#....i say after i ask for edit requests and then vanish for a month

[itscherrylipsforme]

Every second matters: Donald Ressler x FBI!fem!reader

Summary: Desperate times call for desperate measures. Your teammate’s and "crush-you-are-not-willing-to-admit"s disappearance is definitely one of those times, so you reluctantly have to ask the FBI’s most wanted criminal for help. Surprisingly, Raymond Reddington is also an excellent matchmaker

Warnings: Mentions of kidnapping and small injuries

Requested: yes

Words: 1300

Author rambles: Sorry because this took me ages (how many times have already repeated that?) Thanks to the amazing @zizzlekwum for her request and patience. Had to change the name while editing because this sounded better. Also this was edited late at night with mint tea as fuel and queued on the bus on my way to campus this morning, so blame any mistakes on those...

Masterlist Characters I write for

Likes and reblogs are appreciated ღ

I do not authorize any of my works to be copied, translated or plagiarized ✗

In the time you have been in the unit you have learnt two basic facts.

Fact number 1: There is absolutely no phone number, location or person Aram Mojtabai cannot find.

Fact number 2: You and the team never, I repeat, never go against Reddington’s plan. And that's for your own sake.

Yet, in the last hours everything you knew had come down in pieces. Ruins of the rules and statements you once held to, now they are left broken much as yourself. You look at Aram, clinging at the last straw of hope that remained.

“These guys are completely analogical! No digital footprint. And the last camera which got a glimpse of them only helps to reduce the search to a ten miles radius which is all covered by suburban houses. It just doesn’t make sense, the house’s cameras should have recorded them.”

His hands tangle in his short locks trying to find out a clue, something he is looking pass. Hostages just don’t go missing. Agents just don’t vanish in the air. Ressler can’t have just disappeared.

“What about Reddington?” You finally gather the courage to ask it, voice determined, you not so much inside.

“Still unwilling to talk with us.” Dembe, the gentle giant you have got used to call coworker and even friend in the last months, sights while crossing his arms. You have already seen the look in his eyes, the weight of the decisions you should both had taken as it that could ever change the current situation.

Things were easier when Liz was around, the idea hangs out in the air as if you could nearly capture it. Nobody says it, but all of you know is true. Liz was the only who could talk some sense into him, if someone could ever talk sense into Raymond Reddington. A few years ago, you could trust in Dembe to try it at least too. But since he has become Agent Zuma, the relationship has run cold. A worry for another day, you have more important matters in your hands now.

“Do we know where is him?”

Another question coming from your lips without even realizing, a silent nod the only answer you needed. Before turning to face your unit chief, Harold Copper.

“L/n, you have my permission to go.”

A fancy cocktail bar at six pm on a Monday afternoon. Lately Raymond wasn’t being too careful while choosing his meeting point, but with all you had in mind that was the last of your worries This shouldn’t have happened, nothing of this shouldn’t have happened. If things had been different, now you blamed yourself. Should have told him to stay in the car as Reddington had said, it was a recognition mission after all. But no, Donald Ressler always had to play the hero, and you didn’t have the guts to stop him.

“Y/n, my dear, sit down.” Reddignton retires a chair for you, a far too kind gesture considering how he had acted just an hour ago when Donald went missing in the mission. “Would you join me for a drink?” He pours another glass of a wine, which seems to cost at least a ten percent of your monthly salary, before you could even reply.

“Ressler has disappeared. He is probably being tortured at the moment, maybe even…” That’s another thing you learn in the field. Never say the forbidden word. If you do, you lose any kind of faith in seeing them again. If you lose faith, you lose everything. Even the possibility of them. "And you are thinking about wine?”

“Well, news like that is better taken while tipsy, isn’t it?”

Classical Reddington. Joking in the most inappropriate moments. Well, you also have an habit of storming out when angered. He will have to deal with that.

“You know how much he has lost because of you, right? Liz, his old girlfriend..." That gives you a bitter taste while rolling off your tongue at the same time you stand up. "You know what he has gone through. Don’t you care at least a bit? Once he dedicated his life to see you behind bars you, now he works by your side."

Your words are rushed, agitated. You can't even stop to catch a breath. Not that you want you, not until you are sure Ressler can do the same.

"You should respect that at least, I thought Raymond Reddington cared about his team.”

You see a strange glimmer in his eyes. Not mockery this time, but there was a small smirk in the curve of his thin lips. Laugh? Perhaps a hint of pride?

“First of all, you are well aware I do." He takes a long sip until the glass in empty. " Second, Donald is not in risk. Maybe bruised, but not deeply hurt. Those guys know better than to mess up with my team, as you have put into words.”

“Then why don’t you do something?”

Now there is a full grin on his face as he stands up takes his jacket from the hanger, not without leaving a generous tip on the table.

“I was waiting for you to ask me. And you did, half an hour earlier than I had bet by the way. This case may be even worse than I thought.”

“Cut out the riddles, Reddington.”

“You know he’s in love with you, right?”

How could he say it so blatantly, sweeping his fedora with such a calm manner while you had lost all your words? Mouth hanging and unable to stammer something coherent.

“He what?”

“And it seems pretty mutual to me” With that he puts the hat on and opens the door for both of you. Still trying to process everything you can't help following him in silence.

The rest of the rescue passes bluring infront of your eyes. Reddington telling you the exact location. Entering the housing development which had been carefully built as a cover for the criminal network (only a few houses were actually being used by its members). Dembe and Siya watching your back as the suspects were aiming at you. Clearing the area. Immobilizing the suspects. And finally arriving to Ressler's side.

You try to be gentle as you untie him from ropes which are holding him to a chair. However, your attempts are futile, hands to clumsy and brain dulled by all the emotions coming for you at once. You can't even recall when a few timid tears have started rolling down your cheeks, but you don't mind either. Donald is an equal mess right now, it's the first time you have seen him like these. Vulnerable. Human. And it only adds to the feeling you don't dare to voice. Not yet.

As soon as his free you wrap your arms around him. His nose in your hair as an anchor to remind him you are finally here. A considerable bruise under his eye and his bloody knuckles would usually worry to death (yes, even considering your field). But now you can't bring yourself to care, just wanting to hold him close. An urge to kiss his lips until you are both restless reaches your mind, yet the need for this. Just a hug. Just a simple gesture to assure you he won't be leaving anytime soon is enough for the moment.

"I think you have some things to discuss. I will leave you to it.”

Raymond's words take you by surprise, and between the falling tears you and Donald start laughing at the situation.

"Maybe we should talk about this" You whisper as you try to calm down and reluctantly pull away from him.

Too bad he has no intention of moving, but neitheir of saying what is really going through his mind.

"Maybe. Later. Not now. Just..."

Without further ado he rests his face on the crock of your neck. He had always been a man of action, not too good words. You didn't mind. As long as you could feel his breath on your skin, his warm body relaxing. Working in the unit every second matters. And you will treasure these and enjoy them as long as you can.

[charlatte124]

PHANTOM OF THE OPERA

Wenclair edition

It was the evening on which Madame Weems, the newly appointed manager of the Opera, was giving a last gala performance to mark their retirement.

Suddenly the dressing-room of Yoko, one of the principal dancers, was invaded by half-a-dozen young ladies of the ballet performance before her. They rushed in confusion, some giving vent to forced and unnatural laughter, others to cries of terror.

Yoko, who wished to be alone for a moment to revise the speech which she was to say to the manager, looked around angrily at the mad crowd.

It was Eugene, that rushes in, who gave the explanation in a trembling voice:

"There's a ghost out there!", and locked the doors.

Yoko was very superstitious. She shuddered when she heard Eugene speak of a ghost, called him a "silly little fool" and then, as she was the first to believe in ghosts in general, and the Opera ghost in particular, at once asked for details.

"Have you seen them?"

"Just as plainly as I see you now!" said Eugene, whose legs were giving way beneath him, and she dropped into a chair

Someone had added onto Eugene's words.

"If that's the ghost, they're very scary and terrifying!"

"Oh, yes!" cried the ballet-girls.

And they all began to talk together. The ghost had apparently appeared to them in the shape of a person wearing male dress-clothes, who had suddenly stood before them in the passage, without their knowing where they came from. They seemed to have come straight through the wall…. Like a ghost.

…

For several months, there had been nothing discussed at the Opera but this ghost in dress-clothes who stalked about the building, from top to bottom, like a shadow, who spoke to nobody, to whom nobody dared speak and who vanished as soon as they were seen, no one knowing how or where. As they became a real ghost, they made no noise while walking. People began by laughing and making fun of this specter dressed like a man of fashion or an undertaker; but the ghost legend soon swelled to enormous proportions among the corps de ballet. They were nicknamed, "The Phantom of the Opera". Noone could tell what gender they were, always dressed in male clothes but had a frame of a woman.

…

They never knew what would happen had someone offended this Ghost.

…

On the first landing, Yoko, Meg Giry and Enid ran against the Count Petropolus, who was coming up-stairs. The count, who was generally so calm, seemed greatly excited.

"I was just going to you," he said, taking off his hat. "Oh, Yoko, what an evening! And Enid Sinclair, what a triumph!"

Meg Giry said "Six months ago, she used to sing like a CROCK! But now she sings like an angel! Oh but please let us get by dear count Petropolus"

They all went on to the foyer of the ballet, which was already full of people. The manager's praises were right; no gala performance ever equaled this one.

All the great composers of the day had conducted their own works in turns. Faure and Krauss had sung and, on that very evening,

But the real triumph was reserved for Enid Sinclair who had begun by singing a few passages from Romeo and Juliet. It was the first time that the young artist sang in this work of Gounod, which had not been transferred to the Opera and which was revived at the Opera Comique. Enid Sinclair had revealed her true self, for the first time, to the astonished and enthusiastic audience.

Those who heard her say that her voice, in these passages, was seraphic, but this was nothing to the superhuman notes that she gave forth in the prison scene and the final trio in FAUST, which she sang in the place of Bianca Barclay, who was ill. No one had ever heard or seen anything like it.

…

Count Thrope would perhaps not have taken his best friend behind the scenes of the Opera if Ajax had not been the first to ask him, repeatedly renewing his request with a gentle obstinacy which the count remembered at a later date.

On that evening, after applauding the Sinclair, Ajax was quite pale. And his best friend had noticed.

"Don't you see," said Ajax, "that the woman's fainting?"

"You look like fainting yourself," said the count. "What's the matter?"

But Ajax had recovered himself and was standing up.

"Let's go and see," he said, "she never sang like that before."

The count gave his best friend a curious smiling glance and seemed quite pleased. They were soon at the door leading from the house to the stage.

Ajax tore his gloves without knowing what he was doing and Xavier had laughed at him for his impatience. But he now understood why Ajax was absent-minded when spoken to and why he always tried to turn every conversation to the subject of the Opera.

They hear Enid Sinclair talking to herself. Referring to an "angel of music" who is this?

…

Enid Sinclair had been escorted to her dressing room as she had become pale after her spectacular performance. Expecting there to be no one, she spoke to the air.

" Angel of Music, are you listening?"

Suddenly there's a voice from nowhere.

"Yes, spectacular performance dear Sinclair, I had watched from box 5."

"When will you start calling me by my name oh dear angel of music?"

"When the time comes that you know of my name"

The voice was melodic, female sounding with a hint of stoicism could be heard, a face of no emotions could be visualized.

Enid sighs and asks a question that has been repeated, day after day.

"When will you show yourself to me?"

There's no reply for a few moments until finally the 'Angel of Music' replies.

"Soon. When you have nothing else to learn from me. When I am ready to show you. When you are ready to face me."

The same reply, word for word after that very question. Enid sighs once again as she spoke to the voice once more.

"At the very least you must answer this question for me, when will you ever be ready? Shall I still be alive till then? Shall I still stay here till then? When shall it be Angel of Music"

This time there's an immediate response.

"I shall give you three months to prepare for my appearance. However once you have seen it, you cannot leave me. You aren't allowed to scream in terror nor are you allowed to run away. You must stay with me."

Enid is ecstatic, her beloved Angel of Music that has been sent by her father, her beloved Angel of music that guided her to success today in her performance after months of hard work and practice with them.

"Thank you my Angel of Music, oh how happy shall I be on that day"

…

Ajax had been listening on in with Xavier. Who was this 'Angel of Music'? Who was Enid talking to?

Ajax knocked on the door. He watches as the door knob turns to reveal Enid in all of her glory. She's still in her costume from FAUST.

"Oh, Count Petropolus and Count Thorpe! Great day to meet you"

Enid smiles, Ajax is captured once again in her roombeautiful smile.

"It's me, Ajax, remember? We played together on the coasts of Rue Scribe when young. I was smitten by you and still is"

"Oh! You're that lovely boy I had seen many times for many months. Oh what a great time we had playing in the sand"

Ajax is delighted to know that she still remembers the memorable time they had at the coasts.

…

Wednesday listens in from the one sided mirror she has been using to interact with Enid Sinclair, her newly discovered obsession.

She had traveled the world, been an entertainer for a Persian princess, made two buildings for two kings, been a circus show, been under a architect as a disciple,learned all there is to music and singing with every instrument, learned tricks of trap doors and torture yet she fell into the hands of this girl.

Left her family for more education and knowledge of the world, being abducted for her unchanging face.

Her lineage of the family name Addams came with a deep infatuation for a special someone. And her special someone was Enid.

She felt enraged by the obvious love in Ajax's voice as he talked. She watched as Enid was talking to them. Jealous of their past relations.

She taps on the mirror. Tap tap tap. Three taps to capture her attention.

…

Enid hears three taps from behind her, in her dressing room. She quickly excuses herself, guessing that the taps are from the voice.

"Excuse me, I need to change quickly,I'll talk to you soon!"

And slams the door shut right in Ajax's face.

She turns towards her mirror once again and talks to seemingly nothing.

"Yes?"

"Who was that."

"An old friend"

"remember that you will stay with me when you hear of my name and see my face."

"Yes angel of music"

Enid complies. Her father had once told her before that when he dies, he will send an "Angel of Music" to her, it shall bring prosperity and success to her in her career and love life.

She become dependent on the Angel of Music for her singing however, she had started to develop a sense of longing for the voice.

This should be wrong. It's a voice, she has never even seen their face or heard of their name but she feels longing to hear it's voice after a good performance, longing to hear praises from them, longing to finally see their face and possibly love them.

…

Wednesday was posing as an Angel of Music for Enid.

Ever since she has seen her face in a performance when she watched from box 5, she has been struck by the arrow of love.

She overheard Enid talking about an Angel of Music when she was going to another trap door. She took this opportunity to her advantage and voiced her desires, posed as an Angel of Music.

She had taught Enid in the wee hours of the night, lecturing about small details and working on her Don Juan Triumphant when alone.

She knows how wrong this is but she will do whatever to be close to her.

[thewinedarksea]

omg i mistook another blog for yours and thought you deactivated,, had the biggest shock and worry ever (；´д｀)ゞ just thought i'd use this chance to let u know that you're one of my favourite blogs and seeing your posts are always incredibly interesting and gorgeous. hope you're doing alright amidst all the chaos surrounding the world right now. love u! xx

😭😭 this made my literal day i am !!! thank you!! i am doing a-okay, and i hope you are too 💜💜💜💜

[canary3d-obsessed]

Restless Rewatch: The Untamed, Episode 25, part one

(Masterpost) (Other Canary Stuff)

Warning: Spoilers for All 50 Episodes!

Holy crap, Episode 25! We’re halfway through! *Cue Bon Jovi*

Hunt Invitation

After taking a nice long break to watch Word of Honor pick lotus pods, Wei Wuxian and Jiang Yanli return to stressing over the shitshow that is the post-Sunshot cultivation world. Jin Zixuan has come to invite them to the Phoenix Mountain Hunt, with a special invitation from his mother to Jiang Yanli. Jiang Cheng reacts to this in a mature and reasonable manner, while Wei Wuxian...doesn't.

On the surface, Jiang Cheng has matured in recent months; much more than Wei Wuxian, with his secret burdens, has. But it's only on the surface, as we'll see later in the episode, when Jiang Cheng's insecurity will take the reins.

Jin Zixuan is adorably pleased by Jiang Yanli's acceptance of the invitation. Wei Wuxian is less pleased, but sort of tries to suck it up. 

Jin Zixuan kind of undercuts the romance of his errand by asking Wei Wuxian for the Yin tiger amulet as soon as Jiang Yanli is out of earshot. 

As always, Jin Zixuan makes an impression by being the best Jin currently in existence, but the Jins are terrible. JZX is working to advance his dad's ambitions, and as such he is currently Wei Wuxian's enemy.  

(more after the cut)

Opening Ceremonies

There's a bunch of cultivators arranged for the opening ceremony. Later someone will say that this is more than 5 thousand people. Ok, sure.

As I've said before, it's best to think of it like a theatre production and assume the other 4,900 people are offstage or, you know, painted on the backdrop.  

The young lead cultivators from the four main clans are standing together. Nie Huaisang is trying out some new body armor.

