great achievement, called a ‘miracle girl'; they were talking about you as a poor little girl, about how clever you were, in college studying to become a prestigious doctor. Ghost squeezed his jaw, his teeth gritted in a bitter taste inside his mouth. There was no miracle in what happened to you.

You were lucky. You were in the right place, at the right time. 

Two hundred people did not have the same luck.

A hundred and two people, men, women and children, were now dead. You had eternal marks engraved on your skin and soul. A miracle? He felt offended as if he were with himself — as if they were calling him a miracle for having survived all the painful events he had experienced so far.

“How dare they say this kind of thing?” he grumbled lowly. The other two shrugged their heads in denial, in disagreement.

“Fucking vultures.” it was Price’s turn to complain.

━ ⟡ ━

You had turned off the TV the moment you heard your own name. There was no reason you’d want to know, to to hear what they had to say about you. You didn’t want to hear them treat you as a mere victim of an incident, acting as if that disaster was all about you that mattered. You hated the way everything seemed to be reduced to that now: the attack.

The survivor. The only survivor. Your name didn’t matter anymore – you had become a martyr, and everyone treated you with caution, as if you were made of glass, as though it was impossible to get close to you without the risk of breaking it.

Since the silence established itself in the environment when you turned off the TV, all you heard was the static silence floating in the air, sound of little drops that flowed through your veins. Your mind had become vague, your thoughts made room for your imagination, you slowly fell asleep. There was a long time after you felt unconscious - you weren’t sure of how much exactly. Maybe two, maybe three hours. You had asked Doris to open the window before she let you rest alone in your room, and the wind was hitting your skin, still sensitive due to the excess of meds; the subtle cold you were feeling was making you feel alive.

The lights were off, and as soon as it became dark, the lights of the city reflecting through the window were no longer enough to light up the room belongings.

In that intense darkness and in the most absolute silence possible, the ghost that haunted your dreams was standing, tall as always, at the end of your bed. Haunting you. Silent like a snake approaching a possible victim, even his breath seemed to be controlled enough not to make a noise. His eyes, behind the mask, fixed on you; you slept quietly in a heavy sleep that was obviously the result of the strong medicines you were taking. He approached the bed a little, your hand was laying in your body side by the bed. So small.

Drop.

Drop.

The sound of the drops of IV falling through the bag invaded the environment as if it were the sounds of a giant walking. The big night silence had this effect on small sounds – it enlarged them. You heard the sound of the window closing inside your dreams, but that didn’t seem to wake you up. The cold wind no longer hit your skin, and you began to warm up.

How long has passed since the sound of the curtains closed you could not say; but what awakened you knew: it was the sounds of the door opening. You instinctively frightened and adjusted your posture in bed a bit abruptly, until you realized that the man who was entering — now unarmed though still dressed in his combat suit — was him. The Ghost.

He watched you in silence for a few seconds before shaking his head.

“Did I wake you?” He asked, the same serious and rough voice, the loaded British accent, different from your American one. “Forgive me.”

“You’re all right.” was all you could think of answering in the first moments. His eyes looked at you altogether; he was so tall that only his presence there made you feel intimidated, even if that was not his goal. “Don’t you want to sit?”

“I don’t intend to delay myself much.” He responded quickly, getting a little closer to the bed and sitting on one of the chairs next to him just to match your heights a little, imagining it should be uncomfortable for you, bending your neck to look at him standing. “Do you need something?”

“No. I’m fine now,” you whispered, sitting down. “I just wanted to thank you personally. I didn’t have time before, I- I just don’t think I was in good senses for it.” you admitted, holding your hands together on your lap.

“I just did my job.” he nodded, a serious air to his words. Ghost seemed like a man of few words, of few feelings too. His tone was monotone, always serious, seemingly stern sometimes. Made you feel like it was perhaps due to his habit of giving orders; he was a tenant, as Price told you. You knew little about the military hierarchy you had to admit, but the little knowledge was enough for you to know he did give orders. 

“I know, but... What you call ‘job’, to me was saving my life.” you seemed to try to remind him as if it was something obvious. “If I have any way to reward you for that, please tell me.”

Ghost closed his eyes for a moment and stretched his neck, shooking negatively.

“Again, I just did my job. You don’t have to reward me for that.” he said, looking at the flower vase that rested on the headboard table for a moment.

Simon noted that although there were thousands of gifts and tickets on the outside, sent by ordinary citizens in support of your situation - there were no balloons or any indication of a family or friendly gift inside your room. Only those flowers.

They were addressed to Anthony Miller. He assumed it would be your boyfriend.

“You don’t get it, Ghost. It’s not  about needing, it’s just something I want to do. It doesn’t have to be right now, you can tell me in the future if you need a favor or something like that.” 

“I don’t usually need favors.” he assured, snorting at your insistence, but trying to stay as polite and friendly as possible. He didn’t want to end up making you worse, did he? You were already sad enough. 

“Everyone needs favors. I also used to not need many before yesterday’s events.” You admitted, raising your eyebrows quickly and turning your gaze away.

“I didn’t do you a favor. I helped you, those are completely different things.” He shook negatively, irreducibly. “Any other decent soldier would do the same. You owe me nothing.” 

“Yes, but it was you. If it had been someone else then I’d like to thank this person.” you argued, and your stubbornness began to irritate him; he gave in compassion to your state and only sighed deeply.

“That’s all you have to treat with me, miss?” He asked, turning his head a little, and you corrected him; do not call me lady, you murmured, and instructed him to call you by your name.

You watched him in silence for a few seconds, before breathing deeply.

“Actually no. I have a request.” you said, in a whisper, and he shrugged his head as if giving you a positive one. “Can I see the face behind your mask?” You asked curiously.

“Negative.” He answered, almost immediately, without even giving you a chance to try to refute or argue. “I can’t show my face, and if it relieves you if anything, it’s not a nice image to look at,” he continued, rising up.

You were a little desperate for his sudden rising, hoping he would stay a little longer. Of all those people with whom you had talked so far — Price, Doris; he remained the one who seemed to please you into a conversation the most. You wanted to talk to him, because, unlike others, Ghost did not treat you like a porcelain doll.

