luvzshy · 8 days ago
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Hey love, Could you do Billie x reader
Billie and the reader get into a huge fight because Billie is never home always to the studio or something leaving the reader at home to raise their kid by herself. Billie comes home one day and is upset because the house is a mess and dinner isn’t made and gets mad at the reader claiming that the reader never does anything. The fight gets so bad that the reader says that she should just take their kid and move back to her home country
Almost enough
Word Count: 1,800
Warnings: Intense arguments, high emotional tension, mentions of parenthood struggles, implied separation.
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Y/N shifted their child’s weight on her hip, bouncing gently as she tried to calm them down. The living room was a mess—blocks scattered across the floor, a forgotten bottle rolling under the coffee table, and her own half-eaten lunch sitting cold on the counter. Exhaustion blurred the edges of her vision, the kind that had built up after months of sleepless nights and Billie’s constant absence.
The front door creaked open, and Billie stepped inside, her shoulders slumped from another long day. Y/N could tell the instant she glanced around the room that she wasn’t happy. Billie’s mouth pulled into a frown as she dropped her bag on the floor.
“What the hell, Y/N? The place is a wreck.” Her tone was sharp, tired, but it cut right through Y/N. “And there’s nothing for dinner? I’ve been at the studio all day, and I come back to… this?”
Y/N’s chest tightened, but she swallowed down her initial response, not wanting to wake their child who had just started to settle. “Billie, I didn’t have time to clean up or cook. Our child was being fussy, and I’ve been running around trying to keep things under control.”
The sting of her words made Y/N’s hands tremble. She shifted their child into the crib nearby, gently placing them down before turning back to Billie, her own frustration bubbling to the surface. “You think I’m just lounging around all day? That I’m doing nothing while you’re out there working? I’m raising our kid, Billie. Alone, most of the time. Do you even know how hard it is?”
Billie’s expression softened for a split second, but the tension in her shoulders returned just as quickly. “I know it’s tough, but I’m doing this for us. For you, for our future. You don’t have to worry about money because I’m busting my ass out there—”
Y/N’s voice rose, cutting through Billie’s words. “I don’t care about the money! I care that you’re never here. I care that I’m the one left to pick up the pieces every time you come home late, or miss another bedtime, or don’t show up for a doctor’s appointment because you’re stuck at the studio.” Her breath came in short, shaky bursts as the words poured out. “It’s like… it’s like you’re choosing the music over us, over me.”
Billie’s face hardened, and she took a step closer, her eyes flashing with anger. “That’s not fair, Y/N. You think this is easy for me? I’m working so our kid can have a good life, so we can have a future together. But it’s like no matter what I do, it’s never enough for you.”
Y/N’s vision blurred with tears she didn’t have the energy to wipe away. “No, Billie. It’s not about the future. It’s about right now. I’m drowning here, and you don’t even see it because you’re never home long enough to notice.”
Billie ran a hand through her hair, frustration evident in every movement. “What do you want me to do, then? Quit everything? Stay at home all day?”
Y/N shook her head, her voice cracking with exhaustion and hurt. “I want you to be here, to actually be present. Not just show up when it’s convenient. Our kid barely even knows you right now, Billie. And me? I feel like I’m fading into the background of your life.”
Silence fell between them, a tense, heavy quiet that seemed to fill every corner of the room. Billie’s jaw clenched as she struggled to find something to say, her hands balling into fists at her sides. Y/N could see the conflict in her eyes, the part of Billie that wanted to lash out and the part that knew Y/N wasn’t wrong.
Finally, Y/N broke the silence, her voice barely more than a whisper. “Maybe… maybe I should just take our child and go. Go back to my family, back home. At least there, I wouldn’t have to do this alone.”
Billie froze, her eyes widening as if she had been slapped. For a moment, she looked like she didn’t believe what she had heard. “You can’t be serious. You’d really just leave? Take our kid and leave me behind?”
Y/N’s shoulders sagged, the weight of her own words settling over her. “I don’t know, Billie. I don’t want to, but I can’t keep living like this. I can’t keep pretending that this is enough.”
Billie’s expression crumbled, her frustration giving way to a deep, gnawing fear. “Y/N, please. Don’t… don’t say that. I know I’ve been absent, I know I’ve messed up. But I’m doing my best, I swear. I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want to lose our family.”
Y/N felt a fresh wave of tears rise, but she blinked them back, shaking her head. “Your best isn’t enough if it means I’m here alone, Billie. I need more from you. We need more from you.”
Billie took a step closer, her voice desperate, breaking. “Then tell me how. Tell me what to do. I’ll make it right, Y/N, I promise. Just don’t leave. Don’t take our child away from me.”
Y/N closed her eyes, the exhaustion washing over her like a tide she couldn’t hold back. She didn’t know what the right answer was, didn’t know how to bridge the distance that had grown between them. But she could see the fear in Billie’s eyes, the pain that matched her own.
“I don’t have all the answers, Billie. But you have to show me that we’re worth fighting for. Because I can’t keep feeling like I’m in this by myself.”
Billie nodded slowly, tears pooling in her own eyes, her voice barely holding together. “Okay. I’ll try. I’ll be here, I promise. Just… please, don’t give up on us yet.”
Y/N looked at her for a long moment, then glanced down at their child, sleeping peacefully through the aftermath of their fight. “I won’t give up, Billie. But you have to fight for us too. You have to be here.”
The silence that followed was different this time—quieter, with an unspoken promise lingering between them. It wasn’t a resolution, not really, but it was a moment of understanding, a fragile thread that might still hold them together.
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thezombieprostitute · 7 months ago
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Imagine this:
accountant!reader x IT tech!Jensen x manager!Andy x CEO!Lloyd
The intent was to write something short and sweet but smutty. The result is approximately 2200 words with a ton of smut! I blame Lloyd.
Warnings: Power dynamics; Creepy boss; Smut, smut, SMUT! Minors DNI!!!!
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“Thank you, Jake,” you half whisper, half moan into his ear. “I really needed this.” You’re not normally one for hookups in the supply closets but you’d had such a stressful day you really needed to let off some steam. Thankfully Jake was always happy to help you out. And he was very good at helping you feel good. 
The two of you had a friends-with-benefits situation that had been carefully negotiated and navigated. Sometimes you got the sense that Jake wanted more and that’s why he was so eager to please. But you were both quick to talk if either of you felt things were getting too serious. It definitely made office parties a lot more fun. Everyone else was enjoying the cheap food and you and Jake got to go to a private office and actually take your time together.
You both do try to be careful at the office but your manager, Andy, has been really ramping up the sad sack shtick with all the women in your department, desperate for a date or some feminine attention and pity. You could only take so much, especially when your coworkers pointed out to him that you’re single. Traitors. 
Every day he would ask you about your plans. You tried being polite and got nowhere. You finally told him, directly, that you weren’t interested in him last Friday. Today you were called into a meeting with HR about “appropriate workplace behavior”. They told you they’d received complaints from your manager about flirting with him despite him telling you “no”. You smiled tightly and nodded, staying quiet and signing the documents saying you’d been talked to. 
You texted Jake on your phone to meet you in the hall closet. One of the things you appreciated? He didn’t ask questions, he just showed up and gave you what you needed. He really seemed to like it when you would repeatedly whisper “thank you’s” into his ear. It’s only a quickie but it definitely helps. You kiss Jake’s cheek and thank him as he blushes. You leave at different times and head back to your respective desks.
 You check your email and find yourself looking at an appointment with Lloyd Hansen, the company’s CEO. Thinking it must’ve been in error you hit the “Decline” button and add the most polite note that you can think of. Just a few minutes after you get yet another appointment notice with Mr. Hansen. No explanatory note. You’re extra grateful to Jake because your brain immediately jumps to Andy complaining about you to Mr. Hansen because your HR visit wasn’t enough of a punishment. 
The appointment is for tomorrow so you silently stew for the rest of the workday. At home you treat yourself to your favorite meal and shows. Your sleep is full of stressful dreams and you wake up more exhausted than when you went to bed. Not wanting to look like a mess in front of Mr. Hansen, you make sure to take extra care of your makeup and clothing choices. Working as hard as your caffeine deprived can to balance “I’m okay” with “I’m not trying to flirt with anyone”. It’s never an easy task.
As you log on to your computer you smell Andy’s cologne and internally wince. You turn to face him, “yes, Mr. Barber?”
“Easy there, tiger,” he chastised. “I just want to make sure that you’re doing okay after that HR meeting.”
Gritting your teeth you reply, “why wouldn’t I be?”
“Well I know a lot of people can have a kind of whiplash when they realize their behavior isn’t acceptable,” he explains in an obviously condescending tone. “I’ll understand if you want to take some vacation time.”
“Mr. Barber,” you seethe, “I think what would help me the most is keeping some distance between us at all times in the office.”
“Okay,” he scoffs. “Just remember who it is that HR listens to.” He walks away and you find yourself trying to not throw or break something. 
As soon as you can you head straight to Mr. Hansen’s office. His secretary lets you in, though he is not yet in. You should probably be upset that he’s late for the meeting he insisted on having with you but it’s better than sitting in your cubicle waiting for Andy to strike. 
The quiet is broken by Mr. Hansen storming into the office, yelling at someone on the phone. You recognize him immediately if only because of the mustache. “And I told you to handle it, Six! Get your head out of your ass and fix it!” He lets out a small huff as he listens to the person on the phone. “I don’t give a shit. It should’ve been handled weeks ago. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a meeting.” He hangs up without waiting for a response and turns to you with a smile that makes you feel like prey caught in a trap.
“So you’re the girl Barber was complaining out,” he starts. You’re unable to hold back your grimace and he laughs. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, I don’t give a shit about that cuck.” You tilt your head in confusion. “See, he tried to play up the whole “women don’t know how to take a compliment” thing but I was able to see through him. He’s pathetic and you weren’t having it. Even flat out told him, “no”. That’s something I respect. Not everyone would do that to their boss.”
He sits down in his chair and continues, “so I started looking into you and imagine my surprise when I find out you and Jensen are hooking up!” Your eyes widen in shock and you start stammering before he holds out a hand, gesturing for you to stop. “You’re not in trouble for that. Hell if I could get laid instead of attending those lame work parties I absolutely would. Which is why I brought you here.” 
He leans his elbows on the desk, “I want in on whatever fuck-buddy deal you and Jensen got going on.”
“S..sir, I,” you’re at a loss for words. 
“Tell you what,” he slaps the desk and stands up, “I’ll make it easy for you. Either you agree to be my own fuck-buddy, occasionally still get some good stuff from Jensen, or I’ll make you Barber’s personal secretary.”
“What if I quit instead?”
“Then I’ll go ahead and fire Jensen,” he quips. “It would be a damn shame, though. Jakey is one of the best IT guys we got. Likely up for a promotion that would get him a private office.”
“Can I talk to Jake first,” you plead. “It is part of our arrangement that we communicate changes before they’re implemented.”
“You know what, sure. I can respect that a deal is a deal.” He goes to the phone on his desk and tells his secretary to send Jake up.
When Jake does arrive he’s shocked to see you. At Lloyd’s gesture he closes the door behind him. Lloyd doesn’t let you speak and lays everything out for him like he did you. 
Jake looks at you, “it’s…umm…I appreciate you looking out for me and my job,” he starts. “But it’s also your body and I would never want you to accept something like this just for me.”
“You know, Jakey here has a point,” Lloyd interjects. “You really don’t know what you’re in for with me. How about a demonstration? I’ll even let Jake join in to help keep you comfortable.”
Knowing that you were being watched shouldn’t excite you so much. The fact that both of these men wanted you was making you wet. You straddle Jake in his chair and start making out with him while taking off your clothes and grinding your hips against his crotch. 
Jake moans as he takes off your bra with practiced ease, “you’re sure about this?” 
“Feel how wet I am, Jake.” He obliges and sticks his fingers inside your panties. He rubs your clit and you arch your breasts into his face as his eyes widen at the wetness he finds there. 
“Holy shit,” he breathes. He gets a dark glint in his eye that you don’t entirely recognize. He removes his hand and starts to unbutton your pants. “You gotta taste her, Mr. Hansen. Sweetest pussy and it’s already drenched.”
You hadn’t realized Lloyd was standing behind you until he grabbed your breasts, lifting you a little as he nibbled your neck. He pulls you off of Jake and the two of them finish undressing you before setting you on Lloyd’s desk. You’re on your back, your head hanging over one side, your legs spread wide for the both of them. 
Lloyd doesn’t hesitate and dives tongue first into your pussy. Your reaction is immediate as he uses his mustache to tickle your clit. You throw your head back and moan before you’re able to stifle it. 
He pulls away from you, “don’t worry about noise, sweetheart. My secretary is gone for the afternoon and no one else would dare be on this floor.” He turns to Jake, “you were right! This is a damn tasty snack.” He gets back to it and you don’t hold back your sounds. It was such a relief to get to be as loud as you wanted. 
“Fuck, I love those sounds,” Jake groans.
You reach out to him, “your cock, Jake? Please, can I stroke your cock?”
“Love those sounds, too,” he grins as he undoes his belt. You look to Lloyd to see if he has any objections but he’s too focused on licking up all of your juices. Jake is already half hard and your hands know just how to get him fully erect. His hands start playing with your tits, gently pinching, pulling and fondling. 
The two of them quickly bring you to the brink of orgasm, then Lloyd sticks two of his fingers inside you and it pushes you over the edge. You cum loudly and Lloyd keeps scissoring his fingers while sucking on your clit, enjoying the show. When the aftershocks fade, he removes his hand and backs away just a little.
“Jensen, you take her mouth,” he orders. “I’m gonna make a mess of this pussy and I want to hear her choking on your cock while I do.”
You let go of Jake’s erection and he starts pushing himself into your mouth, grunting and moaning as he does so. He’s careful with you, like always, and places your hand on his thigh so you can signal if it gets too much.
Lloyd, however, lines himself up with your opening and quickly thrusts himself fully inside. If your mouth wasn’t so full of Jake’s cock, you’d likely have screamed. They fucked both of your holes with abandon and you were loving every second of it. Occasionally Jake would ask for a status and you’d tap his thigh twice for “all good”. 
“Not gonna last much longer,” Lloyd admitted. “This pussy is so fucking tight. I see why you risked your job for her.” He started rubbing your clit and you careened towards another orgasm. As soon as Jake came in your mouth you were done for. You tightened your legs around Lloyd as you came hard and swallowed all of Jake’s spend. You heard Lloyd mumbling, “fuck, fuck, fuck,” before he came with a yell. 
You’re still in a daze as both men pull out of you. Lloyd whistles, “now that’s a pretty picture. What say we get you cleaned up?”
“What the fuck?!” A voice from the office door crashes your post-orgasm euphoria. You look up and see Andy, standing in the doorway.
“Ah, Barber,” Lloyd says as he zips his pants back up. “Right on time.”
“What?!” Jake exclaims as you look, wide-eyed, at Lloyd. 
“You see, Andy,” he walks over to your manager and claps him on the shoulder. “You’re a complete cuck and we both know it.” Andy tries to protest but Lloyd cuts him off. “This is the closest you’re ever going to get to some pussy. Now be a good boy and clean up the mess I made.” He throws Andy to his knees in front of your spread pussy. 
Andy groans at the sight and you feel a stir of courage. “Well,” you scold. “Are you going to be a good boy and do as you're told or am I going to have to clean myself up?” His eyes darken but you don’t back down. He dives into your cum filled pussy and starts cleaning you up.
“Good boy,” Lloyd smirks. “Probably the only way you can actually please a woman.” He looks at Jake, “whenever you’re done with her, call her cuck over to clean up. Sound good?”
Jake looks to you and sees you writhing with pleasure, “I think so.”
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Part 1.5
Tagging @alicedopey because I promised I would.
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gwydionmisha · 2 years ago
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Personal: The Least Sexy Photoshoot
What happened to the news this week?  I had next to no spoons and RL ate them all.  I did tons of prep, but My eyelids keep twitching and my body has been enforcing a lot of bed rest, which at least means, I read all but one of the ILLs.
Monday: Luckily I was reminded it was President's Day Sunday night so I rested instead of forcing myself out of bed only to discover my errands were fruitless.  The Empress Declared Livia Love Day, which is an important holiday in our household, and mostly consists of hanging out peaceably in a group and lots and lots of Livia Loves.  Tavy's been having nightmares again, but is not taking it out on everyone and is responding to my attempts to comfort him above average well.  Livia love Day ended up extended to Livia Love Week.
Tuesday: I burned all the spoons on taxes and small errands. (Library, Pharmacy, OTC Pharmacy, the tail ends of OTC grocery and EBT at the store that takes both.)  When I say all the spoons, I mean, I barely managed to eat and lung before having to go straight to bed.  NOTE: I have no taxable income, but I always file a tax return to prevent identity theft and so I have a tax return if I need it for bureaucracy.  I need to present it to someone most years.
Wednesday: It had been early spring weather here for a couple of weeks, but we caught the edge of the really nasty cold front messing things up further south.  So strong icy cold wind, sporadic flurries that didn't stick.  This far North, it gets cold fast after dark.  I talked them into not increasing my dose on account of hives last week.  This proved clever of me because I clearly couldn't handle a bigger immune response than I got.
Head Millennial and I where both exhausted by the cold, and I cut errands and Head Millennial's work load to a bare minimum.  The roads were icy when I took them home and I'm very glad they didn't stay later.
Thursday: Mostly bed rest. I normally would have stayed up for early morning rheumatologist torture session, but my body vetoed and I took the five hour nap instead.  I woke earlier than intended, and lay in bed doing Peaceable Kingdom with the cats, who were NOT Pleased, when I had to dislodge them at what they consider sleep time to dress and lung so as to be ready for medical transport.
Friday: Medical transport turned out to be a mom and Pop company this time instead of Yellow Cab or the other one it usually is.  It is a long drive over the mountain Pass and down to the next major population center to the south, where my appointment was.  The driver was a charming lady who's family emigrated here after the war.  She'd had an arranged marriage, which she escaped, and from which she has three kids.  She came back home to this area, fell in love with and married a divorced man with kinds from a different language group who sounds wonderful and this is their company.  I was utterly charmed by them and I hope I get them next time and not the guy who took me home form an appointment Wednesday a week and a half ago who spent the ride prosthelatizing about the masculinity courses that are his side gig.  (Luckily, he wasn't MRA.  It was a weird cis straight white male liberal type thing, not quite Boomer bullshit, but some sort of hybrid Xer thing, with one foot in the Boomer White liberal camp and one foot in a more modern world view.)  Seriously, I was much later finishing than even my leave lots of room for extra testing estimate do to massive demand and not enough phlebotomists, and they were super cool about it.  He called her back to check in as a result and you could tell how much in love they were right through the language barrier and the way she talked about him....  I was just so happy for her living her best life in the place she loves best.
So here is the deal with rheumatology and me.  Poverty clinic used to get in a rheumatologist once a month from Seattle, but they were seldom the same more than twice for me.  Which meant that every time I'd have to prove to the new rheumatologist that the last one wasn't full of shit and I wasn't faking.  No one liked anyone's diagnosis, so I'd have to do the tests all over again.  I'd see them once more and they'd agree that I did have AS (or occasionally a different arthritis), and set up a treatment plan.  Next time I'd have to start over.  This was during the documenting my disability for Social Security/Medicare phase and for a while after.  The upside was a massive file my lawyer could take to the appeal hearing with a wide array of x-rays, MRIs, and assorted fancier things carefully detailing my degeneration with circled damage that even a law person could look at and go "Yeah.  That's not right."  
Eventually, the damage reached the point where enough was visible through my skin to the naked eye and I stopped having to prove I was in pain.  It was at this point the rheumatologists started to debate AS or something else in earnest.  Seattle stopped sending Saturday Rheumatologists and a clinic that took Medicare became available.  I had the same rheum for more than a year.  We did a fuckton of way fancier tests including a really in depth scan of my spine to see if the surgical option made sense.  It didn't.  We futzed with medication for a bit.  Biologics are no good, it turns out, thanks to CF Carrier.  My GP took over refills.  That rheumatologist went out of the saga.
Right before the pandemic we were just starting a new round of lets check in with specialists about assorted stuff and the every five years or so map the decline cycle, that ended abruptly in February 2020.  Rheum was on the list, but it got but aside.  When we got ready to try again there was a ton of drama with the only local rheum taking medicare and it was impossible to get in anyway, hence my journey south.  Squirrel and my experience with Medical care in Vernon is excellent and I'll take their hospital over ours in a heartbeat, and after dealing with asshole receptionist at the local was was happy to give it a whirl down there.  
They were all delightful at the New Rheum.  new Rheum's theory is hyper-mobility + Osteo instead of AS, which we are testing.  (I'm not classic hyper-flexible.  No joints that bend backward, but the field is moving forward a lot and they are starting to consider people in my category as hyper-flexible too.  I am stiff as fuck due to arthritis these days, but I was rather famously flexible in my youth.  Like people would gather around to watch me stretch out and make comments.)  I signed releases so she can get my massive fucking file of scans and tests.  
The building had an imaging and blood testing center (Also a full surgical center and who knows what else).  X-ray was a significantly shorter wait than the x-rays took.  X-ray techs were delightful.  Unfortunately we were doing skull to tailbone is small sections with lots of angles to get all the joints, most of it standing up.  I expected this.  It was still a nightmare.
While I was being posed for yet another series of what I was thinking of as the least sexy photo-shoot ever, I found myself thinking that Harrowhawk Nonegismus likely wouldn't agree if I'd been a woman...
The wait for the phlebotomist took as long as the rheum +x-ray plus their wait times put together at minimum.  I was exhausted, in pain, and in an uncomfortable chair near the door where the arctic blast would hit me every time they opened. ��On the upside my history of early modern English sodomy turned out to be really riveting in a way a lot of academic writing in this area isn't.  Wow!  Seriously wow!  Scholarship has come a long way in recent years.  a bunch of things in there should really be movies.
I am wrung out and in pain and my eyelids are twitching again, but miles to go before I sleep.  Sigh.
On the upside, bills are now paid.  Thank you to everyone kicking in.  Housing bill is soon.  Fingers crossed on no more emergencies.
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ramp-it-up · 3 years ago
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Anything and Everything
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Pairing: Chris Evans x Reader
Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. RPF  Read at your own risk.
SMUT, Angst, long distance relationship issues, doting husband, massages, employer/employee relationship, the notion of cheating, talk of happy endings, cursing, graphic sex, a sweet surprise, and Princess behavior. 😉———————
As soon as you ended the sexy Facetime call with your husband, you burst into tears. It was common lately, with him being gone for over a month and under the circumstances, but he never knew.
Until he decided to call you right back because he missed you so much.
You tried to keep it together when you answered the call, but he knew you better than that.
“Hey, Princess. Are you crying?”
He sounded so earnest that you couldn’t hide it any more. You were snuffling and unable to control the sobs shaking your body. 
It tore him apart not being able to be there to comfort and hold you. Although he had some idea, he asked anyway.
“What’s wrong babe?”
You let out all of your words.
“I, I, I  just miss you so much. It’s so hard with you gone and not being here to talk to and hold me and run out to get me food and, and I don’t want electronic sex or a vibrator or my fingers or a dildo. I want your mouth and your hands and your dick.”
You took a second to breathe. “And I know I have that silicone replica of you but it's cold and not warm and alive and I just want you and your warm arms and your huge chest and your beating heart and a forehead kiss...”
You cried harder thinking of how much of a cry-baby you sounded.  You didn’t normally do this, but the separation was getting to be too much.
You sobbed while he tried to calm you down. He would give you the world to make you happy. Once you were able to listen, he spoke in soothing tones. 
“Listen Princess, I’m going to arrange something to make you feel better. I know you’ve been missing me…”
You were smiling by the time you got off the phone, your man always able to make you feel better.
Two days later, a huge box with the massage table arrived at the house. Workers came to set up one of the spare rooms for a spa/wellness room, and you were not allowed to see it until the appointed day.  
You did clock them bringing in the massage table, a counter/workspace/storage, a ton of essential oils and supplies, and an upscale extra wide sofa with lots of pillows. 
You were excited and distracted from your lonliness, and you couldn’t wait to see it.  
You talked about your in-home massage appointment excitedly every time you spoke with your husband.  He beamed to know that he was able to bring the spark of happiness back to your voice.
“This is going to be good for you, try this massage therapist out, we might keep them on staff indefinitely.”
You lit up again.  “You mean, I can have my own live-in massage therapist?” You smirked.  “What did I do to deserve this?”
Your husband grinned back at you through the camera and proceeded to tell you everything that made you Queen in his eyes.
-------
Almost a week later, you entered the dimly lit room, ensconced in your fluffy terry cloth robe. There was soft music playing.
The soft green tones of the paint and the bamboo floor looked amazing.  You took off your slippers and realized that the floor was heated.  You grinned wide. 
The massage table was set up and waiting as you took in the room and noticed all the details. There was a soft knock at the door and you spoke.
“Come in.”  You didn’t know why, but you were full of anticipation. 
The massage therapist came in and your eyes locked for a second. There was a sudden electricity in the room, but then he averted his eyes and stood beside the table, eyes forward, back straight, almost at attention.
You gave him the once over, he was tall, broad shouldered, very well built, and extremely handsome. 
His dark hair and beard were well manicured and his large hands clasped behind him. That allowed you to see his lean form, his flat stomach and the large hump in his pants. 
You raised your eyebrow. This man was packing. You smirked. You couldn’t see his eyes, as they were downcast, so you went and stood in front of him.  
You realized that his blue scrubs matched his eyes and you smiled as he gazed down at you.
His perfect pink lips parted and you gazed at them a moment too long. There was a hint of a smile, and then it vanished. You stepped back.
You took him in from his broad, muscular shoulders, to his wide chest and his slim waist and hips.
He shifted and brought his hands to rest in front of him, and you walked around him and got a glimpse of his ass. There were no flaws.
“What is your name?”
���Robert, ma’am.”  
His curt reply came with just a glance at you, and you proceeded toward the counter, setting down your iced lemon water.
Your husband knew what you liked. And he delivered. Today would be just what you needed to relax.  
You started to untie your robe, still facing the counter, and when you started shrugging out of your robe, Robert cleared his throat.  You stopped and looked at him over your exposed shoulder.
His eyes were on you, but he raised his hand toward the table. 
“I will step out for a moment to allow you to disrobe and get situated. Start off face down. Please cover yourself with the sheet and I’ll be back in.’
You nodded your head at him.  And smiled. He was quite handsome.
He closed the door and you fully stepped out of your robe, hanging it on the hook on the back of the door, then you situated yourself on the table, placing the sheet over you, covering your back and leaving your arms out. You put your face into the headrest and relaxed.  
Robert came back in, and you heard him going to the counter, opening doors and moving things around.
“Is the table a suitable temperature, ma’am?”
The heated table had been a nice surprise when you lay down. Another plus for hubby.
“Yes, it’s heavenly, thank you Robert.” You smiled and snuggled into the cushioned table.
He moved back to the counter, and then came and placed his hands under the headrest so that you could inhale the scent of a spicy oil on his hands.
“Peppermint oil, ma’am. Your husband wants you to be sure that you can breathe well.” 
You smirked into the cushion.
“Does he now?”
“Yes ma’am. Those were his instructions.”
You detected no humor, no sarcasm in his voice, just a matter-of-fact tone.  You inhaled deeply, staring at his thick fingers through the headrest, wiggling at the thrill you got between your legs. 
You knew very well why your husband wanted your nasal passages to be clear. You couldn’t wait for him to control your breathing with his hand or his cock again.
He moved away again and then came back, placing his hands on your shoulders and pressed a little, as if getting you used to his touch.
His hands were warm, and strong, but gentle. His fingers trailed softly, but firmly up your neck, stopping just below your hairline to your hair, which was piled on top of your hair in a very messy bun.
“Can I touch your hair, ma’am? Scalp massage.”
You nodded, smiling at him asking permission. “Yes, that’s fine.”
He threaded his fingers into your dense curls and into your scalp and started massaging, drawing a long shuddering breath from you. Your bun was coming loose, but you didn’t care.  It was so fucking relaxing.
The peppermint oil on his fingers made your scalp tingle and your back arch just a tiny bit.  If Robert noticed, he didn’t say anything.
“Your hair is beautiful, ma’am.”  His voice made you shudder and your nipples peaked.  
“Thank you.” Your voice was barely audible.  
Robert removed your hair tie, and smoothed your hair forward above you.
You thought of how often your husband insisted on your hair being loose during love making, and you obliged.
He loved to grab it, especially when he hit it from the back. You loved when he did that. And you loved him. You’d missed his touch.
“Do you mind if I sit, ma’am?”
“Oh no, I’m sure standing on your feet all day must be exhausting.”
Robert didn’t reply, he just grabbed the rolling stool nearby and sat at your head, rolling his legs under the headrest.  You could see the muscular thighs in his scrubs when you opened your eyes halfway.
Upon opening them further, you could clearly make out Robert’s dick print.  He was well endowed, and the tip of his member was deliciously thick. He wasn’t wearing underwear.
Now this was a development. You licked your lips and a drop of your saliva landed on his pants, right next to his dick print.  He stopped massaging your scalp for a second.
“Ummmm, sorry.  Lying face down is kind of awkward.”  You giggled as he cleared his throat.
You sighed as Robert finished up the scalp massage and went to get some more oil.
“Sweet almond oil, ma’am. Your favorite?”
You couldn’t stop smiling.  Your husband had thought of everything.
“Yes.”
He began to work on your shoulders while still standing at your head, and he bent over you as his hands traveled down your back. HIs fingers grazed the sides of your breasts, causing goosebumps to rise on your skin.
He moved nearer you, as he stretched his arms to reach the top of your sheet covered ass, long fingers almost cupping it, making you squirm a little. 
“Sorry ma’am.  Are you uncomfortable?’
He straightened up and there was something in his tone that you heard, but that you didn’t care to decipher at the moment.
“No, no. I’m good.” 
And you hummed softly in your throat, wiggling your ass a little. That was always the signal for your husband to slap it. And if he were here, he would have. You’d missed that for the past 5 weeks he’d been away working.
Robert ran his hands slowly down your back again and this time grabbed lightly with his fingers as they retreated, gently pulling your ass cheeks apart.
The sound of your slick was evident, and a little embarrassing.  This man had made you wet.
He did it again, and if you didn’t know any better, it was to hear that sound again. You were trying to compose yourself when something hard nudged you in the head.
It couldn’t be. You lifted your head a little bit and came face to face with Robert’s blue scrub covered hard on. You smirked at it and licked your lips.
“It’s okay ma’am. Just relax.”
“Are you uncomfortable, Robert?”  
You echoed his question from earlier. You twisted your neck and looked up at him. Damn, he looked good gazing down at you.
“I’m good, ma’am. Let’s continue. Your husband is insistent that we finish.”
“Hmmmmmm.” You pursed your lips and put your head back in the headrest as he moved around to the side of you.
He massaged your shoulders and pressed down either side of your spine to your hips, stopping there and adjusting the sheet over your ass. He shook it out, lifting it high enough that he might have gotten a glimpse if he had been paying attention.  
But he was a professional, right?
He continued smoothing his hands down your legs, stopping at your feet and squeezing. 
“What kind of pressure, ma’am?”  He was awaiting further instruction.
“I like it hard and deep.” 
There was a noticeable pause, and Robert cleared his throat. You smiled down at the floor. 
“Deep tissue massages are everything.  Can you accommodate that Robert?”
He quickly replied. “Of course, ma’am.”  He situated the sheet so that your right foot was out. “Your husband told me to give you anything and everything you wanted.”
“Oh?”
He started massaging your foot, hitting all the pressure points with just the right way.