The clan leaders are seated up on the stage, along with Jin Furen and Jiang Yanli. Unfortunately Jin Furen doesn't seem to have a personal name that I can discover. Her title Fūrén ( 夫人)  means she's the primary wife of the head of the family, according to this excellent meta. 

So “Madame Jin” is a decent translation...if you're French?  I feel like instead of English subtitles including borrowed words from French (”Marquis” in NIH), Greek (”Water of Lethe” in WOH), and other European languages, we could try borrowing Chinese words instead. Jin Zixuan's mom is titled, not named, Jin Furen. Since we don’t know her actual name, I'll call her that and abbreviate it JFR.

Wei Wuxian's childishness continues at the opening of the hunt, as does Jiang Yanli's encouragement of his childishness. I know she's had a rough couple of years, and it's understandable to want to baby her little brother out of a sense of nostalgia. But it's not good for him, and she shouldn't do it; she should encourage him to be more mature, just as she does with Jiang Cheng.

War Crimes Contest

Jin Guangyao says they're going to have an archery competition, and they're going to liven it up by endangering some prisoners. These prisoners are Wens in Wen cultivator uniforms, meaning they're not the noncombatants that were being hunted down earlier. But they’re still helpless people in chains. 

There are three different reactions when the Wen prisoners are brought out.  All the Jins are pleased, or neutral. All of the Jiangs, including Wei Wuxian, are upset.

The Nies and the Lans, what we see of them, are a little shocked, but not obviously upset. Based on those reactions, it seems like this is a maneuver that in-world is considered shocking and cruel, but not necessarily unethical or immoral.  Shocking, cruel displays of power are pretty normal in this world; remember when Wen Chao lit a Lan cultivator on fire just to say hello, and nobody complained? 

This whole scenario, of course, has been designed to provoke Wei Wuxian. One major goal of this event, and the whole reason for wanting Wei Wuxian to come,  is to get the Yin Tiger amulet.  Making him lose his shit in front of 100 5000 cultivators is a good step toward compelling him to hand the amulet over.  

We see Jiang Cheng and Jiang Yanli both signaling Wei Wuxian to keep it together, and he takes a step back and tries to chill.  

Meanwhile, Jin Zixuan seems annoyed by all this, and goes to take a shot at it, making it clear from his demeanor that this is easy and JGY is making a show of nothing. 

He hovers in the air and makes a perfect shot, pleasing most of the crowd and impressing Jiang Yanli. 

Then his cousin Jin Zixun taunts the crowd, challenging anyone to do better.  This presents a bit of a problem for Wei Wuxian. For the sake of the Wen prisoners, Wei Wuxian should just take this taunting and let the contest end, if no-one else is willing to take a shot. But for the sake of the Jiang Clan’s status, and his continued control of the Yin Tiger amulet, he needs to put the Jins in their place.  

Every Day is Blindfold Day

This moral dilemma is resolved with an abrupt tonal shift, where the humanitarian concerns of all parties seem to vanish. Wei Wuxian flirts embarrassingly with Lan Wangji and then goes as far over the top in besting Jin Zixuan as it's possible to go.

The flirting hits differently, incidentally, when you edit Jiang Cheng's annoyed reaction out of it: 

Lan Wangji doesn't seem embarrassed by Wei Wuxian's request, despite it happening in front of 100 5000 of their fellow cultivators. He looks Wei Wuxian straight in the eye for longer than necessary before turning away; it’s not exactly stern disapproval. We’ll get very used to this look, in Wei Wuxian’s second life. 

Fortunately, Wei Wuxian carries a blindfold with him wherever he goes, (gifset here), and he is such a good cultivator he can hit 5 parallel targets simultaneously without even holding his bow straight or tightening the string.

(OP fixed the angle of the bow for this gif, which is why everyone is standing on a hill in the background).

Everyone is pleased by this shot except Jins Guangyao and Zixun; even the Jin cultivators are clapping, and Madame Jin is presumably this happy any time Jin Guangyao’s plans go wrong.

With that they start the hunt. Jin Zixun challenges Wei Wuxian to do the whole hunt blindfolded. Wei Wuxian agrees, but the censorship committee said no, apparently, so we don’t get to see that.

Flute Hunting

We do get to see Wei Wuxian luring monsters into his nets by being too sexy for his robe, too sexy for his robe, and playing the flute.  

We also get to see Jiang cultivators looking puzzled while random monster roars happen in the woods around them. We do not get to see any monsters, which is probably just as well.

Jiang Cheng is annoyed and concerned, muttering "I told you not to overdo it" which means he didn't, you know, tell Wei Wuxian NOT to do this, just not to do it quite so well. Jiang Cheng knows what Wei Wuxian’s abilities are and he is making use of him, as he should, but he doesn’t have the courage of his convictions. 

Tree Confession

Wei Wuxian sees Lan Wangji and starts to say hi, but then he has a desaturated flashback to Lan Xichen telling him to back off, so he stops himself.  But then Lan Wangji comes over to talk to him.

Lan Wangji starts off talking to him about his latest anti-resentment musical discoveries, and Wei Wuxian pushes back, even calling him Lan Wangji, but gently.  Wei Wuxian asks "who am I to you?" and Lan Wangji turns the question right back at him, then waits a looooooong time, eyes downcast, while Wei Wuxian thinks of a serious answer.

Wei Wuxian says "I used to treat you as my zhījǐ" --which, as we’ve discussed before, is variously translated soulmate, confidant, intimate friend--with a strong meaning of "the person who truly knows me." Lan Wangji says "I still am." Coming from Lan Wangji, who NEVER says how he feels about Wei Wuxian or about anything, really, this sounds a lot like a confession of love. 

It definitely takes the form, visually, of a love confession, as Lan Wangji speaks, then gazes at Wei Wuxian while he waits for a reply.  Wei Wuxian's reply is this:

I don't think Wei Wuxian is oblivious (I'm speaking strictly of CQL, not MZDS, as always with these posts; they are different works). I think he loves Lan Wangji back, and knows it. But Chenqing and everything it represents are between them.

Lan Wangji is quite literally NOT his zhījǐ any more, because he doesn't truly know Wei Wuxian right now. He loves him desperately, but he doesn't know about his core, and hasn't accepted his cultivation method.  So Wei Wuxian answers his confession by showing him Chenqing, effectively declining to accept his still-conditional love.

Snake Measuring

Next we get terrible hetero courtship in the form of Jin Zixuan finding snake discharge on the ground and talking to Jiang Yanli about comparative snake measuring. Seriously: that is the actual conversation that they are having.

Jin Zixuan boasts for a bit, and then awkwardly tries to ask Jiang Yanli on a date. When she turns him down he gets mad, because he's a typical heterosexual dude even though he's secretly a delightful person...very, very secretly. Jiang Yanli, for her part, can't string a fucking sentence together to save her life whenever he's around, so she's not helping their mutual understanding. 

Lan Wangji attempts to hold Wei Wuxian back from beating Jin Zixuan’s ass yet again, but eventually JYL wants to leave, JZX tells her to wait, and WWX intervenes. Why doesn't Jiang Yanli have a maid or Jiang cultivator with her while she's on a date, incidentally? These kids are confused about whether they're doing feudal patriarchy or whether they're doing modern social life.

Jin vs. Jiang

Wei Wuxian jumps in between Jiang Yanli and Jin Zixuan, which JZX objects to. Jin Zixuan has no fucking business objecting and Wei Wuxian is 100% right, at this point. As soon as WWX shows up JZX should hand her off to her Shidi, bow, and leave her the fuck alone. Instead, he draws his sword on Wei Wuxian, and kind of on Jiang Yanli since she's right behind Wei Wuxian.  Fortunately, Lan Wangji blocks him. 

This instantly blows up into a Jiang-Jin Clan conflict, with Jiang Cheng unfortunately absent since he let his unmarried sister go off in the woods alone with the son of the Cultivaton world's most famous lecher. It looks like it’s a personal conflict, but since Jin Zixuan already told Wei Wuxian directly that Jin Guangshan wants his amulet, any arguments between them are part of a larger power struggle. 

Cousin Jin Zixun comes running up to start shit. Wei Wuxian pretends--I am SURE he's pretending--not to know who he is. The dude hassles Wei Wuxian every time he sees him; Wei Wuxian is a troll, and right now CJXZ is butting in to something that doesn't concern him. Rather than argue, Wei Wuxian insults him by telling him he’s not memorable.

Jin Furen shows up with several maids and cultivator dudes in tow, which is the proper way for a highborn woman to wander around in the woods. She also brings Clan Leader Yao, because if it's Wei Wuxian Blaming Hours, Yao is going to be there.  

I initially found the deep friendship between superhot Yi Zuyuan and dumpy Jin Furen implausible, but then I remembered that my lifelong bestie is a smokin' hot redhead with impeccable fashion sense, while I am a roly-poly nerd.  Friends don’t always match. Also, Jin Furen's actress, Hu Xiaoting, looks like this: 

...so she is actually hot in real life. Not as hot as Zhang Jingtong (who plays Yu Ziyuan) but literally nobody is as hot as Zhang Jingtong. Don't @ me, you know I'm right.

This is a heck of a long scene, so we’ll pick it up in part two! 

Soundtrack: Livin’ on a Prayer by Bon Jovi

Writing prompt: Newly-divorced, cold-hearted CEO Yu Ziyuan buys an apartment next door to newly-divorced, warm-hearted pastry chef ...uhh let's call her Jin Dàngāo (蛋糕), sure. She can name her business after herself. 

They discover their daughter & son are in the same college class, and so they meet up over coffee....several times...trying to matchmake their hopeless, hapless kids, while bonding over their own terrible (former) taste in husbands. Who will Cupid strike first, the kids or the moms?

[saladejin]

Body Pillow

Taehyung x Reader requested by anon (May) | 27.) First cuddle

Warnings: Literally fluff and gentle pining, drunken shenanigans 

Word Count: 2.2k

A/N: This is poorly edited, oh god. 

I give up on trying to teach myself what a drabble is, because idk if I’ll ever understand what it means to write a DRABBLE. Anyway this is hella overdue but I’m still working on these cuddle prompts! Hope anonnie May is still around to read this horrible mess 🥺💕

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵  

<< prompt list >>

Wow, you were getting sleepy.

It was the alcohol, no doubt about it, but for some reason this time getting tipsy felt a little different. Usually you were quite reserved and withdrawn when mixing alcohol and social interactions, but tonight it was just you, your roommate Jimin and his close group of friends having a pizza night in.

Well, after half a year of getting to know them they'd fast become friends of yours as well, but they were still a pack of loud, goofy college boys that drove you mad with their testosterone stink 90% of the time. You really did have to take them in small doses to begin with, but all seven were amazingly driven people through and through. You loved them for it, and honestly sometimes you really just needed to be in their presence to relax and de-stress.

Like right now, actually. 

You were drunker than usual, and it all had to do with the fact that you were relaxed. Carefree and laughing up a storm with the boys as they joked and hollered over whatever video game or story was being played out. For the first time in a while ... you could simply chill.

Yeah, chill out. Not zone the hell out.

You blinked harshly, eyes coming back into focus as a hand waved in front of your face cautiously, and all of a sudden a handsome view leaned into your field of vision. "Hellooo? You're so fucked honey." Taehyung chuckled, eyes crinkling in amusement as he shared a glance with Yoongi behind him.

"I'm- no way," you huffed, trying to downplay the way your cheeks were heating up at his proximity by slapping his hand away.

"Okay, but you're getting there." Yoongi stepped forward and nudged Taehyung back to reach for your plastic cup. "We know you're not used to having this much so just slow down, alright?"

Any other day you would've been frustrated at how the two boys seemed to baby you, but it was clear by their smiles that they were also getting some enjoyment out of it. In all honesty, you were having a great time and you had to admit that ruining it all by blacking out or making a mess was the last thing you wanted to do.

You'd still only known them all for a few months, so you didn't want to somehow damage the already comfortable relationships you'd built in such a short time.

"Okay, you're right." You let Yoongi lift the drink away from you, trying not to smile when Taehyung lightly chuckled again at the way you swayed in your seat. The other boys were already getting loud once more as Jungkook overtook Jimin in Mario Kart, the whooping and shouts of anger mostly coming from the remaining onlookers, Hobi, Namjoon and Seokjin.

You grabbed another slice of pizza from the table and stepped around Taehyung to reclaim your spot next to Jimin, feeling the younger's eyes burn into your back the entire way.

~

Thankfully, Yoongi and Tae had forced you to take a break at the perfect moment, because you were really feeling buzzed now. It was an oddly euphoric sensation, feeling the world spin ever so slightly with laughter falling from your lips for barely any reason at all. Why hadn't you done this with them sooner?

"A package? Well it's not for me..."

Your eyes flew open upon hearing Jimin hum from the front door, lightly slurred tone curious and confused. The rest of you who were gathered in the living room fell quiet as the murmurs of conversation between him and the delivery man came to an end.

There’s a package at the door?

Then your brain cells finally kicked into gear, because oh … it was also your door.

"Wait, it's mine then." You shakily tried to put your glass of water on the table to get up, and Namjoon tutted in disapproval while darting out a hand to steady your drunk form as you rose. The faces of the other boys swam in your vision for a moment since you'd been sitting down for what felt like ages, and it was genuinely hard not to snort out a laugh at the sight of Jungkook having six eyes.

"What is it?" Jimin asked as he rounded the corner with a large plastic parcel in hand, his plump cheeks very pink from the liquor and blown out cutely. Your focus came crashing back to the mysterious parcel in his small hands.

You tried to scour the corners of your buzzing mind but couldn't remember what you'd bought online for the life of you. You gently took the package from your roommate and squinted down at your name written on the label, earning muffled sounds of amusement from the rest of the guys watching you attempt to read. "I seriously forgot, but anyway let me open it..."

"Uh uh, no way," a scolding tone came from behind you when you reached for the scissors on the kitchen benchtop. You squeaked in surprise when Taehyung yanked them away from your grasp, and he darted to the side playfully before you could even think of chasing him up.

"Yeah, if anyone it'll be Tae using the scissors since he hasn't even had a drink." Hoseok laughed, poking your cheek when you grumbled and pouted.

The others went back to the game playing on the TV while you, Taehyung and Jimin stood around to open the package. It was incredibly soft underneath the plastic wrapping, and the more that was peeled away the more you remembered your spontaneous buy.

"Oh!" You pulled up the massive lump of lime green and white cotton, the largest smile breaking out onto your flushed face. "It's the wearable blanket I wanted!"

"Wearable ... what now?" Yoongi murmured from his spot on the couch.

"Blanket," you finished, and threw the long, heavy bundle of soft material over your head. It acted as a hoodie of sorts, only oversized to the absolute max. The warm buttery feeling of the wool against your skin had you melting on the spot in the best possible way.

"What's it like?" Taehyung murmured quietly when your eyes began to flutter shut in ecstasy, any hint of the chill in the air vanishing in an instant. He seemed to be gripped in a childlike fascination for how truly extra the item of clothing - or blanket? - was. You tried not to flush even more when he stepped closer to gently pinch some of the material between his long fingers, large wonderful eyes widening at the feeling.

"So soft, and warm," you hummed in response to his question, stepping away from him to sink back into the couch now that you were quite literally drowning in fluffy blanket-like fabric. Your hazy mind could barely comprehend anything that was happening around you now that you were reaching peak levels of comfort.

Taehyung followed you down, and you vaguely registered the dip in the couch cushion as he perched himself next to you. Your eyes were closed in pure bliss, but the brief aroma of his lavender lotion swimming around your head told you it was him. You could never mistake this addicting scent; you'd grown to like it way too much in these past few months.

Too bad you were too inebriated to really act on your small crush now, considering he was literally sitting beside you and giving his full, undivided attention for the first time ... ever, actually.

The following hour flew by, but you were still completely lost in the softness of your toasty hoodie-blanket hybrid. There was no doubt that the novelty would last a long time yet, seeing how Jimin would whine out of jealousy every ten minutes or so until you finally caved, letting him have a 'turn' for an entire 60 seconds before demanding it back.

It was cold, and you were a cuddly drunk...

As the boys continued with their game, you soon felt a slight pressure rest on your shoulder ever so slightly. You cracked one eye open to see a mop of black curls out of the corner of your eye, but the haziness flooding your brain meant you couldn't really feel as flustered as you would've - say a few hours ago.

Taehyung's fingers still fiddled with the thick fabric of your blanket-sleeve, but you could barely feel his touch through the sheer amount of wool in between your arm and his hand. Something about that bugged you, but you couldn't muster the energy to think any harder at this point.

"It's the softest thing I've ever felt," he commented, a small smile evident in the way his tone tapered off into a chuckle.

You sighed and sunk further into the bed of cotton surrounding you. "Yeah, won't last long though considering how much I'm gonna use it during winter. Make the most of it while you can, Tae."

His lips parted in slight shock. "Can I?" the boy asked in a low tone, but for what exactly you still weren't quite sure. You turned your head and blinked open both eyes drowsily, grateful that you'd managed to sober up enough by now that there weren't two of him floating around beside you.