He was treating you like any other person. 

“No, wait — you think you’re ugly, is that so? I don’t care.” you assured. “I doubt you’re ugly, to be honest.”

“I didn’t say that,” he raised an eyebrow, seeming to have your commentary somewhat amusing. You raised an eyebrow in response and laid your body on the pillows behind you.

“Wouldn’t you open an exception for me?” You asked, and he shook negatively. You closed your eyes, in a frustrated but accepting sigh.

“Well- you get well soon. Hear me, girl?” Ghost gently said, and walked a little further to the door, and stopped in his steps before leaving. He looked at you for a moment. “Are you here alone?”

“Yeah, I am. Why is it?” You asked curiously.

“Because your IV is running out, and without those pain meds, let me tell you...” he raised his eyebrows quickly. “Should I call your boyfriend or a nurse?” He asked, glaring at  you.

“Wait- my boyfriend?” You asked, furrowing your eyebrows for a moment, and he remained silent. His hand stood up and pointed to the flowers next to the bed, as if he mentioned that the person who sent them should be your boyfriend. You eyed the flowers and let out a soft laugh.

“Ah, that... No, it’s not from a boyfriend.” You explained.

“Well, I’ll call some nurse then.” he said, his hand leaned on the door knocker and his fingers danced in unison, in a thoughtful expression. He looked at you again. “Stay safe.” he said, before his huge, broad figure disappeared through the door and the long hallway of the hospital leaving you once again lost to your thoughts, and alone.

Your eyes looked at your own hands for a few seconds, and you realized that they were pleasantly warm. You looked out the window, closed.

How strange was the fact that you didn’t remember having closed the window, thought to yourself. 

It could have been Doris. But your intuition said no.

[hwaightme]

Come fly with me

✈️ pairing: pilot!yunho x gn!journalist!reader ✈️ genre: fluff, love at first sight, bit of angst, slice of life ✈️ summary: Aerophobia - the fear of flying. And clearly, something that your boss has no idea exists. While you curse the universe and the metal bird, your handsome seatmate ponders if it is possible to redirect this flight, from Gwangju, to your heart. ✈️ wordcount: 9.0k ✈️ warnings/tags: language, general cuteness, a lot of hand holding and stealing glances, panic/anxiety, aerophobia, discussion of past trauma, mention of grave injury (side character), you never really know what someone has been through ✈️ a/n: Hello!! Here is a lil one shot bc Yunho is renting out my brain. Thank you so much for your love and support, all reblogs, notes and asks welcome! Much love and big hugs (P.S.: not me reading FAA docs and flight handbooks lol)

The chances of dying in a plane crash are one in eleven million.

The odds of a plane crashing are one in one point two million.

Between the years twenty twelve and twenty sixteen, there was only a one in a one point three seven billion chance of dying in a commercial plane crash, and a one in twenty million chance of being on a commercial flight and experiencing a fatal accident.

But there were fatal accidents.

In those same years there were crashes where people died.

And what about those planes that disappeared?

What about the malfunctions?

What if something happens and two planes just fly into one another?

What if the wing breaks off?

What if one of the windows breaks?

What if something happens to the pilot?

What if everything on the plane just malfunctions?

Those odds… still not in my favour.

Damn this work trip.

And damn how packed it is.

Damn this window seat.

Right. By. The. Wing.

Damn that flappy shit on it that looks like something is about to break off.

Why do I have to keep this blind open goddamn it I am having a stressful enough time as is with the plane vibrating like a hungry beast.

Your mind was racing at the speed of light as you cursed your workplace over and over again for sending you on a business trip. On a plane. Of all modes of transport. The mode of transport that had a track record of making you ill, and one time made you faint. Actually, that had been the best flight of your life since you had been conked out for the most of it. No, this was the one mode of transport that seemed to be fine, but just as you would begin forgetting that planes equaled mass destruction, you would check your colleagues’ freshest news reports and once again, crash, burn, genocide.

It was not that you were a scaredy-cat, not by any means. You were a journalist, for fucks sake. You could handle pretty much anything thrown your way. Well, anything except planes. They were not a pseudo-activist who you could expose for not knowing what they were fighting for. They were not an official figure whose corruption you could bring to light. They were not a dog that you could interview for a fun ‘alternative news’ segment. They were a machine made to trap people for set periods of time, can them like sardines, pop their ear drums, and if all went well, regurgitate them on some other metal bird playground, and lie in wait until another bunch gets loaded up for a ride.

But of course, out of all the people in the office, including those who would kill to get out of Seoul and those who were basically known as the nomadic reporters, your boss had to appoint you to go on a three-day trip to Gwangju. The one person who almost exclusively worked in the capital. Who had no experience in working abroad. Hell, the one person who had literally refused to attend a social event because it was held in Busan and the travel plan included flying there. You were the antithesis to such trips, but your boss could not give less of a shit, apparently.

He even had the audacity to praise you in front of your colleagues and say you were ‘just the right person for the interview’ – all when the topic, and the professional background of the individual you were to be meeting, were so far out of your regular scope and within your nightmare space that no amount of reading would make you neither proficient, nor truly appreciative. You were convinced that the universe was out to get you. An alarming interpretation had crossed your mind – perhaps this was your boss wanting to find an excuse to fire you?

A new wave of panic settled in as you made feeble attempts to play a mental game of ‘whack-a-mole’ with your not so friendly musings. Why couldn’t you just exchange the tickets, take the train or a bus, or event drive there yourself? Why did you have to follow orders at your own expense? Just as you were beginning to transition from using familiar curse words to describe the situation to recalling anything and everything you had ever heard either in a foreign drama or in real life, you were gently stirred from the activity by a change in lighting.

You peered to your left – the culprit was a man, broad-shouldered, on the taller side, clad in a stylish sheepskin coat with a white turtleneck and some well-tailored trousers to match. You couldn’t quite see his face fully, but you guessed it would happen sooner than later, seeing as he was in the process of fitting his carry-on into the luggage compartment above where you were sat. Not wanting to intrude any further with your stares, you glanced away, instantly regretting it and exhaling sharply as your eyes were met with the metal wings of doom outside.