“Ohhhhhhhh! That feels good.”
He just hummed a response.  You relaxed even more, reveling in the human touch on your body that you had missed for so long.  He worked on both feet and calves, and you were almost putty on the table.
His hands moved up to your thighs, kneading and squeezing your muscles firmly.  He inched his way up your thighs to your ass, his fingers moving near your cunt.  He got oh so close to your lips, but never crossed the line. You were beginning to feel some kind of way.
“Do you talk, Robert?”
“If you need me too, ma’am. What do you want to talk about?”
“Do your clients ever…. ask you to do things…” 
“You mean, switch pressures? Use hot stones?….” 
If you knew him better, you would say he was intentionally misunderstanding.
You cleared your throat. ”I mean, do you ever give… happy endings?”
Another pause. “Ah.”  He continued up and down your legs with long, firm strokes.
“I’ve never had a client I would risk it all for.”  He never stopped moving his fingers up and down your legs, fingers almost giving you pleasure. “Until…”
“Until…?”
He cleared his throat again. “What did you want to talk about ma’am?”
He was intentionally evading.  You put the pieces together and you came to a conclusion.
You raised your hips a little and arched your back. Your ass was in position for him to easily go further if he wanted, and you knew he could see the outline of it under the sheet. Your man said it was the most gorgeous ass he’d ever seen.
Robert coughed to cover a moan. At least that’s what you imagined. 
“I need you to go further, Robert. Take off the sheet please.”
“Ma’am?”  He didn’t sound confused.  He was asking for confirmation.
“I need a deep tissue internal massage, Robert.”
The prospect of having this gorgeous man do things to you was making you soaked. 
“I’m already lubricated, you won’t need any more oil. I’m soaked actually.”
This time he didn’t cover his moan, he just pulled the sheet off and let it slide to the floor.
“Y-you’re beautiful Ma’am.  But what would your husband say?”
You turned your head around to witness Robert staring at your exposed cunt, his hands inches away from feeling all your glory.  He was licking his lips.  Then, his blue eyes met your brown ones. You arched your back some more and his eyes were drawn back to your most private places.
“Didn’t he tell you to give me anything and everything I wanted?”  
He moved his fingers a millimeter, and then looked back into your eyes. 
“Do your job, Robert.” 
You tried to keep the bitchiness out of your voice, but it was hard.  You wondered if he was still hard.
Robert looked back at it and moved his hands up, one thumb gently grazing the slick on the lips down there, pushing the viscous liquid around your fat pussy.  
He teased you, looking between what his thumb was doing and your face, as your eyes were halfway closed and your mouth was open, panting for your life.  He pushed in a little deeper inside you, not entering you fully, but just enough so your lips swallowed his thumb.  
He rubbed around the entrance to your cunt while holding your hips back with his other hand on your ass cheek.  You were trying to throw it back on his hand. It had been so fucking long since someone else had touched you.
He pulled his thumb out suddenly and tasted it, putting it in his mouth and sucking like a baby.  HIs eyes closed for a second, shook his head and then his eyes blazed at you.
“You taste so good ma’am.” 
He moved his hands back up to your apex and you expected him to put his fingers inside you again, but you yelped when he pulled you back and your ass met his face.
“Robert! Oh my! Oh shit. Yes!”
Robert was going to town. He licked his thick, wide tongue up your folds from your clit to your ass and back down again, swirling at each end.
“Fuck!” 
Robert had you impaled on his face while his strong hands gripped your thighs. He hummed, causing an electric shock to jolt up your spine.  You cried out again.
Then he started slurping your juices, and sucking your clit, stretching it out from between your lips with his own.  He slurped it between his lips and the sound was obscene enough to make you get there quickly.
He started humming again when you started to quiver, and he worked his head back and forth, taking your clit with him. He worked it up and down, back and forth until the coil of pressure in your belly contracted and snapped, delivering your juices to this man’s face.
Your orgasm was hard and relatively fast.  He smiled, watching you spasm when he pulled back. 
“Look at that delicious cream.  Your husband is a lucky man, Ma’am.”
He held you open so he could watch your arousal and cum drip down your folds. You watched it drip down his beard. You twitched at the sight. 
He shook his head again, grabbing a towel from the counter, wiping his face and washing his hands in the sink. You thought you saw a smile.
You were unable to speak for a minute.  He came around to your side and gazed down at you, smile gone, placing his hand on your shoulder and looking deep into your eyes.
“Are you ok, ma’am?”  You nodded yes, and then he made a turning motion with his hand.  “Turn onto your back.”
You obeyed, not thinking too hard about what was happening. You were beneath him, exposed. Watching him. You noticed that he was indeed still hard, and even bigger than you’d peeped earlier. You reached for him and he moved away.
“I’m here to serve you, ma’am.”
You put your hand back down to your side and moved your head to watch him go get the bottle of almond oil and come back to your side.
He raised the bottle above your breastbone and began to pour a thin drizzle down your body, ending with him dripping it slowly and methodically on your clit.  You were still sensitive, and the stimulation made you throb anew.
He finally stopped and used both hands to smooth the oil into your skin, his left hand stroking it into your chest and spreading it to your breasts, grabbing your fullness and pulling your nipples through his fingers firmly, but gently, making you wet all over again.  Your breasts were very sensitive.
“You are so, so beautiful ma’am. “ 
He leaned down and used his tongue on your nipples, swirling and lightly biting. When he started suckling, your pussy clenched, and as if sensing that, he then used his middle finger flat on your stomach and smoothed the oil downward toward your pussy, parting your still throbbing lips again.
He played with you lengthwise, the sloshing sound of your wetness simultaneously embarrassing and erotic. You were at the brink immediately, especially when he pushed his finger inside you and curled it.
“Ohhhh.  Feels so fucking good Robert.”
At that, he inserted another finger, and then another, until your cunt was stuffed full of his thick fingers and you were stretching out nicely around them. You were not disguising your moans or your desire for him. 
You didn’t know exactly what you wanted, but you wanted what he was giving. He worked you toward your next orgasm swiftly, squeezing and flicking your slippery tits, looking up and down your body appreciatively.
You turned your head toward his crotch, which was situated near your head. You looked up at him. He met your gaze. He knew what you wanted. You now held him captive to your wants.
“Anything and everything Robert. Stuff your cock in my mouth while I cum.”
His reserve snapped at your comment and he couldn’t help but groan. He kept fingering your cunt while he quickly undid his scrub pants with his other hand and pulled them down so his cock could spring free. You managed to catch it before it slapped his stomach and you tugged him toward you, your mouth wide open.
You quickly licked your lips as he pushed it toward you, and you gladly accepted the wide organ, his girth almost causing you to split your lip around him.  His movements at your clit turned into circles as he pushed deeper into your throat.
“Now, just relax ma’am. I know it’s a lot.” 
He smirked down at you as you relaxed your throat and tried to breathe around him.  That peppermint oil really helped open your nasal passages, but you still spluttered as he filled your throat, and saliva and tears wet your face. You knew your throat would be sore later.
He pulled out and you choked and gasped for air for a bit before he tapped his dick on your mouth and you opened up again.
Your face was a mess but still beautiful. He didn’t push as deep this time, allowing you the space to swirl your tongue around his fat tip and down the vein underside of his cock.
The circles he was drawing on your clit were more insistent now, and you came yet again, moaning around his cock, sending vibrations up his back this time. He threw his head back and moaned, all the while managing to keep you from running from this orgasm with his hand.  
“Fuck!  Ma’am. You’re very good at that. Too good.”
He pulsed a little into your mouth before he pulled out, making your mouth pop off of his thick head loudly. You whined because you wanted him to come down your throat.
“You wanted everything, ma’am?”  
You caught his meaning as he moved around toward the foot of the table. He took his pants all the way off and stripped off his shirt. Your eyes took in his tattooed torso as he stroked his cock, knowing full well that you were watching him. Damn, he was so beautiful.
Then, he stood at the end of the table, rubbing up your legs to the apex of your thighs, which he pulled down so that your ass was almost hanging down off the table. He took himself in hand again and swiped his cock up and down your cunt, teasing as you whined for him.
“Each and every part of you is so beautiful ma’am.”
He stopped at your hole and pushed just the tip in and then pulled it back out, making you mad.  
“Nnnnnnhhh.”  You keened.  
“I want to wreck this beautiful pussy, ma’am. Want to feel you squeeze my dick until I paint your walls white with my seed. It will look so beautiful. We look so good together, see.”
You leaned up on your elbows so that you could observe. 
“Take it, it’s yours…”
You were open-mouthed panting, and although you didn’t think you could get any wetter, you were.
“But what would your husband say?”  He was smirking at you now.
“Anything. Everything.”
He pushed back into you, a little more this time, and you thought he would bottom out, so you threw your head back in ecstasy, but he pulled back again, causing you to snap your head up and glare at him.
“Please, it’s been so long for me.”  
Robert was panting now.  “Me too.”
Your eyes found his as he pushed inside you, this time moving slowly toward his goal.  
“You promise?” 
He felt so good stretching you out.  No fingers, no dildo, nothing could compare to him.
His hips stuttered as he stuffed you full.
“I’ve only had my hand for over a month. Nothing, no one comes close to this.”  He opened his mouth and outright panted, jaw slacked and eyes glazed.
He looked down at where you were joined together. 
“It really is magnificent.” He gasped at the sensations of you. Liquid satin. “Fuck, you aways feel so fucking good wrapped around me.”
He pushed both thighs up to your face and he started fucking you hard. You pussy was pulling him in deeper.
“I was planning on flipping you over, fuck… and… and hitting it from behind...shit!”
You started palming your own breasts and pulling your nipples while moaning wantonly. It was the best erotic movie he’d ever seen.
“Gat damnit…”
He puffed, watching what you were doing. His hips were getting off-rhythm and he shook his head to clear it. 
“But I just had to bend you in half and fuck the shit out of you.” He groaned, completely lost in the sauce. “You’re going to be the death of me.”
He reached up, licked his thumb and moved it to your clit, hitting impossibly deeper with each thrust.
“Cum for me one more time Princess.”
It had been so long since you heard that command in person.  You let go with abandon.
“Fuck! Yes Mr.Evans!”  You came again, gushing all over him. 
“Yes, baby, yessssss.”
Chris looked down and licked his lips.  “I’ve been wanting to feel this for forever.” He pulsed and came and mingled his liquid with yours.
He released your thighs and massaged them as he stared down at you, smiling as you came back to earth.
You looked at him. “Hi.”
“Hi.”  He winked and leaned over to give you a good kiss.  
“Welcome home, Baby.” You beamed up into his eyes.
“What a welcome….”
He grunted as he pulled out of you and you watched as he grabbed a towel and turned on the hot water, soaking some in the basin while taking one and cleaning himself up.  
Then, he grabbed his scrub pants, put them back on and brought a warm towel to clean you up gingerly. There was only love in his eyes as he completed the most intimate of acts. 
When he was done, he picked you up bridal style and moved you over to the sofa, arranging the pillows to cradle you as he crawled between your legs again. He sighed deeply, finally home.
You held him as he laid his head on your breasts, playing with his hair.  
“I missed you so much.”  You were so happy that your husband was finally home. 
“Mmmmm. You know I missed you too.”  He looked up at you, blue eyes large.  “Are you ok?  I didn’t hurt you did I?” 
He looked down at your body, and placed his large hand on your abdomen, beaming down at it. 
“How are you? How’s the little one? You look gorgeous. I can tell your body is changing already.” 
It was the same thing he asked every day over the phone, but in person, it hit different. The felt a lump in your throat.
“We’re great.  I can’t feel the baby yet, so I’m glad you’re home before I do.”
You were so afraid Chris was going to miss the major milestones of your pregnancy, but so far he’d only missed some faint morning sickness and you sleeping all the time.
You were nine weeks pregnant. You and Chris found out that you were four weeks along right before he left to film in Romania.  That set you off on an over-emotional rollercoaster that he tried to staunch from 5,000 miles away.
“You’re gonna have to pry me off of you until after the baby comes, and probably every day after that.” Chris looked at you like you were the most precious thing in the world. And you were. “Wherever you go, I go, and vice versa.”
You started to cry, because you loved this man so much. Or maybe it was because of hormones.  Chris lovingly kissed your tears away.
“I love my present, this room, the decor, the oils.  And especially my massage therapist. I might have to bring Robert on staff permanently at the Evans household. He’s fine as hell…” 
Your tears had turned to a sultry look. He chuckled at your mood swing.
“I almost broke character so many times, from the first time I looked in your eyes, to when I saw your ass under that sheet, and when I finally touched you.”  
Chris took a deep breath and kissed your collarbone, then laughed. 
“I can’t believe you drooled on my pants. That was a great test of my acting skills.”
You laughed with him.  “Well, you got skills, baby. You’re a great actor. It was a great experience. Say, did you ever do adult film?”  
Chris raised his eyebrows at you.  “The only ‘adult films’ that I’ve ever done are in a google drive that only you have the password to...”
“Don’t forget IG, when…” Chris started tickling you to get you to shut up.
After a few minutes of laughing and talking and getting reacquainted, your eyes started getting heavy. The excitement of your reunion, combined with great sex, and first trimester pregnancy, was about to do you in.
Chris picked you up and carried you down the hall to your master suite.  You loved that he was so much bigger than you. 
You snuggled his neck and started playfully biting him. His little moans and the slight swelling of his dick against your thigh as he carried you told you he wasn’t playing.
“Don’t start anything you can’t finish right now, Mrs. Evans. I can tell you’re tired.”  He lay you on the bed and you got under the covers, warm and happy. 
“What do you want right now? Food? Sleep?.....Anything else?”
He stood at the side of the bed, blue scrubs slung low on his hips, hair messed up. His blue eyes were blazing, his abs on point and the trail of soft dark hair on his stomach was pointing to happiness. 
You watched him as he subtly flexed for you. You realized that you were getting moist again. And judging from his smile, Chris realized it as well. 
You bit your lip and looked him up and down.
“I want all of that.” 
You pointed to him, circling your finger around his form.
“Everything.”
You giggled as Chris moved to give you whatever you wanted.
————————-
Tell me anything and everything about this! Let me know in the comments or reblogs!
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i-did-not-mean-to · 3 years ago
Text
Happy Birthday Razzy
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@lordoftherazzles 💖💖💖
!Here is my gift to you...Art by @dyemberrr!!! and a silly story from me...😔
(Let's give that amazing artist a hand (and a comm) for their talent and lovely nature...they've been a joy to work with)
JK...I've sent you a Kofi...
It's Razzy's Bday today and she's been having a shite time, so if you have any thoughts, prayers, or moneys to spare, consider buying her a KoFi 🥺💖
I love you dearly, friend, and I hope you're having a marvellous day. The first drink is on me 🍹🍾🍻
(but here comes the story anyway)
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The Bagginshield Meta-story (or Who we are)
Words: 2,5 k
Characters: YOU, Thorin, Bilbo, Thrandy, Bard, Balin & Ori (for shits and giggles)
Warnings: This is not my usual subject, but it is my style...Let's see if they mash
“Well, best of luck to you,” Ori said with a shit-eating grin that amused you more than it actually annoyed you.
He was a dear creature, but – in your opinion – he was also kind of a wuss; now that he was off to spend his honeymoon somewhere far away from the king and his consort, youhad the honourable task to chronicle the events taking place in Erebor.
“How hard can it be?” you jeered lightly, pinching his cheek affectionately which made him squirm a little.
“You’ll soon find out,” he said with a shrug and gave you a short half-hug before sauntering away, a little too eager to leave the premises for your taste.
You were truly happy for him and – truth be told – you had faced greater perils and hardships in your life than a constipated king and his half-feral husband.
“Oh, it’s a good one to start you off,” Bilbo laughed when he saw you – armed with stacks of paper and a handful of quills – come down the corridor leading to the meeting room.
“What do you mean?” Your eyes narrowed suspiciously upon seeing just how amused the consort was; Ori’s mocking grin floated back to your mind like the reflux some of the dwarven cuisine’s staples always gave you.
“You are about to witness the verbal sparring between Thorin and Thranduil,” Bilbo informed you in a sing-song voice that you would have written off as typical Hobbit-cheerfulness if you hadn’t known the little man to be a complete savage.
With every step you took, the feeling of being shoved into a lion’s den with a juicy steak dangling around your neck intensified and the mischievous twinkle in the Hobbit’s hazel eyes did nothing to calm your roiling stomach.
The kings were already there, looking like a storm about to form by mixing elements and temperatures that would inevitably clash.
“Thranduil,” Bilbo purred, “I see that you’ve decided to express your deep, respectful interest in this meeting by being so impeccably clad.”
The addressed Elf – tall and impossibly pale – whipped around as if Bilbo had thrown a thistle down his intricately embroidered robes while the – definitely human and very exhausted – man he was betrothed to merely pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation.
“I’ll have you know that this is a very old robe,” Thranduil hissed, caught between his discomfort at being called out for his subpar appearance and his petty streak, “not that any of you would know the difference.”
You settled down at a small table and wondered if this was part of your duties already.
Thranduil wore ‘old’ robes. Consort (maybe?) liked them well. King didn’t care.
You jotted it down just to be on the safe side, but Thranduil’s piercing eyes made you freeze where you sat.
“What are you writing? Where is that pitiful, scrawny girl who usually scribbles away furiously during these idiotic meetings?” he spat, drawing closer to peek over your shoulder.
“Love,” the man – Bard by name – whispered warningly, “this is not your home and, I’m sure, king Thorin is entirely apt to appoint any scribe he likes. Also, I am almost certain that the girl is a lad.”
“He’s on his honeymoon,” Thorin informed him in a clipped voice, giving you an almost apologetic look before he tore into his opponent.
“In the right corner, weighing in at ‘a grown war boar and a half’, our resident grump…Thorin II,” Bilbo’s cheery voice resounded right behind you.
“So, what do you want for your mouldy, worm-riddled, brittle, stupid wood?” Thorin goaded Thranduil; the whole meeting had the purpose of strengthening trade and peace agreements between two people who had been enemies for the longest time and – as far as dwarves and elves were concerned – would not have minded awfully leaving it at that.
Judging by the behaviour of the two regents of said people, their inveterate enmity was alive and thriving still, but someone had to have initiated these talks and you were curious to see how this would end, especially as nobody really seemed to be happy to be here.
“And in the left corner, weighing in at ‘a wet log covered in fungus’, the prissy king of wild creatures and haunted trees…Thranduil Oropherion,” Bilbo went on unerringly.
“I do not want nor need anything from you,” Thranduil hissed, “you ugly, stinking, ill-tempered stump of a creature.”
Your head whipped around only to see Bilbo leaning against the wall behind you with a completely relaxed expression on his face; he was apparently used to insults being flung around wildly and this warm-up did not faze him in the least.
“Gentlemen,” Bard tried once more – completely in vain – to calm the tempers roaring like flames and driving the heat into both the regents’ complexions.
“I’ll teach you,” Thorin rumbled and – like an arrow – Bilbo suddenly shot forward to wrap around his husband like a particularly persuasive vine.
Now, you were not entirely sure if he meant to be living armour in the upcoming fight or if he was really trying to hold his husband back, but you saw him pour words like honey into the king’s ear which made him relax his stance and smile to himself.
Insults were exchanged. Threats were made. Consort of Erebor has disarmed the situation by whispering unknown state secrets into the heated ears of the king.
Slowly, you started to understand Ori’s hilarity better; did every council meeting and conference with foreign dignitaries inevitably turn into such a circus?
“I only want your rotten wood to burn,” Thorin declared with that amalgam of petulance and haughtiness that was his brand.
“I do not intend to use your rock to erect a monument in your honour either, Thoza,” Thranduil purred.
If Thorin was like a mountain lion, strong, bulky, and just the tiniest bit skittish, Thranduil was like one of those sleek, cunning, and ridiculously vain jungle-cats that lived in the high grasses of faraway lands.
You were sorely tempted to throw a ball in their midst to see if it would put a stop to all their hissing and posturing.
“If we could proceed?” Bard, backed up by Balin – rattled awake from his stupor by the noise – tried once again to reign in the generalised chaos.
“My love,” Bilbo hummed, “I’m sure you can get this deal done, can’t you?”
There was a challenging note in his silken voice, and you had to hand it to him; he knew exactly how to steer and manipulate the king into doing his bidding.
Consort plies the king by flattering him and – as far as I can tell – patting his royal behind very fondly.
By this time, you could only imagine Ori’s face when – upon returning from his Thorin-free and sex-rich honeymoon – he found your notes.
It was not that you disliked the king or his consort, but they were – undeniably – challenging in many different ways; for example, you had never seen such an indecently public display of marital affection in a meeting with a foreign dignitary.
You cleared your throat to get them to move on with the proceedings at hand but, by now, Thranduil was mending his crown – his long-suffering husband frowning at him impatiently – while your own king was being placated by the feisty hobbit with small, teasing pecks on the nose.
If they went on like that, your log of this momentous trade agreement would read like a soppy romance novel or a guide on how to maintain a healthy marriage.
King Bard is coaxing Thranduil back to the negotiations by pspsps-ing him like a cat.
Bilbo Baggins is engaged in a complicated mating ritual involving the king’s beard and his own nimble fingers.
After 10 minutes of stalemate – entirely unrelated to the talks – both parties seem to be ready to come back together.
This devolved into a soap opera, you thought, and cursed that blasted orange-haired, rat-faced, weak-hearted scribe once more in the most colourful words you could think of.
“So, we are willing to provide first class rock – and the odd gem – in exchange for firewood – and the odd vegetable – if that pleases you, king,” Bilbo sing-songed in a sickly-sweet tone that made Thranduil wrinkle his nose in distaste.
To your profound astonishment and amusement, King Thorin mirrored that expression almost instantly; while Thranduil seemed to take offense at Bilbo’s inflection, Thorin was horrified by the idea of having vegetables delivered – like a green, healthy plague – to his doorstep.
“The things we do for love,” Thranduil sighed, gracing his husband with a fond smile; it was universally known that it was for the sake of Bard that the king of wood and branch had accepted to even have these trade talks.
“A good, sturdy house is made of wood and stone,” Bard famously claimed and – while neither of the two mystical kings readily agreed to that – both Thranduil and Thorin were willing to make room for what was lacking in their realm to ensure the happiness and safety of their betrothed.
In short, it was a rather straightforward affair: both kings would agree to trade raw materials they could easily get for themselves in order to entertain a polite and regular exchange.
Never would you have believed this to grow into such a battle of wits and wills, but Bilbo’s wink and Bard’s compassionate smile made your heart twitch with empathy.
The rather boring nature of the negotiations did not prevent the situation from being an interesting and most informative one, nonetheless, for there were a thousand things you noticed and that amused and surprised you in equal measure.
Haughty to the point of being deemed arrogant, both Thorin and Thranduil were beacons of their royal status and their noble bloodline; it astonished you to no end to see them – consistently – look to their spouses for reassurance and guidance.
“Thorin?” Bilbo prompted, his small, pudgy hand squeezing the enormous mitt of the king encouragingly.
“Erebor will be honoured to provide finest stone – and the odd gem – to your people,” Thorin grumbled, nodding into the general direction of Thranduil and Bard.
“And we – in turn – will be ecstatic to provide wood – and the odd vegetable – to the lonely mountain in hopes to sustain the prolonged good health of our neighbours,” Thranduil purred coldly before seeking the gaze of his husband to get his approval of the herculean effort he had just made.
Trade seems to be agreed on. Nobody died. Bard needs a drink. Bilbo needs a quiet room to massage the tension out of our king.
You bit your lip; clearly, you were taking too many liberties with your transcription here, but they were too touching.
Grown men – some of them decades and millennia old – squabbling like children made you grin madly, but you hid it behind your hand, pretending to stifle a cough.
The part that touched you most was definitely the love; they both loved their husbands and their people and – no matter how much they truly might loathe one another – they were willing to do whatever was necessary to ensure the happiness and safety of those they were responsible for.
And their spouses knew.
Oh, the small frown washing over Thranduil’s face as Bard’s responding smile was just the tiniest bit delayed, and the way Thorin held on to Bilbo’s hand as if it was the only anchor tethering him to the calm, self-possessed demeanour expected of him, these tiny details warmed your heart and made your fingers fly over the parchment.
This was worth being written down for posterity – much more than a lousy exchange of dead wood against cold stone – it was the love between races, between people, between souls that made it all worthwhile.
The silence having fallen like a blanket of mist and shadow onto the congregation was as soft as a caress now and you found yourself sketching the wondrous creatures in front of you absent-mindedly.
Suddenly, those scrolls that Ori only ever showed his beloved – lovingly called his ‘private archive’ – made a lot of sense to you; no doubt, a soul as sensitive as his would not be left untouched by the earnest yearning and the monumental faith that ran like a quiet but steady brook between the boulders of regal authority and political strife.
Love will find a way, that was what your old nan had always told you and – for the first time in what seemed like forever – you thought you might understand what she had meant: love, life, and growth had dug into unyielding stone and taken their place amongst cold, remote stars.
Old and yet to grow older still, the two kings had lost their hearts to creatures meant to bloom and wilt within the blink of an eye if not magically sustained; how many oaths would be sworn, how many monsters braved, how many treasures absconded – in time – to keep that precious life, thrumming wildly like a flighty bird in their palm, burning bright?
The kind of devotion you had just witnessed might well outlast rock and outshine distant celestial bodies; it surely had mellowed fossilised resentment and made new buds thrive from seemingly barren roots.
Despite the bickering and the insults, what struck you most in this first meeting you had taken notes of had been the undeniable, inevitable, invincible impression of hope.
You had made it all the way to your chambers until you realised that you were smiling like an idiot as you replayed the intimate gestures of trust and teasing between two couples that represented life in its myriad forms – all of them precious and beautiful – and the surprises even tradition and a long life could not fully prepare you for.
“Hmmm,” Ori smiled as you handed him your accounts of the meeting, “they did it again?”
“Fighting?” you asked, “Don’t they always?”
“No,” the soft-spoken scribe chuckled, “forget about the meeting and moon at their spouses. Balin has pondered asking them not to bring Bard and Bilbo to the meetings, but then the two kings storm out of the room within an instant and refuse to be coaxed back into negotiations.”
Relaxed and visibly happy, Ori rolled up your scrolls with the ease of habit and tucked them under his arm.
“By the way,” he said, turning around, “your comments were hilarious, and those drawings were really rather good. I’ve been thinking about working less and I’d love to share some of the load with you.”
“You want out of the Thranduil meetings, don’t you?” Your eyes narrowed warily.
With a boyish wink, Ori waved a nonchalant hand and promised that you’d talk about it again once you had time to think it over.
You made sure to keep your face stern until he was out of sight, but – if you were completely honest – you wouldn’t have minded all that much being the chronicler of an epic love story that defied prejudice, tradition, time, and all the evil of the world itself.
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Once again, happy bday my dear...
I'm wishing you all the best and I hope this was not the worst gift anyone has ever written for someone else. Let not the quality of my writing be a gauge of my love...
❤️❤️❤️
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lululawrence · 3 years ago
Note
Can u please be nicer on ao3? Maybe you should try answering people's comments
when i read the first line i was honestly flabbergasted and wracking my brain trying to figure out when in the world i wasn't nice on ao3 ever. because i honestly truly try to be nice to everyone always, even when i'm angry or frustrated or people are going after those i love and want to protect. if there was a time i WASN'T nice on ao3, i wondered if it was maybe because my comment had been misunderstood or someone saw me razzing an author i'm good friends with and they didn't get that we are close and i said what i did with so much love and appreciation, you know? like what??? did i do???
but then i read your second line. and please forgive me if i come off as rude in my response to this, because honestly i'm in a pretty bad spot mentally and emotionally in general right now, but PARTICULARLY today, and this ask triggered an anxiety response in me. so. i'm trying really hard to word this in a way to educate without being condescending or mean, but i might not succeed.
firstly, thank you for your comments i'm assuming you've left. i'm also assuming they were nice comments, in which case extra thanks. i'm sure i'll send you effusive responses on ao3 when the time comes.
secondly, please understand that sending an ask like this, on anonymous no less, is incredibly entitled. writing is not my profession, i receive no compensation for my works that i post for free online, and as a part of that it is not required of me to respond. i do my very best to reply to every comment i receive, but it is not always in a timely manner, because i have other priorities in my life. all of which leads us to my third point, which is:
writers do not owe you a reply to your comments. end of. there are no other qualifications or quantifying modifiers to be added to the statement. is it nice to be acknowledged and know your comment was seen? sure. but do they OWE you one? hell no.
in fact, i'd like to offer you a suggestion. a way of tweaking your thinking about the comments you leave on fics. instead of looking at comments you leave as being something that deserves a reply from the author, think of your comments as your way of paying the author for the gift of their time and talents that they have shared with you by posting their fic. that's how i think of the comments i leave for authors. i'm giving them my thanks for the words they've shared! i want to help THEM feel as amazing as they have made ME feel when i read their fic. in fact, my hope isn't necessarily a response from them, but instead my hope is THE GIFT OF THEM SHARING MORE FIC WITH ME. i'm a selfish bitch in that way and i always want all the fic to read. i never want that well to go dry. one way i can ensure that doesn't happen is by supporting authors and being kind to them and spreading all the love and excitement i can about their writing in the hopes that my words will inspire them to share more.
because whether they reply or not, i GUARANTEE they are seeing your comments. i PROMISE they are. and for all you know, your comment might be the one that keeps them writing even when their words aren't coming easily or when they are tempted to give up.
but, again, please remember that no matter what, these authors (including me) don't actually owe you anything.
the rest of this is going under a cut, because honestly my reply is already far too long and i have a LOT more to say now that you've gotten me started.
now, all of this in mind, i'll explain to you why i'm not great with keeping up with comments made on my fics the last couple of years. i don't owe you this explanation any more than i owe you a response to your comments, and i'm honestly not sure you deserve this explanation either, but i'll still offer it anyway. it'll help me feel better knowing i at least put this out there, whether you care or not, mainly because if i don't do that it will cause me greater anxiety having you possibly think i am not responding to people because i feel all high and mighty or that i think i'm better than the comments or whatever the fuck kind of motivation you're attributing to me to see my lack of a response as something "not nice" towards the commenters.
i'm not sure if you've noticed, but i put out a lot of fic. like a lot. a lot of words and shit. i love writing, it's often my therapy and a way for me to help keep my anxiety and depression and ptsd at bay.
now, more personal shit for you, i've got three kids ages 9 and under. the oldest has adhd which we have yet to find a med for that helps to the extent she needs without side effects that aren't healthy for her to continue with, she also has anxiety, AND she's extremely gifted and starting a new program at a new school, all in the midst of a pandemic. and all of those situations exacerbate her anxiety! huzzah! she's also dealing with the beginning of her tween growing up shit, which is great fun because it means where she used to be pretty damn understanding of her younger brother, she is finding it much more difficult to. because the second oldest? he's autistic with some pretty significant gross motor, speech, and socialization delays that have only been exacerbated because of the previously mentioned pandemic. PLUS he transitioned from his special needs preschool to a fully integrated elementary school for kindergarten last year and then had to deal with all the ups and downs of the switch from e-learning to hybrid to all in schooling when everything in him screams for a normal schedule he can rely on to keep his own anxieties and fears and struggles at their minimum. and that youngest child? he was born in january of last year. he STILL barely leaves the house and has only met other children in close range a couple of times because, once again, pandemic!
add onto all of this my own mental health issues, the fact that my husband ALSO battles major clinical depression, adhd, and anxiety, AND we live with my parents who have their own health issues, both mental and physical. i run the home for our house of seven. i keep this place functioning, fed, clothed, clean, and everywhere we need to be for all of our five million appointments every. fucking. day. there is a REASON i've been borderline burnt out for the last fucking year and a half.
now, for fun, i have fandom shit. i love it here, even if it is a dumpster fire on the best of days, and getting to be a part of the writing community is so very lovely. i adore it. honestly, it's because of those friendships i've built with other writers that i have been able to keep writing and have found just how helpful it can be for my mental health. but i'm REALLY. INCREDIBLY. BUSY. i hardly have time to get on tumblr for just a quick swipe through my dash most days. i put off asks so long i forget i have them. i don't have the mental and emotional capacity to talk to people on here or interact fully a lot of the time. but i do my best to do so and be kind while i'm at it even when i don't want to be.
then, on top of that? i also run fic fests like @wordplayfics and help friends run their own. because not only am i a writer, i'm a reader. i LOVE fic. fic has saved me soooooo many times over the past seven years that i've been here. i want to do what i can to support other writers the best way i can, which is to provide a space for them to create their works that welcomes and helps promote them, but also by doing my monthly fic lists and pocast highlighting what i've been able to read, reblogging their fic posts, and then commenting and kudosing their fics too.
sometimes i get really fucking down on myself because i'm so behind on replying to comments, but my brain is very much a "if you start this, you have to finish it" kind of a brain, and i feel even WORSE sometimes if i reply to comments on some fics and not all of them. but i do my best and reply when i can. i was actually really fucking proud of myself because i had a couple days to myself in june, and i spent hours replying to comments on 20 of my fics. when you have almost 150 fics (i think? i don't even know how many fics i've posted by now), that is only scratching the surface. but i tried and i was so so happy i did that many fics at once. it's exhausting, though, and takes a lot of spoons for me to reply to them in mass like that plus time consuming. so i tried to be happy with those 20 fics and the comments i responded to there and told myself that when i ha a moment to breathe, i'd go and work on replying to some more.
but see, that again causes anxiety and guilt. because i haven't replied to all of them. and that anxiety and guilt can cause me to put it off further OR to put off important things like feeding my children or getting sleep in order to finish it, so i have to make myself put things into perspective and ensure i'm doing the important things, like taking care of myself and my family, first.
and then, i have a moment where i CAN go ahead and reply to comments... but i also have MANY fics that are on deadline and i actually have a schedule. a SCHEDULE. for when i'm going to focus on which fics. i can spell it out for you if you really want. i made it back in APRIL to make sure i didn't sign up for too many fic fests because there are so many going on right now that i want to participate in, but i know i can't do all of them so i had to pick and choose. and when you are SO overscheduled and busy that back in APRIL you had to figure out what fics you would focus on at what time to ensure you got everything written when you wanted to through THE END OF THE YEAR, more choices have to be made.
for example. my writing time and time for myself came down to only one evening a week for ALL fandom things i'm doing and a part of right now once the kids were out of school for the summer. it quickly became apparent that for my own self care i needed more time, so i worked with my husband to find two other days i could carve out at least 30-60 minutes to myself to write every week. and i did. but if i'm already only getting that much time and have committed to those fics and fests and things that you're running etc, you have to choose am i going to use this time to try to squeeze in some comment replies? or am i going to write? and i choose to write. simple as that.
so yeah. see it as selfish if you want. see it as mean. you can honestly see it as whatever the fuck you want, but for me? i know that as soon as i possibly can and i can breathe freely for once and not feel like i am constantly drowning in my day to day life and am doing pretty well when it comes to my fic deadlines and getting started on those christmas cards i'm once again going to be making by hand for everyone on tumblr who chooses to sign up for one this year out of the KINDNESS of my heart and the love i really do feel for so many of you, then i promise i'll be on ao3 catching up and commenting. my friends laugh and make fun of me for it sometimes, because they will sometimes get 10-12 replies to their comments in a single day. they know that's how i work. i WILL reply to every single comment i get, no matter how old it is. but for the love of all that is holy, do NOT add to the anxiety and guilt i already feel over it. the only place that will get you is the ask/comment getting deleted if it's a good day, a fucking long rant like this one if it's not, and a block if it's a REALLY bad day.
if you're asking me to be nice on ao3, then i ask in return that you also be nice by not demanding things of people that they are not in any way obligated to give.