Well, more like on you at this point. You took a quick glance at everyone else to see if they were aware, but nobody was looking, and you were sure nobody would even care. Taehyung was quite touchy with his friends and you'd definitely seen it on multiple occasions, but never with you.

Not yet anyway.

He seemed to take your pause as hesitation rather than confusion. "You just look so huggable all wrapped up in it. I wanna know if it's as warm as it looks, but it's okay I can give you some room." His eyes flickered away from your face for the first time and you instantly felt the absence of his lively gaze.

He wants to hug me!?

"No Taetae c'mon." You allowed the nickname you'd always wanted to use break free - a slip the tongue thanks to the alcohol coursing through your system - and opened up your arms to invite him closer. You watched his eyes light up again like a million stars in the night sky.

"Really?" He giggled, and the sound was so adorable paired with the way his lips formed that box-like shape as he smiled, but he spared you no time for a response.

You felt the air forcefully leave your lungs when he crawled over into your heavily padded arms, his own then wrapping themselves around your waist which was swathed in mounds of cotton. You could feel the way he gently buried his face into a place near your chest. Oh God, did he just nuzzle his way in even further?

Where did he end, and you begin? Your drunken mind couldn't really focus on one singular thought, but somehow you were even comfier than before. You brought your arms back down to rest around his broad shoulders and decided to savour this moment, because you sure as hell weren't going to be able to look him in the eye after tonight.

You weren’t even that close. You being nothing more than his best friend’s roommate, and him a newfound friend you might be harbouring the tiniest crush on, but tonight was different.

"So warm..." he murmured and tightened the hold of his arms, though now you wished you could feel more skin and less wool. You imagined what it might feel like, just you and him and nothing but a normal layer of clothes separating you as you cuddled on the couch. It caused a pleased sigh to float from your lips, and you heard Taehyung let out an amused chuckle in tandem.

Could he be thinking something similar? Hopefully?

"I guess I must feel like a massive teddy bear to you," you managed to say without slurring your words, too drunk on the feeling of warmth and comfort and blossoming affection shrouding your mind.

"Damn right you do, sweetheart."

Even in the midst of all the liquid courage circulating your body you felt your heart skip a beat at the deep, relaxed tone of his voice, not to mention the pet-name. He sat up straighter and pulled you along with him, the expression on his face completely blissed out as he hugged you tighter to his frame. You could feel your heart hammering away in your chest, and just hoped to God there was enough fabric there to muffle the clamour.

There you both sat, locked together and bundled up in the mounds of cotton that was your wearable blanket, all until you drifted off to the best drunk sleep you’d ever had. It was the first of many cuddles you would share, unbeknownst to you at the time, but with a giggling Seokjin using his phone to take a blurry video of you both and a snickering Jimin egging him on, it was easy to see how one thing would lead to another the next day.

Sometimes, it appeared the key to winning over a man's heart was to not only become a body pillow, but become his body pillow. 

Copyright © 2020 by salade. All rights reserved.

[sunflowersseemhappy]

May I please have a headcanon of the Main 6 with an MC that loves physical affection and likes to run their hands through their hair, etc.? Thank you!!

Here you go @acefangirl1 ! Thank you for the request, sorry it’s a bit messy my brain is literal mush rn. I may edit this at a later date ¯\_(ツ)_/¯, we’ll see.

Requests are still open, up next main 6 with an apprentice who’s blind.

Much love and enjoy!

 Asra

Asra spent so long after your death craving your touch, sometimes he thought he felt your hand on his shoulder but all he turned around to was a silent shop. Faust helped but part of him always felt empty inside.

When he took that chance to bring you back and it worked? Gods he held you so tight, as if you would vanish at any moment.

When you came back you didn't quite understand 'hugging' but it felt good.

Asra taught you many things in the last three years, it's the main reason you are so physical in your affection. Whenever you struggled with a word he'd envelop your hand in his, and when you walked for the first time he held you just in case, and when you cried tears of frustration he would wipe them away and hug you kissing the top of your head. "You can do this; I know you can."

Your touch to him is like magic, despite any thoughts and feelings he feels in that moment your touch brings him peace and soothes his mind.

You learned quickly that Asra is a big fan of massages, as soon as your hands are rubbing firm circles against his shoulders he's melting down and sighing in relief. For someone usually so at ease he has some tension in those muscles. He insists on giving you a massage afterwards, and he loves to kiss your shoulders and the back of your neck.

You two have this thing you do while out and about together that you'll hold each other’s hands when you are thinking about each other. Asra will take many opportunities to kiss your hand while it's in his own.

When you're lying together in bed you can't keep your hands off each other, it's quite funny because Asra is constantly giggling under your touch and against your lips. It’s not that he’s ticklish, he’s just happy.

His hair is so thick that it always has tangles so you’re extra careful not to tug at it when you run your hands through his locks. Loves when your fingers tickle against his scalp and it is an instant turn on.

Nadia

That night she came to your shop and you placed your hand on her arm, guiding her in…

She’s the countess and it’s a surprise to her when you touch her with such ‘familiarity’ like the two of you are friends. But it’s oddly comforting, no one has touched her in such a manner since she awoke three months ago.

When you touched her arm Nadia’s headache stopped and her skin prickled, she was intrigued.

You’ve helped a lot since that moment, your touch a breath of fresh air as it chases away the headaches. It’s like your own practice in managing your headaches and lost memories flows into her.

On days, the two of you are working together preforming the duties in the palace you are almost constantly linked together by your arms. It’s a refined manner of physical affection that you suggested, but Nadia just likes it for how close it brings you together and how easy it is to peck you on the cheek.

During meetings and the like (when the courtiers are stressing her out) you like to place a hand on her knee soothingly and just give her the slightest smile. Almost as if to say; “I’m here.”

Nadia’s favourite thing is when you get her to rest her head in your lap, talking away as you trace her face with your fingers and loose her hair from all the ornaments and pins that held it in place. A lot of time you end up doing upside down kisses.

Being such a dominant partner Nadia likes the physical affection but can’t help but take over during more heated sessions. She’ll push you against a wall and absolutely devour your face and neck with kisses, what happens next is best left to the imagination…

Julian

He’s spent a long time on the run, seeking comfort with drink instead of with others. You may have been the first person to touch him with good intentions in many years and he is comforted. There’s something about you.

But he doesn’t want to get close, physically, or otherwise. He doesn’t want to hurt you even though he barely knows you, but you touch him, and he loses his resolve to push you away.

When you touch him, he doesn’t feel like a bad person, he just feels like himself. A part of him he thought he lost comes back when he’s with you.

Loves having his hair run through your fingers, it’s so relaxing and perfect that it will send him to sleep. He gets pouty after you use it to make him sleep because he doesn’t need sleep when he has a paper to write!

He really likes it when the two of you are snuggled up together in bed (even though he’s such an insomniac). He's all legs so the two of you are always tangled up when you're hugging. Nonetheless he really likes to lay on top of you, his torso straddled by your legs and rest his chin on your chest and look into your eyes while having a chat.

Loves your kisses but always asks for them “I’ve stolen many things Y/N but I will never steal from you.” You give him plenty of kisses, but he always wants more.

One time he complained that his hand was cramping so much it hurt so you took his hand and kissed it ‘better’. His mind instantly thought ‘more kisses?!’, now he complains about his ‘aches and pains’ all the time.

Muriel

Physical affection?! His guard was most definitely up the first time the two of you met, other than Asra he’s never quite experienced affection (even then there is minimal physical affection between them).

But he does know that Asra trusts you, Asra has told Muriel about you and how kind and good you are. Muriel trusts Asra, so maybe he can trust you too.

The first time you graze his arm he pulls tensely back, but your touch brought warmth to his skin and not pain like he had felt all those years in the Colosseum.

Once he gets used to your physical affection it’s like he’s addicted to your hugs, you hug so often they just blend together. He's a hug machine and doesn't want to stop holding you close to him.

Really likes hugging while you're on top of him. Scared to admit that he loves hugging you when he's partway on top of you, legs wrapped up and head against your chest or the crook of your neck.

One day you decided to jump and hug him from behind, impromptu piggyback ride!

Mumbles incoherently when you give him any kind of affection, you can’t tell if he’s embarrassed or pleased. More often it’s the latter.

You often pecks one of his cheeks with a kiss as you leave for the shop, but on days Muriel feels like he needs more than one he’ll pull you close and let you kiss all over his face. Then he’ll do the same to you, this may or may not have gotten him in the mood.

Further on the above, he whines when you tease him and kiss his face everywhere but his lips. One of the few times he pulls you in for a kiss

Forehead touches, that’s it. Soft, sweet, breaths mingling. Just being there with each other and feeling the world disappear.

Portia

She thinks it’s great you are so physically affectionate, the two of you are ‘affectionate’ buddies and it is an endless cycle of hugs, kisses, hand holding and more hugs.

That first day you met (after the pomegranates went everywhere) and your hand gazed her own, Portia didn’t quite realise how close the two of you would be one day, but she knew you were special!

The past few years where Julian disappeared were hard for her, other than Mazelinka she had no family to speak of around her. So, when you came along bringing physical affection reminiscent of a family member, she thought of you as such.

Physical affection with Portia is giddy and fun, you quickly found out that she really likes to be picked up and spun around (given you’re strong enough, if not she’ll be the one picking you up). Particularly after a long time apart (which for her is after a couple of hours after you last saw one another!) But how could you deny her the joy?

At particularly intimate moments the two of you just rub your noses together and giggle at the ridiculously cute sappy people you are. You’re pretty sure Portia got the idea from Pepi, who also likes to stick her face in yours.

Further to the above, after/during the time you are rubbing your noses together the two of you just messily kiss over each other’s faces. Cue getting in the mood.

Cupping each other’s faces in hands and just soul gazing, feeling breaths wash over each other and mingle, memorising the colours and patterns in each other’s eyes and feeling each blemish over smooth skin. Portia can’t remember her parent’s faces, but no matter what she wants to remember yours.

Loves to just snuggle up and read/sew/or do another homey activity together. You two are close together and get to chat, its terribly mundane but Portia really enjoys it because your head is in her lap and she gets to watch you do something you enjoy while also doing the same thing herself. She imagines it to be something her mother would have done with her.

Lucio

That day you used the blood magic to make him semi-corporeal, he was just about ready to admit defeat and just do the most reckless s**t as a not-ghost to entertain himself.

But when you, the first person in three years to notice him and then touch him, did so he almost lost his mind. He didn’t think he missed physical affection that much, but your touch was better than all his imaginings of eating until he passed out or throwing that huge party he had been planning.

It was a special moment for him, he’s so glad you walked into the palace that day.

Just the simple act of hand holding is what Lucio loves most. It is a must have during his day, reminding him he is finally alive and here. Reminding him that you, you wonderful, amazing person stood by him and helped him be better.

That said he always holds your hand with his real arm, once time when you tried to hold his prosthetic hand the sharp fingers stabbed you in the palm. Even when the sharp plates are off, he’s very wary of holding your hand. You can tell he’s still very sorry, he’s still trying to make up for it.

He loses his mind (there’s a lot of that) when your big spoon him and kiss along his back, shoulders, and neck. He feels protected and vulnerable at the same time and it’s such a jumble of conflicting emotions he can’t help but get in the mood.

Plays footsie with you anytime anywhere, during dinner, meetings, in bed… It’s like a game and whoever wins gets to have the other do whatever they want *wink, wink*. He ‘let’s you win a lot’.

You once took the lead during a slow dance and he was didn’t even complain, so long as your hands are on him… He will let you dip and twirl him all night long.

[statticscribbles]

Puppy

Summary: Reggie/Reader Request: Reggie avoids you because he overhears you talk to Kevin about your perfect guy (comic book character) so as he’s avoiding you, you keep trying to get his attention, and finally you end up kissing him cause he’s just pining after you like  lovesick puppy; after the confession and when you start dating the “lovesick puppy act” gets worse

“Kevin I’m being serious!” You smack his arm as he laughs. “No it’s just funny he doesn’t seem like the type you’d go for.” “And what do you know about my type.” You laugh with him and he smirks. “Reggie, what would you say Y/N’s type it?” You can see Reggie frown before shaking it off. “Tall, dark haired, plays football.” He winks and you smile at him. “Wow that’s so off model it’s kind of sad.” Kevin nods solemnly and you smack his arm again. “You do have to admit it though, I mean the muscles, and the hair, plus have you seen him wearing a shirt? He practically never does!” “That’s sort of the point you know that right, not wearing a shirt to attract the ladies, you included apparently.” Kevin smirks and you scowl watching Reggie almost storming out.

“I’m guessing Reggie’s not a fan of the reboot then?” You chew your lip. “You think he knew we were talking about the newest edition? I mean we’ve talked about the second volume for months so-“ “I don’t think he cares about what I talk about, you on the other hand.” “Kev, he doesn’t care about comics half as much as you do, let alone me; how much do you think he thought I was talking about a real person.” “I mean inability to keep a shirt on just screams Sweet Pea, you know that right?” “Dammit; now I have to go find him to explain don’t I.” “It works out perfectly you explain your crush to him.” “My crush on-“ “On Reggie, not that paper cutout you have in your room.” You roll your eyes and run after where you think Reggie is.

You weren’t able to find him before science but you know having to sit next to him will at least give you an excuse to explain the comic book misunderstanding. You frown when he doesn’t look at you, doesn’t talk to you. You’re stuck doing busy work since your actual teacher is out; so the chance to talk goes out the window until lunch at the earliest; since you don’t share any other classes with him. You pass him in the hallway and wave and you can tell he makes a point to turn his head away. You try to brush it off, concocting reasons for his sudden change in attitude. You complain to Kevin during math and he just laughs at your ridiculous theories. “Oh yeah, and what do you think has a stick up his ass so bad?” “He likes you; it’s why he’s so bothered by your crush you realize that right?” “Kevin that’s ridiculous; he’s Reggie freaking Mantle, he can have anyone in the school; why would he want me?” “Do you want the list alphabetically or by popularity?”

“Popularity?” “You’re a River Vixen, you’re into those weird old books that he doesn’t admit he likes; since you’re a River Vixen you have a great figure, you know how to dance, you like Pop’s.” “Kev it’s Riverdale, everyone likes Pop’s. That one doesn’t count.” “You know you two order the same thing, every time right?” “No we don’t; do we?” he laughs nodding as you make your way to lunch. “Hey Reggie” Kevin nods to him and he looks up, turning slightly away from you to focus on Kevin. “Yeah?” “What’s your standing Pop’s order.” “Burger wise or in general?”

“Isn’t the burger in general, or do you order something we don’t know about?” “You thinking about making a run down to Pop’s cause I know pretty much everyone would kill for that.” He grins and Kevin smirks. “Yeah, you wanna help me carry shit? Meet by your car in five?” Reggie nods vanishing to the parking lot and Kevin grins. “So I want a cheeseburger, extra onions and-“ “Kev why are you- No, no he’s been avoiding me all day!! I’m not going to sit with him to get Pop’s!” “You’re getting Pop’s?” You cringe at Archie and Jughead’s hovering. “Yeah, write down what you want.” You scowl holding out a spare piece of paper.

“Reggie, Kevin asked if I could go instead, he has theatre stuff to; okay.” You sigh as he opens the door silently walking around to the drivers seat. You’re silent the entire car ride, trying to start conversation but the lack of even a glance your way keeps you quiet. Reggie doesn’t say anything just holding his hand out so you stop getting out of the car. “Wait.” He says it more to the car than to you and you huff, grumbling under your breath as he pulls the list from where you set it in the cupholder. He appears moments later. “What do you want?” You decide to give him a taste of the silent treatment and point to your order you’d written. “That’s mine.” He clarifies and you point to it again glaring. ‘So you want the same thing as me?”You nod and he laughs dryly. “Won’t even talk to me great.” “Say’s the one.” You hiss and he glares openly at you.

“Well I’m not the one with a crush on someone they can’t have now am I? So who’s the real loser.” “You.” He groans and slams the door retreating back into Pop’s to order and wait for the food. You watch from the car window as he pulls the bags towards himself, you lean towards the door, opening it and walking through. “Let me help.” He doesn’t say anything sliding two of the bags towards you. He silent until you put the food in the backseat. You buckle your seatbelt waiting for him to start the car. “Listen I don’t care about whoever you have a crush on. Just making that clear.” You sigh looking up to the ceiling of the car. “Me you mean, you don’t care about me.” “Who said that?” “You did, or rather didn’t; I’ve been trying to get your attention all day to explain.” “Explain what?” “Comic books.”

“Is that code for something? Or slang for you wanting some Jangle? Cause I don’t sell; what I get is my own-“ “Kevin and I, we were talking about comic books earlier.” “Oh good for you?” “That crush isn’t on a real person.” “Oh well alright then; once again good for you. So there are other crushes?” He questions glaring slightly; you realize he didn’t want to actually talk with you. You don’t respond as he drives back to school. “Grab the food?” You ask as he stays unmoving in the car; he must catch you rolling your eyes with how he scoffs. “What? I’m going to grab the damn food.” He snaps.