An airplanes wings are designed to flex up to ten degrees, and during the average flight the flex can reach up to seven degrees. The wings have been stress-tested time and time again so they cannot break off and the plane will stay balanced and-

But what about the Lockheed L-188 Electra II? What about the Lockheed C-141C Starlifter? Their wings just decided to go on holiday why can’t the wings of a commercial liner do the same? Oh, and the second one had a fuel leak – when do people check that? Did they check for this one? What if something happens and the fuel tank explodes?

“Would you be willing to switch seats by any chance?” a calming voice suddenly interrupted your nervous flow, and you snapped your head in its direction.

That man. Oh no, he was handsome. Dark hair, which was the tiniest bit tousled, kind eyes that you swore glinted at you, and a heart-stopping million-dollar smile. Now you had to keep up appearances too, to not seem like a total wuss, at least for the duration that you had to sit in this can. You heard his question loud and clear, but to allow your mind to process, you asked him to repeat with a quick:

“Sorry?”

He tilted his head and pointed towards the seat closest to him, “Ah, well, technically, this seat is mine, but… would you want to switch?”

Who was this man and why was he reading your ;mind? Was the universe pitying you finally?

“Yes, let’s do that!”

You shot up from your seat, nearly hitting the one in front of you, and slid out to give way to the brave soul who could look out of the window. As you two were settling down and he was giving you his thanks, you were not sure whether your heart was beating fast because of your fear of flying, or because of how you lucked out on your seat mate. Probably both.

It was hard to resist stealing a couple more glances at him while he was checking something on his phone. He had a reassuring aura about him and judging by how well-practiced his motions had been as he was settling in, he appeared to be quite a frequent flyer. He was so relaxed it made you envious. But you had no better way to get back to muting your phobias aside from absent-mindedly fishing out the airplane safety instructions manual from the pocket of the seat in front and reading it with the intensity of a final year student preparing for the KSAT.

You pored over the calls to fasten your seatbelt, to check that there was in fact, a life vest under your seat, to be prepared to pull on some random strings on an air mask if they were to be ‘made available’…

Abandon everything and run ‘in an organised manner’…

No high heels…

Someone probably would try to wear them still, even if we all had to go down that inflatable slide.

Slide down in the Dracula position…

You heard a chuckle to your right, and upon turning a little, you noticed your seatmate studying you, his lips threatening to curl into a grin. He looked you up and down, from the safety manual that you were now gripping a little bit too strongly, and finally locking eyes with you.

“Thought so.” he came to some cryptic conclusion, leaving you perplexed.

“Thought what?” you could not help but give into your curiosity.

“Aerophobia?”

“Is it that obvious?” you groaned and shut the manual to return it to the pocket. You felt as though you turned into a child who wanted to be taken more seriously, with your body refusing to suppress a slight pout. Yes, planes, for all their bird-imitating glory, were never going to be your wingmen. It was hard to ooze attractiveness when you were on the verge of having a mental breakdown.

“Well, there were some signs, but I only noticed them because I was paying attention,” before you could respond to the subtle flirtation, he continued by introducing himself, “I’m Jeong Yunho. Yunho is completely fine though.”

“L/N Y/N. Then Y/N is fine by me too. Pleasure to make your acquaintance. You might just be giving me a run for my money with those deduction skills!” You complimented him, delighted when you could elicit and even brighter smile. This flight was slowly but surely becoming a little bit more enjoyable thanks to the outgoing eye candy in the window seat.

“Are you an investigator, better yet, a special agent out on a mission?” he wiggled his eyebrows, further lightening the mood.

“I doubt I would ever be able to pull Brad Pitt-level stunts and board the plane in an unconventional manner like he did, but the mystery aspect is enticing. I’m a journalist and reporter.”

Something you could only describe as recognition flashed across his face as he clapped his hands together. By now, he had his body turned to the greatest extent possible towards you, his knees nearly touching your thighs. You had to admit, you were worried that a flight attendant would come and scold him, or that this would end up being a hazard during takeoff. But at the same time, the attention was a welcome relief.

“Oh wait! I have seen you before! You mainly cover local news, right? Or at least spanning Seoul Capital Area?”

“Funny to use ‘at least’ there, but yep, that’s me-”

“Your exposé on the fitness center money laundering scheme was amazing, it was like watching an action thriller.”

Well, that fell short. You giggled. Yunho was evidently trying to impress you by praising your work, but mixed things up right at the end. As you were still a junior, the times where you were allowed to as much as breathe in the direction of a live broadcast or even a pre-recording were few and far between. So far, you had only made a couple of appearances, and most definitely not in the crime segments – though you had indeed helped write the script.

“That’s not me. Close enough though. My mentor was the one on the screen.”

The utter confusion on his face spelled disaster for your composure, so you bit the inside of your cheek lightly, eyes sparkling. He covered his face with his hand out of embarrassment, and, once he had regained at least some of his courage, apologized, assuring you that your name did ring a bell and that he had heard it announced.

“Okay, I’ll give you that one. I was one of the writers.”

“Score! Otherwise, I really don’t know how I would be apologizing to you aside from buying you a drink.”

“Something tells me that you were a step away from messing up intentionally.”

“I wouldn’t do that on a short-haul.” Yunho was back to being his cheery self, his only distraction from you being the need to turn his phone on to airplane mode.

This action, meaningless on its own, but in context… left a sour taste in your mouth – a reminder that you were still in a tin can with planks glued onto either side, and that it was about to start grumbling and rumbling across to take off. You saw attendants start preparing for the safety announcement, making you retract into your seat and sigh. How you wished you were as carefree as this charming stranger.

“You know a bit about me, since you are so attentive, but I am intrigued as to who you are.” You inquired, trying to take your mind off what it considered to be imminent danger.

“I don’t want to spoil the fun! Give me a little taste of your own deduction skills.” He challenged playfully, though his tone revealed fleeting notes of concern.