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ateezmakemeweep · 4 years ago
Text
broken (part 2).
san x reader
word count: 12k
angst, fluff (tw: mentions of domestic abuse and rape)
(part 1)
no matter how many times you tried to change your thinking patterns, you still classified your life into two parts: before the abuse and after.
you thought, after watching your ex-boyfriend being escorted out of the courtroom with a one-year prison sentence, that you wouldn’t be scared of him anymore.
you thought that moving out of the house and living in your new apartment would make day to day life easier, not needing to see the floor you were beaten on or counter you were forced to have sex on every day.
you thought that having san would make you feel happy and loved and enough. that having a whole new family unit consisting of seven other crazy boys and a crotchety old lady would be enough.
but as you sit curled up on the bathroom floor with tears in your eyes, you’re seeing you severely underestimated everything. 
underestimated just how much trauma you still had to sort through and how badly that asshole really did mess you up.
six months ago:
“so we have the surveillance footage and witness testimony from your neighbors,” your lawyer explains gently, an older woman with kind eyes and soft-spoken voice that quickly transforms in the courtroom. 
“but a personal statement, if you feel comfortable, would probably guarantee the harshest sentence.”
the harshest sentence being one year, a measly 365 days compared to the 1,825 he subjected you to every kind of abuse: sexual, emotional, mental, physical. 
hitting and grabbing and slapping until your skin was littered with bruises and cuts. 
talking so harshly to you that you believed dying was the best option, stripping you from any sort of confidence or self-esteem you once had. 
making you feel completely inept and useless, solely viewing you as a piece of property he could boss around and use at his disposal. 
you had left the office with shaking hands and a pounding heart, barely being able to dial san’s number before he answered after one ring. 
this was the first appointment you’ve went to without him, insisting he can’t and won’t miss his midterm for this. 
“hi, love. everything go okay?” he asks softly, with the sweet gentle voice that has quite literally kept you alive these past few months. 
you don’t know what you did in another life to deserve san but you know that without him, you probably wouldn’t have made it this far. without his constant support and sweet reassurances, you wouldn’t have believed you could ever do this. 
willingly tell police officers and lawyers about what happened to you, break down and expose yourself in such a way that always made you feel weak and pathetic. 
admit aloud that, yes, you’ve been a victim of abuse and no, those bruises and scars on your body aren’t from clumsy falls into the wall or cabinet. 
without him, accompanying you to the police station or lawyer’s office, where you knew jungkook was lingering, you would’ve never felt safe. 
you would’ve broke down and took it all back, told them that you made it all up and to release him because he didn’t do anything wrong.
but he did so much wrong and you and san know that. the police and lawyers and judges know it too, several outbursts from the man in court and at the station proving that. 
it’s what makes the thought of a personal statement so hard, having to look your ex-boyfriend in the face and watch him stare you down with not an ounce of remorse or sorrow.
san must know it too, if your silence through the phone tells him anything, and you can already hear shuffling in the background as he prepares to leave his class and head to your apartment.   
“are you done with your test?” you ask first, voice sweet but mousy in a way that makes san’s stomach sink
he knew today was gonna be rough for you, he knew he should’ve asked his professor to retake the midterm next week. 
“yes,” the boy answers immediately, knowing he’s about to run back into the classroom, circle c for the last three answers and haul ass to his car. 
“san, are you-”
“i was done, it’s fine, y/n,” he confirms gently, feet moving and body desperate to rush toward your apartment. 
because he knows after all of this time, you’ve learned to hold back your pain and suffering. years of practice and keeping tears at bay that he’s noticed have made these months difficult for you two. 
and he hates knowing that you still wait till you’re alone to cry. 
that even though every time you do, he wipes away every tear and holds you to his chest until you fall asleep, you still feel most comfortable being sad alone.
that you’re probably already home now, about to bury your face in a pillow and sob until you hear his car and wipe your cheeks clean like nothing is wrong. 
but there’s a lot wrong. 
a lot wrong with how you’ve been treated and how hard it is to move past it. 
a lot wrong with the legal system that makes this painful journey even more exhausting, forcing you to recount memory after memory and answer question after question about the worst ordeals of your life. 
that’s why san can’t help but turn in his test and rush out the door to his car, speeding off campus and onto the highway in hot pursuit of your apartment above the bakery.
it had seemed like perfect little place to get you back on your feet, the smell of freshly baked bread and pleasant bustle of regulars greeting you in the early morning hours. 
there was no commute for you, just a walk down the stairs and through the yellow door of the bakery, where simple work waited for you. 
“you just need to ring up the customers and maybe clean a table or two. most people take their things to go,” your boss had told you, a divorced mother of three who spent most of her life baking before she was finally able to open up a place of her own. 
it was simple work but it was more than you’d done in years, something as little as small talk with regulars successfully draining you. filling you with a nervousness and fear that you’re still feeling even without your ex’s presence. 
but it’s in the way a man yells on the phone about a business deal going sour while waiting for his morning coffee. 
a woman chastising her kids saying that they won’t get to eat the cookies she’s buying after dinner. 
the slam of the door when a harsh gust of wind howls from outside and rattles the small bakery with light blue walls and pictures of bread and desserts.
you don’t know how many coffees you’ve spilt or plates you’ve broken from jumping at the harsh sounds, realizing little by little how hard this transition was gonna be. 
even with san and his friends and your boss and the crazy old lady who secured this new life for you in the first place, it’s still hard. 
you can’t even imagine doing all of these new things alone, just living in such a simple way that the average person takes for granted. 
but you suppose it’s not all simple yet, going back and forth between meetings with your lawyer and the police for the court date that’s rapidly approaching. 
you can feel that the closer it comes, the harder it is to breathe. 
the mere thought of seeing the man who hurt you for the longest five years of your life, sitting in front of you with not an ounce of remorse on his face. making  this process even harder because how are you supposed to talk in front of him? 
see clear as day that you’re not safe and you never will be. 
that he’s gonna get out in a year, because that’s the harshest sentence possible without you being hospitalized or dead, and hurt you again. he’s never gonna stop hurting you because he always said you were his and he wouldn’t ever hesitate to-
you don’t even hear the jingle of san’s keys opening the front door or his softly spoken call of your name. 
you’re only aware of his presence when you feel his warm, small hands cup your face, his thumbs rubbing over your wet, salty skin as he mutters your name lowly.
“hey, i’m here, i’m here,” he mumbles sweetly, tone soft and gentle the way it always is no matter what the circumstances are.
he plops down on the couch before pulling you into his lap, his hand rubbing up and down your back gently. you hear the quiet but firm “sh, sh, sh,” against your head, the sharp calming hums always in threes as an attempt to ground you.
you try to focus on his calming sounds and even breaths, the hand on your back so warm and gentle as he lulls your panicked body into a calmer state. 
you bury your face in his chest and breathe in his scent, cologne and detergent mixed with his natural scent that lingers on your pillow every morning. 
“i-i’m sorry.”
the words make his stomach plummet, tears burning his eyes because you never have anything to be sorry for. you never have anything to be sorry for and you say it all the time. 
when you bump into him in the kitchen while making food together.
when you sit on the remote and change the channel by accident.
when you burnt the cookies one night and made the fire alarm go off. 
he remembers that being one of the worse nights, the loud noises making you jump while also flinching away when he lifted his arm up to fan away the smoke. and then you immediately apologized again, cookies long forgotten before he grabbed your hand and led you into the living room. 
he just held your hand as you both watched tv, his thumb rubbing over your skin before you spoke words so quietly, he almost missed them. 
“i wish...i would stop doing that.”
he cranes his neck over to look at you, eyebrow raised and eyes soft as he looks  at you questioningly. 
he wants to tease and say that you’ve never burnt the cookies before but anytime you feel comfortable enough to talk to him like this, he never wants to say the wrong thing.
“i...i know you would never hurt me,“ you continue after a few moments. “and i know i’m just...scared easily, i guess. but it makes me feel bad,” you admit quietly, heart pulling in your chest as you look at the man beside you. 
he has gotten you through the hardest times of your life, has been by your side every step of the way with no questions or complaints, and you haven’t been able to repay him. 
not even with a plate of fucking cookies. 
“you don’t have to feel bad, y/n,” san says gently, his hand reaching out slowly to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. 
your eyes close at his feather light touch and the way it makes your heart jump, his fingers lingering on you in a way that makes you feel so safe and content. 
“and i know it’s hard to believe still but you have nothing to be scared of either. i’m not gonna let anyone hurt you again and i mean that.”
“but i feel like i’m hurting you,” you mumble softly, pulling your knees up as you rest your head on the couch cushion. his brows pull together as his eyes roam your face, a pout on his lips the more he looks at you in silence.
“you’ve helped me so much and i just...” tears fill your eyes as you struggle to find the words and breathe. you’ve only been living in your new house for two months now and almost every day, san has been here. 
bringing you food, helping you clean and decorate, spending late nights with you watching movies, helping you through an inevitable fit of panic when your memories and life become too much. 
he makes it easier to breathe and you’re scared that without him, you’re gonna stop one day.
“i just keep... taking from you. you get nothing out of helping me but you still do it anyway and i...you shouldn’t even bother, san. i-i’m not worth this time and i just want you to-”
“stop.”
he tries to keep the anger out of his voice knowing that all of this is what you’ve been told. you’ve been told your whole life that you weren’t enough, were only deemed worthy by a piece of shit who did nothing but hurt and berate you. 
but it doesn’t make it any less hard to hear. to hear in your voice and see in your eyes that you truly believe you’re not worth the time he wants to put into you. 
“you’re worth the time to me,” he says, voice gentle but firm in a way that makes a lump form in your throat. his finger reaches out to trace small circles on your hand, your eyes following it so he doesn’t see the tears building up. 
“i like seeing you happy, y/n. and i wanna help you.”
your teary eyes meet his and you swallow the growing lump in your throat when you see the look on his face, soft and sweet in a way you still can’t believe is directed toward you. 
“i feel like i need a lot of help,” you mutter, voice barely above a whisper as you think back to how day to day life is so challenging and draining. 
the loud voices and the screaming kids and banging door that sends you into a panic. the broken dishes and tear stains on your pillow that are there more often than not after san leaves every night. 
but san’s hearing each and every word right now, his heart panging in his chest at how vulnerable you are right now. how you let him see this side of you and continue to despite how hard he knows everything’s been. 
“that’s okay,” he smiles softly, stopping the circles on your hand to intertwine your fingers. “i’m gonna be here as long as you need me, okay?”
you look up to meet his gaze and feel a tear slip down your cheek, a cry bubbling in your throat that you so desperately wanna let out. 
but you also don’t wanna make san any more sad tonight, biting down on your lip as you nod your head before leaning on his shoulder. 
you don’t see the smile that crosses his face or hear the content sigh that leaves him, his hand in yours and presence enough to lull you into a dreamless sleep. 
“you have nothing to be sorry for,” he assures you quietly, looking over your face as he wipes at your cheeks. you meet his gaze and your eyes stay locked on one another, his thumb gentle and soft across your skin.
“did you do good on your test?” you squeak out after a few moments of silence, a smile breaking out across his face. 
“of course i did, we studied all night, didn’t we?” he teases, referring to just last night when you helped him with index cards and read them all to him twice before promptly passing out on his chest. 
a blush crosses your face as you look down in embarrassment, a sweet high pitched laugh bubbling out of him. 
“it’s okay, don’t be embarrassed. your drool only ruined a few of them.”
“i don’t drool,” you mutter, a small smile on san’s face as he tightens his hold on you in his lap. 
“did you eat yet?” 
you shake your head as indistinguishable mumble leaves your mouth, curling yourself into his chest more as his warmth and comforting scent envelop you. 
his lips brush against your hair in a small smile, quietly asking what you wanna eat even though he knows you’re gonna say you don’t care. 
“whatever you want,” you mutter against him, the exhaustion of waking up at 5 am and the draining meeting with your lawyer catching up to you. 
and san knows on days like these that chinese food and watching reruns of old cartoons is usually the thing you need to feel a little bit better. 
pretend that just for a few hours, everything is okay and there’s nothing more pressing than spending the night together in what always turns into having a sleepover. 
because just as you found it difficult to live in that house you once shared with jungkook, san finds it difficult to go back to that block every night. 
stay just a few houses away from where he’s reminded of how you were treated while he was just a few feet away.
watching as the backyard once full of flowers becomes dull and colorless and every window reminds him of what was truly going on behind the walls of that house.
it’s one of the reasons why staying with you just makes sense. that and the fact that leaving you always proves to be the hardest part of the night together. 
you with a pout and sad eyes quietly whining for him to stay and him being completely powerless as he throws himself down next to you and wraps his arms around your waist. 
he’s not surprised when the same thing happens tonight, your eyes drooping and body slacking against him before he quietly asks if he should get going. you look up at him tiredly, eyebrows pulled together and one cheek red from you leaning on his chest in a way that makes him hold back a smirk.
“no,” you say quietly, your eyes roaming his face before you quickly realize he might want to leave you. the thought rips a pang of hurt through your chest but you can’t help but feel that might be the case. 
you ripped him away from his test and cried on him all night. why would he wanna stay with you? 
“unless you want to. i-i don’t wanna force you to stay here if you don’t-”
“of course i want to,” san responds, taking your face in his hands gently and allowing his thumb to run along your soft skin. “i was just checking.” 
because he also never wants to overstep. make you feel too overwhelmed or smothered since if it were up to him, he’d never leave your side again. 
his words and touch send relief through you, the panic and fear that attempted to break through quickly dying it. everything about him makes it so easy to be calm and comforted, a smile making it’s way on your face as you nod. 
you place your head back on his chest, sighing contently when you feel his arm wrap around your shoulder a few moments later. you stare at the tv blankly, not sure how long you’re lost in thought about the conversation at the lawyer’s office. 
“but a personal statement, if you feel comfortable, would probably guarantee the harshest sentence.”
could you really do that though? strip yourself to the most vulnerable degree and proclaim to a courtroom full of people how weak and defenseless you were for five years? how the man who’s gonna be seated just a few feet away over you had that much power over you? 
would you feel better looking jungkook in the face and telling him that you’re gonna be strong and come out okay? that he won’t be able to hurt you anymore and will rot behind a cell for what he’s done?
or would you it make you feel worse? seeing him again and the blankness behind his eyes. the pity and sorrowful looks on the judge and court officers when your voice shakes and eyes brim with tears as you recall your old life.
you’re not even sure if san is awake at this point, his arm heavy around you and breaths even under your head but you can’t seem to stop your tired self from speaking.
“my lawyer suggested i make a personal statement.”
san doesn’t stutter under you, the only sign of him being awake when he hums lowly and gently pulls away from you. the bed dips next to you when he lays on his side, your eyes meeting just as he reaches out to smooth out a messy strand of hair.
“yeah?” he mumbles lowly, his soft eyes roaming your face. “how do you feel about that?” 
the question, despite the serious tension in leaves in the air, makes you smile softly, remembering when your lawyer recommended counseling, you thought back to san waiting in the car and felt as if you already had all the support you needed. 
he has the most patience and kindness of anyone you’ve ever met before and you can’t imagine trusting someone as much as trust him. have someone else hear you this vulnerable and genuine, see you cry and feel all the emotions that come with rebuilding your life after being a victim of domestic violence. 
“i don’t know if i can do it.”
the words make san frown, holding himself up on his elbow as he looks over your face with concern. he can tell you’re tired, eyes hazy and drooping but he also can tell your mind’s been preoccupied. 
more so than usual. 
“i...i don’t know if i could do it with him there.”
“he’s not gonna hurt you anymore,” san reminds you gently, his hand creeping down in between your bodies to take ahold of yours. it’s soft and small and warm and everything about it makes you feel safe. 
“i-i know. but...just him being there. watching me and hearing me say what he’s done when i know he has no remorse. and then telling more people how i let it go on for so long and-”
“you didn’t let anything go on for too long. it wasn’t your fault. y/n.”
tears burn your eyes as a lump forms in your throat, hearing those words from almost everyone in your life but still not having the ability to grasp it. 
it feels like your fault, it feels like you’ve allowed yourself to be treated in a way you knew was wrong for far too long. 
because now look at you. trying to rebuild your life but being panicked when the wind howls just a little too loudly outside. 
you take a few deep calming breaks and swallow as you look at him, eyes hazy and glossy and threatening to close shut; you’re so tired but it’s like your brain never stops going these days. 
“she said...it’d guarantee the harshest sentence. but shouldn’t the evidence be enough? the tapes and the witnesses? why- why do i have to keep going through this?” you whisper, voice shaky and tears building as you look at him. the sight alone makes san stomach sink, rolling his tongue between his lips anxiously. 
“i just want it to be over. i don’t wanna keep recounting what happened over and over and over again. i... it’s so hard, san. it’s so hard and i feel like i can’t do it anym-” 
your words break off as a quiet whimper leaves your mouth, crumbling against san’s body when he pulls you forward and wraps his arms around you. your head falls in the crook of his neck as his hand rests on the back of your head, breathing slowly and evenly as quiet hums leave his mouth. 
“I know, baby,” san mumbles, his lips against your head as he presses a kiss to your hair. “you don’t have to do anything you don’t wanna do, okay? no one can make you do anything.”
"you're hurting me, jungkook," your broken voice tells him, the cracks and pain behind it familiar to even your own ears.
you don't know how many times you've heard yourself like this. so desperate and defeated.
"i wish i didn't have to, babydoll," he says lowly, "but you never listen. you make me do this."
and you don’t even think about if you’re gonna regret it at the time. not use your own voice and speak up in front of the courtroom about what the man on trial did. 
you can only think about his eyes watching you, your friends hearing your voice quiver and shake, the judge maybe not taking your words into account. it all seems too much right now, the crushing weight of anxiety and fear that’s making you feel too weak to do that. 
“you made it this far. and it’s almost all over, okay?” san reassures, his hand stroking your hair as he tries to calm your cries. “if you wanna do it, i’ll be right there next to you. we’ll all be there for you and you’ll be safe the whole time. but if you don’t, that’s okay too. you don’t have to and everything will still be okay.”
and because it’s like the blonde just knows everything when it comes to you, everything is okay - or as okay as things can be under these circumstances. 
your lawyer didn’t bat an eye when you told her you weren’t sure if you could do a personal statement, her hand on your shoulder as she gently tells you that it’s okay. that the harshest sentence would probably still be given, considering the unusual amount of evidence in a case like this. 
you watched jungkook get taken out of court with a one year sentence, thrashing in handcuffs and cursing at you while you gripped san’s hand tightly. 
you had foolishly thought watching that was gonna somehow heal you immediately. 
no longer make you afraid or flinch at the smallest of sounds or movements, make you feel like now you can take san’s words to heart and feel worthy of the love he showered you with. 
but it was with that love, you started to grow too dependent. let it consume you in a whole new way that made you feel like without san, you couldn’t breathe. 
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at first, he didn’t know what had triggered the episodes that followed three months after the trial. 
it had seemed as if you were making a lot of progress over the past few months, truly happy and smiley without an ounce of fear in your eyes that had always seemed to linger. 
you were working hard at the bakery, becoming closer with the regulars and even finding it easier to talk with them. they found you comforting and sweet, always greeting them with a warm smile and remembering how many sugars they got with their morning coffee. 
the same warm smile you gave san when he told you he was visiting his parents for his mom’s birthday one weekend, sending him off with a loaf of bread and an array of cookies. 
“don’t eat them all,” you teased lightly, side-eyeing mingi who was one of your many regulars and could also take your advice as he shovels rainbow cookies in his mouth. 
“i won’t,” san smiles gently, looking in mingi’s direction and holding back a laugh upon seeing the boy. 
he was probably the next closest person you came to trust since you all got to know each other, a soft spot for him ever since the moment he deemed sunflowers ‘sunnies’ during the darker times. 
mingi was the happiness and innocence you think you must have had once. finding the good in everything and being happy just because the sun was out and dessert was on the table. 
“and neither should you,” san chastises the younger boy, smacking him in the back of the head lightly. you smile softly at the exchange, holding back a snort as you clean off the table next to the bickering boys. 
the arm around your waist a few moments later would’ve startled you had you not smelt san’s cologne, leaning into him and feeling grateful you’re the only three in the store right now. 
you look over your shoulder and smile softly at him, heart stuttering at the look on his face. eyes full of such concern, you should know he’s about to ask you if you’re-
“are you gonna be okay tonight?” 
he wasn’t ignorant of the fact, the same way you weren’t, that this is gonna be one the first nights you’ve spent alone in months. 
not falling asleep to the gentle lull of his breathing or his arms around your waist. no one to be there if you wake up from a nightmare, where memories torment your body as you hear the shouts of your ex and feel as if your body is still being bruised.
san not being there to wake you with a gentle peck on the cheek before dragging you back to the warm bed when you try to get up for work. 
but you have to be okay, right? you’ve been doing so good these past few weeks. and you’re an adult the same way he’s an adult, it’s ridiculous to think you guys would have to spend every night together. 
“of course, silly” you poke him gently, smiling when his dimples poke out of his cheeks. “have fun with your parents. don’t worry about me.”
“i always worry about you,” he mumbles lowly, his lips ghosting over your hair as you push his chest lightly. he bites back a smile when he sees the blush on your cheeks, pulling away from him immediately so you can stick your tongue out at him. 
and that night, it actually feels as if you’re okay. 
you busy yourself by cleaning and cooking before passing out to the vampire diaries. your sleep is dreamless and calm, waking up to a good morning message from san consisting of a bare-faced, messy-haired selfie. 
but a few days after his return is when he began to notice the little changes. 
behaviors he thinks you weren’t even aware of that made his heart sink into his stomach; it reminded him so much of the first few weeks you were away from jungkook. 
how despite the fear in your eyes, you clung to him because you knew he’d never hurt you. felt safe in his presence and sought him out when you were feeling uncomfortable or upset. 
and he sees you’re back to the place right now, so obviously uneasy and upset despite the major progress you’ve been making. 
it was like the second he came through the door, you had to be by his side. leaning your head on his shoulder as you watched your shows or grabbing his hand when he got up to go to the bathroom. 
at first, he thought it was cute - your clinginess and obvious affection toward him. he thought it was sweet and it made him so happy, smiling softly and kissing the top of your head as he told you he’d be back in a minute.
but the more the weeks went on, the worse it was seeming to get. 
you asking him after only a few hours of him at school when he was gonna be back. nightmares and bad memories haunting you when you’d fall asleep for naps in between your shift ending and his last class. 
“baby... are you sure you’re okay these days?” 
the words cause you to stop stirring the pasta in the pot, craning your neck to where san is sitting on the countertop. 
he meets your gaze with a soft smile and extends his hand out to you, leaning down to press a kiss to your nose before pulling you up.
you squeal at the sensation, giggling quietly because there you two are just perched on the counter like two cats and no regard for the boiling pot of food beside you. 
you giggle again when he places a kiss to your neck, tightening his hold around your waist.
he relishes in the sound of your laugh because it also seems like these days, he’s hasn’t heard it that much. 
“i feel like i haven’t heard that in a while,” he mumbles against your neck, his lips lingering on your skin. he never wants to say the wrong thing with you or make you feel like you’re not doing good enough. 
you pull back and look at him with a small pout, your fingers toying at the end of his shirt nervously. 
“i...i’m okay though,” you tell him quietly, thinking it’s the truth even though you have felt off these days. 
you didn’t know what it was though honestly. it’s felt like ever since san came back from his parents, you’ve needed him extra. clingy and needy and annoying in the sense that the poor man can’t even go away without you needing him. 
and now he seems to know it, too. 
maybe he doesn’t wanna do this anymore. maybe he didn’t sign up for months of you going back and forth, feeling great and confident one week and then back to being clingy and scared the next. 
because you know it’s only a matter of time before two things happens: he gets sick of you and leaves or starts resenting you. doesn’t wanna waste his time with a battered woman when he could be wth fun and carefree college girls. 
“have i been annoying?” 
your blurted out question throws him off as much as it breaks his heart, immediately shaking his head as he cups your cheeks. 
his lips fall into a pout and your eyes immediately fall to them, about to comment on it before he places a sweet, short peck on yours.
you two, despite your close and intimate relationship full of skin-ship, don’t kiss a lot. you can only count of one hand how many times san has kissed you on the lips, most of the time going for your cheek or head.
but you certainly don’t mind. 
you think it’s good to take it slow, since everything else about your relationship is so intense. that’s why the times he does kiss you, you get filled with such a happy warm feeling that usually makes you feel better no matter what. 
that’s how you know you’re not right. that suddenly, for some reason, you’re not okay again despite being so incredibly lucky that the people in you life now care about you. 
they’re trying so hard to help you and it feels like you can’t repay them in any way.
“no, no, baby, not at all,” san says when he pulls back, his thumb gently rubbing your cheek. “i’m just concerned.”
the lump in your throat makes it feel like you can’t breathe, biting your lip harshly as you look up at the blonde. 
“i love that you want me around,” he continues softly, his voice barely above a whisper as he looks down at you. “but i’m just...i also wanna make sure you’re okay.”
you nod your head as you take in his words, slightly calmed by them despite the way your mind is trying to tell you otherwise. 
he loves that you want him around, he just said so. and he wouldn’t put up with you if he didn’t want to, right?
“i’m okay,” you assure sweetly, leaning into his touch just a little bit more. “i guess i just missed you.”
your cheeks flush at the soft, almost touched look that crosses san’s face, his lips falling into a pout as he tightens his hold on you.
“i missed you too.”
boiling liquid splashing onto the stove causes you both to look away, a squeal leaving your mouth as the foamy water overflows the pot. 
“shit!” you squeal, jumping down from the counter to rush over and lower the heat. san watches from his spot with a small smile, chuckling lightly when you throw him a look.
“sorry,” he says sheepishly, a playful roll of your eyes causing him to jump down and hug you from behind.
he presses small kisses and laughs into the crook of your neck as you finish making the pasta, feeding him pieces from the pot to see if it’s cooked enough. 
you eat on the couch and spend the rest of the night watching tv, a relatively calm and relaxed night that makes you feel much better than the past few days. 
you think you just got so used to his presence, the comfort and warmth and light he provides by just being in your apartment and smiling at you. 
you were scared by how attached you’d grown to him, depending on him in a way you think a person who has gone through what you’ve gone through shouldn’t.
but he’s so good and makes you feel loved. it’s such a different feeling than one you’ve ever experienced, after your family and friends and ex-boyfriend let you down time and time again. 
you’ve never had someone like this before but you’ve also never tried to rebuild your life before. never had the chance to be your own person and make your own decisions - it’s something you’re still learning and that’s evident to everyone in your life. 
but the next morning, a pleasant surprise in the form of mrs. kim comes bursting through the door and immediately lights your face with a smile; apart from san and mingi, she’s another person you’ve grown extremely close and fond of. 
she’s the one who made everything possible, rebuilding your life with a new home and workplace. it’s why she always tries to push you further out of your comfort zone and into the real world with gentle prodding and much needed assurance. 
she’s at the bakery for almost two hours before she pulls up a chair behind the register and gets that look in her eye you know all too well. it’s the look she gave you the day you accepted the apartment, insisting you take it and make it your own and to not even think about how to pay her back. 
the look she gave you before the trial as she gave you strength, told you that you were strong and you were gonna get through this, with or without your personal statement. 
and apparently it’s the look she gives you when she broaches the topic of you enrolling back in school. 