“Yikes, there’s no need to be in such a pissy mood, I get you’re hungry but-“ “I’m in a pissy mood cause you’ve been avoiding me for the entire day!” “I’ve been avoiding you? I’ve been trying to get your attention since you stormed off after the crush misunderstanding!” You scowl as he shoves the other bag of food towards you. “I can avoid whoever I want regardless of how I actually feel about you.” You snap at him. “You feel differently than avoidance about me? Hard to believe; but at least you admit you were avoiding me.” You laugh shaking your head.

“The only reason I’m admitting it is so you won’t complain for the next week about how much of a bitch I’m being.” Reggie sets the food on the hood of his car leaning over you. “Don’t put words in my mouth.” He hisses about to pull the food back over when you tug on his arm. “Reggie.” Your voice is soft and you can tell he’s confused but you’re relieved as you pull yourself towards him. You’re quick about pressing your lips to his, intent on kissing him and bringing everyone their food so he doesn’t get the chance to ask you about it.

It works and as you shove Jughead’s burger into his hands you scowl when you realize your order was packed with Reggie’s. You’re about to turn around to look for him surprised to find the burger and extra fries sitting at the spot on the table you’ve claimed. “Oh thank you.” You say more toward the general table but jump slightly when Reggie’s arm lays on your shoulder. “No problem.” He seems relaxed as you sit down, he sits next to you and you cast a look to Kevin who nods, you’re thankful he’ll be able to talk later. “These are yours.” You nod to the fries and he shakes his head. “Don’t want them.” “You don’t want the cheese fries you ordered?” “Not in the mood for them anymore.” You smile pulling them closer. “You’re welcome to them, since they are yours.” He nods relaxing slightly settling closer to you as he sits.

You sigh when the bell rings, standing to grab your bag confused when Reggie hands it to you. Kevin appears, walking with you to English. “So what was that about?” He mumbles as your teacher finishes the lesson for the day. “We kissed.” “So you just skipped confessing your crush then?” He laughs and you join him. “I guess I did; we’re probably going to have to talk later.” “You better, I’m not letting you get away with not confessing to him. I don’t think he’s going to either.” He nods and you smile confused as Reggie stands at the door smirking. “Can I walk you home?” “You have a car.”

“Walk sounds better.” You arch an eyebrow. “How is walking better than you being able to drive your car?” Kevin nods as he leaves and you walk towards the door. “Well like this.” He steps to the side, slightly closer, his hand grasping yours. “You don’t want to drive because you can’t hold my hand?” You watch a blush creep onto his face. “Maybe.”

“You know you can hold my hand while you’re driving.” “I didn’t want to assume anything.” “Well we kissed, and I do have a crush on you.”’ “So you do have a type?” He straightens up beaming; and you laugh. “Yeah, you were right about the tall dark haired footballers. AKA you.” You wink and he laughs. “Do you want to go out sometime.” “Besides this?” You nudge him and he shakes his head. “This isn’t going out, I’m walking you home.” “From being out, together.” “School doesn’t count as a date.” He counters and you rolls your eyes. “Well you’ll just have to plan a date then.” He nods eagerly and you smile as he reaches your door.

You’d been dating Reggie for a week and Kevin is constantly pointing out how much Reggie’s acting like a puppy. “Kev, it’s not a thing, you’re exaggerating.” “Point proven, look.” You’re standing behind him so you know Reggie can’t see you but you can see him. He’s laughing with the rest of the Bulldogs and nods to Kevin; you watch as Kevin moves, and Reggie’s face softens and he smiles excitedly.

“Babe!” He moves from the rest of the bulldogs pulling you into a hug. “Oh my god he’s right.” “Who’s right?” Reggie pulls back slightly and you shake your head. “I’ll tell you later, we’re still on for Pop’s after the game right?” He nods leaning down to kiss you. “Of course, it’s tradition.” “This is the first time we’re doing it.” “And after it’s tradition.”

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D&D Quotes Without context

Miscellaneous Edition, for those quotable lines from between sessions

"All I wanna do, is fork a giant woman! A giant woman!" "Jonni, I'm pretty sure she is some type of undead, probably a vampire. Are you sure that is a good idea?" "If I don’t get turned into a blueberry it won’t be my worst date." "Okay, but if you have to defend yourself just don't burn the place down for once." "Oh, Nyx. Sweet summer child. I never make promises we both know I won’t even try to keep." "Jonni, if I wake up to my bed surrounded in flames again I'm short-sheeting your next bed every night for at least a month." "I know you're trying to score here, but Lady Dimitrescu's daughters are literally vampires AND bugs. I can overlook one, but as a Paladin, it is my sacred duty to burn this place to the ground and stir the ashes."

"We don't let Marshall make breakfast anymore." "Those waffles are well-fortified." "I'm going to be charitable and call it hardtack." "We can use these waffles as melee weapons." "Well if we need to deflect siege engines they'll be good to have." "This is still carbon based and digestible by human systems without any poisons." "I can't serve this. It'll cause ... death." "Marshal we've been over this. This Pizza has 10% less of a lethal amount of grease." "Plus they signed the waivers when they bought a ticket. It's fine." "And don't forget to push the Cakeon." "Cakeon being slices of cake wrapped in bacon." "The special sauce is a mixture of mayonnaise, ketchup, mustard, ranch, horseradish, cheddar cheese, sour cream, and anything unfortunate enough to fall into the mixing vat."

"You do have a copy of the legal code I requested in my letter? As landed gentry you should actually have legal avenues to... I'm sorry did you say Burning child?"

"First I'm going to nail a crossbow bolt through your heart. Then I'm going to mount your balls to walls on opposite sides of this chamber." "I need Three Barrels of Butter" "Are you serious? Those Claws could crush an elephant in full plate!" "You're Right!" *Turns to first person* "We might need more than three barrels of butter."

"So Ioun is the patron of poor college kids. that scans "

"its hardtack or a mug of molten cheese-fried... something in a woven mug of bacon. your choice."

"Welp, all this coke ain't gonna snort itself..."

"Right hand me that dress and the bail money. I'll get Jonni." OOC: Well I mean they allow men in the city. Its just no men live in the city. "I stand by my statement. I'm allowed to look pretty every now and then." OOC: And dragons are the most unprejudiced lovers of anyone after bards.

OOC: Well I mean come on, its Ravenloft: saying a place is of death and madness is like making the observation the day ends in y. "Going out. Getting laid." "Jonni, she’s a werewolf." "Going out, forking a werewolf." OOC: Well Lycanthropy isn't usually sexually transmitted. Its just that Mercedes is a biter. OOC: ...I don't have an appropriate response to that.

"You seriously think I’d turn on my friends for a pile of gold?!?" "sigh I’ll show you my tits. "Hot damn, let’s get these murders done!" "No, Jonni, stay good. Besides, there are plenty of other girls who will do that without asking you to murder us." "Hmmmm… this is the moral quandary of my life…" "I’ll give you five bucks." "Scales tipped!" "Phew, I thought I was going to have to cover her next trip to the topless bar." "No, no, I have the bail money right here."

Nyx: So what’s the inside of Jonni’s head like? Edmund (with thousand yard stare): Imagine every ladies only smut magazine you’ve ever heard of going on forever into infinity while everything is on fire. Food was good though.

"It’s cool. They stole it." "And you know this how?" "Magic." “90% of Ravenloft deaths are mysterious vanishings.” "Why does everything come out covered in glitter and … is that …" "Lube. I’ve got a few theories." "Please don’t share them."

OOC: This is a plan that ends with Strahd having fewer brides, his castle is in flames, and he’s lost his cape.

OOC: Our team consists of a horny pyromancer, a gnome who can fillete you in five seconds, an HP lovecraft protagonist with actual magic backing them up, a literal slab of iron with a face, and a guy with a "I went to the eternal city of Ryleth and all I got was PTSD and this lousy T shirt". Gorbash smashing his shield into their face: "Have! You! Considered! Therapy!" OOC: Good news is you guys will no longer be the most conspicuous guys at the masquerade now. Jonni: Challenge accepted! "Nyx, the bounty on stealing his fake mustache is still on."

"Vanilla is the king of flavors. What does it say about society where vanilla is considered just 'regular'?" "That they have a lot of vanilla." Lash: "Don’t you want wishes?" Jonni: "Do I need wishes to get to see you naked?" Lash: "No?" Jonni: "Fuck ‘em." Vesh: "Oh dammit its my arranged fiance." Pit Fiend: "Milady." Vesh: "An extra wish to whoever punches this douchecanoe in the nards." Jonni: "I wish…for Bigby’s clenched fist of nard punching."

Soth: "Oh, gods, why am I on fire and why is Immigrant Song playing?" Jonni: "Take a guess." Hazlik: "Okay, so its a partridge, stuffed inside a chicken, stuffed inside a duck, stuffed inside a turkey, and the whole thing is fried on a stick. Congratulations, that's the most horrible thing I have ever seen, and I once crossbred an elephant and an owl." "I give him the 'itis, and we run like we stole something." OOC: ...weirdly Curse of Strahd has stats for Strahd zombies but not Strahd Skeletons. Or Strahd's skeletal Steed. Strahd once went to a branding seminar hosted by Bane and it changed his life.

"Are we on a high enough floor that if I throw him through the window he'll be killed by the fall?" "Oh, but when I say stuff like that it’s all 'Jonni, murder is wrong.'" "When they say pick your battles they don't mean to pick all of them. That's too many battles Jonni. Put some back." OOC: He's technically already got a symbiote. OOC: They can get married. Gorbash: "I'm increasing the rent." Venom: "Can I keep the pool table?" Gorbash: "I'm not a monster." Giant Brain: "Jonni… I have summoned you here for… WHY AM I ALREADY ON FIRE! PUT ME OUT! PUT ME OUT!"

"Hello We're the party-crashers. This is Jonni, she's here to steal your women and burn your shit down. That's Nyx, she's going to repatriate certain items from the premise. Marshal over there, is here to studiously ignore our shenanigans. This is the New Guy. He seems pretty chill. I'm Gorbash... and I have been distracting you."

"Will you walk into my parlour?" said a spider to a fly. Jonni: "Hold up. Trying to sex a spider." Nyx: (throws her hands up) And then Jonni wakes up with a spider venom hangover webbed to a wall waiting to be eaten. Jonni: "Eh, I’ve had worse one night stands. I’m not a fucking blueberry." OOC 1: Hey, where does your weed elf grow [her] crops? OOC 2: She probably just grows them in the room she hasn’t paid rent on. OOC 3: Because I was also considering a circle of spores druid tortle. OOC 2: We could be partners! We could turn this into road to el dorado staring Cheech and Chong. OOC: Wait, I just realized five people are hanging out in a pirate bar, and none of us are rogues. We are gonna need someone to get thieves tools. OOC: We have a barbarian with a big stick.

"Are we Foxhound now? Blunderbuss Octopus." OOC1: You want to put the stoner in charge of food. OOC2: Eyup. OOC1: I see no way this can go wrong! OOC3: We need the four basic food groups. Beans, Bacon, Whisky, and Lard. “We pray to Almighty Darkseid! Give us a sign! Thumbs up, for the triumph of the human spirit! Thumbs down to begin the everlasting reign of darkness!” “Where did you find this guy?” “Me? I thought you hired him.” OOC: Yup, nature, arcana, history, investigation and religon at +6. MJ got baked and watched the Discovery Orb a lot. Tordek: "But we have a cleric, Jozan, over there." Strahd: *sigh* Snaps fingers, and suddenly one of Strahd's brides sucks Jozan out the window, cue screaming. "Oh look, you suddenly have an opening, how fortunate." Tordek: "We also have a druid...." Vadania: "SHUT UP, TORDEK!" Edmund: "I think the first order of business may be to discuss your Human Resources strategy..." Strahd: "I have a guy for that too."

"When someone as smart as him talks with himself, it's not crazy...They call it monologing." "I thought it was soliloquy?" "No, soliloquy is when you're talk at someone else when your talking to yourself." "Most people would run from a demon, you run towards it to study it." Professor: "THIS IS ABSOLUTELY FASCINATING! A FROGHEMOTH, AND RIGHT UP CLOSE, IT WILL BE AMAZING TO SEE THIS PERFECT KILLING MACHINE IN ACTION." OOC: Also note the Professor is Lawful Good, Archie is Chaotic Good, so collectively they balance out to Neutral good. OOC: That's good. "The incinerations will continue until morale improves!" “You never incinerate the women!” “Because I’m fucking them!” “I… was not expecting you to be so honest about that…”

"You got what you wanted....but you lost what you had...." "Yes, I'm familiar with how capitalism works."

OOC: Dragons are like, “That’s Krandor the shiney. He only fucks other dragons. Weirdo.”

Gorbash: "D'awww, so tiny... perfect size... FOR PUNTING!" *boots tiny mind-flayer into the horizon*

"Dracula hasn't been spotted in almost recently. Whats he gonna do, destroy all we know and love like he definitely can?" "... my god you people are too stupid to live." "What are you doing in my house?" Gorbash: "...well Edmund has been reading your books, I've been sorting through your armory, Nyx and Irost has been going through your other shinies, Marshal has been cleaving anything monstrous that gets too close, and Jonni has been lighting things on fire to stave off boredom." Gorbash: "Okay Marshal, Jonni. Rock, paper, scissors over who gets [to kill] the bishop."

Jonni: "Did you really think this would make up for what you did?" Nima: "I… killed everyone you grew up with." Jonni: "Yeah, and I’m still not forgiving you for what you did to Eddie." Nima: "I am missing some key context here…" Nima: "Also I committed identity theft on you by having my new undead army tell everyone you are running the show." Jonni: "Oh, no. You’ve fooled the boar tribe. Who still haven’t figured out shitting in a hole." Nima: "Yeah I noticed that. I ruined two pairs of shoes attacking their camps."

[ofheroesandvillains]

Wishful Thinking - Billy Russo

Billy Russo x fem!reader oneshot Words: 3.1k Warnings: None Requested by anon

Hi everyone! Figured I’d get back into the swing of this writing thing. Super duper rusty, but I’ll have some more Geralt content out this weekend. Sorry for the long wait, but here’s some Billy to tide you over. I’ve tried to incorporate the whole request, but let me know if it’s trash, anon! Until then, stay safe everyone, I hope you’re all being careful and doing well!

(gif not mine)

You knocked on the door.

Every Friday night was date night. Well, they weren’t really dates, and if Billy was out of town then it wasn’t really every Friday night, but that didn’t matter. It was tradition, and tonight you’d decided to upgrade from eating takeout on your couch to actually heading outside for a change, which brought you one floor up to Billy’s apartment. 

Karen had talked you into finally confessing your feelings after what she dubbed ‘a year of sniffing around each other’, and even though she had good intentions, you wouldn’t deny agreeing just to get her off your back. 

Billy Russo was not a man interested in women like you. He didn’t have dinner dates with the women he slept with, he didn’t play board games with them, or binge their latest TV addiction while they were sprawled out on the couch in worn old sweatpants and no make-up. No, he did those things with you, his best friend, because that’s what best friends did. 

You wouldn’t delude yourself into thinking he had some kind of crush on you just because Karen said so. 

You knocked on his door for the second time.

“Come on, Russo,” you mumbled under your breath. 

There wasn’t a peep on the other side, and you frowned.

“Fine. Have it your way.”

You dug a hand into your handbag, fingers searching for his spare key. Just in case, he’d said when he gave it to you, but he didn’t seem too mad when you used it everyday since. If he didn’t want you using it, he wouldn’t have given it to you in the first place.

The light was on when you stepped inside, and his car keys were on the countertop. 

“I was wondering how long it’d take you to bust down my door.”

“Christ!” You jumped, and whirled around at the sound of his voice.

His lips were quirked into a small smirk, and you suddenly knew why he hadn’t answered. Bare skin, lots of bare skin, and nothing but a towel to hide it from you. Your gaze quickly dropped to the carpet, heart thundering in your chest, and you knew he’d enjoy watching you squirm. It was a running joke you had going with each other—that you were the Penelope to his Pepé Le Pew, the only woman immune to his charms and good looks, and the only one he was desperately in love with. Of course, that’s all it was—a joke.

Billy didn’t do relationships. And you? Well, you weren’t lucky enough to be the one that change his ways.

“I, um…sorry. I shouldn’t have…” you trailed off, gesturing vaguely to the door.

It took everything in you to keep the embarrassed grimace off your face when his legs crossed your line of sight. 

“Real interested in the carpet, huh?” The amusement was clear in his voice.

“Shut up.” You bit back a smile. “You wanna put some clothes on?”

“Nah, I think I’ll wait until you look at me.”

“Billy.”

“Unless you’re secretly grossed out,” he continued, voice dropping to a whisper, “is it the third nipple?”

You laughed, shooting him an exasperated look that brought a wide smile to his face.

“There she is,” he cheered, that same soft look in his eye you’d been trying to decipher for months. “I knew you wanted me.”