You paused. You had already taken him to be a frequent flier, though for what reason was beyond you. You did not have enough experience racing through airports to be able to distinguish between different types of passengers. But what did stand out to you, was that comment about the reportage – the event that had been covered occurred within the Incheon Metropolitan City area, thus was presented through local branches only.

“You are in Incheon pretty frequently, right?”

“Terrifyingly accurate comment, but yes.” He confirmed while nodding. You felt proud of yourself for managing to have at least some of your skillset still intact.

“And what is bringing you to Gwangju? If it is okay to ask, of course.” You resumed your miniature interrogation, rushing as the announcement began to resound across the cabin, and a flight attendant was demonstrating how to put on the life vest, top up the air, where the emergency exits were… a flurry of information streaming right at you.

“Visiting my parents.” Yunho’s calmness had not changed a single bit since he had boarded the plane, and he was answering you in a level, measured out manner.

“Not during a standard holiday?”

“Here’s the hint: my line of work limits annual hours of… redacted for now.”

“That just makes me think you work abroad most of the time!” you exclaimed, recalling the shock you had when you had first entered the workforce and experience the full package of overtime, minimal breaks, and high demands. There was no guarantee that it was not the same in other countries, could even be worse, but as the old saying goes: ‘the grass is always greener on the other side’.

After he shook his head, shattering your theories, you fell quiet. Everyone had settled in their seats, and now information that was sending adrenaline to pump right through your veins was being shared. Even the demonstration of the flashlight on the vest was ominous. Once the routine had been completed, the rumble of the engines grew a little louder, and you were still making no move to return to the conversation, Yunho leaned over and exclaimed in a low voice:

“I’m a pilot. Indeed, am based in Incheon, and being abroad is very much part of the deal so I would say your logic was impeccable.” 

“No wonder you look to be right at home.” You stated, albeit it came across as a little jealous. The air-mobile and your personal panic inducer began to demand more attention as it steered from the airport, leaving a still outstretched landing bridge behind.

“Maybe you are right. I do spend more time in planes than in Gwangju.”

“Sounds like the triangle between me, my apartment, and the office.” You concurred – at least locally the enforce workaholic culture was universal.

With your fingers, you tapped out an abstract rhythmic sequence with your fingers, then moving to feel for the position of the different buttons, side-eyeing them to make sure your seat, nor the electrics were broken. You were tempted to check if the seat could lean back but you were convinced that if you did that the world would collapse. Or at least you would be in trouble. As it turns out you had a flight law enforcement representative right next to you. A good-looking and so far, so sweet, but still.

“If you don’t mind me asking, how did you crack the Incheon bit?” he detracted you from your near scratching of the synthetic material, and you pressed your hands into your lap to supress their light tremor.

“Ah, you gave it away when you mentioned the news. That was only shown in Incheon.” You curtly responded, your concentration escaping you after you felt the metal bird jolt.

It was crystal clear to Yunho that your phobia was getting the better of you. After not having flown since at least a decade ago, each one of your senses was going into overdrive, screaming catastrophe. Your eyes were slightly widened, breathing becoming more shallow threatening to turn into hyperventilation, and, of course, you not knowing what to do with your hands (or really, yourself) sealed the deal. He needed to help you. Using whatever technique that came to him. And quick.

“Lightheaded?”

“Uh huh…” you could not deny it. That was just how it was. You, alone with your uncontrollable palpitations and a lump in your throat were on the verge of just control alt deleting your consciousness for take-off.

“Uhm… may I… wait, this might be very tactless, and you have every right to tell me to go- …wherever, but may I hold your hand?”

“What?” you snapped out of your thoughts and gaped at Yunho. What strange form of crisis-based moves-making was this? Or was he making fun of you? The engines were becoming almost deafening while you were still struggling to isolate your seatmate’s voice.

Even though he had not shown any signs of malice, you still expected the worst. Always did when it came to discussing travel, since the majority of your interactions often resulted in your conversation partner revealing some aggression-based schadenfreude. They were happy to pity you and diminish all of your other qualities just because you were scared of this one thing. But even though you were actively searching for any form of darkness, you could only find a caring soul, wholly preoccupied with your wellbeing.

“It is so you know that there is someone here with you. Just by feeling. Kind of like a grounding technique?”

“Oh, I would kill to be on the ground right now.” You twisted his words spiralling into dread.

“Sorry, I’d like to live another day, so you’ll have to bear with this. May I?”

Spooked by some noise from outside of the airplane, you did not dare raise your voice and instead resorted to nodding back your confirmation. As soon as you gave the sign, you felt his steady, warm and soothing hand tentatively touch yours, moving it a fraction and intertwining fingers until the palms were pressed together. Yunho gave yours a quick squeeze, as if in mute encouragement.

“This is so embarrassing...” you mumbled, shaking your head.

After the plane had come to a halt before the final turn onto the runway, you felt feverish, and overwhelmingly guilty. You had convinced yourself that you were ruining this wonderful man’s entire flight, by acting like such a child. And on top of this, he was a pilot, so if anyone had the right to consider you ridiculous it would be him.

“If it is the hand holding then I totally understand I can-”

“NO PLEASE THAT HELPS-” you yelped, practically yanking his hand back with yours and returning them to resting between you, “oops I said that too loud didn’t I…” this really was one moment of humiliation after another. Heat rose in your cheeks as you pondered whether it was too late to stop the plane or not.

“You should hear me scream on roller coasters. Now that’s loud.” He countered your insecurity, making you chuckle. You felt Yunho’s thumb brush over the back of your hand – it was not unpleasant. At all. “I must say, you are already doing really well.”

“Funny.”

“No, really.” Now, the engines were really starting up and you gripped Yunho’s hand a little tighter, this led to him making a split-second decision – a final resort. “But how about this. You close your eyes, okay?”

“What are you trying?” you raised an eyebrow, meeting his confident gaze with your own panicked one.

“Just, I know I am a stranger but, trust me for the next couple of minutes, okay?”

“Sure…” you did not have any of the forcefulness and pride left in you, so you quickly agreed and shut your eyes, but that led to you beginning to hyper fixate on the quietest, most insignificant of noises, blowing their impact out of proportion.