“so what do you think?” she asks, tone carefree and excited like she’d been thinking about this for weeks. “is that something you’d wanna do?” 
your immediate thought is yes. yes, yes, yes shout it from the rooftops yes. you miss school and learning and all the experiences that come with getting an education. 
you once loved school and had so many aspirations but then your life apart. the prospect of an education or getting a job was dangled in your face as some sort of manipulation tactic.
that when jungkook went too far and left you especially bloody and bruised, he’d mentioned school like it was the answer to all of your problems as a couple. like that was his penance and would win him boyfriend of the year.
and mrs. kim must see the haunted look in your eye, replaying flashbacks and memories from how choices like that weren’t under your control for the longest time. 
“listen to me, stop staying in there,” she says, flicking at your head and making you wince. “is that something you wanna do? yes or no?” 
“yes but i-”
“but nothing,” the old lady says, wiping out an ipad the boys had been teaching her how to use for the past few weeks; the font is the biggest size you’ve ever seen and has a cat case on that almost makes you burst out laughing upon seeing.
“i was looking at the local school, it’s close and cheap but you could always get some financial aid, scholarships or even a loan,” she begins to tell you, eyes squinted and a wrinkle between her browns as she taps on the screen. “this shit is so hard, i’m still trying to learn. oh, great here it is, okay. look, they even have this major.”
you had mentioned once that you thought about a career in journalism to her, one night when you and her were making cookies in her house as the boys tended to her garden (because they were gardeners now, official, professional gardeners who only know how to plant sunflowers). 
tears almost immediately fill in your eyes as you follow her pruny finger, licking over your lips so you don’t start sobbing. 
she looks up at you after a few moments of silence and it’s promptly followed by her smacking your arm, a scoff leaving her mouth that makes you giggle. 
“what are you crying about?” 
the emotion clogged in your throat makes it hard to speak, attempting to talk through the strange contrast of tears and laughter bubbling in your throat. 
“i just... i can’t believe you remember i told you that. it was so long ago.”
“what? you think because i’m old i don’t remember shit? i’m not a senile, y/n, jesus.” 
a wet giggle leaves your mouth as you listen to her talk about the research she’s done, about how to pay and when you can start and her son’s experience at the local college. 
it all makes you feel very hopeful, excited even, as you think about what once seemed impossible. 
getting out in the world and pursuing a passion you as an individual had. making connections and just conversing with different people and seeing relationships form. 
but all of those doubts and fears instilled in you don’t just go away.
you remember months back when you told san you were writing again, he was the one who recommended going back to school. 
was so happy about it that his eyes were shining and dimples were out and you’d never seen someone more handsome.
but now that you guys are...kind of together, would his mind change? does he not want you talking to other people either now? will he think it’s silly or pointless, since you already have you job at the bakery? 
you know deep down that that’s not the kind of person san is. you knew from the moment you met him and risked talking and smiling and laughing with him that he was good.
but that part of you still scared and broken from what you went through, the prospect of school and freedom dangled in your face as some sort of reward or apology, is scared he won’t approve.
and whether it’s unhealthy or not, all you want is san’s approval. 
“c-can i ask you something?” you ask him later that night, both of you cuddled up on the couch.
a blanket’s thrown over your lap with san’s arm around your shoulder, your head now off his chest as you look up at him questioningly. 
he immediately looks down at you with a soft, curious expression, running his hand through your hair as a small smile makes it’s way on his face. 
“anything,” he hums lowly, already making your nervous body feel slightly more calm. 
you have to try and always remember this is the boy who’s been by your side for months, with no complaints. who saved you from your life before this and only wants you to be safe and happy. 
“i was talking to miss kim earlier today...” you begin, his interest already peeked because he thinks he might know where this is going; he was suspicious ever since the older woman asked him how to make the font larger on her ipad. 
he sees the slight apprehension and fear in your eyes so he takes your hand in his, running his thumb over your skin gently and giving you a small, encouraging nod. 
you take a deep breath and try to shake the worry off, opening and closing your mouth before deciding to spit it out. 
“we...were talking about me going back to school. and i...kind of thought that would be something good for me to do. i used to love school and learning and mrs kim. said there’s a lot of things i could do to pay for it and stuff, if i needed to...” 
his chest hurts slightly watching you stammer over your words nervously, your eyes moving from him to the wall as you start to unconsciously hold his hand tighter. 
“but if you don’t want me to or think it’s a stupid idea, i won’t. i just...wanted to make sure it was okay with you.” 
you don’t see the way san sits there in contemplation as you’re too nervous and toying with the edge of the blanket, his face sympathetic but also a little surprised. 
there’s a lot of things that san is still getting used to, the way you’re so vulnerable and attached to him (in a way he doesn’t mind at all). 
but it’s like right now he’s seeing the severity of it, watching as a grown woman asks for his permission for something she absolutely doesn’t.
it makes tears burn the back of his eyes but he quickly pushes the sensation and desire away, his hand lifting your chin so you made his gaze head-on. 
“y/n...you don’t need my permission to do anything. you... you know that, right?”
your eyebrows pull together almost in confusion that he didn’t immediately respond with a yes or no, head cocked to that side as you lick over your lips nervously. 
he can’t help but think if this was a fault on his part. did he make you feel like you have to ask his permission or approval for things? did he maybe at any point make you feel scared or judged when he’s been doing his best to avoid that?
your harsh grip on his hand brings him back to the conclusion that, right now, this isn’t about him. 
whether he did that or not, he has to make sure right now that you know you’re your own person and don’t need to run decisions by him or anyone else. 
“baby, i think it’s great you wanna do that and will support whatever you wanna do. but you don’t have to ask for...my permission to do anything,” san tells you softly, his hand cupping your face as he presses a kiss to your head; the words ‘his permission’ even feel gross on his tongue.
“i’m happy if you’re happy. and if going to school will make you happy, i’m gonna be supportive 100%. you got it, love?” 
you don’t even know why you’re surprised by san’s reaction but it still brings tears to your eyes, only being able to nod before you bury your face in his chest. 
he bites back a smile at the feel of you against him, running his hand up your back to gently rest in your hair. 
“you still wanna study journalism?” he mumbles against your hair and again, you can only nod so you don’t let out the whimper threatening to leave you mouth.
because it still shocks you day after day that everyone in your life now truly seems to care. 
they remember things about you and want to see you smile, always remind you that you can do whatever you want and are slowly making you see that, maybe, you will be okay in the end. 
it may not seem like a lot to someone who’s been lucky enough to have these things but, for you, it’s something you haven’t ever had before.
the ability to giggle and smile and spend your night with someone who you can see really, truly loves you. who wouldn’t do anything to hurt you and always has your best interests in mind.
that’s exactly why when you fall asleep, san can’t help but turn to look at your sleeping form. he runs his hand through your messy hair, moving a strand from your face and feeling his heart lurch at how peaceful and innocent you look. 
he still can’t get the thoughts out of his heads from earlier, wondering if, maybe, this whole time, he hasn’t been doing the right thing. 
maybe these past few months, you should’ve been rebuilding your life on your own. he shouldn’t have been here every, single step of the way to sooth and coddle and protect you. 
it was something hongjoong said just a few weeks after you moved in and he nearly attacked the boy, asking how he could let you cry alone every night and feel lonely and scared in a new place?
but he also knows that hongjoong is more logical than him. he’s always let his emotions get to him, empathetic and caring almost to a fault. 
and with you, he was always even more clouded. 
now, though, he’s seeing that maybe hongjoong has a point. he’s seen it in the way you’ve become more clingy and dependent on him, something he loves and makes him feel warm but also knows, for you, is a part of feeling safe. 
and as hard as it is for him to admit, he knows you need to feel safe without him. slowly rebuild your own sense of self and security without him always being there to wipe your tears or kiss your face. 
but how is supposed to do that? he thinks, watching your sleeping face with a pained chest and burning eyes.
he’s about to get up to get a glass of water before he hears you whine, both his feet not even on the floor before even in your unconscious you can sense his departure. 
“going to get water, love, i’ll be right back,” he mumbles in your ear, kissing the side of your head when you still and roll back over. 
he gulps down the cool liquid before resting his head on the cold fridge, letting out a sigh as he realizes he may need to have another discussion with hongjoong.
even more so when he goes back into the room and sees your face, the slightest hint of discomfort in your pinched eyebrows and frowning lips. 
you turn back over when he crawls in the bed again, your head on his chest and arm wrapping around his stomach. 
he smiles upon hearing your sleepy voice call his name, dazed eyes staring up at him as he kisses the tip of your nose. 
“hi, baby. i’m back.” 
“i love you.”
the confession make his eyes widen and heart speed up, shocked into silence at those three, sudden words. 
because while it’s obvious that’s how you both feel for each other, your sweet touches and words exchanged since the moment you met one another, you two haven’t ever uttered that sentence. 
never put it out in the open and really discussed your feelings for one another. 
but your eyes are shut and breaths turn even before you can even hear his softly spoken, “i love you,” in return. 
and it’s because he loves you that he tells hongjoong about the thoughts he’s been having, wondering if he’s been doing the wrong thing the whole time and just making this transition harder for you. 
“i think you’re trying to make it easier because you love her and don’t wanna see her hurt anymore.” 
san’s eyes meet hongjoong’s across the dining room table at their house, a house san hasn’t slept or eaten at basically since you moved out; everyone knew where he was and they understood it completely but they also missed their friend’s presence. 
“but...she does need to learn to be on her own, san. she’s never done that before and she’s always been dependent on someone. luckily you’re just...so fucking good that it wouldn’t be a problem. but even with her asking you if she could go to school...she’s not okay, yet, san. she needs to sort her shit out.”
“i don’t want her to be alone,” the blonde admits, voice tight and eyes threatening to water. “i don’t want her to think i’m leaving her.”
“you’re not leaving her alone. you’re just not gonna be attached at the hip 24/7. it’s normal for couples to be apart. you still live and pay rent here, you know. everyone misses you.”
the sound of bickering and plates crashing promptly comes from the kitchen, mingi’s harsh yelp of wooyoung’s name causing a commotion of bickering to break out. 
hongjoong looks at san with a half pained, half amused expression, knowing that the dimpled boy  will have to readjust to how loud and chaotic the house is all the time. 
“you don’t have to do right now,” hongjoong says, wanting to finish the discussion before the boys notice san is here and lost their shit. “ease her into it. talk to her about it. see if she feels the same way. but let her know you just wanna help her, because i know you do, right?” 
san’s nod is immediate and hongjoong mirrors him, his eyes quickly widening as he looks over the blonde’s broad shoulder. 
he doesn’t even get to turn around before a slew of bodies bump into him, nearly knocking him onto the floor as six large, excited boys are jumping and squealing around him.
“san! you’re finally home!”
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you’re nearly two months into your first semester of college by the time you’ve fully adjusted to your new schedule and pace of life.
classes monday, tuesday and thursdays mornings followed by your shift at the cafe during the afternoons. you miss your early morning regulars dearly and don’t know what to do with the 10+ memorized coffee orders still in your brain but you already love school so much. 
you love learning and talking with your professors and meeting the many different people on campus. you’ve even found a small group of friends, two girls who sat next to you and immediately started up a conversation with you.
you were terffied and shy at first but eventually opened up, giggling and sharing your thoughts with them before class started - you even always made sure to be 10 minutes early so you could get in your chats with them. 
unsurprisingly, san had been nothing but happy and supportive for the entire journey. helping you apply and become familiar with the campus while also assuring you everything was gonna work out. 
your days were busy and packed with work and you truly loved it but night was still your favorite. when san would walk through the door with take out or you’d be greeted with the sight of him waiting for you on the couch. 
it really felt as if your life was finally coming together, happy and at peace in a way you never felt before. it was like you finally had some sort of control over what happened to you, long gone the feeling of knots in your stomach or an uncontrollable shake in your hands. 
but when you notice san is a little more quiet than usual today, you feel that foreign feeling make it’s way back into your body. 
“is...everything okay?” you finally grow the confidence to ask, his hand absentmindley rubbing your leg that’s sprawled out on his lap. 
you can tell the question throws him off by the way he snaps his head up to look at you, brows pulled together and his head cocked cutely to the side as his eyes roam your face. 
“’course love, why do you ask?”
“i don’t know,” you hum softly, leaning the side of your head on the couch as you look at him. “i feel like you’re quiet today.”
“just thinking baby,” he tells you, tightening his hold on your leg before looking your way. “how were classes today?”
“good, i have to start my essay soon,” you tell him, something uneasy still pulling at your stomach; you’re not used to san being quiet or so lost in thought, usually the only time he’s silent is during a new episode of your shows.
“you’ll do great on it,” he says encouragingly, the hand on your leg gently calmingly rubbing your skin up and down. “you’re doing really good, you know that?” 
happiness fills you at the thought of making san proud, a small smile on your face that causes one his own to cross his face. his dimples poke out and it reminds you so much of your first meeting, when the sun reflected off of him and you just knew there was something too pure and good about this man.
“thank you,” you smile softly, a faint blush on your cheeks that has san’s heart breaking in his chest even more.
he doesn’t wanna have this conversation tonight but he thinks it would be the best time. bring up maybe not staying over every night to create some more space for you while also allowing you to be more independent. learning how to fill your time with things other than him.
but you’re so happy tonight. 
you’ve been so happy these past few months and he doesn’t wanna be the person to ruin that; it seems, though, you can see something behind his eyes and in his demeanor already, your body wiggling closer to him as your gaze shifts nervously. 
“are you sure you’re okay?” 
he lets out a sigh and you can’t help the way your stomach drops, watching carefully as his face turns contemplative and torn. like he wants to say something but isn’t sure if you’re gonna be able to handle it. 
and that alone is scaring the shit out of you. 
the silence is probably only fifteen seconds but it feels like hours, your eyes staring wide and heart starting to race as you look at him; you don’t know what you did but you had to have done something, right? he wouldn’t just act like this out of nowhere. 
“did i...do something wrong?” you ask meekly, that feeling of fear and panic you haven’t felt in almost a year creeping back. you almost forgot how debilitating this feeling is, fully consuming your body until you feel like you’re about to completely breakdown and crumble. 
the fear and concern on your face immediately makes him frown, shaking his head adamantly as he pulls you closer to him. 
“no, no, no, y/n, of course not,” he assures softly, his lips brushing against your head. 
you feel his calming breaths in your hair, like he already knows from the slight waver in your voice and look on your face that you’re getting worked up and anxious. 
the few moments of silence should make you more anxious but you can only focus on his breathing and the warmth from his body against you, trying to stay calm as you remember that this is san and he would never do or say anything to hurt you. 
“i’ve just been thinking about some things and i wanna talk to you about it,” san says, breaking the silence and immediately making your stomach flip nervously. “it’s nothing bad, baby, i just... you know i always have your best interest in mind, right?”
you swallow the lump growing in your throat as you turn to look at him, the soft look in his eye making you happy as much as it makes you sad. 
because while you love seeing it, how sweet and thoughtful and truly kind he is, you know it’s also there because he thinks you’re about to lose your shit. and you haven’t lost your shit in quite some time. 
“i-i know...” 
he takes your face in his hands when your eyes start to wander, the quiet hum leaving his mouth making you look up at him again. the look in his eyes truly stirs something in you, tears burning your eyes even though you’re not even sure why yet. 
“and you know i’ll never, ever hurt you?”
you nod again, feeling panic deep within your chest at where this conversation seems to be going.
“so what i’m about to suggest, i need you to hear me out, okay?”
he waits until you nod, his stomach sinking at the glossed over look in your eyes before he daringly opens his mouth again. 
tells you that he thinks you living on your own while you start a new chapter of your life will be a good thing for you both. that learning to be independent and on your own will help you immensely in this new part of your life. 
“you’ve been doing so good, y/n, and i’m so proud of you. you’ve started school and you work full time and you’re doing all the things you want to do. but we’re together all the time, baby, and i...i don’t know if that’s healthy, for either of us, you know?”
and you think to the average person, who hasn’t been abused and neglected and spent the last five years in normal, healthy circumstances, they would hear this and understand immediately. 
that being alone and learning how to be on your own is a good, healthy thing that everyone needs to experience. 
but all your brain can hear is he doesn’t wanna be with you anymore. 
he’s tired of your brokenness and tired of looking after you all the time and needs some space from you; and while, you suppose, you can’t blame him, it doesn’t hurt you any less. 
it doesn’t terrify you or upset you any less, even though you know his intentions are good; you can only feel unwanted and unworthy and like your time with someone so much better than you is up. 
“is it...i just...do you not like it here? with me?”
did you not keep it clean enough? did you not cook enough, were the meals too frequently takeout and leftovers? you remember jungkook hated that, demanding the house be spotless and dinner be ready and homemade. 
san would laugh at the question if this weren’t the current situation, a serious talk he’s been dreading having because he knows how you’re gonna take it at first. 
but he loves being here and that’s the problem. 
he would coddle you and love you and protect you for as long as you let him if it were up to him. but he knows that’s not what you need anymore, that you’re both not helping anyone if you continue to live your life in what became too comfortable and safe. 
you deserve comfortable and safe but you also deserve to live happily and freely by yourself. and maybe that’s not his decision to make, he often thinks, but he certainly doesn’t think he’s helping you by enabling you to depend on him. 
“baby, i love it here and i love you and i’ll never leave you until you tell me to,” san says, pressing a kiss to each cheek he prays tears don’t fall on in the next few minutes. “but i want you to be okay, love. i don’t want you to need me every night to sleep or think you need to ask my permission for things that are your choice.”
“is that- is that what this is about? that i asked you if i could go to school?” you ask meekly, the idea of talking back foreign but something you can’t control right now. “or is it because i’m in school?”
because maybe you’ve been too busy. maybe he feels like you neglected him. maybe he just wanted an out and this is it. 
“of course it’s not because you’re in school,” san says, slight outrage in his voice as you even suggest that; he always tries to control his responses to you, knowing you’re dealing with years worth of manipulative behavior and maltreatment, but sometimes it does also get to him. 
he was always supportive of your career and education, even when you were just friends and he admired you from afar.
“how could you think that?”
“because this is so random,” you squeak out, tears breaking through as the knot in your throat grows bigger. “i...i didn’t even know you were feeling this way and now you wanna stop seeing me.”
“i don’t wanna stop seeing you, y/n, when did i say that?” san asks, cocking his head to the side as he looks at you contemplatively. 
“you said you don’t want to be together all the time...” you mutter out, feeling stupid and childish but not yet truly understanding what he means. you guys don’t fight at all and you’re always smiling and laughing together - isn’t it okay to be together all the time if good things like that are happening?
“y/n, i love you, of course i wanna still see you. but i just mean...living together the way we have these past months. you’ve never been alone. you’ve always depended on someone, right?” 
you think back to your dysfunctional childhood, depending on alcoholic parents who never taught you how to fend for yourself until you fell into the arms of yet another abuser who you depended on even further.
restricted company and meals and communication, even restricted in what you could do outside the walls of your house. 
“yes,” you nod, sniffling as you wipe at a stray tear on your cheek. “but they’ve only ever hurt me. you never do.”
that fact makes san’s chest pang with hurt, his own eyes burning with tears now as he thinks about how much pain you’ve endured. 
“i know, baby, and i never will. but i think this’ll be good for us. good for you, mostly, that’s always my mian concern.” 
but you start to wonder how this could possibly be good the second the front door closes a few hours later, leaving you alone in your apartment that now feels far too cold and far too dark and far too empty. 
his lack of presence is noticable immediately and it doesn’t take long for panic and sadness and all that existential dread you once felt so deeply start to come on.
he doesn’t want you, nobody wants you, and the only people who did want you hurt you. 
it’s a mantra you repeat in your head as you cry silently, splashing your face with cold water after your puffy eyes can’t take it anymore. and when you get a good look at yourself in the mirror, tear-stained and blotchy and a big fucking mess, you can’t help but see that same girl who was trapped in that house with jungkook.
weak and afraid and horribly incapable of doing anything right. so similiar to the current state you’re in now, sinking down on the bathroom floor and crying into your hands again. 
this could be about san leaving, you know it has something to do with it, but you’re also crying because you now see just how badly you’re still effected by everything. 
you could be distracted by school and work and san but there’s still so much under the surface that you haven’t come to terms with. 
so much so to the point that even san had to step in and do something about it, him still seeing signs that you’re not okay despite how much everyone in your life is trying with you.
and it makes you feel bad that you have so many supportive, lovely people in your life but still can’t find it in you to feel okay. to not depend on one singlar blonde man to make you feel happy or act as if without him, you’re gonna break.
because you can see he’s tired of it. if he wasn’t, he wouldn’t have-
“y/n?” 
his voice coupled with his fist hitting the door causes you to jump, at first thinking it’s a bittersweet trick your deluded little mind is playing on you. but then he knocks again, his sweet murmur of “y/n, please open the door,” causing you to cry out again.
hongjoong told him not to go, that he’d barely been home for an hour before he was already itching to rush back to you. 
but he felt uneasy leaving the way he did in the first place, and then even more so when you didn’t answer his three messages and two facetime calls; he hated thinking that you were crying alone or feeling upset. 
and it’s heartbreakingly evident when you reach up to open the door, curled up on the floor in tears, that that’s exactly how you feel. 
“baby, no,” san hums lowly, immediately dropping to the floor so he can gather you in his lap.
it’s so much like the scene when you ran there after the final incident with jungkook, when you collapsed on the floor and finally told somebody about what you’d been going through. 
what happened?" he asks desperately, voice strained and wavering.
but you can only shake your head and cry. cry for how long you've been dealing with this alone and how you feel trapped and how if you don't tell someone tonight.
"he's gonna kill me," you sob out as you shake your head frantically now, "i-i he's gonna kill me," is all you can repeat through ragged breaths.
san can only act on instinct, sitting down cross-legged and holding his arms out slightly before you crash into him. he shakily inhales when your head rests on his shoulder, sobs muffled by his shirt as he feels tears promptly soak through the material.
but he can only sit there, hand on the back of your head as he rocks you soothingly in his lap back and forth.
he listens to your sobs with a broken heart, tears stinging his own eyes because he had suspected something was going on for months and just sat here and did nothing. and now here you are, broken and bruised and in fear for your life.
"i can't go back there," you cry out, "i-he's gonna-"
"no one is gonna hurt you, anymore," he mumbles lowly in your ear, "i'm not gonna let that happen."
“you’re- you’re gonna leave me,” you whimper into his shirt, the only sound in your bathroom for the past few minuets your crying and his soothing hums. “you’re not gonna wanna deal with me anymore and leave and then i’ll really be alone and i’m so-”
“i’m not going anywhere. i’m not gonna let that happen,” he mumbles in your ear, his arms wrapped tightly around you as he presses his lips to your head. he rocks you back and forth so similarly to that night, his hand running up and down your back as he tries to get you to calm down.
“we’re gonna get you help. real help. and we’ll all be here for you whenever you need us. you’re gonna be okay, my love.”
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one year later:
you look back at the breakdown in your bathroom and are always surprised that you don’t feel embarrassed.
you think that was the moment when you finally realized how much you’d gone through and how much you really had to sort through. that you could distract yourself all you want and depend on san as much as you felt you needed but you still had things to work through. 
it took you about four therapist consultations to find the right one, eventually finding a sweet older woman who reminded you so much of your boss at the cafe. she listened to you and encouraged you and helped you find so much strength within yourself, you regret not taking your lawyer’s advice sooner about seeing a professional.
you still had bad days, of course, but now you’ve learned how to properly cope with them. cope with the stressors of everyday life, like the shouting of voices and the slamming of doors and san not being by your side 24/7. 
and san, little to your surprise, had done the right thing in saying you needed to learn to be independent.
it scared you at first, living alone and being alone with your thoughts and memories that tried to haunt you every chance they got. but now your life is so full of happy ones that it makes everything a little bit easier; you now love the freedom of living alone and have come to enjoy the peaceful silences of your apartment.
you now have so many things to laugh and feel happy about, like mingi and seonghwa’s obsession with gardening (even though they’ve moved on to vegetables now and have yet to combat the battle with squirrels eating their tomatoes). 
you have school and classes and friends that you made, making straight a’s while also balancing time with your study group, the boys and mrs. kim and your official boyfriend san. 
there are still some days when you wake up and feel a sinking feeling in your stomach that you think might be there forever, a certain smell or certain pain richoetting through your body that will remind you of what you went through and survived. 
but you know that you’ll be able to get through it, not only because you’re strong enough now but because you still have san to lean on - the boy in question currently with his arms wrapped tight around your waist and snoring down your neck. 
you can’t help the small smile on your face as you turn in his hold, your finger reaching out to trace the contours of his face. 
the warm, overwhelming feeling in your chest should scare you but it makes you feel even more happy and content with life, shutting your eyes immediately when his brown eyes meet yours. 
his loud chuckle fills the room before he lips attack your neck, quiet giggles leaving your mouth that only spur the blonde on more. 
“i saw that,” he mumbles playfully, smiling against your skin as your giggles get louder. “good morning, baby.” 
you pull back and smile at the boy staring down at you lovingly, the late-morning sun beaming through your window reminding you so much of the first time you saw him. 
heard his sweet, friendly voice that you immediately trusted and probably fell in love with right there.
"those are coming out really nice!" you hear a voice say from the yard next door. 
you shoot your head to the side to see a young man standing there, probably about your age, eyes kind and dimples poking out of his cheeks as he holds an overflowing white garbage bag.
your lips quirk up ever so slightly, probably being mistaken for your mouth twitching before you give him a tiny bow.
"thank you."
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jjkpls · 4 years ago
Text
the wishlist (m) - 5
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“She broke up with me.”
> genre : Angst, fluff
> pairing : jeon jungkook x reader (f)
> words : 4k
> content/warnings : back at it again w/ the bff2l; one sided love, lot of pining; explicit language; ambiguous infidelity; jjk heartbroken & crying; some wholesome flashbacks to make you swoon
previous - next
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The next box arrives about a month or so later. You haven’t seen Jungkook in a while. He had been out of town, hopping from shop to shop, completing a series of long-awaited guest positions. 
He’s kept you up with his days and his appointments as much as he could, sending you dorky selfies, little videos of city landscapes you’ve never seen before, and exhausted late vocal notes made in tiny, with dragged on, mumbled words, to wish you luck and send you some courage for work. 
You did not expect that the day you’ll meet again, he’d be so different from the Jungkook you prefer and left a month ago.
It takes you a few seconds to realize. At first, you’re preoccupied with the sudden set of needles stinging your insides when you hear the peculiar sound of your front door being unlocked. There’s a very finite amount of probability that it’s not him, he's the rudest of your tiny group of friends and the only one that feels comfortable enough in your home to invite himself without any prior warning.
It’s him, your best friend and subject of too many of your both daily and nightly thoughts and preoccupations.
Once he appears in the door frame, with his heavy coat on his heavy XXL sweatshirt, in his heavy military pants, face turned down hidden by his hair, the magic thing, that grows so mysteriously quick. There’s the little explosion of warmth in your chest. The one that makes you smile tenderly without meaning to. He’s allowed to see how happy he makes you, as a friend anyway. Everybody smiles this way when he walks into a room.
Your eyes catch sight of a box, all white, that fits in his hand. Your eyes roll on reflex. You’re about to curse again. It’s not nice, you don’t want to, to attack him as soon as he returns to you but he’s asking for it, isn't he?
He’s still in the hallway, slowly slipping his shoes off, focus fixed on the present in his hand. The time he takes doing it and the seemingly seriousness you feel irradiating from his aura, confuse you.
Jungkook shakes his head twice, the way he does, kind of like a wet puppy would, before setting the box on the counter of your open kitchen.
It’s only when he starts walking towards you, that his head raises up, just a bit, enough for his eyes to meet yours through his hair. He has a tiny smile as a greeting. He looks really upset. 
He should be bouncing on the balls of his feet, he should be doing some TikTok cringe dance moves to make you laugh or yell some greetings in a dialect. He has a lot of peculiar, very Jungkook ways to celebrate meeting you again after a while. Even if neither of you has ever said the words, you do miss each other a lot when you can’t see each other, and the excitement that blooms during your reunions translates that. 
But he’s sad today. It’s obvious. 
When he takes a seat beside you on the couch, he avoids your gaze. You’re agape, watching him with probably too much insistence, a hand holding a spoon half-filled with yoghurt in the air.
These few moments are decisive. They’ll determine rather he’ll talk or not. Jungkook, for someone who cries easily, is not good with feelings and sharing them aloud. Sometimes he can, often he can’t. He’s told you not to worry about it before, that it was fine because sometimes he just didn’t need to, he just wanted a shoulder to lay his head-on. 
“You okay, Guk?”
He shrugs. You just have the time to catch his upper lip sucked in, a twinkle in his eye before he’s switching position, bumping into you and hitting his own shin against the coffee table like a giant dog, unaware of his own growth, would. Only to settle for an impressively tiny huddle against your side, cheek pressed to your shoulder. 
So that’s how it’ll be. 
It’s heartbreaking, torturesome. You always feel miserable when you know he’s sad but not knowing the reason makes it a thousand times worse. You might be the same vengeful kid you used to be. The one who’ll inquire straight away who made him cry and immediately went on her way to beat that reason up -it being another child or the troll of a tree that made him trip. 
Except you are grown-ups now. He knows he can deal with his problems on his own and he would probably not let you go and try to beat up everyone -he probably doesn’t believe you can too, even though he’d be wrong about that. 
Jungkook tears his hand out of his pocket only to mime you to turn up the volume of the television. You do so and the pretty hand is gone and if it wasn’t for his quiet sniffling and the heavy press on your side, you wouldn’t know he’s really here with you at all. 
Your heart hurts the whole duration of the shitty afternoon movie, even if having his warmth next to you helps a little. He leaves later the way he entered, mostly silently, only smiling a bit when you smooch the side of his head and squeeze his forearm in a wordless comforting effort.
Guk
Sorry for earlier
Guk
It was nice seeing you though
You
Don’t be sorry. Can you call?
Guk
Yes, in 5
The five minutes turn out to be twenty. You wonder, hoping to be wrong, how numerous those tears were that he needed twenty minutes to dry them. 
When he finally calls, voice quiet and throat dry, whispering through the phone straight in your ear, uneasiness settles deep and heavy in your stomach as you know, you were right. 
“What happened, Jungkook?”
He must not have heard you this soft and gentle for a while because you can hear a humourless chuckle you recognize as incredulity. He clears his throat a first time, inhales deep and has to clear it a second time before he can start, still choking out on a syllable or two. 
“She broke up with me.”
The gasp that escapes you, loud and obnoxious, could not have been faked. This news is hardly believable to you. First of all, because, to your greatest guilty despair, Jungkook and his girlfriend, who’ve been dating for almost a year, are probably the embodiment of The Power Couple. There’s no doubt, in all the people that know them, that they are meant to be. They look good together. They are on the same page, always, it seems. They’re beautiful and enviable, an example of a match from Heaven, healthy and aesthetic if that's even a mentionable point.
You can’t, even in your deepest, darkest fantasies, have imagined them to break up. 
But the thing that makes it all the harder to comprehend is that she is the one who did it. The girl is great. She’s beautiful, she’s smart and funny, so you heard. She has that glamour to her, with her dainty pretty milky hands and long thin milky neck, with her silky, shiny black locks wondrously floating over her shoulders. She is great, matches him well.
She is not that far behind him but she's still not Jeon-Jungkook-great.
How could she have broken up with him? Someone dumping him makes no sense to you. 
“That’s-“ You catch yourself before the words slip out clumsily. You’ve never really been talented at comforting people with words, especially a crying Jungkook which is the equivalent of your very own kryptonite. “I’m so sorry, Jungkook.” And you mean it. Even more so when you hear him snivel hard. You’ve never allowed yourself to, even just for yourself, in the quiet and discreet comfort of your own head, wish for that to happen. Because if there’s one thing that you want more than anything else, more than having him for yourself, more than your own fulfilment, it’s his happiness. And he was happy with Jiyeun. He’s got the girl he had a crush on for months and they went so well together. “But why? Did she give you a reason?”