“You’re a piece of work, Russo.”

———

It was a hole in the wall. The type of place impossible to find on a map and visited only by those who already knew about it. A friend told a friend who told a friend, and eventually you ended up here. 

“Christ,” Billy mumbled under his breath, warily eyeing the chipped brick and graffitied door. “How’d you say you found this place again?”

It wasn’t exactly appealing on the outside, but the outside wasn’t what mattered. The sun was setting and there was a winter chill in the air you’d rather get out of. 

You slipped a hand into the crook of his elbow and gave it a reassuring squeeze, ignoring the way his gloved hand instinctively dropped to the gun he always had tucked away in the inner pocket of his coat. Looking at him now, dark hair slicked back and dressed to the nines in a coat that cost more than your whole wardrobe, you’d concede that maybe it wasn’t the best idea to bring him out to a place like this.

Then again, if anyone could take care of themselves and you, it was Billy.

“Karen told me about it a few months ago, said Frank loved it.” You shrugged with a small smile. “I thought you might too.”

Billy tore his eyes away from the door to look at you, all traces of apprehension melting away into something softer. You knew that he wasn’t used to people going out of their way for his sake, but that damn look had become increasingly common over the last few months and you had yet to figure out why.

In a blink, he cleared his throat and the look vanished.

“Alright then, lets see what all the fuss is about, huh?” He’d barely taken a step forward before pausing, a thoughtful frown on his face. “Just…maybe stay behind me until I know what we’re up against?”

You rolled your eyes fondly and slipped out of reach to hold the door open for him. He didn’t look too pleased when you glanced over your shoulder. 

“Quick,” you mock whispered, “the little ol’ bartender looks super shady.”

He tried and failed to keep from smiling. With a stern look, you held out a hand and wiggled your fingers. His eyes narrowed, lips curling into a smirk you were all too familiar with. He didn’t have to pluck his gloves off, it was completely unnecessary, but he did anyway and you wouldn’t deny that it felt much better to feel warm fingers engulf your palm than cold leather. 

His eyes, dark and habitually alert, met your own almost cautiously, a look that morphed into his usual confidence the moment your fingers curled around his hand. If his thumb gently swiped over your knuckles, it was certainly an accident.

The inside was just as quaint and cozy as you remembered. A mellow song you’d never heard before, and would likely never hear again, set the mood among the the clinking of glasses and the hum of muted conversation. No one looked up as you passed. Young couples were immersed entirely in each other and old friends had too much to catch up on to care.

There was a booth in the corner with Billy’s name written all over it. He hated not being able to see the whole room sprawled out before him.

Billy slid into the opposite side of the booth with more grace than you’d ever be able to muster, and glanced around the room curiously. You couldn’t help but trace his profile - the curve of his jaw, the slope of his nose, the lines that framed his eyes when he smiled. There was a beauty in him that was rare to find even on runways. He knew he was handsome, but his confidence didn’t just stem from his looks…he was the most capable person you knew. The most reliable friend you had. 

Though, he did have lovely eyes—eyes that locked onto your own with an amused little smirk. 

“So, does it pass inspection? You don’t have to run any background checks?” You asked, as if he hadn’t just caught you staring.

His eyes narrowed.

“You laugh all you want. I’ll have you know that I’ve had to take a bartender down before,” he said matter-of-factly, a slow and reminiscent smile tugging at his lips. “First time Frankie and me came home, got into-“

“-a drinking contest with a biker gang-“

“-and spent the night in a holding cell.” Billy laughed at the memory, a faraway look in his eyes before he shook the thought away. “Didn’t know I told you that one.”

“You didn’t, Frank did.”

One of his brows arched. 

“Oh yeah? You and Frankie talk about me?”

You rolled your eyes at his suggestive tone. That was Billy: your own personal bodyguard one minute, and a flirt the next. Though he usually reserved the flirting for women who genuinely stood a chance—the kind that looked like they were ripped out of the latest edition of Vogue.

“You come up every now and then.”

Billy braced his elbows on the tabletop and leaned forward, voice dropping an octave and sending goosebumps across your arms.

“And what else has he told you?”

There was a knowing look in his eyes that almost made you squirm in your seat, and you found yourself at a loss. There were a million things you could have said, dozens of stories, memories—good and bad. But it was hard to hold onto a thought when he was looking at you like he could read every thought you’d ever had about him.

“Hi! What can I get you kids?”

Billy cleared his throat and sent the old waitress a polite smile.

“I’ll get the…house special?” He peered over at you for reassurance, and you blinked out of your stupor.

“Make it two, Lee. And could we get some wine, please?”

You’d need it.

Leanne owned the place, but she tried to help out as much as her old bones would allow. The few times that you’d waited around for Karen to join you, you’d struck up conversation. She’d told you about her sons, who were set to inherit the place, and her husband Joe who worked in the kitchen.

“Sure thing, kiddo. Won’t be a sec.”

You shared a smile before she was bustling away to the kitchen. Billy shot you a curious look.

“I didn’t realise you knew each other.”

“Yeah, she’s been trying to set me up with one of her sons for weeks,” you laughed.

Billy’s answering smile was tight, but he didn’t have the chance to comment before Leanne was shuffling back over, bottle of wine in hand.

“And, you must be the infamous Billy,” Leanne began, as she poured a glass. “You’re right…he’s such a handsome boy, I can see why you like him so much.”

You busied yourself with your glass of wine the moment he turned his smug little eyes on you. Leanne tattled on some more, all but swooning as Billy charmed her with his handsome smile and velvety words. You’d stopped listening the moment she threw you under the bus, mentally preparing for what was to come. 

“I’ll leave you lovebirds alone,” Leanne said with a motherly smile.

By the time she reached the kitchen, Billy’s smirk had stretched into a grin—a full, breath-taking grin that showcased the lines of his eyes and the perfect rows of his teeth. Damn him.

He looked entirely too smug for your liking. You rolled your eyes.

“Aw, come on. I’m flattered, really,” he laughed.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re gorgeous,” you huffed sarcastically. “You know she’s going to hound me about you whenever she sees me now, right?”

“Sorry,” he shrugged, though he didn’t look the least bit apologetic, “Couldn’t help myself. You get this look when you’re all flustered…”

“I’m not flustered,” you fired back. 

He held his hands up in surrender, lips twitching. “If you say so. But hey, there’s no shame in admitting you’re hot for me, babe.”

“You save that kind of talk for the girls in your harem,” you wagged your finger at him. “I am innocent, your honor.”

He shot you a wicked smile. “Kinky.”

“Why do I put up with you, Russo?”

He bit his bottom lip for a moment before answering.

“Because I’m a handsome boy, ma chérie.”

If his eyes twinkled when you laughed, it was just a trick of the light.

———

One bottle of wine had quickly turned into two, the majority of which you’d had yourself, and by the time Billy was calling for a driver you were fighting to keep your eyes open. He’d tucked you under his arm the moment you stepped out into the snow, eyes scanning his surroundings as they always did, while you waited. He’d forgone his Wraith this time—it wouldn’t survive in one of these streets and though he’d chance the drive with a beer or two in his system (something you’d scold him for endlessly), he’d never risk a passenger. 

“You fallin’ asleep on me, sweetheart?”

Your bleary eyes opened and you realised that yes, yes you were.

“Sorry…”

His chest shook beneath your cheek as he chuckled, and his arm tightened around you.

“’S’alright. Just hold on ’til we sit down, then you can drool all over me if you want.”

You looked up at him with a scowl, one he seemed to find even more amusing.

“I don’t drool.”

He nodded indulgently, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“Of course you don’t, babe. Of course you don’t.”

A car pulled up to the curb, and you felt Billy tense until one of his guys jumped out of the driver’s seat to hold the back door open for you. You ducked inside with a thanks, wondering if he felt as cold as you did without his body pressed against your own. Wishful thinking. At least it was, until he threw his arm around your shoulders and let your head loll back onto his bicep.

“You okay?” He whispered.

You hummed.

“Yeah. Yeah, ‘m good.” Your eyes peeled themselves open to peer up at him, transfixed by the way his Adam’s apple bobbed when he noted just how close your lips were to each other’s. “You?”

Though there was no outward sign of it, you felt his chest heave as he took a deep, steadying breath and smiled.

“Never better.”

———

It wasn’t unusual for you to spend the night in his apartment or vice versa, it was one of the benefits of being neighbours, but Billy was adamant that he wasn’t leaving you alone in your current state—no matter how ‘fine’ you said you were. He helped you out of your shoes before you could track muck all over his carpet as you stumbled your way to his bedroom. 

“Hey, no,” he caught your elbow. “Gimme your coat first.”

Your sober self would have been mortified having Billy tend to you like a child, but he didn’t seem to mind. In fact, there wasn’t a hint of exasperation about him as he hung your coat up by the door.

“C’mon, lets get you to bed.” 

You knew his apartment as well as your own, but still he pressed a warm hand to the small of your back and guided you to his bedroom—where you promptly collapsed onto his bed with a groan.

“I’ll get you a change of clothes.”

“Mmm…gonna take more than some wine to get me naked, Russo.”

You chuckled at your own joke, and his eyes crinkled with his smile.

“Damn. There goes that plan, huh?”

He walked back over with a t-shirt and some old shorts.

“I’ll, uh, I’ll use the bathroom to get changed, you let me know when you’re done, yeah?”

“M’kay.”

He stared down at you for a moment, before giving a fond little shake of his head and making his way to the bathroom.

Your bones felt heavy, and you could have fallen asleep right then and there, feet hanging off the edge of his bed, and jeans digging into your skin. But you managed to muster enough energy to dump all but your panties at the foot of his bed and throw on the clothes he’d left you. Oh yes, falling asleep to his scent would be much better than your own. 

“I’m done!” You tried to shout as you slipped under the cold covers, but it came out weak and you didn’t care enough to try it again.

The bathroom door swung open anyway, so it had done the job. It wasn’t fair, you thought absently, that he could look so good even in a plain old shirt and some sweatpants. 

He scooped your clothes of the floor, pausing only for a moment when he caught sight of your bra, before laying them on a plush armchair that sat in the corner of the room. He turned the light off, leaving only the blue light of the moon to outline his silhouette as he crawled his way up the mattress to settle beside you.

His head hit the pillow with a content sigh. Until he heard a sniffle.

He frowned. “You cold?”

You shook your head. Billy didn’t like the heat, not anymore, you knew that. “‘M fine.”

It did little to reassure him, and he lifted his arm in invitation.

“C’mere.”

There were worse places to be, you decided, than in Billy Russo’s arms as you drifted off to sleep. You melted against him, cheek pressed to his chest and a leg thrown over his own. If it wasn’t for the way his arm wrapped around you to stroke small circles into your shoulder, you would have thought you’d overstepped. Because yes, you’d spent the night before, but never like this.

But those were thoughts for another time. The rhythmic rise and fall of his chest lulled you to the edge of sleep before his voice jerk you away once more.

“I don’t have a harem, y’know?” He huffed a weak laugh. “Haven’t for a while.”

You hummed, only half listening but feeling obliged to reply nonetheless.

“Why?”

His fingers trailed up to massage the base of your neck and you leaned into his touch like a cat. 

“Don’t want one.”

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” he reassured. “Got quality.”

He seemed to realise that he wouldn’t be getting any more out of you that night, and you vaguely registered something soft pressing against the the top of your head for a few lingering seconds. 

“Sleep, baby. I got you.”

And you did.

———

[bnha-dumpster]

Shattering: Chapter 1

Chapter 1 | NEXT

Shattering: A TodoBakuDeku x Reader fic (more TodoBaku with hints of Deku) Plot: After losing Deku and your two best friends, you didn’t think much more could be taken away from you. You’ve never been more wrong. Word count: 2k

a/n: just finished proofreading the first chapter,,,, enjoy,,,, also i forgot how angsty this fic is??? oof

“It’s not your fault, Katsuki.” It’s rare to see the blond cry, you’ve never seen him truly cry, not like right now. You hold onto his hand tightly. With his free hand, he’s desperately trying to wipe away his tears. They still travel down his face and wet the bedding. Bakugou won’t accept his failures, they’ll eat him from the inside-out before that happens. He hates losing, knowing he’s powerless. You do too, but not with the same intensity that he has. You swear that each loss is like a bullet tearing through him. He may not let people see it, but they get to him. You can tell after knowing him for so long.

Finally, he rips his hand from your grasp and in a broken voice- “Fuck off!”

As much as you want to stay by his side, you nod and leave the room. You shut the door quietly, the click resonating in the silent hospital hallway. You find yourself wandering to the hospital room of another classmate: Todoroki. You don’t bother knocking, you just walk in. Todoroki is sitting, looking out the window of his bare room. Nothing needs to be said between the two of you. He looks at you and you can see the intense sorrow in his eyes. 

“Sho-”

“I know.” There’s no room to argue or try to continue talking, not with the tone of his voice. The way he sits reminds you of the first time you met him. Todoroki was cautious and cold, though often not intentionally. Still, it’s like you’re back to that day where you tried to greet him. You turn away from him and leave his room silently. You’re left to your own thoughts now.

None of you thought something like this would happen. Midoriya had always wanted to be a hero and he was close to reaching that dream. Whatever happened, it broke something inside him. That’s what you think, at least. It’s hard to imagine any sort of scenario that would lead to this. What in the world could drive Midoriya to become a villain? It’s a question that almost certainly doesn’t have an answer.

The dorms look like nothing happened. A month ago, there was a gaping hole in the building and any evidence of it being there is gone now. Everyone that was there knows what the hole looked like. It’s not something that can be so easily forgotten. 

You can remember hanging from one of the higher floors, struggling to keep your grip with your blood-soaked hand. The other was limp at your side, dangling like it was attached by a thread. Your head was pounding and yet you could hear everything going on. Students screaming, sirens, cries of Midoriya’s name. It was all so blurry, as if it was a nightmare. At the time, you couldn’t tell exactly what was happening. The loss of blood probably didn’t help either. What you can clearly remember doesn’t make you feel any better. 

A familiar face with a foreign expression. Midoriya was looking down at you without any care, as if you were nothing more than a bug that was bothering him. At the time, you couldn’t make out the words he was saying, it blended in with everything else. A foot crushed the fingers of your hand and without the strength to endure anymore pain, you let out a pathetic sob, falling. The last thing you remember is watching him look down at you before disappearing.

Compared to some of the other injured students, your injuries weren’t too bad. No broken limbs- a supposed blessing. Your list of injuries included a severely dislocated shoulder accompanied by torn ligaments and damaged muscle, losing a third of your blood mass from multiple gashes caused by debris along with surgeries to remove whatever got stuck in your body, a concussion and lastly, a piece of rebar that went straight through your lower abdomen, narrowly missing your spine. 

It was only recently that you were allowed to get out of bed and start walking around. Naturally, you went to check on everyone. Most of them had at least one broken bone or some serious injury. It’s a miracle that no one died. Midoriya had punched a hole through a load-bearing wall, collapsing one corner of the building. 

“Are you okay to be up?” Aizawa’s voice rumbles behind you. He must have spotted you walking aimlessly in the hall. 

“I was discharged earlier today. Just wanted to visit some people before heading home… I saw him, you know? Midoriya’s eyes weren’t right, not when I looked at him.” You sigh and look down at your hands. “Do we have any idea why he’d do this?” 

The silence of your teacher confirms your fears. He has no idea and you doubt anyone else does. The reason behind Midoriya’s sudden switch hasn’t been found yet. It’s not likely anything will ever be found out. You clench your teeth. Midoriya’s actions have changed how you feel about your future, how everyone feels about their futures. If the world can take a kind person the way it did, what sort of message does that give for the future? You don’t know. It’s obvious when you make eye contact with Aizawa that he’s just as confused as you are. Everyone’s futures have been changed, that’s the silent agreement you make with your teacher.

And, the future really did change because of that day. 

You never did become a hero. The weight of Midoriya’s gaze kept you from truly moving forward with your goal of being a hero. Shortly after everyone was well enough to resume school, physically at least, you dropped out of U.A. suddenly. The only person made aware of your choice was Aizawa, who didn’t talk about it to any of your classmates as you requested. Without any notice, your dorm room was empty and you were nowhere to be seen. There were no goodbyes, you decided to just vanish. Things had never been the same. The two people you consider yourself closest to had grown apart from you. It was as if all the time you spent with them, all the things you did together, didn’t exist at all. Things seemed easier for you to just disappear from everyone’s lives.

You haven’t seen them since. At least, in person. The most you’ve seen of any of your former classmates is on the TV or ads you see when you’re out of the house. You have a habit of buying whatever limited edition products there are if they feature any familiar faces. There’s an untouched package of limited hair dye sitting on your bathroom’s counter- a deep shade of scarlet attempting to match Kirishima’s hair. His smiling face is plastered on the package in a way that’s impossible to ignore. It’s just like the one you used to see when you were training to be a hero beside him. Of course, the product has also been quite silly to you. Anyone that knows Kirishima knows that his vibrant red hair is the result of hair dye. Other silly products are scattered around your apartment, all of them reminding you of the better days. 