“Now, listen to my voice only.” Yunho instructed.

He was alarmingly close, almost right by your ear as he whispered:

“Let me guide you.”

Your heart fluttered, as you tried to push at least some thoughts to the back of your head, in order to focus on Yunho. This surely had to be one of the most original and thrilling ways you had ever been hit on. And terror-promoted-

Oh you had not even recounted the statistics for hijacking and for those types of attacks yet. How foolish of you! How were you going to remain safe if you did not have the likelihood of you perishing because of an air criminal or air pirate in the front of your mind!? You raked your brain for the 'fun facts' you had enjoyed reviewing last night, when Yunho cleared his throat and tapped your intertwined hands with his free one.

“Okay, so, first, let us set the scene. There is this neat thing called the Pilot’s Operating Handbook, which helps the pilot of a given aircraft determine whether it is safe to fly. And they would not do anything until all checks are done."

Where and what was the guarantee of that? You wanted to ask, too aware of the vibrations that were travelling from the floor of the cabin and turning into your jitters. But Yunho sounded so sure of what he was saying... damn it, he was using ethos-based marketing against you. What if he had lied about being a pilot?

"Also, the runway, the wind speed and direction, and a grand bunch of other things are all checked, one by one, to make sure that everything works as expected. You following me so far?” he informed, and paused to check up on you.

Yunho was using the opportunity to study you to the fullest. The little squint as you were fighting against the desire to shoot your eyes open and search for invisible troubles. The slightest hint of a pout etched on your rosy lips, signifying displeasure with your surroundings. He could not control his smile as he was admiring your battle spirit.

It was hard for Yunho to imagine you being as vulnerable as you were with him right now, due to sheer circumstance. Had anything been different, he might not have even had the chance to introduce himself to the beautiful stranger in what originally was the window seat.

“Yes but… what if something does not work?” as much as this experience was exposure therapy, in the moment, you did not give a shit and was sticking to your ways.

“That is not in the job description. And the engineers do a damn good job too. Just like you are now, okay, Y/N?” Yunho scolded softly but finished with more encouragement.

“I am so sorry again-”

“Nothing to be sorry about."

Of course, you would not know just how much you were reminding Yunho of himself in the distant past. How, when he had been a child, he was not able to even stay on airport grounds because of the noise, and the images that would flash in his head. He only hoped that for you it was a 'lighter' phobia, not stemming from true disaster.

"You know how the plane was just turning right now and making some noise?” Yunho cut his rumination short and returned to his miniature lecture.

“Yes.”

“Well, this is the pilot using rudder pedals, kind of like pedals in a car, pedals on a piano... whichever is closer to home for you, to steer the plane. Basically, we must make sure that the nose of the plane is well-aligned with the centre of the runway. And now, release of the brakes…”

Just as he said it, you could pick out a distinct change in the mechanical cacophony. You chuckled - it was like Yunho was conducting the actions of the beast.

“Now, do you hear this rise in sound? This rumble? Quite ominous, isn’t it? But it is just the pilot advancing the throttle gently to take off power, while keeping their feet on the rudder portions of the pedals and their eyes on the super cool engine instruments.”

He almost sounded like a technical kid getting a DIY kit for their birthday. The excitement in Yunho's voice did not falter as he continued to dive into more and more detail. Did you understand any of it? No. Was it more than pleasant to listen to Yunho having the time of his life explaining it? Yes.

“As the speed picks up, there is more pressure on the controls, but more specifically the rudder and elevator. Then we quickly transition to having the plane being flown more than it is taxied and having three axis manoeuvrability. What is really cool about commercial aviation, and pilots like the one flying this plane, is that we are actually able to feel plane controllability and are able to adjust pressures to make take off just right.”

The take-off procedure was being presented to you like a picture book. A straightforward scheme of a few steps, a celebration of a pilot's mastery. You daydreamed of how your seat mate would look like in the famous uniform, doing exactly what he was recounting to you.

“Okay so we are passing this stage now… and here we are approaching lift off. How we call the angle at which the plane takes off the ground is quite funny: the attitude. And after this… we are going to adjust the pitch just a little to make sure we get the best climbing rate.”

Yes, keep on talking this odd terminology that you were not even attempting to get a grasp on anymore. Probably would have been a good idea in light of your interview, but you could barely remain conscious as your inner world was experiencing high magnitude worry-quakes.

“Now, do you feel that? this is the pilot beginning to apply back-elevator pressure, and this is done to lift that little wheel at the front of the plane up. This is the attitude being created, we call it the rotation for lift off. Ah there it is now he is adjusting… adjusting… now the wings are being levelled, and the plane is remaining right on track, aligned with the centreline of the runway.”

Good for the plane. Good for the pilot. Good for Yunho. You just did not want to die. You squeezed Yunho's hand harder and harder, an action on which he did not comment. On the contrary, he resumed the soothing motion with his thumb that he had tried a bit of time ago.

“And now… we keep on going and… we are going steady.”

You eased off the grip, cringing at how forward, how ridiculous you likely seemed. It was hard to open your eyes back up again, so you took it slow. One eye. Then the next. You were still there. In the can. Which was now in the sky. Zooming across it at whatever speed. Yunho was still there. And still holding onto your hand.

Thanks to his guidance, you had not gone into a full-blown panic, nor had you passed out – an achievement really. But as you were regaining your senses, returning to a more neutral mode of worry, your need to show that you were an independent adult and did not require support returned, and you gingerly tried to remove yourself from his hold, as much as you wanted to stay in the same position for the duration of the flight.

Though Yunho allowed you to do so and waved off your numerous apologies. He was of the same mindset – the contact had been near electric, making this one of the more exciting of his flights. He would be lying if he said that the thought of finding an excuse to hold your hand again did not cross his mind. But he was drawn in even more by the contrast between the you from a few minutes ago and you who was boring holes in the seat in front, evidently counting seconds as you were measuring out your breathing. He was in awe of your perseverance, and how brave you had been to even book the tickets. To be in the cabin. To just, be there.