You hate how eager you sound asking. The question is so pressing though. You wish to know so bad why, in what circumstances, Jeon Jungkook gets dumped. 
“She-“ There’s a sob he swallows back. “I know what you’ll say,” Your eyebrows dip low on reflex. You couldn’t imagine the reason. He must have really fucked up but Jungkook is not the kind to fuck up. Even when he’s annoying, even when his mindset on something turns a bit auto-centric, he’s too compassionate, he’s too considerate and loving, to suddenly stop wondering how the person facing him is feeling and act without care, hurt them, in any way. It’s just not his kind. So what did he do that even you’ll have a word to say about it. “Spare me because she’s done enough.” 
It takes another set of minutes for him to gather himself, find most of his voice back clear enough for you to decipher. You show yourself patient, not saying anything and leaving him all the time that he needs. In all honesty, in the darkness of your curtain closed bedroom, tucked comfortably in your mountain of pillows and blankets, with your phone stuck to your ear and just the quiet sound of his breathing and humming to himself to break the silence, but rock it rather than disturb it, it’s easy to be patient. Feels like an ASMR. A class A type of ASMR, his breathing to your ear could so easily lead you to sleep. 
“Yesterday, she came to welcome me back and-“ Rather than hurt, his tone sounds weakened by shame now. What the hell did he do? “She found the- the thing I brought for you today.”
The fucking idiot.
“Oh my God.” You feel instant nausea. It's not like you never thought about it. You wondered, multiple times, if she was aware that her boyfriend was buying you these. You never allowed dipping far in the questioning because what would be the point? Ultimately, it's his relationship. And it's his way of shaping your friendship. If she kept smiling pleasantly, asking politely, as she always would, how you're doing whenever you happened to cross her path, leaving his apartment, or visiting his shop, it was fine by you. It must have been fine by her. She might have known about it, or she might not, didn't really matter. Jeon Jungkook is a grown-ass man, who's allowed to make his own decisions, no matter if they make sense to you, or her, or whoever.
But he's a fucking idiot.
If she didn't know, if he didn't warn her, and now she's mad after learning about it, and he's surprised and he's sad then he's a fucking idiot.
“She asked if it was for her, I wasn’t gonna lie!” Fantastic. He's passed the shock, soaked in wrath now. That was quick.
"For fuck's sake, Jungkook!"
"What?" He sounds a bit hysterical on the phone, voice rough and angry, incredulous, even mad that you might suggest he's wrong. Obviously, he already knew you'd react this way, hence the primary warning. "You're my best friend. I get to gift you whatever the fuck I want." He whisper-yells, suddenly very much aware again of the late time and the quiet calmness he'd perturbed. "She-"
"I don't think that's the issue, is it? Did she- Did you tell her that- Like, nothing was up?" You don't know how to articulate what you mean to ask. It sounds so bizarre, so irrealistic, the idea of something romantic or sexual going on between you two. It sounds so ludicrous you can't even say it. And again, you're scared to say the words. You don't know how they'll sound leaving your mouth. Suspicious, maybe revealing.
You owe to ask the question though. Because the cause of the sudden nausea comes from one surprisingly major reason, you would hate for her to hate you. To think of you as the bad guy, the massive bitch who stole her boyfriend. It shouldn't matter but it does.
"What do you mean?"
"That it was just friendly. Did you say that to her?" You stutter, largely on edge.
"Of course, I did." He doesn't seem to notice. Or to pay attention to the, evident to your ear, change in your tone. "She said that it didn't matter." You bite your tongue, along with the couple of words threatening to slide off it. Quite frankly, Jungkook is a weirdo with his own intake on the world surrounding him, she chose to date that special, in a lot of different ways, one, however, you can fairly understand that she wouldn't accept any explanation, of any kind, for this situation. "Do you get that? If she thought I was cheating, I'd understand that she'd be mad but- it's not even the case!"
You try to focus on the essence of the conversation, annihilate the faint words you can read in between the lines. The ones that say that even his girlfriend, in those strange circumstances, couldn't imagine the two of you as more than friends. Just as he couldn't. Just as you can't either.
"She knows and she's still mad. But- I do- I was just curious about it."
"About what?"
"The toys." He pouts, barely articulate like the kid he really is.
"Why didn't you get them for her, then? She's your girlfriend."
There's a pause after your words coming from him.
"She hates those." The pout sounds so thick now, in between the sniffs, you wonder if his mouth won't stay stuck in this position, like a cute permanent raspberry on his cute little dumb face. "I did once and she- threw it in my face and called me a freak."
"Jungkook." You sigh. "That explains a lot, by the way." This comment might be mainly for yourself. He doesn't need an explanation, as it seems. He doesn't seem that troubled about the whole deal, about that new hobby he's picked for himself. But you did. It's hard to simply content yourself with a "well, it is what it is" and nothing more.
He's been curious about them, couldn't buy them for Jiyeun because she wouldn't use them and make him feel guilty about his interest. He's sort of living it by procuration this way.
Now you feel guilty. He can't have found much satisfaction from your reviews if you ever have given him any. And she called him a freak. What a bitch. You wouldn't have imagined that coming from her.
Your mind is a mess.
"And it makes you happy. I see the way-" You hear the friction of tissues, the squeaking of his bed, and the deep sigh that follows when, as you picture, he finds a comfortable position on his back. "You seem much better. Less stressed and-" You cannot deny that. Even though it's partially frustrating, to think that he has this very unpleasant picture of you, of the version of you preceding the very first orgasm brought by him - sort of. You are feeling considerably better. Even if you have to force yourself not to abuse the masturbatory habits, not wishing to turn into a jerk off crazed teen like you once was when your hormones were fucking you up, it helps a lot. Sometimes it's a late-night quickie, other times a longer seance to celebrate the start of the weekend, or find force for the beginning of a new week.
"What was that again? Youthful?" You wonder aloud, an annoyingly amused smile on your face.
"Rejuvenated." He's laughing a bit. And for that, all the turmoil he's been putting you through feels fine and worth it. When you think about the heartbreaking tone of his voice when you first heard it through the phone, it eases an incredibly heavyweight to your heart, enchants you to know that he can still laugh, and you can still be the one reminding him how to. Unfortunately, his heart's just recalled how to hurt and the ache is back as quick as it pretended to leave an instant ago. "She said to never call her again." He confides with a hearable sorrow.
"She didn't mean it." It's surprisingly easy to be a good friend to him. The words you know he needs to hear not even hurting that bad.
"I don't know. We never fought like that before."
"Of course, you didn't. But it's been a year, it ought to happen at some point."
"But if she won't even let me talk to her, how am I supposed to make it better?"
"Be patient and leave her time to cool down." He sighs, already defeated. "Maybe send her a vocal note, she'll listen when she's ready.” They're awfully nice when he sends some to you. “It'll be fine." You're made to be together, probably, you should add. You could add, it might help him immensely, to dry the tears you can picture filling up his eyes. It's a little too much though. You're not that strong of a masochist to force this on you.
"How do you know that?"
"I just do. Don't worry too much." He can't. His heavy silence precisely screams that. "Do you wanna come to my island? I'll let you run in my flowers if you want."
It makes him laugh once again. The lovely, most satisfying sound to your ear.
"That's sweet of you." And it is, extremely sweet of you. If there's one thing that you despise is him sprinting through the mindfully planted flower beds of your Animal Crossing island. It pisses you off. Even more so when he does it by accident than on purpose, because this shit happens way too often. And now, you're allowing him to do so. You're definitely too good at being his friend. "It's fine though. Turnips sell at 138 on mine if you're interested."
It's your turn to be laughing now. You love how even with his heartbroken, upset and crying, he still picks up his Switch to check where's the turnips' stock at.
"Jungkook." I adore you.
You have for seemingly ever. Since the very first time you met.
You'd never forget it. How you almost passed out from laughing because of the street sign that nearly knocked him unconscious. His forehead was already bruising dark, eyes unfocused and shiny with tears. You didn't mean to laugh but he was adorable and funny, and even if you felt guilty for enjoying it, people don't run their faces into street signs every day. You called it in your own head a miracle.
He had to sit for a little while from how dizzy he felt. His ears were burning with embarrassment too, your uncontrollable giggling not helping. He just sat there, on a bench you had dragged him to, hands tucked in the pocket of his sweatshirt, waiting for you to allow him to leave.
The kid stood unbalanced the four times he tried to walk and even if at eleven, you had nothing close to a doctoral degree, you still felt like it was wrong to just let him stumble his way back home straight away. You had to hold him hostage for a little while. You had shared your homemade cookies with him, the ones you hid deep in your bag for you didn't want anyone to ask for a bite at school. You made him drink the whole content of your water bottle because drinking water is never an unhealthy thing to do, therefore, it felt like a good idea.
He was so shy that your own timidness quieted down enough to allow you to make conversation to him. Or more accurately talk over the silence and distract him. He giggled a lot and smiled with cute bunny teeth. Kept saying thank you for every bit of cookies you'd given him and once you had walked him home and he arrived safe and sound, he bowed very low, apologized and thanked you again.
You thought it'd be the end of it. He pretended to be going to the same school as you but you had never seen him also he was a few years younger.
The next day, and every single day after that, at recess, he would appear out of nowhere. Wearing his adorable smile, and a tint of red on his ears, a bunch of homemade cookies of his own filling up his pockets. As a puppy would, he'd follow you around with a certain distance until you waved him over, rolling your eyes, because if he was going to stick by your side, he might as well actually play with you.
The most precious friendship you have ever experienced bloomed from this seed. A friendship, at the start, mainly based on a shared interest for very sugary treats, marbles, and that common memory of him eating shit in this street sign. You didn't mean to remind him, it made him flush furiously each time and you were not that cruel, but you couldn't help bursting out in laughter whenever you'd walk home -with him or alone- and pass that sign. It's your favourite spot in your home town. You never miss an occasion to take a selfie for him whenever you go to visit your parents.
It's hard to define the moment your feelings, once purely platonic, changed. But there's a memory that feels notably significant.
A guy made you fall. A useless asshole, who in retrospect was not even worth a single crumble of your time. You were confused. As you often get, without really knowing why. Maybe it's just you, maybe it's for everyone the same. People start by being too good in your eyes, too good for you not to give them your all, and maybe build pyramides upon pyramides of expectations.
Until they're not anymore.
Suddenly, they hurt your feelings. They suck ass and you felt so invested emotionally, way too invested for it to be any kind of healthy, and their very human selves harm you straight in the heart, where it is the most painful.
It didn't feel like a mistake this time. Like any of the other times, at the beginning, of course, otherwise, it wouldn't catch you again and again.
You fell hard and it's Jungkook who picked you up. He had cooked for you, one of his mother's infamous recipes because he knew you wouldn't even bother eating otherwise. He had held you close. He had kissed the top of your head, your cheeks and your eyelids when a diehard tear had slipped. He had called you baby and sunshine and his little kitten. Had showered you in an unfamiliar type of loving. Something so soft, so tender and warm. Hands firm when they'd wrapped around you and pulled you in. Fingers gentle when they'd brush the hair out of your face. He took care of you, made you feel good in ways no one has ever had. You had not known him to be like that. Suddenly, he really felt like a man when he touched you, when he talked to you. He wasn't only a dorky little overgrown baby anymore. He was a man, shaped like one but also able to act like one. Able to take care of a woman, please one you were sure of it. And suddenly, you wanted, so desperately, to be that woman. To have the same free access you had on his usual candid-self, on this newly met man.
Of course, it's too ludicrous for you to ever act on it. But deep down, a naive tiny voice kept claiming, in the back of your mind, that you could spoil him. Very few people in this world know him the way you do, surely, no one can please him the way you could.
Guk
She listened to my note!!!
Guk
She said she'll make me miss her a bit more and then she'll call
It took less than a day for her to give him a sign. You're not surprised. It's hard not to miss him. You're not surprised but somehow, still, disappointed.
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A/N: tadam!! i needed to include some flashbacks because i know my fellow f2l addicts just adore these, also, i just can’t get over writing kookie as a cute kid.
Guess what guys? there is only one chapter to go *sweats profusely* I- am worried. I hope you keep enjoying it and will enjoy the rest. :] For now, let me know your thoughts. I hope you have a sweet, lazy Sunday and wish you a lovely, peacful week! bises!
As always please ask to be tagged for the final chapter on this post
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fanmoose12 · 3 years ago
Text
the devil you know
Сharacters: Hange Zoe, Levi, Moblit Berner, Zeke Yeagar, Armin Arlert
Genres: Action / Drama
Summary: Can you still miss a person, if everything you knew about them was a lie?
Сhapter 4/?
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Every single night, she was tormented by the same nightmare. Every single night, the same memory replayed behind her closed eyelids. She saw that fateful night, the night when she had decided she couldn’t keep pretending anymore.
It was the night before the great battle, and, as always, Levi fell asleep in her bed, curled around her body, holding on to her almost desperately, as though he was afraid that should he let go even for a second, she’d vanish.
Levi thought that his embrace could keep her with him. Hange wished for it to be the truth.
Getting out of the circle of his arms was a considerable effort, he held her too close, too tight, and Hange… Hange didn’t want to leave that sweet embrace. Levi was wrapped around her like a vice, he was a poison ivy that had its twigs engraved so deep it reached to the very depths of her heart.
Hange had to cut it out, to cut him out. And, by gods, was it an unwanted progress.
But after a few moments of quiet struggling, of silent curses and pants, she slipped out from his embrace and their bed. That small victory was well-earned, but not enjoyed. Hange felt her heart break the moment Levi’s arms were no longer around her. Without him, she felt so cold. With every inch she put between them, the ice that began covering her heart continued growing.
Next, she packed her scarce belongings. She wanted to take more, she couldn’t do it. Everything she’d take back home – her uniform with Wings of Freedom splayed proudly on the back, her heavy notebooks with dozens of notes and sketches done by her beloved assistant, that book Erwin had once given her, the scarf Mike had knitted for her, the flower Levi had gifted her, the very same one she treasured just dearly as the memory of him confessing after the gift had been presented, - all of it was going to be looked at and thoroughly analyzed. By her Marleyan comrades, friends and possible prosecutors.
She could take nothing that could be conceived as dubious, but that jacket, the one that was shared by both of them and still held his scent and warmth— she wasn’t strong enough to leave it behind.
So she put it on, praying for it to give her strength.
A long way home was awaiting her.
And Hange couldn’t leave without giving him, the one man she truly loved, a goodbye kiss.
“I know you won’t,” she whispered against his brow, her fingers caressing his hair with a feather light touch, “but please try to forgive me. It was out of my control, Levi.”
It was his fault too. When Levi came, the ground had been kicked from under her feet. And a simple mission turned into a tragedy.
When she gathered enough strength to leave the room, the hallway was empty. Hange knew it would be, she was familiar with the workings of Survey Corps like the back of her hand. She strolled through the well-known hallways without fear, trailing her hand along the walls.
The Military Headquarters back at Liberio was better built than this building. Even Warriors’ barracks, despite being designed to hold Eldians, were built so much better. Those buildings were sturdier, more technologically equipped, much more comfortable.
But, god damn it, she was going to miss Survey Corps’ headquarters, this shitty building that was situated in the middle of nowhere.
Compared to Marley, everything in Paradise was ancient, outdated, useless. But it didn’t stop her from loving that fucked up little island. It didn’t stop her from loving people that were living there, despite them being branded as monsters by her nation.
She turned the corner, took the stairs, and, at the end of it, just near the exit Hange saw a shadow.
She meant to duck behind the corner, to run and hide, but the form of that shadow was all too familiar, and she was just as familiar to that shadow. Hange had no choice but to stop and surrender to another cruel twist of fate.
“Squad Leader!” Moblit ran up to her, smiling and endearing as always.
Fucking hell, and Hange thought that saying goodbye to Levi would be the hardest task. However, Levi, at least, hadn’t been awake.
“Are you nervous, as well?" he asked, curiously peering into her eyes. Was she nervous? That was an understatement. "Personally, I can’t sleep! I’ve been thinking and thinking, and I even wrote a letter to my Momma, do you remember her?”
Of course, Hange remembered Moblit’s Momma, the soft and caring Mrs. Berner, a far kinder woman than Hange’s Momma was.
“I told her about our mission and how proud I am for participating in it. And… I added a second part, the one that would be sent in case…”
“No.” Hange shook her head resolutely, her hands clenching into fists. No, no, no, she refused to even entertain that foul idea. Impulsively, she took a step forward, circling her arms around her sweet assistant. “No, Moblit,” she repeated, voice muffled by his shirt. If he heard the quiet sniffling, Hange didn’t care. Moblit never minded her eccentricities. “You will survive. You will survive this shit and the next one you will undoubtedly face. You will make your Momma and everyone else around you proud.” You will make me proud. “And you will leave a glorious, happy and long life. You promise me?”
“Squad Leader…”
“Promise me!” she demanded, bordering on desperation.
In that moment, the dream always divided from reality.
In reality, Hange waited until he had given her a promise, and then feigned exhaustion, leaving Moblit to use another exit. But in a dream, Moblit made her stay, coercing her to have a cup of tea with him. And in the candle-light lit mass hall, they met Erwin, then Levi joined their impromptu party, gluing himself to her side and blinking sleepily at everyone who had gathered.
In a dream, Hange never left. She stayed under Moblit’s care, was guided by Erwin’s wisdom, was surrounded by Levi’s love.
And that’s why that dream was a cruel, excruciating nightmare. It showed her things that could never be. It showed her the future she desperately wanted to come true. Escaping from the clutches of that fantasy was hard, painful. And if that was complicated….
Well, waking up in that bed was pure agony.
Every single morning, Hange woke up lost and disoriented, and had to spend a few long moments, making sense of it all.
Her first instinct was to stretch her arms, to yawn and reach out – to warmth and comfort, to loving embrace, husky voice and reluctant kiss. To him. To everything she had lost. To everything she never actually had.
But she was alone in that bed.
There was no Levi, lying next to her, complaining about her morning breath. There was no Squad Leader Hange, no four-eyes , who would smile and start singing in Levi’s ear.
There was only she, a broken, empty shell of a person.
A Marleyan who fell for an Eldian. A war chief that devised weapons for her enemies. A fool with twisted loyalties and convoluted goals.
She betrayed her homeland, she didn’t have a home.
She was abandoned by her fellow countrymen, was rejected by the people closest to her.
But, strangely, as pathetic as she was, as miserable and wretched, she was not alone. Even in her sorry state, despite her vile betrayal, she still had a friend.
He was by all means her enemy, a monster and a devil, and yet he saved her life more times than she could count.
Even now, when her lies had been discovered and her villainy uncovered, he remained by her side, continued to care for her.
If all Eldians were truly as monstrous as she had been told since her birth, then how to make sense if the existence of one extremely brave, inexplicably kind Moblit Berner? Hange, as genius as she was, couldn’t understand him, couldn’t explain why someone as good and bright as him had decided to stick with her.
“Good morning!” he walked into her room with a smile, carrying her breakfast on a plate.
He had been repeating the exact same routine every day for the past month. He had been doing this ever since Erwin had appointed him as her assistant.
In that room, that bed, nostalgia, memories and regrets were impossible to escape.
Hange tried telling Moblit that he didn’t have to this, didn't have to care for her as though she was still his comrade. But Moblit was relentless. And she was too lonely and miserable to cut off the only kind soul that remained loyal to her.
“I managed to get your favorite biscuits this morning,” he continued, moving around the room to put the cutlery down on a table and open the curtains to let the sunshine in. “Almost got in a fight with Sasha because of it.”
Despite herself, Hange snickered. Moblit always had that kind of an effect on her. He possessed the uncanny ability to cheer her up with a simple, but heartfelt and caring gesture.
There was only one other person who was better at it than him. But after everything that happened between them… the hell would freeze sooner than she would hear praise and a comforting word from him.
Waving those sullen thoughts away, Hange stretched her arms and rose from the bed. She followed the sweet aroma of biscuits to the table Moblit had set for her.
“Any updates on Gabi and Falco?”
That was the first question she asked every morning. And every morning, Moblit gave her the same disappointing answer.
“I’m sorry,” he ducked his head solemnly. “We didn’t manage to locate them yet.
Hange expected as much. And yet, the lack of news still troubled her. Where were fierce Gabi and adorable Falco? Were they—
She shook her head, pressing lips together. Of course, they were still alive. They were candidates, the best of all best. Mentally repeating that mantra a couple of times, she forced her mind flow into different direction.
“What’s our plan for today?” she asked through a mouthful of biscuits. “Are we going to work on a new uniform again?”
Working on that project was fun. Having Mobllit as her assistant once again was fun. In the moments, when her brain was too occupied with an idea, she could almost pretend that everything was normal. That she was Squad Leader Hange, working with Executive Officer Moblit on a new project. Sometimes, Hange got so lost in that little game inside her head, she even expected for the door to burst open to let a grumpy Captain inside. But, of course, that couldn't happen.
These distant memories, they were comforting. They reminded her of the rare times in her life when she was truly happy. But the past... was in the past.
“Eh, you see…” Moblit raised a hand to his head, scratching the back of it with an apologizing smile. “Armin asked me to look into something. I was actually wondering if you would like to accompany me. I bet you’re getting sick of spending days in these four walls.”
She was starting to feel like a wilting flower, that was true. It would have been nice to go outside. However…
“Am I even allowed to leave this room?”
Moblit winced. “I’m not really sure about it… But I was assigned to look after you. I think it wouldn’t hurt if you go with me. Besides…” he sat on the chair next to her, looking at her almost pleadingly. Oh, Moblit and his perfect puppy eyes, Hange could never resist them. “I’d like to have your company. And, perhaps, your advice as well…”
“Advice?” Hange frowned. “On what? What is your task about exactly?”
“Don’t know if I can tell you,” nevertheless, Moblit leaned in, lowering his voice to a whisper. “But they found out that one of the volunteers, Yelena, has been conspiring with Eren. They asked me to interrogate the other volunteer.”
“Oh?” that sounded both ominous and intriguing. Hange curled her lips into a grin and raised an eyebrow. “You want me to use my interrogating skills?”
“No!” paling slightly, Moblit frantically lifted his hands, shaking them from side to side. “No reaping out nails, please! No threats of bloody violence! Just… talk with him.”
She almost forgot how easy it was to tease and embarrass Moblit. Oh, how Hange missed him.
“Alright, I’ll do my best to control the violent urges,” she winked at him, laughing at his scandalous face. “And thank you for inviting me. It’s been ages since I saw the world outside that room.”
“There is another thing I have to ask of you...” Moblit cast his eyes down, playing with the sleeve of his coat. “Technically, I’ll be representing Survey Corps, so…”
Oh. Hange shifted her gaze to the wardrobe, where her old uniform was still hanging. That feeling inside her, she couldn’t quite identify it. Was it shame? Or trepidation?
She showed nothing of it to Moblit. As their eyes met, she faced him with an easy smile.
“Sure, I don’t mind. I do wonder if that thing still fits me.”
“It is. It always will.”
The remark was short, it could be read as meaningless. But Moblit’s voice was deep and gravely, full of conviction. Hange tilted her head, stealing a moment to study him more closely. He looked back at her, his hazel eyes honest and kind.
A lump in her throat was thick enough to make it hard to breathe. It brought tears to her eyes. Hange closed them tightly, to keep the tears from falling down.
“I need a moment,” she murmured, facing away from Moblit, “I’ll be ready in five.”
“I’ll be waiting in the hallway,” he said and let her be.
___
Walking through the streets of Sina was both pleasant and excruciating.
Feeling the sun on her cheeks and the wind in her hair after so many days of being confined to a one single room was enjoyable, enough to put a smile on her lips. And Sina, so very different from Liberio, was a lovely city with interesting architecture and narrow clean streets.
But these places were too familiar, the alleyways etched into her mind too deeply. And the uniform… the long green coat fitted her too well, and, at the same time, suffocated her. The shiny Wings of Freedom were burning her even through the clothes.
This proud emblem, it wasn’t hers. She wasn’t worthy of wearing it.
And the looks people had been given her, the awe and pride— fuck, Hange would rather prefer they cursed and flanged stones at her.
“Their smiles make me uncomfortable,” Moblit confessed. “They used to throw shit at us after every expedition. But now that Eren has killed a bunch of people, they suddenly decide that we’re heroes.”
“You always have been heroes.”
You, not we. There was nothing heroic inside of her.
“Remember that tavern?” Moblit’s cheerful voice and excited expression didn’t chase away the shadows completely. But the shadows took a step back, frightened by his light. “We had a glorious fight with MPs there.”
The fond memory brought laughter to her lips. “You almost got your arm broken in that fight.”
Moblit chuckled along with her. “Thanks to you I didn’t. I thought that punch of yours would get that guy obliterated.”
Hange touched her knuckles tenderly. Moblit was right, that was one hell of a punch. If she closed her eyes, she could almost feel how the force of the hit had reverberated through her skin, tendons, muscles and down to the bones. Perhaps, that time, she had overdone it. She always had troubles reining in her anger.
“And remember that guy Captain Levi kicked? I see him around from time to time. Because of his broken jaw, he still has trouble speaking clearly.”
Ah, Hange remembered that guy as well. He was red-headed and had an ugly moustache. He also left a nasty bruise on her cheek. Levi’s kick to his jaw was a payback for that.
“Those were the times, huh?” Moblit nudged her, offering a kind smile.
Hange averted her eyes, feeling her lips quiver. Yeah, those were the times. Distant times, now they seemed more like a dream. A dream Hange wouldn’t want to wake up from.
Sensing her discomfort, Moblit steered them to the side, taking their conversation in another direction as well. “Speaking of Captain Levi, I sent him the new uniform. He wrote back that he liked it.”
The uniform she accidentally created with Levi’s size in mind. It was in no way intentional. She thought of Survey Corps’ soldiers when she was making a design. And in her mind, the perfect example of the scout was Levi. She was surprised she still remembered his size. Although, considering how much time she had dedicated to studying his body…
The new uniform was a sudden project, a product of the abundance of free time on her part. She wasn’t going to show it to anyone. Even Moblit found out about it by pure accident, when he stumbled upon her crude drawings. She was surprised he liked it. She was surprised Levi liked it. Did he really, though?
“He actually wrote so?”
“Well, he wrote that it could be useful, and in his words…”
Oh. As high praise as one could get from Levi.
“You write to him?” truthfully, that was another surprise for Hange. She didn’t remember Moblit and Levi have any sort of relationships, especially this close.
“We talk a lot,” Moblit shrugged, looking anywhere but at Hange. She was starting to wonder why, but his next words quickly unveiled the mystery. “Technically, we’re the only adults in Survey Corps, and after you left, we… found that we have a lot in common.”
Well. At least, her betrayal had one good outcome. It gave birth to a new friendship. And destroyed several old ones. Hange winced at the last thought.
“Oh, look where are we!” Moblit once again pulled her out of the abyss with his clear, loud voice. The wonder, added to it, however, seemed a little bit too faked. As smart and sharp as he was, Moblit could never excel at lying and pretending.
Not like she did.
Forcing these thoughts away, Hange followed the direction Moblit was pointing at. She couldn’t help but smile at what came into her sights.
Sina’s pastries. The best bakery in the city. In Hange’s humble opinion, the best bakery in the whole damn world. The one they had back at home, on the corner of the street in Liberio, right next to her apartment, didn’t even compare.
Just looking at the sign made her mouth fill with saliva.
“Moblit,” she grasped at his sleeve, her hold desperate. Her eyes were still trained on that shiny sign made in cursive. “Moblit, I know I’m asking a lot—”
He grinned. “Want me to get you that cherry pie you loved so much?”
Oh god, yes. Right now, Hange wanted it more than anything else.
“I understand it if you can’t. I mean, I’m a prisoner from a foreign country. Isn’t buying pies considered to be treason in this case?”
Moblit chuckled warmly. He looked at her, and his expression was kind and gentle enough to make the saints weep. He curled his hand around her shoulder, and from the place where he touched her, warmth spread through her body. “I wouldn’t mind committing treason for a friend.”
Fuck. Hange felt it once again. Her heart squeezing painfully, her throat constricting, tears welling in her eyes. She had to shut her lids to keep them from falling down her cheeks.
Her eyes still closed, with her voice cracking, she asked, “Would it be weird if I give you a hug right now?”
“Don’t know. Is it weird that I really want that hug?”
Her sob turning into a giggle, Hange surged forward, falling right in Moblit’s waiting arms. He pressed her close, his palm patting her on the back. Hange buried her face in his chest and relaxed against him, inhaling his faint scent of citrus and cinnamon. Sweet and pleasant, just like Moblit.
What was she doing all that time, without him at her side?
Moblit smiled at her as they separated. Hange meant to smile back, but in that exact moment— her stomach gurgled. Loudly.
She cringed.
“So… about that pie?”
“I’m on it,” Moblit promised and darted to the bakery.
___
Perhaps, it was fate. It was destiny, divine intervention, that led her to this moment. To the wooden bench in the park, to the bird’s singing in her ear, to the sweet, heavenly taste in her mouth.
The pie was perfect, so much better than Hange had remembered. It was soft enough to melt in her mouth, leaving a pleasant aftertaste. It was sweet, but not sugary, the cherry toping adding slight bitterness.
Fantastic, the pie was fantastic. If Hange could, she’d stay in that bakery until the end of her days, devouring those phenomenal pastries until she exploded. Ah, what a happy death that would be…
Moblit observed her with an amused grin. “Did they not feed you at all in your Marley?”
“Not like this.” Hange managed, despite her full mouth.
Food in Marley was more diverse than on Paradise. They had more resources, they had a bigger variety of products and ingredients. But Hange was a soldier. She either ate at barracks or she cooked for herself at home. Food, made by army cooks, was nourishing, but lacking in flavor. And the dinners, prepared by her, almost always consisted of something quick and extremely simple.
The only place where Hange could eat to her heart’s content, where food was made out of the best, freshest ingredients and prepared by the most skillful chefs, was the official events, organized by the brass. And as the leader of the research facility, one of the most recognized war chief and the only child of her father, one of the Marleyan’s biggest heroes, Hange was always a welcome guest on these events.
But they were so boring that not even a promise of good food could make her sit until the end of them.
“Well, wait until you try Niccolo’s food. He is a true master.”
“Already did,” her stomach once again gurgled, this time the embarrassing sound was provoked by the memory of Sasha and Connie treating her to some of the maestro’s masterpieces. Sasha certainly was a lucky girl. “I ate so much, I thought I was gonna puke.”
“Yeah, I know the feeling,” bashfully, Moblit rubbed his neck. “The first time he made food for us, I was eating like the man starved. I was so ashamed, but then I looked around,” he chuckled lowly, a wistful smile tugging at his lips. “And realized I wasn’t the only one.”
“I see you had a lot of fun,” she said, swallowing the bitter taste in her mouth. She wasn’t one of them, and never was. The suddenly appeared sadness was foolish and unwelcome. She had her own friends back home. Perhaps, they still thought about her. Perhaps, they still cared. “And what about that guy you need to interrogate? Is he also an amazing cook?”
“No, he is a soldier, he taught us so much about your technology! He was the one who was in charge of controlling the airship we used to get to Liberio.”
So their new friend was a pilot? And, apparently, a skillful one at that. Navigating through Liberio during all that chaos was certainly a challenge. Hange wondered if she knew him.
“So what is the name of that ace pilot of yours?”
Moblit lifted his chin, something close to pride appearing in his gaze. "He really is amazing. His name is Onyakopon."