“Boss!” You’re snapped out of your thinking from an employee stumbling over himself, a little pale. You sigh and stand up, the boy continues, “A customer asked for you…”

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Who in the hell asked you to get me?” You expect a troublesome customer of your store, one that might be mad about the price of an item. There’s always at least one person a day that argues over prices. You walk out of the small office, sighing as you make your way to the store front. A vaguely familiar form nearly makes you vomit. Green eyes catch yours and the phantom pains from those years ago flood you enough to make you hiss from pain.

“Y/N! It’s been a long time! I’m surprised you didn’t go on to be a hero!” His sweet voice is more irritating than you thought. “What happened to that spirit?”

“I lost it when you looked me dead in the eye and skewered me on a huge pole of rebar.” You do your best to keep your voice level. Right now, you want to scream, but you know better. “I don’t know what you’re doing here, but I suggest you leave.”

“I don’t want to. You’re the only classmate I can talk to without worrying about getting beat up! It’s been years since you’ve used your Quirk, right?” 

“Midoriya…” He takes a step towards you and you instinctively take one back. 

“Are you scared of me, Y/N?” Midoriya reaches out for you but before he can touch you, you’re pulled out of sleep. 

Your mother is gently shaking your shoulder, waking you up. You sigh and rub your temples, thinking about how cruel of a dream you had. Glancing at the clock, you smile at your mom affectionately.

“Guess I fell asleep again, didn’t I?” She laughs at you and ruffles your hair. “Sorry, mom. These late nights are getting to me.”

“It’s alright, dear.” She pauses. “You were muttering his name again, Y/N. Are you ever going to talk to anyone about it? I think you should, it might make you feel better.”

“There’s nothing to talk about mom.” The same worried, motherly expression crosses her face for a moment before she sighs and nods. “I’ll be heading to uni, then.” 

You settle into your seat in the back of the lecture room, pulling out your laptop. Being alone is your preference. It’s easier to be by yourself than it is to spend time with people you probably don’t like. But the room has a good echo and you can hear most of the conversations, no matter how hushed they are. Today, the normally hushed voices that you can barely make out are louder, far more energetic. You’re about to put your earbuds in until you hear something that makes you freeze.

“Did you hear? Ground Zero and Shouto have gone missing!”

For the first time in years, your mind goes back to the last words you had with the two. Neither conversations were good. The thought of either of them getting hurt, despite how much pain you went through when they distanced themselves from you, makes you nauseous. Being invisible to everyone is good, you’re able to sneak out of the lecture room without people noticing. 

You don’t know where you’re going, not even as you knock on the door of the Bakugou residence, breathing heavily. You haven’t seen Mitsuki in years, not since you left. And yet, the woman sees you and you find yourself stuck in the doorway. Not once have you ever seen Bakugou’s mother cry. She’s a strong woman. Right now though, you can tell that she’s holding back tears and you want to come in to comfort her. Tears are in the corners of her eyes. You’ve never seen Mitsuki so vulnerable-looking, so upset. She’s been angry before, but never sad, never this distraught. You’re not sure what to do, but you want to do something.

That want to help disappears the second you hear the angry voice of Kirishima. Your motivation to take a step into the house is no longer there. You haven’t seen them in years and you never said goodbye. They could be angry at you, enraged for your sudden disappearance during such a tough time. Bile rises to the back of your throat. The moment you spot Kirishima’s red hair poke out behind Mitsuki, you sputter out:

“He’s going to be okay, I know it.” 

That’s all you can manage to say before you’re bolting away from the house. You hear her call your name and you know if you look behind you, there’s going to be faces you haven’t seen in years staring at you. So you run, not stopping until you’re standing in front of your apartment. Barely stumbling into your apartment, you collapse in the hallway. You kick the door of your apartment closed. 

“Fuck…” For the first time in years, you choke back a sob. “Fuck- What was I thinking?”

[crystaljins]

When the ice melts

Characters: Jimin x Reader

Word count: 10.8K

Synopsis:  They say never meet your heroes, and never has that been truer than when you meet your idol- former figure skater and two time Olympic athlete, Park Jimin. But maybe you can turn things around...

Sports!au (Figure skating) + prompt: “You did that on purpose, didn’t you?”

Notes: Here is my entry for the btsboulangerie August prompt! I will say, the only things I know about figure skating is from hours of watching Yuzuru Hanyu skate and let’s be real, he inspired a lot of the plotline to this fic. Do yourself a favour and look up the following things on youtube before reading:  Yuzuru Hanyu’s performance at the 2014 Cup of China, his performance to Notte Stellata, and Mao Asada’s performance to Rachmaninoff’s Concerto No. 2 (I can send you the links to all of these if you PM me ;).)

Huge shoutout to @yoongi-sugaglider for her inspiration and encouragement while writing this fic.

EDIT: Now with bonus drabble found here.

Warnings: Mentions of blood, bits of angst and fluff, a few scenes that a bit suggestive but not explicit, mentions of hooking up at a club.

 You’re sceptical from the moment you set foot into the club.

“Are you sure he’s here, Jungkook?” You call out urgently to your friend, struggling to keep up with him amidst the mass of pulsating bodies. You’re surprised he hears you over the heavily thumping bass.

“This is the kind of place you’re always going to find Jimin in. At least since his accident, that is.” Jungkook answers ominously as he continues to plough carelessly forward. He is nowhere near as uneasy as you are in such a place. As he loves to remind you, he has actively engaged in a social life outside of the ice rink you spend most of your waking hours in. In fact, after high school he actually lost most of his interest in being on the ice, despite his former status as a talented and well-loved hockey player. Instead he now focuses his attention into his degree in sports science. He still works at the ice rink your father owns part time, however, and it was during one of his shifts that he let slip that he personally knew your hero and idol, Park Jimin.

It was that fact that had led you to your current location. Park Jimin, two-time Olympic gold medallist and possibly the most skilled and talented figure skater in the history of the sport, had dropped off the ice-skating radar just two years prior. Such a fact had not deterred you from viewing him with the adoration and eagerness that only a loyal fan could understand. And so, the revelation that your good friend Jungkook knew him personally could only have one possible outcome. You had demanded that he introduce you to your hero. You’ve been a fan of Jimin since his first gold medal win at the tender age of 16, while you had been a starry-eyed 12-year-old taking figure skating lessons in the ice rink your father owned. And after much pestering and begging, Jungkook finally agreed to arrange your meeting.

Had Jungkook more tact and emotional sensitivity, he may have possibly taken you aside and reminded you of the sobering fact: One should never meet one’s hero. He does no such thing, however, and you are so busy in your eager plotting of how you could ask Jimin to coach you that you don’t even pause to consider the fact that you might be disappointed.  

As it stands, you nearly collide with Jungkook’s sturdy back when he halts without warning before a plush booth built into the wall of the night club. Your heart nearly skips a beat- this is it, you realise, as you lean ever so slightly to peer around your friend’s back. This is the pinnacle of your career. From the moment you first laid eyes on Jimin’s skills, you have eagerly awaited this moment. His poster has been on your bedroom wall for nearly ten years at this stage. You’ve never been fortunate to see one of his routines live- this is the first opportunity you have ever had to see your role model up close. You inhale deeply as you focus your eyes on his figure.

Only to find him otherwise occupied. He is engaged in a fierce lip-lock with a young woman who seems very comfortable seated upon his lap. Immediately you are mortified and straighten, allowing Jungkook to once more obscure your view of Jimin. It is not like you expected much from his meeting, or that you had anything more than the sort of crush a schoolgirl might have on a celebrity, but it is still, for some reason, crushing to see him in such a way. Your intentions in meeting him had been entirely innocent- you just want him to choreograph your next routine for the competition you have coming up. You had been recruited for the national team on the Olympics just 6 months earlier and this will be your last solo competition before you begin training with the national team for the Olympics which takes place in just one year. A chance to work with Park Jimin would be a tick on your bucket list. Still, your visceral reaction is also due to the realisation that perhaps Jungkook had not warned Jimin that he had arranged your meeting. Which means your request could be entirely unwelcome.

Jungkook seems undeterred by Jimin’s activities and folds his arms. He clears his throat loudly. The music is quieter here and normal conversation is possible, but Jimin does not immediately detangle from his… friend and so you think that perhaps he hasn’t heard Jungkook. But Jungkook merely waits and eventually Jimin pulls away with a long-suffering sigh.

“I’m busy.” Jimin snaps, and these are the first words you hear from your hero. Jungkook rolls his eyes.

“I only agreed to meet you here and not in a coffeeshop because you promised you wouldn’t pull this kind of stunt. You’re being rude to my friend.” Jungkook complains. Jimin smiles apologetically at the girl in his lap, who seems unbothered by the interruption and merely gets to her feet and vanishes into the crowd without a word of greeting. Jimin stares after her for a long moment before allowing his gaze to settle on you and Jungkook. You suddenly feel exposed beneath his stare- you should have dressed more nicely, more impressively. Isn’t appearance so important in the sport you have chosen? The unimpressed expression upon Jimin’s face as his eyes slide passively over you certainly confirms that.

“Hello,” You begin with an awkward smile, ducking your head politely. “It’s such a pleasure to meet you! I’m (Y/N) and I wanted to ask you if you’d-“

“This is the girl you were telling me about, Kook?” Jimin interrupts. Up close, he is beautiful in a way that cameras and youtube videos cannot portray. His face is smooth and sculpted and there is a chilling beauty to the detached way he regards you. There is also a subtle disgust to his gaze that mars his handsome features, however. And its directed purely at you- beneath its intensity you feel your gut roll and you battle the urge to empty the contents of your stomach before his neatly polished shoes. “Her?” He repeats for emphasis. “In the Olympics?”

Jungkook, ever the loyal friend, looks like he may actually leap to your defence. But you are quicker. Though you have always been on the quieter side, too preoccupied with your sport to focus on much else, you have never lacked a backbone. And if there’s one thing you are confident about, it is your skill on the ice. Suddenly you feel anger. How dare Jimin, legendary ice skater or not, evaluate your skill and worthiness to be in the Olympics without even having glimpsed your ice skating? How dare he be so shallow as to think your outward appearance is in anyway indicative of your passion and joy in your beloved sport?

“How dare you.” You snarl. Jimin looks mildly amused at your anger and watches you through narrowed eyes.

“Something wrong, sweetheart?” He mocks. He leans forward and rests his chin idly in his hand. His hair is pushed up and carefully done and it is no wonder that women would fawn over him in such away. He is unfairly handsome in his white button down and well-fitted black trousers. “Do you think you’re special? Do you even know what it takes to get to the Olympics? Because I do, and,” He looks you up and down, your frumpy sweater and messy hair. He wrinkles his nose. You’d come straight from the rink because Jungkook hadn’t told you Jimin would be at a club, and so you look completely out of place. “I don’t think you have it.”

“You haven’t even seen me skate.” You retort hotly. You had never imagined you would one day address your idol with such contempt. But he has proven to be anything but the man you used to worship. Jimin seems surprised at your vitriolic interruption. You look at Jungkook, who looks apologetic and inhale deeply. “I was going to ask you to coach me, and honestly, I would have walked away without a complaint if you’d just said no. But you don’t get to judge my worthiness to be on the ice without even seeing how I skate. I bleed, sweat, and cry on that ice. You don’t get to scoff at me before you’ve even seen what I can do.”

You cannot, for the life of you, give a reason behind your next action. But fuelled by your anger and indignance, you reach into your bag and pull out a crumpled flyer, with the address and directions to your father’s ice rink printed across it. You hold it out towards Jimin who, after a moment of hesitation, accepts the piece of paper.

“I’ll be here practicing tomorrow, if you change your mind and want to see what I can do.” You say quickly. “If you want a chance to be part of something big, then I guess I’ll see you there. But if you want to sit here and get drunk and reminisce about when you had what it took, then be my guess. Have fun watching me perform at the Olympics and knowing you could have been there with me.”

And with that, you stride off, leaving Jimin alone at his booth with an impressed Jungkook in tow.

“Wow, ice queen,” Jungkook calls, when you’re outside the club and able to converse at a normal volume once more. “I never thought you had it in you.”

You don’t pause your hurried walking, however, until you are sure you have left the club well behind.

And then you promptly crumble to the ground, hands shaking and eyes wide.

“Did I… did I really just say all that?” You asks breathily, dizzy now that the adrenaline and anger has fled your system. “To the Park Jimin?” Jungkook laughs and pulls you to your feet with a hand around your arm.

“You absolutely did.” Jungkook declares proudly. “And I can’t wait to see the look on his face when he sees you skating tomorrow.”

“I shouldn’t have said all that!” You lament, and Jungkook laughs.

“As much as I love him, Jimin has needed a kick in the arse ever since his injury and he needs more in his life than just alcohol and girls. You did a good thing. Now come on, I’ll drop you home so you can get a good rest before showing Jimin how it’s really done.” Jungkook reassures you, dragging you off before you can freak out any further.

And you placidly follow, now filled with dread at what is to come.

++

The sun is too bright and the inside of Jimin’s mouth tastes worse than a men’s urinal. He’s hungover and grumpy and your irritating words ring in his head. And the absolute icing on the cake- he wakes up alone in his bed, instead of with the hot girl he’d been on the verge of going home with before you showed up. He’s going to kill Jungkook. He should have known from the second that Jungkook offhandedly mentioned he had a friend good enough to be in the Olympics that last night was going to suck.

So then, why the hell does Jimin find himself gazing with disgust at the ice rink you had mentioned you’d be practicing at, not an hour after that awful wakeup? He can still vaguely taste vomit in the back of his throat and the sunglasses he wears aren’t big enough or dark enough to lessen the stabbing sensation from the sun. He shouldn’t have drunk nearly as much as he did last night but he’d needed to forget. Your voice and your face and that look in your eyes. The spark, as you had talked about your skating. He’s seen it before- he used to see it every day, when he looked in the mirror before leaving for early morning practice. That spark has long since died- it’s been gone since the moment the doctors told him he would never skate competitively again.

It’s not too late- he can still leave. Pretend he never saw you and that your words didn’t burrow frustratingly deep beneath is skin. He could go back to his life of partying and drinking and struggling to forget a life he cannot leave behind. But he doesn’t want to. He needs vindication- he needs to see how bad you are, so that he can close up the gaping wound you’d reopened. So many old feelings of hurt and bitterness and agony have suddenly been dredged up and he needs something to seal it over. To ignore the ragged, ugly scar on his heart, and this time all the alcohol and drugs and women in the world will not smooth the rough edges. So he sips aggressively from the cheap coffee he’d picked up on the way which tastes like garbage and doesn’t even bother to remove his shades as he steps into the ice-skating rink.

At this hour, there is no one present but you. He’s momentarily taken aback to see you, alone in the centre of the rink. You look different to the uneasy, poorly dressed young woman from last night. You had looked like a geek desperately in need of a makeover from a cheesy teen movie, but the lone figure in a sapphire blue dress ice looks… different. He can’t find the words but something foreign heats in his veins as he is overcome with something other than the nausea and disgust that he usually feels when presented with any aspect of his past.

Music startles him as it crackles in through the speaker. His heart leaps into his throat as he recognises the tune- Notte Stellata. You don’t even know he’s there, yet it can’t be a coincidence that that is the song you have chosen to practice. You extend your arms slowly in a delicate pose as the opening strains filter slowly through the air and he sees your shoulders raise in a gentle inhale.

And then you are gliding across the ice. If the spark he had seen in your eyes last night was enough to plague his thoughts for so many hours, it is nothing compared to the way you smoothly cut through the rink. Perhaps, he thinks, you were not born. Perhaps you were carefully crafted with a loving heart to soar on angel wings formed from thin silver blades. You lift into the air in a triple lutz and land with the lightness and grace of a swan and then you extend your arms outwards.

You’re beautiful. But suddenly it is not you or your performance that Jimin is seeing. Suddenly, in his mind’s eye, another figure that dances over the smooth pool. The figure cuts across the ice with an impressive power and grace- that figure brought tears to the eyes of people who knew nothing about figure skating. That figure was him. People called him the Swan, because of his grace and beauty on the ice. Magazine articles had described him as an artwork as intricate and valuable as the Mona Lisa or Van Gogh’s starry night. It was to this very song that he had stood on a podium at the Olympics and proudly received his first gold medal.

He squeezes his eyes shut before he can be greeted with what happened to that beautiful, mysterious figure. For it had all evaporated like a dream- the kind you awaken from with tears on your face without fully understanding why. His entire life had been ruined in one go. Just one year after his triumphant second gold medal win, he had been in a car accident. His body, carefully trained to float with ease over the ice, to make powerful, jaw-dropping manoeuvres seem as simple as inhaling and exhaling, had refused to obey him. A broken leg, shattered in a way that would never heal properly enough to allow him to competitively skate again. No amount of physiotherapy or surgery or desperation would allow him to shine in the Olympic rink again. There would be no third gold medal win. Every single moment of hard work throughout his entire youth was gone in a single accident.