He was perplexed by why you were going to Gwangju by plane if you had a phobia. His own mother, over a decade after the life-changing incident his family had experienced, still had not gotten over it. Sometimes, looking at the racing clouds in the sky had caused her to tear up, and choose to spend the day shut indoors. Such was life. Even though his father was still alive, and had recovered for the most part, the fear of planes, the roar of the engine – a lethal predator, of flying like Icarus, too close to the sun, remained.

Flying was in his family. His grandfather, his father, him… had all committed themselves to the life of a pilot. And his younger brother, too, was in training. The lineage was to continue, despite the close brush with death that had nearly made Yunho’s father one with the world above. Prior to sustaining grave injuries, he had been a test pilot with a stellar reputation, and one successful flight after another. He was known for being able to land planes that had exhibited faults mid-flight, was able to tame high-speed jets that grew unstable, and was a gifted aerobatics master when he could unwind and choose a trusty steed for himself. His father was his role model. Regardless of what had happened.

It had been a freak accident. A miscalculation resulting in a catastrophe. Better yet, the company that had commissioned the testing had managed to keep the accident under wraps, and only after his mother near rioted and escalated the conflict to the local government and threatened to take it to the media, did his family receive compensation and as laughable charity, some physiotherapy courses. Nothing could compensate a broken heart of a person who had been told that they would not be able to do what they lived for anymore, however. Yunho was just a child then. But the fear that had had come to occupy his home was ageless.

It was not easy, living every day not sure whether his own father would be able to walk him to school. Play football with him. Stand together with him for a photo during a family trip. It was not easy on his mother, who had almost totally turned into a carer, splitting herself in pieces to raise two boys, to work, and to be her husband’s strength, both mentally and physically. Her sleepless nights, when Yunho had caught her bawling silently in the kitchen, trying to hide away from the rest of the family, had imprinted themselves in his mind.

The bitterness in his father’s words as he cursed everything related to the event, and the forlorn gazes he sent the awards, the books, the photographs in his office. Although he had been able to walk again, after years of forgetting the feeling, his meaning was only a memory. This was what had shaped Yunho’s initial impression of the world of flying. That it was a place of misery, hurt and false promises. He had vowed then to never, ever step onto a plane. Never once to approach an airport. Never once to give himself up to that dream that he had been born with. His personal ‘fear’ was not quite that. It was more the rage, the sense of injustice – why did it have to be his father? Out of spite he did not want to continue the dynasty.

His mother had been relieved when Yunho had announced at the dinner table that he wanted to be an engineer. And he made a pretty good job of convincing himself that this was what he really wanted. He had even gone to cram school for mathematics and physics and participated in some competitions. Not that he had ever felt purpose or found joy in it. He was just riding the wave of stability. And simultaneously cursing it.

As time for the national exams was fast approaching, and he needed to specify what kind of engineering he was going to do, he had been stumped. How could Yunho pick between a variety of subjects which he had virtually zero interest in, and pursued because of childhood trauma? So, he did what he could only call an act of desperation and approached his father for career advice. Yunho had assumed that the discussion was going to go nowhere. That his father, who had become a consultant and trainer (though permanently grounded), would only dismiss him and say something along the lines of ‘it did not matter anyways, everything could fall apart at any moment’. But surprisingly, he was responsive. Moreover, he had reminisced with Yunho about his early days, ones where he had not been sure what to do.

Then, he had posed Yunho a question: what was it that his heart wanted to pursue? If he were to forget everything, any and all external influence, what would he pick? After much deliberation, he peered at the poster of a Boeing-777 that hung across from him, and merely stated:

“Flying.”

After years of fooling himself. Running away from what his inner self was yearning for. Only this path seemed right. That night, his father and him had made a deal. To not disappoint his mother, and gain some basic understanding of aircraft, he was to pick aero-engineering, and in secret, simultaneously begin flight lessons. His father had activated his network, and once Yunho had gone through that first year, made a smooth transfer to become who he was now. A fully trained commercial airline pilot. True to himself, his dreams and his future.

When his mother had first found out, she was in hysterics. It was as though someone had brought the news to her that her son had passed away. Maybe that would have hurt less – less than the fear for what could happen, the anguish she would be experiencing every time Yunho would lift off. But he had made up his mind. And would indeed rather die than face the prospect of being anything else than a pilot. This was what he was made to do, and it felt right.

On the one hand, the reason why he wanted to help you was because he wanted others to feel the same way he did about flying. It had become his mission to bring comfort to passengers, to inspire future generations of pilots, and to share just how fun it could be. On the other, he had learned the hard way about what phobia and detestation was and could not bear to see you experience it. He had grown far too good at detecting its approach, so much so that he could live through it with you.

Maybe this was a strange way for him to cope and process his own life’s events, but it sure was damn near magical when he saw that he could take away at least a fraction of the weight you carried. After all there was only so much baggage you could bring on board with you.

Yunho’s heart was conflicted. When he had just boarded and got to his row, he had told himself that he lucked out, having an attractive seatmate and one who appeared to be as curious in him as he was in them. And now, he was almost feeling attached to you since he had helped you overcome the take off. It was inexplicable. A little irrational. But he wanted to talk to you. And to keep on holding your hand if you were okay with it.

When you considered yourself to be more or less recovered you sighed in relief. Having Yunho logically talk you through what you had labelled as horror film material had done what you thought was impossible – made you reconsider if planes really were as terrible as you thought. At least the ones where Yunho could be with you and chant plane speak over the screeches and groans of the engines and brakes. You turned your head a little and noticed Yunho watching the Earth transform through the window. He was leaning back and appeared to be deep in his mind palace. You tapped him lightly on his upper arm, which made all his attention come back to you.

“I wanted to say thank you. Thank you for helping me through this, really. You did not have to, Yunho, but you saved me just now.”

“Really, as I said, it is not a problem, Y/N.”

“But still. As you probably can tell, this really is nightmare fuel for me-”

“I am more than happy to continue, just so you know. If you need me, I am right here.” He offered, flustering you.