Hange's jaw dropped. Her precious pie almost dropped as well. Hadn't she misheard? Onyakopon? The same Onyakopon who had spent almost a year as her understudy? Who taught Hange how to pilot the plane? That Onyakopon?
Could it really be? Could they really meet here, after so many years, on Paradis of all the places? Or was it some other Onyakopon who also happened to be an ace pilot?
"Hange-san?" a worried crease lay between Moblit's eyebrows. "Are the two of you—"
"Don't know," she shrugged, promptly finishing the last of her pie. "Shall we go and find that out?"
Moblit nodded resolutely. Hange felt something like nostalgia stirring up inside her.
___
For a man who was supposedly under a close watch and a possible suspect, Onyakopon had the nicest of accommodations. Much better than Hange's single room.
The house was small, but cozy, surrounded by pretty garden and vast green fields. If one were to ignore the lonely guard who was munching on an apple in the shadow of the tree, the front yard possessed absolutely no flaws.
Hange immediately shared her observation with Moblit, telling it to him in a faint whisper.
"Let's hope Onyakopon isn't a traitor and we won't end up dragging him from this heavenly place," he answered her.
If their Onyakopon was the same Onyakopon Hange knew, they wouldn't need to take the drastic measures. He was a smart, honest and good man. And, judging by Moblit's set expression, he knew that too.
As they approached the house, a man came in their sights. Dark-skinned, tall and handsome, he was reading a book on the porch, a look of complete concentration on his face.
All doubt left her mind. It was the same Onyakopon. The bright, curious young man who wanted to learn from her and who taught her something in return.
At the sound of their footsteps, Onyankopon looked up. And recognized her too, from just one glance. As their eyes met, his grew in size, almost comically. So he didn't know she was there as well. Strange, Hange would have thought he overheard the commotion she had caused on their trip back to Paradis.
But, perhaps, Onyakopon was too focused on piloting the airship and keeping all of them alive.
"Hange?" his voice was no louder than the wind's song. Hange nodded swiftly, having troubles finding her own voice. She wasn't sure it would obey her. "Oh I'll be damned!" Onyakopon jumped to his feet and all but ran to her. He squeezed her elbows, peering into her face in disbelief. "I'll be damned, Hange! I've heard the talks about some Marleyan soldier, but I could never guess that it was you! No one told me that you were captured."
Well, captured might be a strong word to describe what happened to her. Levi didn't capture her, he simply caught her - unaware and unprepared. Hange saw the face that was haunting her dreams and didn't even think of fighting against him.
She thought that Levi came to kill her then. She was almost ready for him to do it, to finish it once and for all. Being killed by the humanity's strongest - was there a greater honor? Being killed by the man you loved so dearly - was there a bigger joy?
Gently, Hange pried Onyakopon's hands off her. "It's a very long story."
"I have—"
"You don't," Moblit took a step forward, partially hiding Hange behind his back. "We need to talk, Onyakopon. I'm sure you've already guessed why."
"Yeah. Your friend here," Onyankopon threw an accusing glare at his guardian who was enjoying the afternoon shade, not disturbed by their conversation. "Already warned me. Alright," he let out a defeated sigh, "Do you guys want tea or coffee? Maybe, some snacks?"
Moblit gave him a tight-lipped smile. "We've already eaten, thank you."
"I— I'll bring some tea anyway."
He disappeared inside the house without another word. Hange and Moblit watched him go, then, when he vanished from their sight, they shared a look.
"He doesn't seem nervous," Hange remarked.
Moblit seemed to be of the same opinion. "He looks rather disappointed. I really hope he is innocent. But..." he shook his head and mumbled, more to himself than Hange, "I was always bad at figuring out liars."
Ouch. If after everything she had been through, Hange still possessed a heart, Moblit's words would have dealt a fatal blow.
Alas... She felt but a small pang. It didn't make her wheeze with pain, only forced to cast her eyes down.
___
Onyakopon returned after a few minutes, carrying a tray with three cups on it. Jerking his head into its direction, he led them to a table on the backyard.
Once they all took their places, heavy silence hanged over them. Onyakopon was the one to break it.
"So, no offence," he tilted his head to the side, his gaze slowly switching between Hange and Moblit. "If this is the official business, then… why Hange is here?"
"It's a long story," Hange said at the same time as Moblit claimed,
"Hange and I have been working together before."
"Wait..." a frown appeared on Onyakopon's face. It was almost immediately taken over by the look of shock. "Are you telling me that the famed Marleyan spy I've been hearing so much about, the one who spent five years on Paradis and almost became the Commander of Survey Corps, is Hange Zoe, one of the brightest minds of Marley?"
"Something like that, yeah," Hange took a cup of tea in her hands, hiding her embarrassment behind it.
"Wow... that's certainly... a lot to take in. I heard so many things about you."
"Nice ones, I hope?"
The corners of Onyakopon's lips slid down. "Not really."
"Ah... Understandable, I guess."
"But if you're the famous betrayer, why are you here? Are you—"
"We've been working together for a long time," Moblit repeated. "I trust Hange's judgement."
"I have an exceptional talent of picking out bullshit. And," Hange grinned, the curl of her lips just this side of being feral. "I'm a master of reaping fingernails out."
Onyakopon promptly chocked on the tea he was drinking. Sending her the most disappointing of his looks, Moblit jumped out from his seat to help the other man to cough it all out. His panicked face did awake a bit of shame in Hange.
"It was a joke," she hurried to assure.
"A very bad one," Moblit grumbled, softly patting Onyakopon on the back.
"I see nothing has changed about you, Hange," after returning his breathing under control, Onyakopon raised his eyes, giving her a joyful smile.
Hange wasn't sure if his words held any truth, personally, she hadn't felt like her happy, curious and driven self from years ago, but, nevertheless, she answered his smile with the one of her own.
"Now, let's talk about you," Moblit returned to his place, sitting down on the opposite side from Onyakopon. His back was straight, his expression relaxed but solemn. He grew, Hange noted absentmindedly. He was no longer that timid, shy man she had met all these years ago. "Do you know what happened with Yelena?"
"I understand that she is in the same boat as I am right now."
"Not quite," Moblit retorted. "We've recently found out that she has been talking with Eren behind our backs."
Onyakopon put the cup down, his hands a little more unsteady than Hange remembered them to be. "I... didn't know about any of this. Do you know what they were discussing?"
"Commander Pixis and the others are attempting to make sense of it as we speak."
"And in the meantime you decided to interrogate me." Onyakopon's demeanor changed, his eyes flashing. "Have I not done enough, Moblit? For you and for the people of Eldia? Haven't we helped you enough? And yet, you still don't trust me. You come here with—" his gaze shifted to Hange, but whatever Onyakopon wanted to say didn't leave his mouth, Moblit's hardened expression stopping him.
"You know how hard it is to earn trust," Moblit spoke calmly. "Especially now. Personally, I don't think that you're involved in Yelena's dealings. But I have to make sure of it. Wouldn't you do the same, if you were in my position?"
"Besides," Hange chimed in, "Even Eren is imprisoned. Do you really blame them for not trusting foreigners?"
Onyakopon took his time before answering. His jaw clenched, as he fixed his gaze on the wooden surface of the table.
"Maybe, you're right," he said at last. At his admission, Moblit relaxed. But Hange knew that Onyakopon wasn't finished yet. "But I risked my life to help get Eren back. Doesn't that count for something?"
"Yelena took part in that mission as well." Moblit reminded.
"I'm not Yelena." Onyankopon harshly retorted.
Moblit scowled. Onyakopon was glaring back at him, hands crossed on his chest. Hange decided it was time to intervene once more.
"Are we thinking of the same Yelena?" she interrupted their staring contest, easing the air around both men. "Tall, blonde and absolutely crazy?"
Not taking his eyes of Onyakopon, Moblit nodded. "She also has a strange obsession with Yeager brothers."
"Ah," yeah, Hange knew her. How could she not? Yelena was... "A lovely girl. Even I get chills from her. I doubt that Pixis would be able to get something out of her."
"That what worries me," Moblit confessed, rubbing his temples. The gesture was familiar to Hange - Moblit always suffered from headaches when under stress. "The Queen is coming back soon. If we don't secure the capital..."
"Historia is coming back?" Hange wasn't aware of it. When she asked Sasha about a little girl that once was called Christa and then grew up to become a Queen, Sasha said that she was also getting ready to become a mother. Was bringing her to the capital a good call then? With everything in such state of disarray?
"It was her decision, not ours," Moblit explained. "When the Queen learned what is going in, she deemed it necessary to intervene."
"Hopefully, the Queen is loved more than Eren Yeager."
Yeah, that would be the best case scenario. For everyone - even Marleyans - involved.
"In these uncertain times..." Moblit hanged his head with a deep, weary sigh. "Hope is all we have. Thank you for your time, Onyakopon. We'll be heading back now."
Having said that, he stood up. Hange meant to follow his suit, but at the last moment, Onyakopon stopped her, catching her sleeve between his fingers.
"About what happened in Liberio," he stiffly began. "Marley destroyed my hometown," Hange solemnly nodded. She was forced to take part in that particular operation. She hated every second of it. "I can't and I won't forgive them for that. But..." his voice softened, his thumb rubbed comforting circles around her pulse point. "Liberio was your home as well. So I know what you're going through."
Taken by surprise, Hange blinked a couple of times, gawking at Onyakopon. She expected anger from him. In the worst case - pity. But he offered her only his understanding. She was grateful for that.
“Goodbye, Onyankopon,” she smiled sweetly.
“Hopefully, that wouldn’t be our last meeting.”
Hange could very well agree on that.
___
When they were back in Sina, the sun was already setting, painting the streets and buildings into shades of orange, red and pink. While walking through the town, Hange was once again reminded of how beautiful it truly was. The abundance of trees and flower bushes, the shiny cobblestone and petite houses added to its charm, making Sina look almost magical.
“Pretty as a picture,” Hange had once called it, during a walk through the town with Levi by her side. Her fascination, that careless mishap almost got her lie uncovered.
“You look like you’re seeing it for the first time, four-eyes,” Levi had thrown that line carelessly, but his had narrowed ever so slightly and his frown had deepened. “Didn’t you say that you have grown up in the city?”
In that moment, Hange had almost started panicking. She could almost see it too – Levi finding out the truth, Levi dragging her to Erwin, Erwin getting everything he could out of her, him, Mike, Nanaba, Moblit, Nifa, Keiji, Abel, Levi and countless of others feeling disappointed and betrayed. The story would have ended with her standing on the gallows.
Perhaps, this end would have been more merciful. But that day, her joyful, only slightly forced laughter and a meaningless ‘Don’t you know me, Levi? I always have my head up in the clouds?’ had saved her from the early demise. And doomed her to many years of torture, heartache and self-hatred.
“Hey,” a gentle hand on her elbow broke her out of the internal misery. Hange looked up, meeting Moblit’s hazel eyes. “It will take some time until we reach the headquarters. Can we talk in the meanwhile?”
“Sure,” she shrugged. “What do you wish to talk about?”
“I actually want to ask a question. You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, but…” Moblit trailed off for a moment, pressing his lips in a line. Hange smiled faintly, she knew that expression too – he always wore it when he was contemplating his next move. As soon as his mind was set, it vanished, the usual kind face returning. “I would like to know why… you came here in the first place.”
That was it? Hange almost exhaled with relief. She thought he was going to ask something truly awful.
“Didn’t I tell you already? Just like Hoover, Leonhart, Braun and Galliard, I was sent to retrieve the Founding Titan.”
“But you didn’t do it. You had countless opportunities to take Eren from us, and you never acted on any of them. So why did you really come here?”
That was… a question more complicated than Hange was ready for. She didn’t know what to tell Moblit, how much she was willing to share. She had never talked about this, not to a single soul. Her comrades and friends from Marley would never understand her anyway. But Moblit wasn’t Marleyan, he didn’t possess the same mentality. Perhaps, he wouldn’t judge her. Hange was counting on that.
Without another second spent on doubt, she began her tale,
“My father was a hero – a soldier, brilliant tactician, an even better politician. He was resolute, fearsome and absolutely merciless to his enemies. No surprise that many considered him to be an ideal Marleyan citizen. And I was his only child. Naturally, everyone expected me to be as brilliant as him. I began my training at the age of five, and by the age of twelve I was already a perfect soldier. However, that’s not who I wanted to be. I wanted to explore the world, to travel to distant lands, but as the child of my father, I had my whole life controlled by him, and then, when he passed away, by the expectations everyone had for me.”
Taking a pause, Hange chanced a look at Moblit, expecting him to be disgusted or annoyed by her whining. She had everything given to her on a plate, a bright future guarantied, and she still yearned for something more. It was pathetic, wasn’t it? She was pathetic. However, Moblit… didn’t seem to share that opinion. At least, his face didn’t show the signs of it. Instead of the outrage Hange had expected to see, she was met with sympathy.
It made the pain in her chest grew tenfold.
Nevertheless, she forced herself to continue.
“I could never decide for myself, my whole life was controlled by my father’s legacy. I wanted to break free of it, by whatever means necessary. So when I heard about the mission to retrieve the Founding Titan, I latched onto that chance, convincing the brass to send me there with the kids. But I’ve arrived earlier than them, and we got separated. And so… I decided to use that time to do what I always wanted. To study and explore.”
It was the most brilliant of her adventures. She loathed being a soldier and having to kill countless enemies of Marley. But there was no war at Paradis. The only enemies were Titans, and as much as Hange felt for their struggle, she managed to convince herself that she was killing them for their own good. That she was freeing them from their never-ending curse.
“No one knew me here, and I could be whoever I wanted to. And I liked being Squad Leader Hange, because Squad Leader Hange was allowed to be as weird and curious as I wanted. People here accepted me. For the first time in my life, I felt like I found the place where I belonged.”
Of course, that wasn’t true, a mere fantasy, a delusion on her part. She was a Marleyan, a child of the man who condemned thousands of Eldians. She had no place in their world. And yet, Hange was happy. It was the bitter truth she was afraid to admit for so long - she loved the persona of Squad Leader Hange. So much more than the persona of the Professor and war engineer, Hange Zoe.
But nothing could last forever. And when the time has come to return to Marley, Hange was devastated. She lost herself in playing her own game.
“That’s it, I guess,” she said, rolling her shoulders. Looking up, she saw they were almost by the stables where they left their horses in the morning. So deep inside her own head, she failed to notice how much time had passed. “I ran away because I was sick of my life back home. And I spent five years pretending to be someone else.”
“Were you really?” Moblit watched her, his gaze inquisitive. “Were you really pretending to be someone else, Hange-san? Or did you finally allow yourself to release your true self?”
That was… a scary statement. And much more loaded than Hange could deal with in that moment.
“I could be wrong, though,” Moblit shot her an innocent smile. Hange cursed under her breath, a true devil, that’s what he was. Getting her to admit to so much of her insecurities, Moblit surely had a talent for it. And to think he asked her to help him with interrogation. He seemed to be pretty adept at it himself.
“Stay here, I’ll bring our horses,” he started walking in the direction of the stables, but at the last moment turned away, and, meeting Hange’s eyes, added, “I’m glad that you took that mission, Hange-san. And I’m glad that I got to meet the real you. All of us are.”
Hange snorted, watching Moblit go. Perhaps, her father was right about something. Devils, all of them were. How else to explain the ease with which they wormed their way into her heart?
Her shoulders dropped as soon as Moblit had disappeared from her view, and she turned to stare at the setting sun. Certainly, it was one hell of a draining conversation.
But as her thoughts were still scattered in disarray, her heart felt so much lighter. She never shared this part of her with anyone, was afraid to admit it even to herself. But now she was glad she had finally done it. Perhaps, she should have done it a long time ago. Her life could have been easier then, the amount of regrets considerably lesser.
She swept her gaze around the plaza Moblit left her at. With the day coming to an end, not a lot of people were there. As far as Hange could see, the only ones still present were a happy mother with a two children, who were feeding the pigeons on the bench at the far side of the plaza, an elderly couple, and—
And a girl that sat at the edge of the fountain. The short stature, slumped shoulders, that luscious long black hair were familiar to the point of setting Hange's heart ablaze.
She couldn't see the face, was afraid to, but even so, Hange denied what her eyes saw. Surely, it was her imagination, her mind conjuring things that weren't there. This girl, she was—
A shadow, fathom. It couldn't be— it couldn't be her. Even the possibility of it was raising the hairs at the back of Hange's neck.
It wasn't Pieck, just a random girl. Hange was wrong, simply seeing things. Those familiar traits belonged to someone else. Pieck wasn't here, in Paradis, Pieck couldn't be—
"Hange?" she jumped, and whirled around so swiftly her head went dizzy. Before her stood Moblit, his eyebrows knitted together worriedly. "Everything alright?"
She exhaled with relief. "Peachy," she answered with a smile she didn't feel. Her eyes shifted from one side of plaza to the other, searching for the figure she had seen. But like all shadows do, she simply vanished.
"I brought our horses," Moblit gestured for her to follow him. Hange did, not looking back even once.
Even so, she felt someone's gaze burning into her back all the way to the headquarters.
___
"Sorry," Moblit stood at the threshold of her room, shifting his weight from one foot to another. "I need to report to Zacklay and Pixis."
His expression was nearly apologetic. Hange patted his shoulder, touched by his not so subtle concern. "Stop worrying so much, Mob. Nothing would happen if you leave me for one evening."
Moblit kept frowning, looking as unconvinced as ever. "I'll tell Sasha and Connie to bring you dinner,” he nodded to himself. “And if you need anything, just tell the guard to call for me."
"Alright, alright. Now go!" Hange gave him a forceful push. "And make me proud!"
She didn't get an answer out of him, but she did see a faint blush appear on his cheeks. That was enough for Hange to chuckle victoriously.
Once Moblit had disappeared around the corner, Hange shoved the door closed and leaned against it. It was an exhausting, eventful day. She wanted nothing more than to rest. She headed towards the bed to fulfill that exact goal.
But no sooner than she had seated down, she heard the knock on the door. Albeit quietly, it was repeated three more times.
Sighing, Hange stood up again and walked back to the door. She swung it open, expecting to see Sasha and Connie. She was hoping to get a warm meal inside while gossiping with the two teenagers. A second later, the door stood open. And Hange's throat was closed up.
On the other side of the threshold— there was no Sasha, no Connie. Only Pieck.
And so the shadow finally took form.
Pieck was dressed similarly to her, in the dark green uniform. Her hair was gathered in a low ponytail, a smile was playing on her lips. The subtle differences in her attire only added to the sense of disbelief.
At the sight of her lovely face, all air left Hange's lungs. She desperately tried to take a breath, opening and closing her mouth rapidly. She wasn’t sure for how long she would have continued gaping like a fish fresh out of the water hadn't Pieck taken the matters in her own hands.
"It's been a while, Hange," as always, she spoke in a quiet, sugary sweet voice. Usually it calmed Hange down. Now it was sending shivers down her spine. "Aren't you happy to see me?"
"Pieck," Hange meant to sound leveled, controlled. But even a single word came out shaky and unsure. "Pieck," she tried again, this time with more success. "What are you doing here?"
Pushing past Hange, Pieck walked inside the room, heavily sliding down on a chair. "Serving my country. Something you have forgotten about."
Pieck stared straight at her, hands folded in her lap, a picture of friendliness and innocence. But the smile Hange always found so endearing, now seemed almost chilling.
"Tell me, Hange, is this the part of your plan? Have you decided to use your old history with these people to destroy them from the inside? Or," Pieck paused, tilting her head to one side. She didn't look angry, or disappointed. If anything, she seemed simply curious. But the atmosphere in the room was tense, air electrified with trepidation. Hange knew Pieck all too well, she knew how dangerous the shifter girl could be. "Have you already forgotten what they did in Liberio, in our city? How they destroyed it? How killed thousands of men, women and children? These monsters almost killed Reiner, Porco," her voice wavered at the names of her dear comrades. But even then, she didn’t drop the unassuming façade. "And do you know what happened to Udo and Zophia? Have you seen what become of them?"
Stunned, Hange could only stare at Pieck. The words left her, her mind unable to come up with anything she could have used to explain herself.
Indifferent to Hange’s internal struggle, Pieck continued.
"Do you even care, Hange? About Marley, about us?"
"Of course, I do." How Pieck could even doubt that? Udo and Zophia, those bright, adorable children Hange couldn't quite imagine them being gone. "Pieck, you misunderstand, I've been captured, I'm not—"
"Don't make me laugh." Pieck interrupted curtly. "You have your own room, you walk freely through the town, you wear their uniform. Is this how they treat all of their prisoners? Awfully kind of them then, considering the monstrosities these devils committed."
"Pieck, listen—"
Pieck didn't want to.
"You always were a strange one, Hange," gracefully, the girl stood up, taking a step closer. With her hands behind her back, she started pacing, circling around Hange. "I could never understand what was going on inside your head. I still can't. But, naively, I thought that I knew you. That after years of fighting side by side, we grew close enough. And after the disaster at Liberio," she picked up a sheet of paper from Hange's desk, gave it a quick once over before disregarding it in favor of focusing her eyes on Hange once more. "I kept looking for you. I was so afraid to find your body under a fallen building or see you with a hole in the head. But you were nowhere to be found. Everyone was worried sick, the brass was livid - the devils from Paradis killed the Warhammer, took our Beast and now our brightest mind was missing as well. And then I remembered what I have seen during the fight. A short man approaching you, the same one who nearly killed Zeke, that Ackerman. I thought he had captured you, I thought you needed saving. Seems like I was wrong about that, huh?”
Even now, Pieck was keeping her calm. Despite the harsh accusations, her voice remained gentle, almost soothing. The smile was still in place, and her head was tilted up, peering into Hange’s eyes.
Hange did everything she could to escape that unsettling gaze.
“I also came to because I needed you,” Pieck continued. “I thought you would help me with my mission.”
Would she? Should she? Hange didn’t know. She knew what Professor Hange Zoe would have done. She knew what Squad Leader Hange would have done.
But what would she do?
“I guess it doesn’t matter. Whether you help us or not, the outcome will be the same. Paradis will fall, Hange. Consider it my only warning. If you wish to witness its demise alongside these devils, I won't stop you. But," without looking at Hange, Pieck laid a hand on her shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze. "If your decision ever changes, I'll be happy to fight by your side."
After that, Pieck left the room, closing the door softly on her way out. Hange, however, didn’t move, remaining frozen in one place, too stunned to follow after Pieck and demand a more thorough explanation.
However... what was there to explain? Paradis will fall. Plain and simple.
Right now, Hange couldn't quite believe it, although she was supposed to expect it. What could possibly happen to that little island after Eren's desperate rampage? But even before that, Paradis was already doomed. The events that transpired at Shiganshina proved to the outside world just how dangerous the Eldians could be. And Shiganshina was simply a plant that had grown out of the seed of Grisha Yeager's crimes.
There was no hope for Paradis. There never was.
Paradis will fall.
What could she do to save it? Could she do something, anything at all? Could she help them, expose her nation's plans? Could she betray her motherland like that? If she shared the truth with people of Paradis, would they even believe her? Would her people forgive her?
Hange didn't know. Her mind was in frenzy, her thoughts flying from one horrible outcome to the other. It was in that catatonic state that Sasha and Connie found her.
"Hange-san? Is everything alright?"
Hange looked up, meeting their bewildered gazes. In that moment she realized - she didn't want these kids to die. She didn't want for them to suffer any more than they've already done. And the others - Moblit, Levi - Hange couldn't bear the thought of them in harm. But—
She didn't want for her fellow countrymen to die as well.
Fuck. Why was everything so hard these days, why it was so damn complicated? When would her heart stop tearing into two pieces? Why was everything out of her control?
It was always an issue of hers, the lack of control. This time was no different. Caught between crossfires, Hange didn't know which side to choose. Perhaps then... she shouldn't choose at all.
Perhaps, she should take the back seat. Let everything transpire the way it was supposed to be. Let them fight, let someone win.
And so, with a heavy heart and troubled consciousness, Hange came to a decision. She would not alert Paradis about the threat hanging over them. She would not help Marley in their fight.
But there was another side to all of this. Another warning, another trouble that couldn’t be ignored.
There was a danger of Marley invasion, but equally disturbing was the events transpiring inside the Walls. Something was brewing, a storm ready to swipe everyone in its path. And Hange had a nasty feeling that at the center of it, two figures stood – Yeager brothers.
Nothing could be done about Eren, Hange had doubts that even his closest friends had a single clue of what was going inside the boy’s head, what dangerous ideas were forming there. But Zeke, Hange knew how to deal with Zeke. She also knew someone who could deal with him in the most efficient way.
She didn’t know what Zeke was planning. But she was confident that Levi would be able to find out.
She just needed to give him a little push.
“Sasha,” Hange smiled at the girl, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “If you would be so kind, tell Moblit to visit me before he retires for the night.”
Moblit had mentioned that he was corresponding with Levi. The time has come to use this detail to her and the world’s advantage.
The world as they knew was changing, perhaps, it was already at the brink of collapse, horrible destruction. What did Moblit say? In these uncertain times, hope is all we have?
In that case, her only hope was Levi.
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thran-duils · 3 years ago
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Lost in Zero Gravity (P.24, FINAL)
Title: Lost In Zero Gravity (Part Twenty Four, FINAL) Summary:  Fem!Reader x Mob Boss!Tony Stark x Mob Boss!Steve Rogers.  Reader is a call girl who runs high end parties. She catches the attention of Tony Stark who invites her back to his room with his friend. She might have performed too well because she becomes their new favorite play toy and they don’t like to share. Words: 2,768 Warnings (for the fic in entirety): Smut, prostitution, infidelity, angst, domestic violence, stalking, possessive behavior, drug use
Author’s Note: This took a couple more days than I planned. I had started writing and got to like 1,200 words and then I was like mhm... abandoned that doc and started another. I was grappling between two different paths and I went with the happier one. We’ve had enough angst!
Part Twenty Three || Masterpost (mobile) || Fanfic masterpost
ALT ending (not complete, will not be completed)
Balancing the bowl on your stomach, you laid back eating grapes in silence. You were alone in the apartment. Again. Tony had been acting more distant now that you were really starting to show as you came into your sixth month. It smaller things at first, like you caught him staring at your protruding stomach and he looked away quickly when he noticed you saw or sex being from behind more often than not now. But now it was apparent something was wrong. He slept at home half the week now.
It should not be a shock; he had voiced his opposition to the whole thing from the start and you knew that is what was driving the wedge.
The grapes were doing little to satisfy your craving for French fries. You had just had some yesterday and you were trying to be good today. It was proving to be very difficult when you could just have them delivered and Wylan could bring them up for you.
As if on cue, the apartment door open and the smell of fried food hit your nostrils. You moved the bowl and sat up with some difficulty, spotting Tony walking towards the kitchen with a bag. Your mouth was already watering.
He tossed a look over his shoulder and asked, “Still having the craving?” He took in the look on your face and he cracked a smile. “Looks like it. I see I’ve brought you over to the dark side with it being a comfort food.”
“I don’t want this to last,” you said as you stood up, leaving the grapes behind on the coffee table. “I’ll be hundred pounds heavier if it keeps up.”
You sat down at the table, thankful that you had ordered the pillow covers for the chairs; they were far more forgiving on your backside than the plain hardwood. Tony placed a plate in front of you and handed you the ketchup and mustard before going back for his plate. He sat back down at the table in the chair across the table and began to eat.
Silence fell over the table as you ate some of the fries, paying more attention to them than the burger.
After a little while, you could not stand it anymore and you had to ask.
“Are... are we okay?”
Tony stopped eating and looked up at you with a concerned look. He placed his burger down and gave you his full attention. “What do you mean?”
“You seem… off. You have seemed off. The last couple of months. Like you kind of don’t want to touch me.”
He sighed, rubbing at his face. He looked like he was gathering his thoughts and you stayed quiet.
“It bothers me.” You looked at him expectantly, wanting him to say more when he paused. “You’re pregnant, for one. It’s a... thing for me. Just thinking about the baby in there and my dick around it.” You did your best to not crack at that, even the slightest of smirks. You wanted him to explain himself and not interrupt. “But you’re also pregnant with Steve’s kid. It... it makes me uncomfortable.” He paused and chewed on his bottom lip before meeting your eyes. “I don’t like watching him watch you. At the appointments I mean. He’s just... I know how he is and it’s not a good look that he’s giving you. And he’s so touchy feely about it and it makes me angry. Yeah. It makes me angry. That’s it. I hate it. I hate what he did. And he still wins and gets what he wants.”
“He doesn’t have to suffer through any of it and meanwhile you’re over here with body aches and looking down the barrel of the gun of childbirth. And it stresses me out because Steve told me he wanted to be there at the hospital, and I don’t think he should be in the room with you. He doesn’t deserve to be. Because I was done dealing with him after I learned what he had done.” He hesitated and saw you were still listening with rapt attention. He swallowed sharply before his eyes softened and he said calmer, “And it made me angry you gave him this satisfaction. Rewarded him for his behavior in a way. I wish you would have listened to me and just let me pay him out so this wouldn’t be a thing. And now we both have to deal with.”
You were quiet, staring down at your hands.
“I... I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I think about it too. He didn’t even ask if he could touch me when I was on the table the first appointment, he just did it. And I didn’t make a scene. And he just ran with that as permission for whenever he was around me in the room at the appointments, he could touch me however. And still, I didn’t cause a scene because there was a nurse or a doctor in there all the time, and he seemed to know them all, and I didn’t want to have any bad blood with them myself. Just for the baby’s sake. I might not be keeping them but this whole thing isn’t their fault and I want them to have good treatment.”
“And as far as you paying him out… I didn’t want you to do that. I wanted it to be me. I wanted him to get that payment from me so he couldn’t write it off as someone else just taking care of me. And not take me seriously when I said I wanted to be done. It means more coming from me. It sucks, this whole thing is not a cakewalk. But, I think it’ll be worth it in the end. I didn’t have control of the situation at the beginning, but I do now. I made the decision.”
Tony was letting what you said sink in. He grabbed a fry and ate it slowly, looking lost in thought. He finally leaned back and met your eyes again.
“I get that,” he said sounding sincere. “It always means more if you’re the one that made the effort. Not just for them but for you.” He nodded and then said, “And I’m sorry for making you feel lonely.”
Trying to joke, you said, “I’ve got Luna.”
“I hope I’m not that easily replaced.”
“No. You’re not.”
He smirked briefly before saying, “Only three more months.”
“Or less.”
“Or less. Way to be hopeful.”
<><><>
You had had false contractions before, but these were stronger. And they were going on for longer than they had before. Gritting your teeth, you wobbled to the door and opened it.
“Terrence!” you called down the hallway. He was there quickly, and you leaned against the doorframe. “It’s bad.”
“What’s bad?” He asked sounding worried.
“The contractions. They’re longer and hurt. I think it’s time!”
“Let me call Tony.”
He whipped out his cell phone and dialed. He was speaking to him quickly. “Hey, Y/N says she thinks it’s time? I’m not sure. She said they’re longer and hurt more?” You gasped as you felt a pop internally and then wetness. You grasped at your crotch and felt dampness. Terrence had followed your hand and he looked slightly more pale. “Anddddd, I think her water just broke. Do you want me to take her?”
<><><>
A soft cry greeted you as you woke up. When they had brought you into the room, you had fallen asleep almost immediately, exhausted. How long had you been sleeping? You turned your head to the right seeing the baby next to your bed, fussing weakly. There was a nurse there and she noticed you were awake.
“Perfect timing, momma. I think he’s hungry.”
“It’s still here?”
“Yes?” The nurse said looking completely confused by your reaction and probably more so that you called him ‘it’. She watched you closely, looking suspicious.