And when he opens his eyes, only you remain on the ice, hauntingly beautiful in the way that he had thought only ice can be. Lonely and cold yet majestic. Figure skating is about conquering- about overcoming the harsh, unwelcoming cold and holding your ground through gravity defying flips and tricks. Constantly, the sport strips you of warmth and comfort and familiarity and requires gruelling work and pain and blood and danger. It takes something special to make something so ugly and painful look so beautiful. And that it what you have just done on the ice. Tears pour down his face and he is thankful for the way his sunglasses hide the agony that no doubt lingers in his expression. It’s been two whole year and yet the grief is as fresh as if it were yesterday. Somehow, despite the pains such a sport brings, his happiness was on that ice and it was been cruelly torn from him before he could even fathom what its loss would mean.

He clears his throat and covers his face by taking a long sip from his coffee cup as you are startled from your finishing pose. You were completely unaware of his presence and somehow that makes your performance more startingly beautiful- even alone, just practicing, there is such emotion and power in your skating. He now understands, why you were so offended when he brushed you off based off of a cursory glance. You are amazing- better even than he had been, perhaps.  And now he understands what you are- a chance to be part of something he had thought he had been removed from. He’s never been able to cut the love of figure skating away from himself- he would have better luck sawing out his own heart. And you have presented him with a chance to relive that joy- through you.

“A week,” He calls. Your hand is clasped over your heart, absolutely stunned by his presence. It is charming, that despite inviting him, you genuinely do not seem to have expected him to come. But he has come, and he’s going to take out all his fear and pain on you. He’s going to take you to the Olympics, and you have no one to blame but yourself. “Give me a week to work out a routine. You’re going to get a gold medal in this comp.”

And he can’t resist a parting shot as he leaves, before he takes his leave. Just one petty phrase, for the sake of his ego.

“Your landing for the double axel was too heavy and uncoordinated.”

And yet somehow you watch him go with an excited smile on your face.

++

A week later you arrive at the ice rink, your entire body pulsing with nerves. You had not thought Jimin would agree to choreograph your performance, and yet here you are. You can’t help but feel a bit of pride- your skating had clearly won him over, somehow. And so ,with your blood roaring through your veins, you take a step into the ice rink, feeling the familiar way cold air fills your lungs and settles into the base of your chest. You’ve always found the sensation enlivening- never are you more alive than when you are on the ice. And while you have your reservations about working with Jimin, especially after his rude behaviour, you cannot kill the flame of excitement that flickers deep in your stomach. This is a dream come true.

Jimin waits alone in the centre of the ice-skating rink. At your arriving footsteps, he turns slowly and watches your advance towards him with a curious look to his eyes. It’s an intensely probing stare, like he is evaluating every step of your body, measuring the weight that lands in your skates against the ground with each footstep. And then he slowly smiles and your heart flutters. Jimin is beautiful in an inhuman way and that he should ever look at you in such a way is more than your delicate heart can handle. You swallow deeply before stepping onto the ice and gliding towards him with a practiced ease you hope conveys grace and beauty.

Jimin tilts his head and keeps his arms folded across his chest as you stop before him. As you do you register the sombre, heavy tune of a piano concerto crackle through the speakers of your father’s ice-skating rink. It starts slow, with dark chords ringing through the air and climbing in intensity. Gradually the melody crests and builds until the piano erupts in a complex and powerful virtuosic passage, given weight and power by a grave string accompaniment.

“This was his second concerto.” Jimin says, instead of offering you a greeting. “Rachmaninoff’s, I mean. His first ever concerto was met with heavy criticism. It was an extremely challenging piece to write- it took him ten months to write and yet his efforts were spat on. And in the three years that followed he was depressed from the backlash and unable to write anymore. This song is his return after three years of darkness, and it brought his career back from the dead. This,” He informs you. “Is the song you will perform to at the competition for your free program.”

You stare wonderingly at Jimin for a moment and shut your eyes as the mood of the piece shifts to something lighter and freer. The piano bounces along and the orchestra follows behind yet hints of the initial darkness still linger despite the bright tone. You can hear it- the composer’s pain, his determination to clamber back from the pits of despair. You want to dance to this song. An intense longing fills you.

“Can you do it? It won’t be an easy piece to skate to.” Jimin asks, and you peer back at him with your jaw set in determination. The expression wins a slight smile from him.

“I can.” You reassure him. He nods and walks forward. He is not wearing skates- instead he wears heavy boots on the ice. Likely, the instability in his ankle means he cannot balance in skates without significant pain. And you are his chance to overcome that, you suppose. You will do for him what he can no longer achieve.

And thus begins your gruelling practice. You’ve pushed yourself hard before but never in the way that Jimin pushes you. Jimin, much as you suspected he would, has very little patience and his little experience with teaching means he gets frustrated easily when you do not pick things up in the way that he assumed you would. You are soaking in sweat as practice goes on despite the fact the ice-skating rink is kept at such a low temperature.

“Extend your leg further.” Jimin urges, combing a hand through his hair in frustration for what is probably the fifth time. “The pose looks messy if you’re all loose and floppy like that.” You wince and attempt to follow his instruction once more. You’ve been going for hours by this stage. “Once more from the triple lutz.” He snaps, stepping off the ice to give you the room to launch into such a complex and difficult leap. But your body is exhausted from such intensive exercise and from the second you catapult yourself in the air you know you’ve done it wrong. You lift unevenly into the air and though you clench your core and attempt to right yourself, it is too late. You come down at completely the wrong angle and wince as your ankle takes the brunt of your weight. Pain lances up your leg as you crumble, and your body continues to slide.

When you lose enough momentum to begin picking yourself back up off the ice, Jimin skids to a halt, sending up a spray of ice chips. He’s clearly carelessly sprinted across the ice to get to you and he throws himself down beside you without a thought as to his wellbeing. You hadn’t thought him capable of such concern for someone other than himself.

“Are you ok?” He cries out in alarm, wrapping his hands around your outstretched ankle. Despite the low temperature of the room, his fingers are somehow still warm, and you had not realised how chilled your body was until you feel the heat encircle your leg. Carefully, he rolls the ankle you had landed on back and forth and around, scrutinising your face for the slightest hint of pain. It is tender, but you know tomorrow you’ll wake up and not even remember what ankle you had hurt.

“I’m fine.” You wave him off with a smile. “Let’s try that again.” You say, about to get up, but a firm hand against your shoulder keeps you down.

“No.” Jimin almost growls, and there is a sternness and barely repressed anger to the glare he gives you that pins you in place. “It was stupid of me to push you this hard. Let’s get dinner and we can pick it back up tomorrow if you’re feeling ok. We’ll get some ice on this too.”

Despite your protests, Jimin decides to take you out for dinner that night. You almost succeed in wriggling out of it, but a growl of your stomach has him urging you to come along with renewed determination. And to make it more embarrassing, as soon as you arrive at the restaurant, he drags over a second chair and makes you rest your injured leg on it, placing the ice pack over your tender ankle with a gentleness that makes you uneasy for reasons you cannot understand.

“That’s more than enough for today.” He scolds you. “You need to take care of yourself after an injury or you won’t make it very far.”

He settles opposite you and orders you both food.

“My coach used to always take me out for hot soup afterwards. Said we had to warm ourselves up after being in the cold so long.” He remembers fondly as the two of you await your meals. He seems so different from the asshole you met in the club a mere week ago and you still aren’t even sure what made him change so drastically. “He was the best coach in the world. I only made it to the Olympics thanks to him.”

“Are you trying to follow in his footsteps?” You ask in an attempt to subtly determine his motive. Jimin shrugs and shakes his head as the waitress sets down two steaming hot bowls of soup before you.

“Who knows.” He admits. “Even I’m not sure what I’m trying to achieve. A week ago, all I cared about was getting drunk enough to forget what the Olympics were.”

He watches you curiously as you lean forward and raise a spoonful of salty broth to your lips.

“Why did you come, then?” You say, finally asking the question that has been itching at you since you received the text asking you to come to the ice rink. You can probably guess the answer, but you want to hear it from him. He’s made a drastic change after his awful first impression and you aren’t entirely sure he’s someone you can trust yet.

Jimin doesn’t answer for a long moment. Instead he takes a long sip of his soup and fidgets with the noodles that float in the broth. Finally, he raises his eyes to you and there’s a look to his eyes that you can’t seem to interpret. Somehow it is a gaze filled with sadness and yet he looks so peaceful at the same time.

“I love skating.” He admits. “There was a time where it was my whole world. To have it taken so suddenly, with no warning…” He sighs and shakes his head. “I felt like I had nothing yet. But I believe that sometimes we are given second chances, and that’s what you are. My second chance. I want to see you in the Olympic rink. I want the entire world to shed tears because they’ve seen true beauty. And I can’t convey that beauty anymore, but you can. I know you can.” He confesses, and to his credit, his ears are only tinged the slightest bit pink. You stare at him, completely gobsmacked. How can you even fathom such high praise? “But now it’s my turn, to ask you a question.” He admits, his eyes sharpening with interest. You wince, a little uncomfortable with the scrutiny, but you know it is necessary.

“Ask away.” You say, because you suppose that as your coach, he has a right to know about you to at least some degree.

“Why me?” He finally asks, after a moment of hesitation. “Where’s your coach? Why are you even entering this competition if you’ve already been selected to be on the Olympic team?”

The silence between the two of you stretches out for a long moment. You take the opportunity to shove a few mouthfuls of soup into your mouth. It’s not an unexpected question. In fact, he probably should have asked the question long before agreeing to coach you, to make sure he wasn’t stealing someone else’s athlete, and the fact that he hasn’t asked you before now means he probably senses it’s not a question you are ready to be asked. But with the atmosphere between the two of you warm and comfortable, now is the best time for him to ask.

“She died.” You say nonchalantly. The soup suddenly tastes bland, but you continue to eat it. It provides you a distraction from the heaviness of the conversation. “Six months ago. It was cancer. I had just gotten scouted to be on the national team and we realised she wouldn’t make it to the Olympics, probably. So this was our compromise. She was fighting so hard because she wanted to see me skate one last time and… she… she didn’t get to. She died a week later.”

Jimin stares at you in dismay, speechless. Perhaps he had suspected you’d had a falling out with your coach, or that you needed a new one now that you’ve been selected for the national team. He probably never could have guessed the horrible reality.

“(Y/N)…” He says softly. You shake your head and offer Jimin a slight smile.

“It’s fine.” You say. “I’m doing ok. My parents have been really supportive and have even been trying to find me a new coach. But I wanted you. I just thought it would be nice for my first comp after she… passed away. To this day, the routine you did to Notte Stellata brings me to tears and so I thought if you were the one choreographing, then I’d give a performance worthy of her legacy. One that she would have been proud to see.”

Jimin’s expression scrunches up at your words. You don’t shed a tear throughout the whole story even though it all feels so fresh. It still feels like she’s going to ring you and scold you for not being at practice or not following the strict diet regimen she always set for you. Somehow six months of grieving doesn’t feel like enough to get back on the ice, yet at the same time you are itching to go back out there. For her. She had been like a second mother to you and the fact that she didn’t get to see you skate one last time is a scar you know will never fully heal.

Jimin is a bit of an enigma, and you never know how he will react to something. Perhaps this is why his reaction to your story is such a surprise. He stares at you like he’s in pain. A single tear wells up in his left eye and rolls down his cheek, tracing down the smooth contours of his handsome face as it goes.

“Thank you. For that honour. I… Thank you. And I’m sorry for being harsh today. I’ve never been a teacher before and so I don’t know your limits or mine. But if you keep with me and tell me when I’ve gone too far, I believe we can do this.” He admits, and his voice is slightly raspy . “I… After I stopped skating, I didn’t have a purpose or goal in life. I’ve just kind of been… existing for so long. But… thank you. I think I finally have a purpose- I want to take you to the Olympics. I’d decided earlier that I want to go to the Olympics with you but I never actually asked you. Will you do it? Will you go to the Olympics with me?”

And Jimin is mean and harsh and awkward. He’s a drunkard and a loser and a shallow jerk. He’s not even qualified to be a coach and such an ambition with an inexperienced mentor could lead to the destruction of your own career. It would be foolish, to agree to go to the Olympics with him.

And then you recall, being a young teenager skating for the first time and watching his comps. Being lonely as you entered highschool with no friends and rushing home to watch his Olympic performance live. Following his rise to fame and shedding tears because his skating held a beauty you could not put into words. And therein lies your answer- it is thanks to the man sitting before you that you even dared to dream of the Olympics. Your dreams will always feel incomplete if it is not him you go to the Olympics with.

“Yes.” You say. “Let’s go to the Olympics together.”

++

After that first day, Jimin is softer and far less harsh. Every day he grows in patience. He remains a stern and difficult coach and choreographer, though. He pushes you far past what you think you can handle. But he never pushes you past what you can actually handle. He’s constantly vigilant, for signs of fatigue and always ends practice before you can go too far. And so, each night you go to bed and sleep deeply, satisfied with the work you have done. His choreography is technically difficult and extremely advanced and yet designed specifically with you, your capabilities and your strengths in mind. If you master it, it will carry you to a gold medal without any doubt.

It’s exciting. Who could have ever thought that one day it would be Park Jimin coaching you on the ice? Despite his inexperience with coaching, he knows figure skating really well and you find yourself improving drastically beneath his tutelage, as the months go by and the competition date approaches. He really could have a future as a coach if he was ever inclined to do so. If maybe he learned some people skills, that is.

“Extend your leg further,” He orders from behind you, placing a hand on your knee to prevent your instinct to fold it as he uses the hand wrapped around your ankle to lift your outstretched leg a bit higher. His hands are almost hot on the skin of your legs. You hadn’t realised how much your body had chilled beneath the air-conditioning of the gym you are currently in. You wince as he begins to hit the limits of your flexibility and wobble just the slightest bit.

His eyebrows shoot up, and he shoots you a glare.

“Was that a wobble?” He asks, his tone venomous. Your eyes go wide. Today is one of the days you practice off the ice- one foot is placed in the centre of a balance ball while Jimin adjusts your posture. Despite the ways in which you two have grown quite close, he still comes across as very menacing when he enters what you call “coach mode”.

“N-no.” You stutter as you lie. He releases your leg and you know he expects you to maintain the position. You do, though not without a slight fluctuation. Jimin’s sharp eyes catch the movement though and he walks around so that he is facing you, hands planted intimidatingly on his hips.

“A wobble could cost you your career.” He reminds you, and this is the third time he’s lectured you about this in the past three days. “All it takes is for you to launch yourself airborne from just slightly the wrong angle and you could break a leg.” He scowls, and he steps in close. You drop your outstretched leg and hop off the balance ball. You roll your eyes and fold your arms across your chest, refusing to cower at his ‘angry coach’ vibe. And maybe you would have gotten back on the balance ball obediently if it weren’t for the muttered, irritated comment that follows: “How can a figure skater be so inflexible?” He laments.

“Excuse me?” You blurt, eyes wide in outrage. “I am flexible!”

He winces, probably because he didn’t intend for you to overhear the comment, but also because he’s now quite familiar with the certain buttons he should never push while coaching you. For the most part, you are a reasonable student, one who follows his instructions diligently and practices hard. But any time the slightest comment is made about your skill or ability as a figure skater that isn’t constructive or contributing towards your improvement, you go slightly beserk. And this is one of those moments.

“I’ll prove it to you!” You cry, striding over to the yoga mat laid out in the corner. You almost throw yourself down on your back and glare at him. “Do the stretch! The warm-up hip one.” You order. He almost groans in irritation- the stretch in question is one he had suggested at a different practice to help keep your hips loose. But you had been too embarrassed to try it due to the intimacy of the positioning and so he hadn’t pushed you. But now, your pride has been hurt, and you are going to prove him wrong, embarrassment be damned. He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, scolding himself for his slip up, before kneeling over you and locking his ankle over one of your outstretched legs. He then wraps his fingers around your other leg, placing the flat of one palm against the heel of your foot and the other over your knee, before slowly lifting one leg towards your head.

“Tell me when.” He says with a sigh, his tone resigned.

“I won’t.” You reassure him petulantly. “You’ll see how flexible I am.”

And really his comment was quite unnecessary, because flexibility is a vital skill as a figure skater. A fact which is demonstrated as Jimin continues to push your leg towards your head. You wait eagerly for him to admit that he was wrong as it reaches the point where you are almost doing the splits, but it never comes. Instead, Jimin has gone oddly quiet from where he kneels between your leg. Puzzled, you tilt your head to meet his gaze to find that his stare has gone oddly misty. His lips are slightly parted, and his eyes are fixed on where his hand presses to the heel of your foot.

“Jimin?” You call. It rings out oddly loud in the quietness of the section of the gym you are in, like a gunshot. Jimin flinches like he’s been punched in the stomach. His eyes land on yours and they are oddly wide. The expression reminds you of the face a child might pull if they were caught in the middle of stealing candy from a jar. Wide and panicked and a little bit glazed.