The sincerity of his words made you dwell on his desire to help. He was nothing short of respectful, but you felt that the story ran much deeper. Perhaps because he knew what it was like. But you were not about to force him into sharing all the potential skeletons and sprinklings of trauma, if anything it would make you appear ungrateful and downright prying. The atmosphere was just right for now, thanks to Yunho.

“You best be worried, because I might just pick you up on that offer, since I have a lot of revision to do before actually doing the job I was sent to do.” You answered, running a hand through your hair. You wondered whether you should use the rest of the flight to actually do some preparation for the interview or… the second option won out immediately, and you were back to enjoying Yunho’s company.

“Ah, so you are on the flight not by your own volition?”

“Yep. My boss is rather creative when it comes to picking out his entertainment.” His chuckle made a dopey grin appear on your face.

“And what do you mean by revision? Will you be joining the ranks?” he realised he barely knew anything about you aside from the odd mix of bare bone basics and auto-completed nonsense, courtesy of his imagination.

“Probably not, still need to sit as a passenger for a long, long time before that, you know, learn by observation!” you joked, attempting to conjure a vision of yourself as a pilot, but the irony of it was too much. “I am going to be doing a mini-documentary and interview with Hwang Taehyuk. He is a recently retired pilot with many accolades and, apparently, a very exciting professional life so-”

“This really keeps on getting better.”

“What keeps on getting better?”

“I had the chance to co-pilot with him a couple of times. Absolutely the most amazing guy on the planet. Total goofball too.”

“Why am I not surprised?” you threw the rhetorical question out into the air, but almost instantly continued, “You know, you are making me glad that I took this flight.”

“Like I said, if you need a plane nerd rundown of what’s going on at any point, just let me know and I can even draw some diagrams for you on a napkin.”

“Not just that, though now you promised me some diagrams and I do want to see them. It’s just, the beauty of how things have aligned. That makes me... quite happy.”

“Seconded.”

For the hour that it took to fly from Seoul to Gwangju, you were in deep discussion with your seatmate, turned acquaintance, turned to something that could not exactly be called a friend – an ‘interest’, rather. It was a process of progressive mutual discovery, stepping beyond first impressions and learning that, in fact, both of you only wanted to know more and more as the minutes and stories flew by.

Feverishly you shared your lives with one another, in a manner not dissimilar to that of someone retelling a missed episode to make sure that from then on, everyone would be moving forward together, at the same pace. You and Yunho explained your dreams, your hopes for the future, whilst inadvertently looking for, and finding similarities in them. You soared through conversation and landed being much closer than either of you could have predicted.

Everything was on the table – from embarrassing stories to going through each other’s camera rolls (under strict supervision, but that was a given). To prove to you that Yunho was truly a pilot and not just a plane nerd, he had shown you some photos of himself in uniform, zooming in to show you that the epaulettes were very much real and that he was earning his stripes. You commended his determination and had even taken an interest in how the career ladder functioned, but really what you could comprehend the best out of that discourse was that he chose the right job even if just for how handsome he looked in the attire. Yunho really was one of a kind, inside and out. He reminded you of a day in early spring, when the days were steadily growing longer, and the winter breeze finally departed, instead letting the budding leaves and blossoming beauties take over and instil a happier sense of tomorrow. He was the one to start to thaw your previously deadest perceptions and blood-curdling associations.

It went without saying that your fear of flying did not go without mention. A dreaded topic for you, you had initially tried to brush it under the table, but it was pointless to do before a person who had just seen you through take off, and for the duration of the flight sometimes paused your dialogue to check in with you. In addition, if he noticed your concentration drifting because of a foreign noise, or because of a little tilt or turn, every time Yunho would explain the reasoning behind it the best he could. Though it would take much longer to get over the phobia, his dedication made you swoon.

You had revealed to him that you had been diagnosed with aerophobia back in early primary school. It was genetic, with your father’s family line showing particularly strong symptoms – so any reunions were either planned with military precision, or simply did not happen, because Jeju Island was not so ‘all modes of transport’ -friendly. Back then, you had no idea how serious your condition could be, seeing as you were minimally exposed, but the times you were had been haunting you since. Your choice of work had not helped with your condition either, since you were constantly exposed to the worst locally, nationally, and globally. Though you had to be an objective messenger and remain unperturbed, aviation-related accidents often left you a whimpering, misty-eyed mess. At least you had become an expert in reading and responding to emails while your vision was blurry.

This was probably the first time ever that you had shared this aspect of you without either being interrupted or misunderstood. With Yunho, he listened carefully, and bewilderingly, drew parallels between your reality and his. It was obvious that he was holding back on some more upsetting facts out of care for how you would react, but you could figure out that his path to becoming a pilot had been on the bumpier side. He did end up drawing some free body diagrams for you and explaining the aerodynamics involved in a flight, lighting up every time you would ask him a question, or even when you would lean in, so your heads were almost touching, brows furrowed and processing.

Yunho had provided you with more anecdotes about the pilot you were going to interview, and even suggested that he could come along to introduce you – apparently the guy liked to keep his circle small and was not one to trust outsiders until they gained his respect. There was something surreal about being on the plane with Yunho – it made you believe that you two would last forever, and that what he was initially proposing, and then downright promising you to do, would really happen. Here was to be hoping that you would not part ways and at least be able to recognise one another in a crowd.

Landing went a little smoother for you than take off, perhaps because you had automatically searched for Yunho, and gingerly placed your hand on his lower arm. Too shy to do the same as before, you had remained in that position, focusing on the fabric of his coat. Meanwhile Yunho was frozen, like a person who had been chosen by a cat as the perfect napping spot. He remained close to your ear, once again whispering through the steps, though seeing your lowered anxiety, allowed himself to veer off the script a little more and crack a couple of jokes.

You left the plane as if you had been companions to begin with, checking if the other had left anything behind, chatting as you made your way across the jet bridge. Unlike the rest of the passengers who had decidedly become track and field athletes as soon as they were hit with airport air conditioning, Yunho and you moved slow, off to the side of the giant glass corridors, just so that time would not pass by you. For the first time, you were grateful that the line for passport control had gotten quite long by the time you reached it – all the more time to sneak glances at one another, kid around, and act like you had known each other forever. When you had reached the front of the line, the border control officer had even mistaken you as a couple and let you through together. Not that you would correct them.