Clearing your throat, you adjusted in the bed and asked, trying to sound calm, “Has... has the father come yet?”
The nurse shot a look in the corner, looking even more confused than before. You did not have time to follow her gaze before Tony’s voice sounded, “I only texted him five minutes ago.”
He was sitting on the built-in bench along the window. You had not even noticed him, all your focus on the small life next to you.
“He’s probably trying to get away from whatever he’s doing and get through traffic,” Tony continued.
So, Tony had not called Steve while it was happening. You had been in labor for five hours. Steve was not going to be happy that Tony had not contacted him, and he had missed the birth while Tony had been there instead. But you were relieved that Steve had not simply blown it off; when you had been in the delivery room, the thought had flashed through your mind.
The nurse raised up your bed and helped you open your gown. She adjusted a pillow to rest on your stomach and went back to grab him. You were hesitant but you held out your arms all the same, taking him gently from the nurse. She helped push his blanket so he was bare against you. You were trying to not be stiff feeling the contact.
“A little closer. The skin-on-skin contact is good,” the nurse encouraged.
Doing as she said, you forced yourself to relax more. His mouth was wet, and you shivered, causing the nurse to chuckle softly, saying to not worry, you would get used to that.
No you wouldn’t, you thought instead of saying it out loud.
Your finger traced along his cheek as he sucked, his little hand resting on your breast next to his mouth. He was calm now, serene in his eating.
“Looks like you’re a natural,” the nurse commented happily. “Be thankful for that!”
“He’s fine, then?” you asked her, looking up.
She nodded, “Healthy as can be.”
“Good,” you said quietly, looking back down at him. You searched his small face, trying to see any part of Steve. The nose maybe, but it was a little wide. His eyes had not been open long enough for you to see and you were not going to disturb him, choosing to keep him comfortable as he fed.
<><><>
You were woken again when you heard people speaking. Blinking awake, your vision cleared to Steve and Tony talking in low voices by the door.
“You fucking prick,” Steve was saying, sounding pissed. “I told you—”
“I was a little preoccupied as you can imagine,” Tony retorted quietly.
Steve spotted you were awake over Tony’s shoulder, and he sucked his teeth before clearing his throat. Snapping his head back to Tony, he said in a dangerous voice, “I’d like the room. If you can find it in yourself to back off for just a while.”
Tony looked over his shoulder, seeing you watching, and sighed before walking back over and grabbing his coat, sunglasses, and phone. He leaned over you and said, “I’ll be back.” He gave you a quick peck on the top of the head before moving past Steve, the two of them sharing a cold look.
Steve walked further into the room, and you were fixated on him for a moment before you turned your attention towards where the baby was sleeping. He approached and looked down at them, a small smile painted on his lips. Reaching out, he touched their cheek, his smile growing.
“Look at him,” Steve said quietly. “Perfect as can be.” He met your eyes and asked, “No complications?” You shook your head. “Good. And he fed?” You nodded again. “Look at you. Perfect as can be too. Though I am not surprised about that.”
Always with the flattery.
He collapsed into the chair beside the little bed and yours. He looked disappointed when he said, “I wanted to be here.”
“Sorry,” you apologized. “I was a little busy.”
“I’m not blaming you. I should’ve known Tony would be an ass about it. Always has to get a jab in. This one was taking it a little too far but I’m just glad everything went okay and you’re alright.”
“I was surprised he was still here when I woke up afterwards,” you told him honestly.
Steve told you, “I’ll take him when you are ready to discharge. It would look odd for me to take him before. Would raise a lot of questions that I don’t feel like getting into with the hospital.” That made enough sense to you. “Plus, let him get as much milk as he can from you before he switches over to formula and my wife’s. I’m worried he won’t take to hers but maybe he won’t be picky.”
He had never told you the specifics about what was going on with her child and you had not asked. You were sure you did not want to know.
“Well, he latches well enough to me. I hope she doesn’t have any trouble,” you said sincerely. Steve was watching you intently and you asked slowly, “What?”
His voice was soft, “Don’t you want to know what his name is?”
“No,” you told him sharply.
“Don’t want to get attached? I know a name can do that.”
“I don’t want to know,” you repeated firmly.
Steve looked sour for a brief moment before he remarked, “I’ll fill the paperwork out then, so you don’t have to see it. Have they dropped it off yet? The birth certificate paperwork, I mean.” You shrugged and he said, “I guess I’ll have to ask one of the nurses when they come in.”
“I’ll be staying here,” he continued on. “Just to make sure I get that paperwork and I’m here when you discharge. Won’t be leaving that up to Tony again. Unlike him, I’ll text him when you’re ready to go so he’s here to get you and you aren’t stranded here upon discharge. I’d take you myself, but Cecile is going to come to be able to go home with me and… the baby.” He had almost slipped up and you had a feeling he had done it on purpose.
He sat forward again, pulling the little bed closer to him, peering over at the little bundle.
“You did good, dove,” he murmured, his eyes fixated on his son. “I never doubted you for a second.”
<><><>
You stood up from the wheelchair and stood up, stretching a little. “Now that that’s over,” you muttered as Tony opened the passenger door. You had been annoyed they had insisted that you had to take a wheelchair out of the hospital. You had been in there for two days and you just wanted to walk more than just around your room, although that had not been recommended. You needed to take it easy while your body healed.
Steve’s voice sounded from behind you, and you turned your head, seeing him walking out with a woman. Your eyes snapped down to the bundle in her arms, seeing the little boy she was cradling. As if she sensed you, she looked over, locking eyes. You saw her eyes flick to Tony and you saw in real time the realization wash over her features before her eyes snapped back to you.
“Come on, Y/N,” Tony said at the same time as you tore your gaze away from her. His hand was around you, guiding you into the car.
The door closed behind you, and you waited for him to get inside. He was quiet when he did, pushing the start button on the car.
You snuck a glance in the side mirror and saw they were gone, and you breathed a sigh of relief.
“Could’ve done without that,” you exhaled.
“I’m sure she could have too,” Tony replied as he pulled away from the curb.
The city passed by as he weaved in and out of traffic. Your hands rested in your lap, watching the buildings go by. Your hand slipped up and you felt a small pang of loss at the flat abdomen you were greeted with. Your fingers flexed in, trying to force yourself to remember this is what normal was.
You startled slightly, pulled from your thoughts as Tony’s fingers slipped around yours, coming in between yours and your stomach. He closed his grip, holding your hand tight, bringing it back down to your thigh. He was quiet but he squeezed your hand reassuringly.
It was going to be okay, you told yourself.
~~~
Forever tags: @coconutqueen21 @undecidedsworld
Fic tags: @icant-hangout-imdrumming @oceaniamaddness @multifandom-superlover @imsonick @holl2712 @here4thefanfics @agustdowney @fanofalltheficsx @buttercandy16 @last-saturday-night @woohoney
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buckysforever · 3 years ago
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telling bucky you’re pregnant
PLEASE READ BEFORE YOU ENGAGE: i am a minor, i think it goes without saying that minors can read my work if they want to, but i do want to clarify that if you are an adult you can interact with my work (if you feel comfortable), if you are an 18+ blog you can interact with my work (if you feel comfortable, and i will not interact with yours). i only read and write fluff and angst, and small amounts of mature topics, the pinned post on my page goes more into detail. i write with black women in mind but most of my fics will have no physical description of y/n. trigger warnings are tagged! if you would like to learn more about my blog (which i highly encourage) please refer to the post on my blog titled “PLEASE READ”. thank you and happy reading! 
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trigger warnings: fluff, angst (?), pregnancy, cursing, abortion, anxiety, pet names, throwing up
word count: 1,297
a/n: there are multiple times where i mention a tiny life or a baby and i would like to make it clear that the reader is 2 weeks pregnant and is not carrying a baby. she is carrying a fetus, this is a pro choice blog and i will not tolerate any pro life propaganda being spread, i chose to use those words because i thought they fit well, but like the rest of this story they are fiction. on a lighter note, is overexaggeration not a word?? i really thought it was a word. i was going to write “what bucky would be like while you’re pregnant” next but i’m open to feedback and future ideas, so if you would like to please send in a request!  i would love to hear what you guys want to see, thank you and happy reading!
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so many emotions. i’m sure the pregnancy is partially to blame but if i’m being honest, i have no idea what bucky’s going to think. we’ve talked about kids and marriage and it’s something we both want in the future, not right now. our one year anniversary was just last month, i don’t want to ruin what we have, but i know i have to tell him. it wouldn’t be fair to keep this from him, if he doesn’t want it then i’ll abort it. being a mom is something i’ve always wanted, and i know bucky would make a great dad, and i think a part of him knows it too. i’m not going to jeopardize his progress over an accident, even if a part of me wants to keep it. the bump, hearing the heartbeat, painting the nursery, buying the small clothes, watching bucky holding our child, i want that, i really really want that. but if he doesn’t, i’m okay with that. i love bucky, and i will wait until a time where he is ready and as eager as i am to have a baby. 
time skip: 2 days later 
i got a blood test just to make sure, i couldn’t help myself from crying when i saw that i was actually pregnant. two weeks along with bucky barnes’ baby. the nurse told me that i would need to figure out what i was going to do with it before the symptoms started to set in. i didn’t mention that i was already feeling pretty under the whether and i guess thats due to the serum. i wasn’t really listening to her, so fixated on the tiny life growing inside of me. bucky would be home soon and i need to tell him, even though i feel like shit and i've already detected the miserable feeling of nausea creeping though my body, he needs to know. how exactly i’m going to tell him? no idea. i know i’m going to sit him down, i don’t know if i’ll be able to say it if i’m looking at him so maybe i’ll have my back to his chest. i could make him some tea first, that would make him calm before i completely shift his reality. my thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the door opening and bucky’s soft voice calling out for me, asking me what room i’m in. 
“y/n?”, how long has he been standing there? he looks worried, have i told him yet? i can’t seem to piece myself together, i thought this would be easier. i’ve told this man everything about me, he knows every secret i thought no one would ever want to hear. he knows every stupid thing i thought wasn’t worth mentioning, he knows me.
“honey you don’t look so good”, he muttered out while placing his right hand on my forehead. i noticed the thin layer of sweat that stuck itself to my skin when i felt calloused fingers make contact. 
“no fever. you feeling ok?”, i could feel the tears coming, my vision becoming blurry. despite my hazy surroundings i could make out his face, it was filled with concern. and yet i couldn’t make a sound, the fear of potential rejection was the only thing on my mind. my eyes overflowed, and he sat down alongside me on the couch.
“y/n. what’s wrong? can you talk to me sweetheart?”, the beginning of the plan i thought i had was set on fire and thrown out the window the second i heard the door open. i gathered all of my remaining strength and wiped my eyes with shaky hands. 
“i’m pregnant”, the words came out broken and not at all clear. i watched his reaction, eyes going wide, face getting a little paler. it seemed like every emotion known to mankind was flashing before his eyes.
when he finally did speak, he said something i wasn’t at all expecting, “i’m gonna be a dad?” his eyes now filled with tears, his shaking hands grasping mine. 
“yes, if you want to keep it, yes.”, part of me couldn’t believe that he was even considering this. 
“i want to keep it, oh my god of course i want to keep it. do you?”, all i could do was nod before i was pulled into what felt like the tightest hug of my life.
he pulled back pretty quickly, noticing how much strength he put into it, “are you okay? i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to squeeze you to death.” before i could open my mouth to answer, the nausea from earlier came back, much much stronger. running to the bathroom with a very confused bucky not far behind, i lowered myself to my knees and felt the joy of motherhood start, this time in the form of morning sickness. 
when i was done, bucky removed his hands that were stroking my back and pulled me into his chest. “you alright?” the words were muffled due to the kisses he was placing into the crown of my head. after i hummed out a yes, we continued to sit there, enjoying each other’s company. he got up first, helping me up with him, leading me to the sink, he picked me up and placed me on the counter. as he started to get my toothbrush ready i couldn’t help but notice the huge grin on his face, he shook his head slightly and i knew exactly what he was thinking. 
“i can’t believe i get to live this life with you” 
he’s said it a million times before, no words are necessary to get the his point across. 
“how far along are you”
“about two weeks, i a blood test to be certain, i just got the results this morning.”
i could see a worried look coming back onto his face, “is everything okay, with the serum and everything? is that gonna mess anything up for you or the baby?” 
“the nurse said something about it, i’m gonna be honest i wasn’t really listening.” 
“y/n”, he groaned out. i took that as my cue to start brushing my teeth so i wouldn’t have to respond to the lecture that was about to start. 
he shook his head for a second before his mouth opened, “it’s okay honey, you were probably so nervous, we can go tomorrow. how are you feeling right now?”
i reached my hand up to feel his forehead, returning the favor, he quickly pushed it down. “i’m not kidding y/n, how are you.”
after emptying my mouth and rinsing off my toothbrush i replied, “i’m not gonna lie i’m more worried about you, if i’m not getting scolded for my “lack of regard for my own personal safety” as you would say.”
the look i got from bucky convinced me to fess up, “i’m kind of tired, and obviously still a bit nauseous, but mainly just tired.” 
he seemed pretty content with that and he went to pick me up again, “i can walk you know?”
“you’re gonna have to get used to this y/n, what if you collapsed from exhaustion?” 
i rolled my eyes at his overexaggeration of my condition and allowed him to lift me off the counter, i watched him make his way towards our bed. after i was gracefully placed onto my side of the mattress he said, “i’m gonna get you some water, you’re going to drink at lest half of it, then we’re gonna schedule an appointment for tomorrow, okay?” 
after simultaneously yawning and nodding he left, and a smile crept up onto my face, thinking of watching bucky holding our tiny child in his big arms. and with that thought, i fell asleep. 
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script-nef · 4 years ago
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No need for jealousy, sweetie | Kageyama Tobio
Category: fluff
2k words; Is it a famous idol? Is it a high-skilled setter? Nope. It's his own son.
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Everyone knows Kageyama Tobio, the genius setter of Japan’s national team and a member of The Monster Generation, is a love-struck fool. It’s not that hard to find out, seeing how his normally rigid and scowling face immediately turns soft and full of tender affection as soon as his wife is mentioned. His reaction is the same when his son, who celebrated his first birthday just a few months ago, becomes the topic of conversations as well.
The news of his son’s birth was posted all over Japan’s news as it consisted of a video uploaded onto his SNS account where you were beaming like a sun with your newborn baby in your arms while Tobio was silently crying his eyes out. He then moved to embrace you, words of thanks and love spilling out in between hiccups and cries. You joked that he cried more than you during the labour and everyone in the room was either laughing or comforting him.
You once attended one of his matches with Hikari in your arms, cheering for your husband and his team. As soon as the match was finished and congratulations were given, he zipped to your side and took the baby off of you. Hikari, recognising his father, gurgled joyfully and snuggled deeper into his embrace. As you started talking to Tobio, they both looked at you with an identical expression, like it was copy-pasted, that fans nearby took hundreds of photos. It’s one of the highlights in compilations of “Kageyama in husband mode” videos. (Other popular uploads include interviews where he doesn’t shut up when asked about your health or questions about your relationships. A lot of his fans started liking him thanks to YouTube’s wacky algorithms.)
Tobio is the embodiment of a devoted husband and father. Despite his odd memorisation skill which seemed limited to all things volleyball related, he never once missed an anniversary, birthday or doctor’s appointment. He even excused himself from practices for you. You can still hear how Hinata screamed “You’re skipping volleyball practice? You?” when he delivered the news. Interviews and commentaries after matches were cut short, much to his company and team officials’ dismay, because he couldn’t waste a second returning back to your side. He always repeated “[Name] is waiting. Goodbye.” with a bow and took off. He also wakes up practically instinctively to the baby’s cries even after he’s wiped out due to his rigorous training. The amount of superhuman stamina he has made you jealous since you’re half-dead after exercising a bit while he’s fit as a horse. He says any exhaustion he has evaporates as soon as he sees his son’s cute little face. A weird and floppy smile appeared on his face whenever he took the minuscule hands in his.
Hikari is practically a carbon copy of his father. Same piercing black eyes which look odd but strangely suitable on a one-year-old, smooth black hair growing in tufts and a round face with baby fat filling out his plump cheeks. Tobio sometimes pokes his chubby cheeks while he’s sleeping, hands trembling like he’s about to touch a priceless artifact. If you took a photo now and compared it to one of Tobio’s childhood ones, even he would be confused. They’re just that much alike.
When his teammates and friends visited to celebrate Hikari’s first birthday, their reactions were… quite interesting. Apparently they didn’t expect the child, a genetic offspring from Tobio and you, to have the similarity percentage lopsided to 99 and 1. Hinata argued 99.5 and 0.5 which caused another fight to explode between him and your husband. 
It was very childish, the arguments thrown around being the equivalent of “Look at him! Are you sure you didn’t just split into half like that thing with the cell?”  “Mitosis, idiot.”  “Why are you still so mean, Tsukishima?! But yeah, mitosis!”  “What the hell do you think you’re saying, dumbass? He’s so much like [Name]!”  “Only you can see that, Mr Wife Idiot!” and so on. It was cut short when Hikari started crying due to the influx in noise and Tobio’s Dad Mode kicked in.
In your eyes, it’s absolutely adorable. Two copies of your favourite face in the world to wake up to and fill your life with. While pregnancy was a pain, right now is paradise. Especially since Hikari is a quiet and calm kid just like his father. By now, you should be concerned if they’re clones rather than father and son.
But recently, Tobio’s kind of miffed at Hikari for some reason. That doesn’t mean he’s neglecting his child, he would rather die than do that. He’s as attentive as ever, if not even more so than usual. Using his overpowered athletic skills to respond to Hikari’s whines or cries much faster than you, he drops everything and runs out at the smallest indication of discomfort. It’s also not because having a baby is a handful, they’re meant to be like that.
No, he’s just incredibly jealous of a one-year-old because “he’s taking up all your time and affection when you promised to love me most in the world”. 
When he first said that, your initial reaction was to double-take because you thought you heard him wrong. The thought of “Well. My hearing is failing now” echoed in your head. But no, this dork was being possessive and filled to the brim with envy over his son. His own. Son. As unbelievable as it sounds, it’s kind of in character for Tobio. Tobio who has various epithets like:
King of the Court
Volleyball Idiot
Number 1 Wife Fan
Mr “I have two brain cells and one’s for volleyball and one’s for my wife. A third one is sprouting for my son.”
And plenty of other variations.
So far, the attempt to make him understand the needlessness of his concerns and jealousy haven’t gone well. Generally, it starts with your defence of “Tobio, I love you and Hikari equally.” “You said you would love me the most in the world!” “Fine then, I love you the most in the world.” “I know you’re lying!” “Sweetie, please.” Rinse and repeat.
He turns dejected after every single “fight” and curls up into a ball, refusing to talk to you unless you hug and kiss him. He thinks he’s sneaky and manipulative. He really isn’t, you have him playing in the palm of your hands.
But it’s going to become a real problem if he’s going to be jealous with the tiny tenant who’s going to be around for at least another 2 decades. And the worst thing is that you can’t regularly find advice since his closest friends aren’t… much of a help.
Hinata looked at you like you were crazy in one of your rare meetups. Tsukishima acted like he was actually getting sick from your concerns, that salty bastard. Yachi, kind and helpful and sweet Yachi, was the only one who made valuable contributions with Yamaguchi. It’s such a shame they’re so busy that they can barely have a social life nowadays.
“Hmm… I mean, he stills loves Hikari, right?”
“Yes. Endlessly.”
“Well then… how about treating him exactly the same as you did before Hikari came, if not more affectionately? That’ll show him that his son, his one-year-old son who doesn’t even understand the concept of jealousy, is not a quote-unquote threat.”
“Just threaten to leave him alone for like, a month if he keeps on being possessive. That’ll wake him up.”
“Tsukki!”
“Oh hello, Satan, didn’t think you'd be contributing. How’s roasting the souls of the innocent going?”
“It’s going fine. Would they really be innocent if they’re in Hell?”
“It’s a joke, Sea Salt. Also, that would crush him!”
“That’s the whole point.”
“I think you’re using this just to annoy him.”
“You’re thinking correctly.”
“Back to the topic at hand! [Name]-chan, just reassure and spend a lot of time with him.”
“That’s literally what I’m doing right now! Ughhh what should I dooooo…”
“You know it’s really annoying when lovestruck couples come and complain about their relationship like it’s a problem when in reality you’re happy, right? Just saying.”
“Tsukki, she has a real problem here!”
“Eh, does she though?”
And of course, that line of conversation took off before you could object and continued for the rest of the visit. So all in all, the two-hour lunch date with your friends resulted in a public commotion which nearly got you kicked out of the café. You were about to return home with no solid solutions when Hinata grabbed and stopped you.
“Hinata?”
“[Name]-chan, I’m sure it’s going to be fine. I think he’s just like this because he spent his entire life looking at either volleyball or you, and now that a third party has entered, he’s just not used to it. Time fixes everything or something like that, right?”
“It’s already been a year though…”
“Yeah, well… I’m sure he’s getting better. I remember when we visited you on Hikari’s okuizome, he was literally looking at you for the entire time. The entire time. When it was his son’s 100th day anniversary.”
Yes, Tobio spent the whole 5 hour party/ceremony with his eyes glued onto you, until everyone berated him for his lack of attention. Hinata literally flung a rubber band at his head and he didn’t even flinch. It was the main topic of conversation in your friend circle for the next month or so.
“But when we came again for his first birthday, Kageyama was all over Hikari! I think the transition of his love for you to Hikari is a bit slow, if that makes sense. He probably thinks the love you have for him is getting smaller compared to his love for you. Our Kageyama’s a bit of an idiot like that, right?” You don’t really know whether to nod or shake your head. “The fact that you’re hesitating kind of says everything, [Name]-chan. It’ll get better when his love for Hikari matches yours, okay? Hang in there!”
With a swift but warm hug, Hinata ran off to do his training. 
The entire walk back home was filled with ruminations. Hinata was probably right. Kageyama’s attitude was slowly, but surely changing now that you’re thinking back. The ratio of his time with you and Hikari was 9:1 when he was just born, but recently it was more like 8:2. It should be concerning that this is the progress after a year of living together, but it’s better than nothing. You probably have nothing to worry about.
“Tobio, I’m home!” Silence welcomed you back. “Love? You home?” It was one of his rare days off and he said he would be taking care of Hikari so you could enjoy some free time while he can sleep in for the day. Also because his team instructor forbade him from meeting with Hinata since it always ends with a 3 hour volleyball match. 
“In here.” A tiny reply emerged from the nursery. He always came running as soon as the front door creaked open like an overgrown puppy since you started living together, so this was surprising. Quietly tiptoeing in, you were met with your baby sleeping soundly in your husband’s arms, sucking on his thumb and sleep-babbling intermittently. Tobio’s face was one of love and pure happiness as he watched Hikari snoozing away like he didn’t have a care in the world—the same face he made when he stared at you. When he raised his head up to look at you, his eyes were filled with joy and warmth, crinkling in the edges. 
“He’s so small.” He whispered, careful not to wake Hikari up. You joined him by his side, gently nudging your child’s chubby cheeks and revelling at its softness. “I have this… this feeling in my chest whenever I look at him… the same one whenever I see you.” Tobio’s hand came up to cup your face and he pressed a tender kiss to your lips.
“I love you both so much.”
Yeah, you have nothing to worry about. 
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narrators-journal · 3 years ago
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Return to sender
CW: I’m bad at writing pregnancy stuff,
first part: here
previous part: here
Before you knew it, you'd been on your own for almost four months. God, it's been so long. You thought with a bit of fear as you drove home from the store in the swiftly waning light of evening, glancing at the passengers seat where bags of all of the supplies you had looked up for having a home birth. Which wasn't going to be fun, but going to a hospital meant paperwork and being kept in one place for an unknown amount of time, easily trackable, not to mention the hospital birth records would be perfectly accessible to the Zoldycks, meaning they could track down your baby. So, you were just going to bite the bullet and do it yourself. On the bright side, I have about 2 months to prepare and learn, so things will go great. You told yourself, sending a quick prayer to any god listening that you didn't face any complications, because you'd only gone to one doctor's appointment for the baby, and while it didn't show any bad omens for the birth, that had been ages ago, so you weren't really sure of how healthy your baby currently was. Though, some of that anxiety was more-so from the small changes you'd begun to notice in these last few weeks. It wasn't anything major, mostly cramping, more backpain, and exhaustion, but good ol' google had told you these may be signs of pregnancy. Hence the evening trip to the store for all of the things you lacked at home for a home birth. You hoped you were just being overly cautious, but you couldn't be too sure. Despite that though, you did your best to stay positive and just went about collecting your shopping as carefully as you could and waddling up to your nasty little apartment. You were pretty happy at the bottom of the stairs, on edge, as always when the place you lived had so many sketchy people that their aura seemed as engrained in the carpet as the mystery stains on your bedroom floor, but your mood instantly fell when you got to the top of the stairs. You stood there, heart racing, (e/c) eyes wide and frantically searching for any reason as to why you were suddenly so nervous. After all, you'd worked through this level of anxiety in your first month there, you should have a better handle on it than this, but then it clicked. It's too quiet. You realized, putting a hand on the banister to steady yourself as the dread hit you. Your apartment building was still bustling with noise, from neighbors having sex loudly, to someone's kids getting into a shrieking match, those noises were pretty mundane to you now, but something still felt too calm. Like that moment in movies right before the murderer attacks. Calm down, everything's fine. You told yourself, taking a deep breath or two to try and wait for the wave of paranoia to ebb. One of the neighbors probably just has some sort of guest over. Or maybe some strong nen user passed by, I'm sure it has a reasonable explanation. You continued to reassure yourself, but the feeling didn't pass. Some voice inside of you just kept screaming about something being way too off, maybe it was your survival instincts, maybe it was simply your paranoia acting up, either way you decided to trust your gut. So, you compromised with yourself. You gathered your bags and unlocked your apartment to place them in, ensuring they'd be safe when you returned tomorrow, than you made your way back down to the foyer as swiftly as you could manage while heavily pregnant.
         "Are you alright, miss?" A man suddenly asked, making you yelp, but when you looked over, it was just some dark haired man with a cross-shaped tattoo of sorts on his forehead sitting at the guard's seat. You'd never seen him before, but you tried your best to not be impolite. At worst, he was some sort of spy for Illumi, but if he wasn't and he was just one of the many sketchy guards that worked for the apartment building, you still didn't want to offend him. So, you laughed a bit, clasping your hands over your stomach to hide how badly you were shaking,         "Yeah, I'm fine. I just realized I'd forgotten something in my car, don't want it stolen." you said in a shakey but kind voice, which made the man snort a bit,        "Would you like me to go out there for it? I promise not to steal anything," he offered, his grey eyes sparkling with mischief while he was oddly amused by his own words, but you shook your head, brushing any stray strands of (h/l), (h/c) hair from your face as you spoke,         "No thank you, but I a-appreciate your offer." with that, you made a beeline for the door, swiftly stepping outside and taking a deep breath of the fresh spring air. All at once, your anxiety began to wane, which you were immensely thankful for. Slowly, you let out a breath and waddled over to your car, ignoring the pinching cramping sensation that had plagued you for about a week now and just deciding to sit outside in your car for a while and maybe sleep there for the night since the upstairs of your building felt so weird. However, when you got to the vehicle, you pulled at the handle and nothing happened. When you tried a second time, the same thing happened, the door didn't budge. To make thing worse, you couldn't seem to find your keys when you checked your pockets.          "Of course, it'd be just my luck that I'd lose my damned keys and lock myself out of my car." you muttered, leaning against the car and resting your head against the window, trying your best to think up a second alternative to going back inside when you heard it. The single voice you wanted to never hear again,        "I must admit, you're a lot more resilient than I first thought." Illumi hummed, and before you could even think to react, he trapped you against the car, slamming his hands into the window so hard you heard it begin to crack. You shrieked and pressed your back against the car, less scared of getting cut on the glass than you were of Illumi, but instead of getting killed with his aura, or manhandled into some unmarked van, or hell, even being yelled at like you'd expected, you simply felt him brush a stray tear you didn't realize you'd shed from your (s/c) cheek, and when he did speak, he was as calm and unreadable as ever,          "You had me highly worried these past few months," he said, pushing himself off of your car and looking you over, keeping one of his hands on you in some fashion the whole time, just in case you tried to bolt or fight him off, but you never did, you'd frozen in a mix of terror, defeat, and a dizzying sense of warped relief that nearly made you nauseous. "Now, you're coming home and we are going to have a nice, calm, talk about your mistake and how you can fix it." he said, grabbing you by the wrist to lead you away. However, when his words finally sunk in, you were filled with another sense of frantic determination, refusing to move as best you could while your (e/c) eyes welled with tears again, though that was more from the pain of Illumi tightening his grip on your poor captive wrist when you resisted.           "No!" It came out a lot more forceful than you expected, "No! I don't want to go back a-and subject any child to whatever torture created you!" Finally, it was your words that earned a pause, and when you looked up to his face you saw a mixture of hurt, annoyance, and a shred of understanding flit across his doll-like facial feature ever so slightly.          "(y/n), you need to calm down. You're growing hysterical and you're going to hurt yourself trying to fight me. Just relax and come home." He ordered, but you shook your head and continued to resist as best you could, which thankfully worked since the assassin didn't want to purposely hurt you         "No! Just let me go, please! K-kill me if you must, but I don't want to go back!" you cried, and in a frantic attempt to get away, you pulled at your wrist as hard as you could, and by sheer luck, actually slipped through Illumi's grip. Sadly, your luck was spent with that last trick, so your attempts to get into the apartment building and maybe get help from the guard were quickly thwarted. Some part of you thought that maybe you could get away from Illumi Zoldyck again, but failed to realize he was a lot faster than you, even if you weren't about-to-burst pregnant. In a hope-crushing flash, he'd grabbed you again, wrapping his arms around your torso to yank you back against him and holding you there with one arm while his free hand captured your wrists to stop you from frantically flailing.             "(y/n), if you do not calm down right now, I will get the doctor to use sedatives on you." he warned, his voice low and dripping with foreboding, which, if you had any fight left in you, washed it away like he had the first day of your escape. However, you'd gone still for another reason.              "I-Illumi, let me go," you squeaked, your heart pounding so hard you didn't think you'd be able to hear his reply,              "Absolutely not." He then tried to lift you up a bit so he could move you, but you wriggled              "No! P-please listen, Illumi!" You plead, "I-I think my water just broke!"
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mokutone · 4 years ago
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yo i would love to hear some of ur trans yam headcanons :) (also ps ur art is breathtaking and whenever i see it reblogged on my dash i always come here anyway to read ur tags bc they r so! good!)
thank u 🥺🥺🥺 god im sorry this has been sitting in my inbox for a couple days ksdjghsdkjgh not only have i got a LOT of thoughts to put here (this is only a selection of the bigger thoughts skdjghsdkjhg) i was also super busy the past few days!!!! ty for ur patience, ur compliments, and for inviting me to ramble abt my favorite guy!
maybe the one constant in all trans people is just like. our decision to intentionally and purposefully create ourselves, to forced into an identity by outside forces and to turn away from it in search of something else, and that’s ultimately what makes captain yamato read as a trans character to me! He goes through so many identities, and they are meaningful to him, but you can also clearly tell that he’s searching for something that really fits him.
I don’t really have a lot of firm thoughts on what his specific identity would be, I’ve seen some great nonbinary yams, some lovely genderfluid yams, trans guy yams, there’s a great variety and i delight in them all! 