Baggage claims. A time to reminisce, as it turned out. Standing side by side, you recollected each other's musings and theories as though you were revising, flipping through cards and supporting each try at a response with ripples of laughter. This was a plane that neither of you wanted to land, and kept on praying, repeating the same wish like a mantra: may this last.

If only this damn luggage could continue spinning forever, or would just be lost in the metal bird's belly. Somehow, life on the ground appeared to move faster than that high above. The hustle and bustle, people moving to and fro with their identities shoved into flimsy wheeled boxes, kept together by duct tape and overpriced cling film. Everyone had to have a plan. A destination. Up in the air, that could be removed. Troubles minimised for the duration of the flight. The only direction being to a random dot of choice, labelled as a city, town, base, important only because of plans that resume upon landing.

To Yunho, this was the biggest disillusionment he had experienced in his first flight. When he had been a little boy, he believed that everything radically changed after such a journey. That pilots were like wizards. But, as it turned out, he was only serving other people's plans. Just like this time, he was following a specific agenda. But you had made it colourful. Meaningful. The time suspended in mid-air well spent, and in need of a ‘to be continued’. As you made your way closer and closer to the airport exit, after having collected your belongings, he only had one thing on his mind. How could he prolong this metaphorical flight with you?

Without any prior agreement, nor any feat of telepathy, you and Yunho halted. It was time to part. Both you and him knew it, and yet neither of you were making the decisive move to do so. Instead, you chose to dawdle and stand, facing each other in the middle of Arrivals, luggage by your sides.

“Are you... going to be taking a taxi? Or is someone going to meet you?” he broke the silence with some small talk, while his heart was threatening to burst out of his chest – somewhat comical, now it was his turn to be panicked.

“I’ll catch a taxi. Yeah. And yourself?” You asked, not caring for the response, but for the prolongation of time that it brought. You were not looking forward to departing from this bliss between destinations. Back to rushing somewhere. Trying not to lose yourself amidst the events you had to pursue.

“Car rental.” Yunho swore he could hear turbine noise in his head as he was dashing from one idea to the next. Was he about to lose you?

“That’s neat.” You kicked the air with your foot, and stuffed your hands into your pockets, readying yourself for an unwanted goodbye.

You raised your head and faced him. Two people, fumbling for a way to stay like this. Were both of you waiting for some divine intervention? For a third person, a passive observer to suddenly step in and give you a friendly nudge? All the signs were pointing to a sure-fire success, and yet hesitation, doubt and insecurity remained as the devil on both your shoulders. Perhaps this was not meant to be, and you merely served one another as a time passer, a cure for boredom, and eventually destined to bid your farewells. Your lips parted, and you inhaled, about to say the dreaded words, when-

“I can drive you.”

“Huh?”

“If you want.”

He officially short-circuited as he could not wait any longer. Had Yunho been a poet or a writer, hell, maybe even if he had stayed an engineer, he could have come up with something more impressive, but at the end of the day, the message would be the same. Let’s go together. Let’s go anywhere together. Come fly with me.

Now, it was one thing to hope, and a wholly different one to expect, and you sure as hell had not been doing the latter. So, when Yunho took the leap and reached out to you, and to your future self, you needed to take a moment to internally squeal. And then try your best to keep it cool and answer like a proper adult, rather than the inner giddy schoolchild who was on their umpteenth celebratory somersault.

“I would want that. But aren’t your parents waiting for you?” your response was light and breezy, and an attempt to showcase, once again, that you had paid attention to him and could recall why he was here in the first place.

“Well, I mean, I don’t usually do this… but if you are into meeting parents so early…”

“Oh, come on!” you giggled, playfully hitting Yunho’s upper arm as he grinned wide.

“Totally serious, Y/N, I am totally serious.” He responded, sarcasm dripping from his words.

He pointed in the direction of the car rentals and took the small suitcase you had brought with you in his free hand. Ever the gentleman.

“And if you are free at any point, I would love to show you around.” He continued as you ambled on, barely any space between you.

“As long as it is by foot or car, I am free today and tomorrow afternoon.”

“I wish I had the car from Back to The Future so that I could impress you with my piloting skills, alas, I’ll have to disappoint you with… are they advertising new Kia models? Y/N, not all is lost!”

“Now to figure out which one looks most like a Yunho-mobile.”

“We’ll figure it out, take an online test that matches MBTI to a car or something.”

“Don’t tempt me, or I might actually do that.” You warned in jest and proceeded to take out your phone to make a point. This seemed to have an effect on Yunho, as he stopped abruptly and began searching for his own device.

“Oh! That reminds me! Your five-star guarantee Uber driver would like to have your number. You know, for announcing his arrival, of course.” As you typed in your digits, and then proceeded to save his number on your phone after he had texted you a string of airplane emojis you ideated out loud:

“I can already see the review I shall write: car may or may not take off and grow wings during journey. Passenger discretion is advised."

“If that’s the case, I’d be more than happy to hold your hand again, or maybe something more serious to protect against turbulence?” he winked, and you felt heat rising to your cheeks.

“I think I’ll have to write a piece about your methods.”

“Just make sure to mention that they are exclusive to Jeong Yunho, your private pilot,” well that was an original, yet explicit expression of interest, “and speaking of reporting, I am taking you to teacher Hwang’s for some proper networking.”

“Yeah, and what about my crew?”

“Pilots are no strangers to crews, trust me on that.” he answered promptly.

“I can imagine.”

You and Yunho stood still, eyes locked. Your 'spring' ahead of you.

“Now, shall we be off?” he gestured towards the rentals office, but not removing his gaze.

“Go on ahead, be my guide.”

Given half a billion potential soul mates, your chance of finding your true love is one in 10,000.

1 in 50 airplane passengers meet the love of their life on board an aircraft.

And when it came to you and Yunho, the probability was simply 1. 100%. No other way.

Perhaps it was a good thing that you were scared of flying.