I tend to imagine him as transmasculine and nonbinary but male aligned (which means he’d feel at least a partial connection to or comfort with masculinity) and while there are a bunch of labels for this experience of gender (demiboy, bigender, etc etc) i don’t see him as somebody who would use any specific labels, I feel like he’d keep his own experience of his gender fairly private! He’d prefer and be fine with masculine-coded terms of address, and happy enough passing as a guy.
AHH and on names...
I think Kinoe is the only name that I really see as like. a genuine deadname. It’s a name that means “The First” to my understanding, and so like, probably refers to him having the genetics of the first. Therefore, it’s kind of. literally a name referring to him as his biology...boy thats as deadname as it gets, huh? kill that shit and also danzō
Tenzō is also a name thats given to him, but to my understanding (all I know about the anbu arc is picked up thru osmosis lol) it’s a name that’s given to him twice, with affection. Once from Yukimi, who sees him as her brother (not a vessel for the first hokage’s powers, probably for the first time ever—even if it’s still another person’s name) He takes the name, gladly! Unfortunately danzō. anyway,
Later, when he starts to introduce himself to the non-root Anbu as Kinoe, Kakashi cuts him off and names him to the anbu as Tenzō. To my understanding: it’s a name at rest, not a name for one singular mission, but a name for his entire time in Anbu. It’s the name he keeps the longest. Again, it’s a name that’s given to him to him by somebody else, but it’s one that is given with the intention to free him of Kinoe, and all that Kinoe had to be. 
(A note on him getting annoyed with Kakashi for calling him Tenzō in main-plot:
Most of this is of course based off of personal experience, but I find it hard to believe that he would actively dislike Tenzō as a name since it was given with such sweet intentions—most of my names have been gifts, and the only one I’ve actively taken out of rotation has been bc i cannot stand the person who used it, and the way it was used, and while Anbu was certainly bad for Yamato...I don’t think it was quite that bad. I think him telling Kakashi to stop calling him Tenzō has more to do with the use of it where it doesn’t belong—for example, while it’s not exactly a name, I am happy to be called “mokutone” here, and you may notice my friends calling me by another name, but if any of those friends called me mokutone in DMs, I would be bothered by that.)
Yamato starts off as an empty codename, given to him for the purposes of his team 7 mission by the Hokage, but I think it gets such a loving and warm association from just...using out in the sunlight, with these kids that he comes to think so fondly of (he’s such a dad. god. he’s such a fucking dad) and with the friends he makes going out drinking and actually having time to socialize—and that means a lot! I think Yamato is probably the name which becomes most meaningful and like a home to him by the end of the series. This is the active name, the name where he is most himself. It’s vital for him to have that space to grow into! 
But that said, I personally feel like, if he were to continue beyond the edges of the story, this would not be the final name he bears. He’s probably well aware that a single name cannot contain who he is, or who he wants to be, and while being Given a name can be a beautiful thing (like i said, most of my names are gifts! i treasure them.) I think that, for his character arc, I would like him to name himself at some point. Even if it’s a name that only exists for private spaces, I want him to complete that self determination, to at least try it out, even if ultimately Yamato is the name everyone else will know him by.
Physical Transition Stuff
i will confess i hurt to imagine these shinobi binding 😭😭 even if an individual is binding safely (well made binder, no more than 8 hours, AND No Physically Intense Activity) they stand to risk hurting themself! In real life we gotta balance out the physical pain and the pain of dysphoria, but this is naruto and I’m Gonna Play Some Headcanon Games!
If chakra is both a kind of spiritual energy as well as directly connected to the body (as we learned in the hyūga fight) then it stands to reason that by manipulating ones own chakra, they can manipulate the body, or at least the way the body changes (such as naruto’s healing factor) 
This probably is not the safest thing to do unless you’re a mednin or following the directions of one, LMAO
The second the hell of puberty started up for Tenzō he tried to hold it back by sheer force of willpower + chakra manipulation alone 
but, manually controlling one’s chakra is like trying to prevent a stream from flowing with your hands alone, which is to say: an exhausting uphill battle.
 He’d probably only be doing it on his down time and not on a mission, but even still the most I bet he could make it doing that without getting figured out is two months.
Luckily blockers are readily available, Tenzō just had no idea and, gender being a private experience for him, was trying to handle the whole thing entirely on his own. Soon after attempting to self-regulate hormones him-fucking-self like a very valid but desperate fool, he gets an appointment, gets a prescription, and can chill out and not have to be as hellishly aware of his body constantly.
 Konoha mednin will say trans rights even if the village itself is garbage, this series is so god damn weird already, nobody can tell me a ninja taking hormones is somehow weirder than a ninja taking his dead best friends genetic superpower eye.
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
TWO WEEKS, THREE SPARS, AND ONE VERY EMOTIONALLY DRAINING CONVERSATION LATER:
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u might think kakashi is passing him a water bottle and they both look so exhausted bc its post spar but no. physically theyre fine, but the emotional toll of having to talk about something either of them care at all about? miracle they survived.
#lesbians4tenten#Tenzō#yamato#headcanons#kakashi says that so heavily bc both of them hate going to the hospital but blood tests are necessary for HRT usually#also kakashi is definitely trans as well. i have less headcanons about that bc i see him as like. Even More Private than yamato#(he hides 3/4 of his face. trans icon. also personal privacy icon.)#so like skdjghdskjhg him getting involved is not a moment of Concerned Cis Meddling but like. 'ghghhg this is bad. i gotta step in'#i hc that like he was one of those kids that by the time he was four he was like hey dad im a boy and sakumo was like. fuck ok!#i guess i got a son now!#yamato just did not think about it much#also while i see him having long hair as inherently him repressing his identity it has nothing to do with long hair being 'feminine'#esp bc most of the older men in naruto have long hair. sakumo j*raiya orochimaru madara the whole hyūga clan of men#but instead much more to do with. him repressing being tenzō in order to be kinoe for danzō#and if hashirama had long hair. and all he is is a weapon for hashiramas power to be used through. he too will have long hair.#its also why i wont draw yamato with long hair. while he is handsome with long hair...and an argument COULD be made for him reclaiming it#i feel like aesthetically it represents a return to a relationship he had with his body and with the idea of hashirama#that i am not interested in exploring#perhaps in sage mode it goes very long. and then he has a friend cut it off for him every time#that i could draw#ANYWAY I think everyone should have as many names as they want. you want to be called something? that's your name now congratulations#trans? cis? not sure? doesn't matter the world is your oyster and you can be called anything you want#if people dont respect that theyre jealous and being rude af lmao#image desc in alt text#for all thats worth
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chudleycanonficfest · 3 years ago
Text
Dancing Around You
Day 31, Post #2 by @adenei
Title: Dancing Around You
Author: adenei
Pairing: James x Lily
Prompt: First Date
Rating: T 
TW: Some language and mentions of past abuse.
a/n: inspired by the scene in In The Heights when Vanessa and Usnavi go to the club.
*****************
I walk into the corner shop in my neighborhood and see James, Remus and Sirius talking by the counter. The scene causes more annoyance to course through me, which probably stems from the shit mood I’m already in. James and Sirius are supposed to be working, since this is their job. And why isn’t Remus at the broadcast station across the street at his own job?
So what if James owned the shop after it was left to him when his parents passed? Work is still work, and he shouldn’t be skiving off while on shift. I’ve busted my arse day in and day out for the last three years so I could save up to rent a flat in Camden to pursue a career as an interior designer. Moving out of Peckham to a more centralized location will help put me on the map as a well sought after designer.
But that was all for nothing. I’ve just returned from my meeting with the realtor, and despite having enough rent saved up for a whole year, plus the security deposit, he waved me off as if I belonged in the slums! The twat said I needed someone to co-sign a lease with me. Tears sting my eyes as I’m reminded once again of how alone I am. Having walked out at seventeen to escape my parents’ emotional abuse for the last seven years, I had no one to turn to despite the close-knit neighborhood I lived in because this was a secret goal that no one knew about.
I’m sure Marlene’s mum would be more than happy to co-sign a lease with me, but I couldn’t ask that of her. Not when she’s done so much for me already. No, I just need to hold my head high and keep moving forward. I put on my business face and strengthen my resolve, so the boys don’t suspect anything out of the ordinary.
Walking over to the fridge, I grab a Fanta and a Coke for Mrs. McKinnon. When I left the office earlier for my appointment, she asked me to bring one back. Now, I have to return to my job as her secretary at her own Real Estate office and try not to resent every client who walks in the door. When I shut the refrigerator door and turn to head to the register, I see James leaning against the glass of another fridge door.
When the hell did he creep up on me?
“Evans, how’s it going?”
“It’s been better.”
“Anything I can do to help?”
For a moment, I think about letting him in. I open my mouth to say something, but change my mind at the last second.
“You wish.”
“Right, well, what are you doing tomorrow?”
Narrowing my eyes, I observe James. We’ve been friends for years, and it’s a friendship I cherish more than anything. He’s always been there to make me laugh, to match my sarcasm and wit, and he’s never been afraid to go toe-to-toe with me. I know him well, almost as well as I know myself, but I’m not expecting his question or the butterflies that flutter in my stomach in response.
I’d be lying if I said he wasn’t attractive. His perpetual bedhead, black hair and piercing yet kind hazel eyes have always stood out to me. It’s no secret that he’s fit from lifting boxes all day and playing on a club football team in his free time. But I’ve never allowed myself to think there could be anything more between us besides friendship.
So, why does it feel like he’s asking me out? Am I misreading the signs? I decide to keep the ball in his court to get a better read on his intentions.
“I’m going dancing with Marlene and Mary,” I reply, keeping my voice cool and collected.
“Oh, sounds like fun.” He glances down at the bottles in my hands. “All set, then?”
I nod, and If I’m not mistaken, his shoulders slump as he turns to head back to the counter. Should I have invited him and the guys to join us? Before I can ponder it further, Sirius cuts me off and pushes me back into the aisle.
“You and the girls are going dancing? That sounds like fun. I’d bet my buddy over there would love to join you.” He raises his eyebrows as if willing me to catch his subtle hint, which I do.
“Wait, was James just trying to ask me out tomorrow?”
Sirius shrugs. “Probably, but you two have been friends forever, and despite his smooth-talking with most females, he seems to get tongue-tied around you.”
A burst of laughter bubbles out of me. “James? Tongue-tied? Around me? What are you smoking?”
“Nothing, Evans. Just pointing out a fact.”
Fine, if Sirius is going to pester me about this, I will prove him wrong. I brush past him toward James so I can pay for the drinks and be on my way. Sliding a couple pounds to James over the counter, I smirk at him.
“You know, Potter, I could use a dancing partner tomorrow night. Pick me up at eight?”
His head snaps up, and he looks shocked before a goofy smile replaces the surprise on his face. “Er, yeah, alright. I mean, if you’re sure—”
Cutting him off, I put him out of his misery. “Great, see you then.”
The following evening, we’re walking into Alohomora, the most popular nightclub in Peckham. My friends and I frequent the club at least once a month. I love its mix of neons glowing amongst the blacklights and the worn leather benches framing the booths around the perimeter of the dance floor. It’s come to feel like a second home to me.
Dancing is an outlet for my frustrations. I love letting the music consume my soul as the loud thumps of the bass vibrate through my body as I spin on the floor. Tonight will be no different, except that James is with me. As my date. At least, I think he’s my date. Neither of us have actually talked about what this is.
“Wow, I haven’t been here in ages. Have they changed the layout recently?” James asks.
“Not that I can recall,” I wave his question off as I hear a number of people shout my name in greeting.
“I didn’t realize how popular you were here, Evans. I’m impressed.”
“Impressed by what? It shouldn’t come as a surprise that I have more friends than you three. I hope that doesn’t make you jealous.” My playful banter is accompanied by a smirk as James laughs.
“Me? Jealous? Of course not. Care for a drink first?”
“Sure.”
Usually, I’d prefer to dance a bit first, but I don’t want to drag James onto the dance floor if he doesn’t want to. I’m not even sure if he enjoys dancing since I’ve never seen him here before. He’s flagging down the bartender when someone calls to me.
“Lily! Hey, Lily!” Terry Fawcett is pushing his way through the crowded dance floor. “Wanna dance?”
He holds out his hand when he reaches me, but I shake my head.
“Sorry, Ter, I’m here with someone else tonight.”
James turns as he overhears the interaction and waves me on. He contorts his face in a weird, ‘trying to be chill, but still looks sort of pained’ way.
“It’s alright, Evans, go ahead.”
I’m taken aback. Maybe we really weren’t on a date. “But—are you sure?”
“Yeah, just save one for me later.”
“Oh, well, alright.”
My hand falls into Terry’s even though I’m not certain I want to dance with him. There’s an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach that I’m not used to as I walk away from James. It’s ridiculous, but I think I’m actually disappointed that James passed me off so easily. And I’m just as mad at Sirius for even putting the thought that James might fancy me in my head because it’s all I’ve been able to think about since yesterday afternoon.
Well, there’s only one way to find out once and for all if he cares. Make him jealous.
I dance as I’ve never danced before when the music changes to an upbeat Latin tune. I spin around the floor, dancing with Terry before I’m passed off to other men that I’ve danced with once or twice in the past. It takes everything in my power to not steal glances at James, but I do catch when his baffled look turns dark as he begins to scowl at the men who are practically lined up to dance with me.
By the time he does walk out to the dance floor to cut in, I’m exhausted. He pulls me into his arms, but I’m still annoyed that he’s waited this long.
“Potter, I need a break.”
I pull away from him and walk toward the bar, where Sirius holds two drinks in his hands. I grab one and slam it down, shoving the glass into his chest once it’s empty. Then, I turn and head for the exit to get some air. It’s much quieter on the street, save for the ambient sounds of traffic in the background, a stark contrast to inside the club. I lean against the wall as I catch my breath and watch the cars go by.
The door to the club opens, and the music splits the night air as James steps out.
“Evans, what the hell was that?”
“What was what?” I ask, feigning ignorance.
What? Is he angry? Good. Let him be angry.
“You! You ask me to come with you, spend all night dancing with other blokes, and then when I try to cut in, you ditch me.”
A derisive bark escapes my lips as I push off the wall and step closer to him, matching his stance.
“Don’t you dare try to blame this on me, Potter. You’re the one who pushed me away! I would have been perfectly happy dancing with you all night, but no, you sat back and watched as I danced with everyone else.”
“Well, what was I supposed to do!?”
He can’t be serious right now, playing the victim and passing this onto me. There’s no way I’m letting him get away with this. I step even closer, thankful that my heels bring me closer to eye level with him, so it’s more of an even match.
“I don’t know, put your arm around me and tell the bloke to fuck off? That I’m taken?”
“Are you taken?”
“I don’t know, am I?”
Our breathing is heavy, chests heaving as our noses are a hair’s width apart. All I can focus on is the intensity in his eyes, the gold flecks burning like the flames in a fire. I wait for him to say something, or do something, anything except stare at me. I give him more than enough time, and he doesn’t make a move, so I decide that I’m done.
As much as I don’t want to, I break eye contact and turn away. I’m not in the mood to stay out, so I begin the walk home. James and I are friends, and that’s all we’ll ever be, but that doesn’t stop me from cursing Sirius for putting the thought that we could be more in my head. Because now that I’ve accepted the thought, I’m not sure I want to stay friends. But it’s clear now, this wasn’t meant to be anything special, and I was stupid for thinking it could be.
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littlemisslipbalm · 4 years ago
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“you get me” (famous!y/n x harry)
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Famous!y/n x Harry Styles
First Harry fic so please be kind, but feedback is SUPER appreciated
Initially inspired by the picture of Harry leaving the Gucci store with 15 bags but barely has anything to do with that lol
Definitely thought of Ellen for the interview idk why tho - also I struggle with writing Harry’s dialogue because I really want to get it right, but hopefully the more practice I get, the better/more natural it will sound. ALSO i have like no music or music industry background lol. Somewhat proofread, but its 2:30 am so it could be shit
Fluff!
Warnings: maybe some angst over being famous per say, past loneliness
Word Count: 3.7k literally howwww, i’m going to do a pt. 2 though because it was kind of a long set up and feelingsssss
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Interviewer: Please, welcome our next guest, a woman who’s sure to have her name written up beside the music greats someday, Ms. Y/N L/N!
You can’t contain the grin that spreads to your face as you carry yourself out onto the stage and see the audience cheering for you. It was your third big interview since your first album had been released and you’d seen your fame skyrocket over night. This being the third one this week meant you’d gotten comfortable getting asked questions, but you also weren’t bored of it yet. It was exhilarating being the center of attention, especially for something that had been your life’s work up until this point. You always had to fight for whatever you got and the recognition you were starting to have was reassurance that you hadn’t been a fool to risk a safe and certain life for your dreams.
The interview begins as the rest had, a few pleasantries, how you were feeling, and then the introduction of the album. The host asked you what your inspiration was for some of the songs and the album name and cover. You loved to talk about the music, it was the whole reason you were there. The meaning, the sound, the name, it all meant so much to you and you talked about how music can be interpreted differently by everyone and even the shifts in someone’s mood can change a song’s meaning, but what it meant to you at the time of writing was always something specific. You practiced those answers in the mirror before the interviews because they were important to you and you didn’t want your words on your art to ever be misconstrued. The host then complimented your style and you were at the point where you thought your interview should be wrapping up when they asked you one more question, and it threw you for a loop.
Interviewer: So Y/N, we’ve been hearing some rumblings around, about you and another famous musician, Mr. Harry Styles. Anything going on there?
Your face heated up, you hadn’t been expecting a personal question about possible relationships. Nothing like this had been asked of you at your previous interviews. It’s about the music, the art, and who you were, it’s always about that and nothing more. To be honest, you were a bit annoyed the host had chosen to stray from those topics. You didn’t care for the celebrity side of being a famous musician, the lack of privacy, the prying eyes of media and the general public. They saw enough of you through your art, you bore your soul through music why did they want to peak into your heart as well?
Y/N: I don’t know if I’d rather be with Harry Styles or actually be Harry Styles. Like, he’s literally such an icon, I want to be able to walk out of a Gucci store after spending hours there with 15 bags full of my purchases and helpers to carry it all out c’mon… He’s also an amazing songwriter, musician, and performer, of course. Didn’t mean to sound superficial, but I’d also love to own even half of his closet.
You hadn’t really answered the question, but the audience laughed and the host obviously got the hint that you weren’t interested in fanning any flames of romance with Harry Styles or anyone else. For one, you didn’t even know the man, but you had always been a loving fan of his. You cited him as one of your role models when you were first starting to try and break into the music world. Second, if you did know him, that wouldn’t be an appropriate topic for your album press junket going on, even if it meant more publicity because of Harry’s big celebrity status. The host decided to qualify their original question with a final sentiment.
Interviewer: I totally feel the same way! I only ask because the outpouring of support you’ve received seems to be from similar groups who also follow Harry. Many have been comparing your sound to his solo career work.
Y/N: Ah...well that’s very kind of people to say. He’s definitely a big inspiration, his creativity and drive is incredible. I’d love to be as successful as him someday.
The interview ended. You and the host shook hands and you waved and sent kisses to the crowd before retreating backstage. You were exhausted, but happy. You hoped to avoid anymore stressful interview questions that didn’t truly revolve around music. Of course, life is never that simple.
-
One month later
You had done countless more interviews and talk shows as promo for your album and the buzz around it had continued to grow. Your fame continued to rise as well and that one question you had dodged at your third interview had come back around to bite you, naturally. Daily Mail’s dumb headline read: “Y/N can’t decide! Date Harry Styles or Steal His Closet?” The Sun was also running with your response and miscontruing it completely, something about how you were madly in love with Harry but jealous of his designer partnerships, you couldn’t even stomach reading the garbage. This was your worst nightmare. Not only was it taking away the focus from your album, but you were also sure this dumb gossip had reached the very set of ears that the gossip was allegedly also about.
You had signed with Columbia Records for your first album, the same record label as Harry Styles, so managers had been in contact with one another about the whole fiasco trying to get the actual truth - which was that the two of you didn’t even know each other and there were no problems whatsoever. Your manager also brought along the good news that Harry had actually listened to your album and loved it, “He said ‘Congratulations’ by the way, loved the sound. Said he’d heard you were very music focused and be open to do some mentoring on songwriting and vocal specifics, if you wanted. It’d have to be in private though, obviously.” She had added the last bit, but you understood why. To have the opportunity to discuss your music with one of your longtime role models, heroes even, was beyond anything you could have imagined coming from your album’s success. And it made the drama all the more palatable because now you at least got to talk to Harry like the media was so adamantly saying you were doing already.
You nodded quickly and agreed, while trying to keep your teenage fangirl excitement hidden below your mature now-famous musician facade. Like you said, Harry was your hero, he’d been your hero since you were in middle school and had Up All Night downloaded on your iPod touch, blasting it as loud as possible, sound hitting your poster-filled walls. You weren’t the same girl as you were then, obviously, you had grown up to be a strong, independent, and confident woman. But, you still smiled at the thought of your younger self with your baby face squealing in the nosebleeds at the Take Me Home Tour (where you swore Harry had looked straight at you) and her seeing you now, dressed in a sleek outfit setting up an appointment to meet with Harry to discuss your first album, a success.
-
The next Thursday evening
You took a deep breath, in through your nose and out through your pursed lips. You were anxious and excited at the exact same time. Your meeting with Harry was tonight, right now actually, and you hadn’t been able to think about much else since your manager had confirmed the meeting last week. She got you the details a couple of days ago, the location: his house in Malibu, the time: 5:45 P.M. You had brought along a copy of your album on vinyl because you thought it sounded best this way, second only to performing it live.
Choosing your outfit for tonight was probably the toughest decision you’d ever made, harder than choosing between an education and following your dreams, harder than choosing your favorite Beatles song. You didn’t want to worry so much, this wasn’t a date you kept reminding yourself, but everything you tried on earlier kept having something wrong with it, too dressy, too boring, too ‘not yourself’. You had settled for these blue high-waisted pants that you’d worn to your first ever podcast interview, a thin black long sleeve, and a brown leather coat that fell below your hips with vans sneakers, casual, simple, yet still true to you and your vibe.
You raised your free arm and formed a fist, hesitant to knock, as if you’d damage Harry’s seemingly perfect Malibu beachfront home by knocking too hard on the wooden front door. You waited a few moments and could here some shuffling behind the door, some incoherent words were seemingly said, but the walls muffled them before they could reach for ears. Soon enough, Harry Styles in the flesh was before you. He beamed down at you, huffing, slightly out of breath as if he had been clear across the house when you knocked. His strong figure towered above your far smaller stature. He was hanging onto the door since he had opened it only slightly. “Hello, Y/N?” he greeted and questioned simultaneously. “Hi,” you responded and extended the same hand that had just rapped against his now open door. He gripped it, ushering you into his home, “Come in, come in, it’s nice to meet you, don’t want you to catch a cold now do we?” He took note of your strong handshake and ring clad fingers.
He walked you into an area between the kitchen and a sitting area. The kitchen was open aside from a bar high top between the two rooms. You sat down at his prompting and made yourself comfortable. “I brought my record on vinyl, sounds best in my opinion, otherwise I’d recommend seeing it live,” you laughed as you handed the vinyl to him and took off your coat. “Technically, y’know, I could hear it live right now, if you were willin’ f’course,” Harry had responded over his shoulder as he placed the vinyl by his idle record player, “Anything to drink?” “Just water for me, please.” His accent was even stronger in person, especially since he had moved back to London and seldomly stayed in California, except for business and quick trips. As far as you knew, he had already been here on business for the week and was able to pencil you in.
You two settled in, with your waters, seated at the bar top beside each other, but swivelling the chairs to face one another more. Again, you were overwhelmed with the reality of the situation, sitting beside Harry Styles as professionals, peers even. He had heard your work and liked it enough to want to discuss it with you. It was a day you never thought would come to pass. He started off not by asking about the music right away, but about how you were doing with the whirlwind that stardom is. “How are you, Y/N? It’s been somewhat of a out of the frying pan into the fire kind of moment for you?” He stared at you intently, caring to hear your answer.
You couldn’t help but chuckle again and contain your smile, “Thank you for asking, Harry. Yeah, its been definitely stressful, but it’s everything I’ve ever wanted and more so the good is still outweighing any bad. Definitely, fucking exhausted though, dunno how many more interviews I can do before my jaw goes completely rigid from talking so much.” It’s Harry’s turn to laugh, his eyes shone with intrigue at what you said and how you said it. You were gorgeous, but it was how your hands helped you through what you were trying to say and the small laughs you tried to keep in while you amused yourself with your words that really made him want to hear you talk all night long.
He agreed about how the promo junket for an album can get tedious and tiresome, but also the absolute fulfillment you get from people loving the music you’ve made. The two of you chatted about surface level personal matters for a little more, but quickly moved to the music. “I took a listen a couple weeks after the album was released. I especially loved the last track. It reminded me so much of a song I never released, actually…” he trailed off.
Your final track had been a ballad, an homage to George Harrison with your use of guitar and sitar, but the lyrics were a story based off of a poem you had written one night in high school. It surrounded a girl never feeling quite good enough for the person she wanted to be with and how it happened everytime, everytime she was ready to giver herself to someone, they were always closed off. Of course it held some truth to your own life and feelings, but you wrote this girl as someone with a seemingly perfect life - when yours was obviously far from any semblance of perfection.
You wondered what Harry’s song would have sounded like, had it been about a seemingly perfect girl or a guy with a seemingly perfect life, always giving himself to the wrong person and getting destroyed by that very fact because he was impatient as the girl in your song had been. “Can I ask, how so? How’d it remind you of your own song, the words or the music?” “Oh, the story, I felt like that for a time in my life and I like to be vulnerable in my songs because it helps me process, but listening to it back has always been too painful. Could never release that or perform it, it’d wreck me.” You nodded, you completely got where he was coming from. You noticed his downcast eyes and his somber tone, you knew not to push it any further.
It was quiet and you decided it’d be okay to take his hand resting between the two of you. “Harry, I understand,” your sincerity spilled into the words, filling the quiet house, “It’s not easy. Feeling that way. Thinking you’re the only goddamn one and why the fuck does it always happen to you? I used to ask my ceiling ‘why me?’ every night of high school” you smiled then. “But you know how it is,” you rubbed your thumb over his large warm hand and he lifted his head, “it gets so much better - c’mon look at us now! It can get hard, too, all this, I’m sure. But our lives? They’re amazing!” He beamed as he had when he had first seen you at his door and when you’d first really spoke. He moved his hand from under your palm to weave your fingers with his, both of your hands with covered in rings and they clinked to fit together, finally resting perfectly fitted. He shook your two hands up and down, “God, you’re so right! That damn song, m’sorry always puts me in a mood,” he shakes his head, “not yours though, f’course, s’lovely, better than my sodding song” he finishes quickly.
After that, the mood lightened right back up. It filled you with such appreciation for Harry that he would trust you so much with such a personal detail since you two had just met. But maybe, he had trusted you because he had felt that same spark between you. It wasn’t necessarily a romantic spark, but it was obvious the two of you were kindred spirits. Besides your album, the two of you talked about everything. You loved the same bands, movies and books, you both loved to cook and had similar fashion taste, you even had the same person type - something you found out late into the night.
At the end of the Side B of your album, Harry switched to a Bill Evans record that had ‘Peace Piece’ on it. You loved that song. So did he. “So...planning to raid my closet?” Harry raised his brows from the record player and walked back to you. You almost sputtered the water in your mouth. Luckily, you got it down. “Pardon?” “All that bad press the two of us have been getting...I watched the interview that kind of ignited the tabloids. You’re obviously not used to those overstepping personal questions.” You nodded. “It’s fine, even if you’d completely shut it down, the tabloids probably would have picked it up still, they snap up anything and everything, true or not.” You softened at his reassurance. You hadn’t expected Harry to bring the interview up, but you were sure he wasn’t happy about it, he was so private, especially about his love life. “Thanks, I’m sorry I tried to laugh it off, kind of made it worse, didn’t I?” “No! Thought it was hilarious and I totally appreciated the sentiment. Little ol’me, an icon? And an amazing artist? All I gotta do is watch that clip and I’ve fed my narcissistic side for the week!” You giggled and replied slyly, “So does that mean I can raid your closet? As compensation, of course.” Harry threw his head back in an all consuming laughter, when he’d composed himself he looked in your eyes again and said, “You just...God, you get me.”
Harry had continued to put records on throughout the night, diligently flipping sides and asking for requests, he of course had an extensive collection. The two of you had moved onto his plush couch that looked out his french doors to the beautiful ocean view. Finally, your exhaustion caught up to you, mid-Harry describing his latest travel fiasco, you glanced up at the clock. You gasped. Harry stopped. “When did it get to be half 12?” you questioned almost incredulously, “I’ve gotta get home, Harry, but this has been truly amazing, more than I could have asked for, so thank you.” Your speech began to rush as you started to get up and gather your things, that had slowly scattered as you’d gotten more comfortable, jacket by the table, shoes around the back of the couch, your phone forgotten somewhere in the couch. You couldn’t believe you’d spent almost seven hours just talking with Harry Styles.
Harry quickly stood up from his relaxed positioned on the couch and asked if you were alright to drive this late. You scoffed, “Oh please, I’ve driven around at 3 am before, I just have to turn up the music and I can cruise.” He smiled, “This was great, Y/N, I know we didn’t really go super in depth into your writing process, but I’d love to write with you sometime or just hang out again f’course. Your seriously talented and obviously a wonderful person.” He didn’t include that he felt like he’d never met anyone like you, never met someone so perfectly matched to himself, in passions but also in work ethic and demeanor - compassionate yet confident. He felt like you got him perfectly and he got you. You had stopped your scramble to gather yourself and now you were both smiling at one another.
This had really been an unforgettable night, you couldn’t believe how well you two had meshed, like childhood friends reconnecting after years apart. “Can I give yeh a hug before you go?” Harry’s voice had grown raspier as the night had progressed. He had grown rather tired an hour ago, but had pushed through because they had been having so much fun and you hadn’t noticed his physical fading or the time, obviously. You stepped toward him and his large tattooed arms enveloped you into his body. His body truly dwarfed yours now as he held you to his chest. You both were warm and soft. He tucked his head on top of yours that rested on his chest. Your arms were loosely resting where his back met his waist because you would have had to strain to get them to encircle him. His arms rested around your small frame. “Love your jacket,” he mumbled into your hair. His rough voice was quiet, but the house was silent otherwise, Tusk Side C had finished around when you had noticed the time. The embrace lasted long, but it felt so amazing you had a hard time pulling yourself away, but you had to get back home.
“G’night Harry” you said softly at the threshold of his home. He had insisted on walking you to the front door at least, since you had declined his offer to walk you out to your car on the street. “G’night. Safe travels.”
You got in your car and headed to your apartment in the city. You didn’t bother digging for your phone so you turned on the radio and drove home singing whatever came on, including your own song at one point. The whole time you drove with a grin. Harry was the nicest person you’d ever met and you were confident that the two of you were friends now. As you pulled into your parking garage it dawned on you why you hadn’t connected your phone immediately when you got in your car. “Stupid, stupid, stupid,” you put the car in park and rested your palms in the depressions of your eyesockets, over your closed eyelids, and rubbed hard. “Fuck!” It was far too late to drive back out to Malibu for your phone and you obviously couldn’t text Harry that you’d left your phone at his place, despite the two of you exchanging numbers during the night for future hang outs, so they didn’t have to be arranged through your managers, like playdates. Even if he found your phone between the cushions, he couldn’t drop it at your place in the morning because he didn’t know your address. This was a whole mess, you thought. You’d have to drive over in the morning and hope he was still there or email your manager from your computer. The former meant you got to see Harry sooner and likely your phone, too.
part 2
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@berrynarrybanana​
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