“I…” He says slowly, and his voice is a little bit croaky. He clears his throat and moistens his lips with his tongue before trying again. “I…”

You don’t get to find out what he was planning to say though, because in the next moment you hear Jungkook’s familiar voice call out.

“Special delivery!” He cries. Jimin drops your leg like he’s been burnt and scrambles away like you have rabies. He takes a moment to frantically smooth out his clothes and run his hands nervously through his hair, before turning to face the intruder who strides quickly towards you. There is a wide grin on Jungkook’s face, and he waves a large package wrapped in brown paper towards the two of you. You sit up and watch curiously as Jungkook prances forward. Jimin, oddly, still has a lot of nervous energy and gives off an oddly frantic air and when his gaze lands on the package in Jungkook’s hand, it seemingly worsens.

“Jungkook!” Jimin cries, eyes bugging out of his head and his face almost going purple, so severe is his blush. “How did you get that?”

Jungkook skids to a stop between the two of you and beams cheekily.

“You had it delivered to the rink.” He says coyly, wiggling the package playfully in front of Jimin’s eyes. Jimin makes a hasty snatch at it and grabs it out of Jungkook’s hands. It’s a fairly bulky package. “But I knew you two were here, so I thought I’d use my lunch break to come visit the two of you and deliver the package.”

By now you are standing, and you move in close to examine the package.

“What is it?” You ask curiously, and then it’s shoved unceremoniously into your arms by a surprisingly flustered Jimin.

“It’s for you.” He says quickly, his head turned determinedly in the opposite direction of you. “I ordered it online- I thought you could wear it for the comp.”

You blink a few times, confused. But then you peel away the brown paper wrapping to reveal the contents within. It’s a figure skating dress. The skirt is a deep, midnight blue though the torso is something icier and paler. They mix together in a gentle gradient and jewels scattered over the bodice glint like starts as the catch the light above you. The sleeves and décolleté are nude- when you wear it, it will look like you are painted in the night sky. Your throat goes hot and sticky and you find yourself battling tears at the thoughtful gesture.

“Jimin,” You say softly, genuinely touched. He smiles and rubs awkwardly at the back of his neck.

“It’s nothing… it was on sale and I thought it would look nice on you.” He admits sheepishly. “I was just going to leave it in your locker later today, but I guess someone had other plans.” Jimin shoots a meaningful but venom-filled look at his friend, but you are too preoccupied with examining your new outfit to notice. You clutch it tightly between your fingers.

“I have something for you too.” You announce suddenly. “Wait right here. It’s in my locker.” You urge, turning around and sprinting across the gym. A few people at the cycling machines pause their exercise to watch you go.

Jimin uses the opportunity to whirl on Jungkook.

“You did that on purpose, didn’t you?” Jimin snarls, and Jungkook laughs and dodges a swipe from Jimin. “I didn’t ask for a personal delivery!”

“Of course I did.” Jungkook cries mirthfully. “Did you think I’d pass up an opportunity to see you actually be nice while sober? Her reaction was so sweet, wasn’t it? Don’t you just wanna hug her and kiss her and stop being a douchebag 90% of the time? Oh man, I’ve never seen you go that shade of red before. Totally worth the drive over here.” Jungkook wipes at amused tears that are pooling in the corners of his eyes. “I mean, I also came over because there’s a sushi place next door that is to die for and (Y/N)’s father is treating me to lunch, but this has been a great little adventure. Thanks for the show, Jimin.” Jungkook says, waving his friend goodbye. Jimin aims another whack at the back of Jungkook’s head, but his reactions are quicker, and he merely darts off. He whistles a cheerful tune as he goes. Jimin is about to follow after him and give Jungkook a proper piece of his mind, but you arrive back beside him before he can do so. You’re slightly out of breath from your quick sprint, but you quickly straighten and beam.

“There’s a bit of back story behind this.” You explain, stretching out your hand and uncurling your fingers to reveal a long, thin box that fits easily into your hand. Curiously, Jimin accepts it and is about to remove the lid but you hastily place your hands over his to stop the movement. Your fingers are slightly cold, and his eyes catch on the contrast of your skin against his. “I bought this for you right after your second Olympics win.” You confess, and you drop your gaze from his. There’s embarrassment in your expression and it’s oddly endearing. Jimin feels an odd, fluttering feeling just beneath his sternum. But then your words register and he’s a bit confused.

“I didn’t know you then, though- that was 3 years ago.” He reminds you and you shake your head and smile.

“I’ve been your fan since I was 12 years old though!” You exclaim. “I bought it because I was going to mail it to you to show my support. And I never plucked up the courage to do it until my coach managed to get me a seat at one of the comps you were supposed perform at. I was going to throw it onto the ice after you performed. But you… you never got to perform.” You say softly, and Jimin feels himself tense just the slightest bit. He knows the competition you are talking about- it was one of the few ones in his hometown he still competed in. But then the accident had happened, and he’d cancelled his registration. “But I kept this all these years because I still wanted to meet you. Even if you couldn’t skate anymore, you were and are still my hero. And I found it again the other day and realised that I finally have the chance to give it to you.”

Slowly, you release your grip on his hands enough that he’s able to pull the lid off the small box. A thin silver chain rests in it and in the centre against black velvet lies a tiny pendant shaped like a cat. He blinks at it a few times in confusion.

“You always talked about your family cat growing up in interviews. The fat tortoiseshell one. You said she was your inspiration because of her calm approach to life.” You recall fondly. “And fans always through cat plushies onto the ice because of that and I guess I wanted to set myself apart a little.”

Jimin just stares incredulously at the little trinket. It should be offensive, to have such a reminder of how his life has gone wrong resting in his hands. And as a gift from you, no less. But it isn’t offensive, for some reason. It’s touching. It’s flattering. Slowly a smile grows on his face and his hands start to tremble. There’s a warm, full feeling in his chest. What an honour, to have someone like you be such a loyal fan. To have kept this reminder of his golden years despite the fact that you’d never even met him. And your skating is so beautiful and with enough time will outshine his own, but it’s thanks to him. He inspired that beauty in you, and to know that is an honour and joy and privilege that he will carry with him throughout the rest of his life. And this necklace symbolises all of that.

“Thank you.” He mutters softly. He raises his eyes off the pendant to look at you. Your eyes are slightly round and a little uneasy, but when he responds with gratitude a smile splits your face. “But I can’t accept this.” He tells you with a smile. With careful fingers, he plucks the necklace from its box and comfortable bed of velvet, and steps towards you. “This necklace is yours.” He says. You seem to sense what he’s trying to do as he steps in close, because you raise your hair off the back of your neck to allow him to put the necklace on for you. It clasps shut and falls to rest safely against your collarbone.

You stare up at Jimin and you don’t really understand the tenderness in his gaze, or the ensuing ache in your chest in response. You just feel… happy. Warm. Excited. There’s so many feelings racing through your chest and while you don’t have the time to process them now, you know that things will go well. Instead of pulling away after fixing the necklace in place, Jimin leans in close so that his lips almost brush your ear. You feel your face heat.

“Take it to the Olympics for me.” He whispers softly.

++

The day of the competition dawns bright and sunny. Jimin is gripped with a fluttery kind of nerves. It’s a thrilling sensation though, one he hasn’t felt since he’d been able to skate. So much of his time has been spent in darkness, spiralling deeper and deeper away from the sun and suddenly today he feels a warmth and brightness he hadn’t realised he’d been missing.

You nail the short program in the morning and are all smiles and jitters as you come off the ice. You’re leading with your point score and if you follow the routine for your free program well, then you’ll take the gold medal home for sure.

“Did I do well?” You ask breathlessly, the second you step off the ice. You stumble a bit, shaky from the adrenaline, and Jimin steadies you with a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“She’d have been so proud.” He reassures you warmly and the resulting beam you give him makes him think that nothing could drag him down.

There is something that could drag him down, though he doesn’t know it in that moment.

Typically, there is a break in the middle of the day, where skaters are allowed to have a warmup on the ice before the afternoon program starts. Jimin is a little hesitant to have you out on the ice, though he can’t really put into words. He writes it off as just nerves though, and sees you off onto the ice with a smile. He doesn’t really focus much on your warmup- you know what to do. Instead, he scans the seating section where he knows Jungkook is. It doesn’t take much time to locate him and Jimin quickly darts up into the audience section towards his friend. Jungkook is waving a little paddle pop stick with an unflattering image of you stuck to the end and watches the figure skaters warm up with his mouth slightly ajar.

“She’s really good, huh?” Jungkook admits aloud, as Jimin takes a seat next to him. Jimin grins and nods.

“She’s got this one in the bag.” Jimin brags, and Jungkook offers him a strange smile.

“She really did a number on you.” Jungkook says suddenly, with a laugh. “To think, just a couple of months ago you’d be angry and hungover at this time of day. And now you’re smiling and laughing. I really think that (Y/N) is the best thing to happen to you.”

Normally, Jimin would deny it. Maybe flush a little and frantically discourage Jungkook from such a sentiment. But for some reason, he can’t bring himself to do it- probably because he can’t deny the weight and truth of such a statement.

“She is.” Jimin admits softly. Jungkook’s jaw drops in response, but a ruckus on the ice distracts him from whatever response he may have given.

Puzzled, Jimin directs his gaze to where medics are suddenly rushing onto the ice. And then, like two magnets clicking together, his gaze lands on you. You’re sprawled out on the ice, unmoving, with one of your competitors similarly collapsed. She, at least, is sitting up, looking slightly dazed and confused, but you are unmoving. Jimin’s heart leaps into his throat as he realises what has happened- there’s been a collision.

He leaps to his feet, but Jungkook’s hand around his wrist stops Jimin for rushing straight for the ice. Two medics help you to your feet and lead you off the ice.

“Wait.” Jungkook calls. “She’s ok- she’s standing up. Don’t get in the way of the medics. We can go to her after they’ve done first aid.”

Jimin glares at Jungkook, long and hard. His friend merely stares evenly back until Jimin reluctantly lowers himself back into his seat. He watches desperately as you are able to groggily step off the ice. Even at this distance, he can see the way blood streams down your face. Once he sees the dreadful crimson staining the ice, he can sit still no longer, and he gets to his feet and dashes off before Jungkook can say a word in response.

In the kiss and cry area, a crowd has gathered around you- some are medics, some are camera crew and some are your fellow competitors. Jimin shoves them carelessly out of the way, forcing himself forward until he is face to face with you. Your eyes are slightly out of focus and they’re in the middle of bandaging your head, and when you look up at him, your eyes fill with tears.

“Jimin,” You cry, choked. They haven’t cleaned up the blood yet - it has dripped down your neck and stained the misty blue of the outfit he had bought you. Jimin crumples to his knees in front of you.

“Is she ok?” He demands of the medic trimming a bandage for you. The medic winces and evaluates you.

“We think it’s just a minor concussion. She’ll be fine with some rest- but maybe she should skip the free program. Maybe if you take her home-“ The medic suggests tentatively, but you cry out in response.

“No!” You almost shout. The crowd buzzing around you goes silent at your outburst, but you don’t seem to notice. “I have to skate. I have to compete.” You cry, begging the medic, begging Jimin, begging anyone who can let you go back on the ice.

“(Y/N)…” Jimin calls quietly. “It’s ok- there will be other competitions. Your health is more import-“

“There won’t be.” You argue vehemently. “I promised her, Jimin. I promised her.” Tears are really streaming down your face now, mixing with the rivulets of blood that pour from the cut on your chin. You’re wearing the cat necklace and the silver is marred with angry droplets of red. You gently push the medic away and struggle to stand upright. You wobble a little, but you keep upright. It’s only minor injuries, but Jimin highly doubts you’d be able to skate properly like this. And if you take another fall, things may only get worse. Skating now could cost you your career. Blind panic rises in his chest and makes him nauseous- it reminds him of a darker time just two years ago, when he had been informed that he would never skate again. You’re so small and fragile and it’s something that could just as easily happen to you, but before you’ve even gotten the chance to compete. He can taste sour fear in the back of his throat.

But when Jimin looks into your eyes, he comes to understand something. As much as he wants to take you to the Olympics- as much as you yourself probably want to go to the Olympics, this takes priority. He remembers how important his coach had been to him during his career, and how he would have reacted if anything happened to him. He can’t imagine what you must have gone through- what it must have taken, to get back on the ice, just six months after her death. You have to do this, and though his heart aches with fear and agony at the thought of you endangering yourself again, he knows that you will never forgive yourself if you don’t do this. You are skating for her and he doesn’t have a right to stop you.

“Finish the first aid.” Jimin requests of the medical personnel, before turning and dismissing the crowd. They quickly dissipate under his intimidating stare, but not without a few surprised mutters of isn’t that Park Jimin?. And then he turns to you. He’s only just met you in the last few months and you’d given him so much hope that now dangles precariously on a thread. But he doesn’t want hope or purpose or ambition if that’s not what you want. “Whatever happens out there, she’ll be proud.” He reassures you, and then you’re smiling with relief through your tears. You reach out and wrap your fingers around one of his hands.

“Thank you.” You say, and somehow the weight of your gratitude now means more to him than any Olympics medals you may win- heck, more than the medals he’s won. He finds himself smiling despite the dread that sits deep in his stomach.

“No wobbling out there is allowed.” Is all he tells you.

++

Amidst the silvery glow of the white ice, you stand as a lone figure. Jimin remembers when he first saw you skate, all those months ago. This reminds him of that time, although this time your head is bandaged, and your hands shake as the opening piano chords ring sombrely through the arena. There was a lot of murmuring when you first stepped onto the ice but it has all gone quiet as you wait patiently in the centre, raising your arms delicately above your head. Then the piano erupts fiercely, notes scattering and spilling across the ice in the same moment that you take off. There is power as you launch yourself across the ice.

The strings pad the rich sound and climb in intensity as your first jump approaches. Jimin holds his breath as he sees you brace one leg before you push outwards. You spin through the air and he couldn’t breathe even if he wanted to. But you land at the wrong angle and your leg skids out underneath you. You’ve missed your first jump.

You aren’t deterred though. Quickly you scramble back onto your feet and begin to skate across the ice as the piano melody grows more and more complex and urgent. This next jump is your hardest. But again, you miss- you’re dizzy and you miscalculate the angle you must land in. Still, without hesitation, you clamber back onto your feet even though Jimin can see the way frustrated tears are starting to pool in the corner of your eyes.

What comes next is a spin, as you extend your leg outwards, your speed varying and changing as you adjust your position- you hold your leg out in the pose he had been constantly trying to get you to replicate and you execute it perfectly. You raise your leg above your head as your spin becomes more rapid. The music becomes more delicate and thoughtful and so does your skating. You glide across the ice and yet there is a carefulness that isn’t normally there- he can see the way you must concentrate, the way you desperately fight off the waves of dizziness that you are experiencing.

The pitch climbs into something brighter and hopeful and you once more attempt a desperate jump. You land badly again and actually end up on all fours. For a second, he thinks you may not be able to get up and the music threatens to leave you behind. The whole crowd holds its breath collectively. Suddenly your eyes meet his. It’s quick- you just so happen to be facing towards the wall he’s standing behind. But your expression changes, and so does the music, just in time for you to send yourself soaring with your arms outstretched behind you like the wings of a swan.

Suddenly, Jimin remembers why your skating has him to encaptivated. With the brighter music, you suddenly erupt with a brightness and grace that is entirely unique to you- you dance and skip over the ice rapidly. It’s because no one else can skate like this. No one can translate beauty into movement on the ice like you can. You have another leap coming up and this time when you launch yourself up, it’s with a determination and confidence that you didn’t have before. You land perfectly and Jimin’s heart skips a beat. You’re instantly flying again, soaring towards your grand finale. The music slows to another climax, slow and grave but with the brightness from before carried in the dancing piano melody and your feet bounce with the notes- a triple toe loop, a double axel. Gradually your confidence grows, and the music builds again for one last final climax as you enter your last spin.

The music fades and you are left, in the centre of the rink, gasping for breath. There are tears pouring down Jimin’s face. Somehow, despite all the flaws and errors, it is the most beautiful and moving performance he has seen in his entire life.

It’s in the moment that Jimin realises something. He doesn’t just want to take you to the Olympics. He wants to see you all the way through. Every loss, every triumph, every high-point and low-point… He wants to be there beside you for it all. He’d been in darkness for so long and he’s suddenly found his light. It’s you.

You meet his gaze as the crowd roars with applause and people pelt bouquets onto the ice. And your eyes are red rimmed and teary, but you smile, and it is the most heart-stoppingly beautiful smile he has ever seen in his life. It’s only been a few short months, and yet…

And yet he loves you.

Your coach would have been so proud.

++

You don’t end up taking home the gold medal. Despite your admirable determination to skate in your injured state, there were too many technical slipups for the judges to overlook. Still, with your awesome score carrying over from the short program, and your impressive recovery in the second half of your free program, you land an impressive second place.

Jimin likes the colour on you better anyway- as you walk along side him, the silver medal around your neck bounces against your chest and catches the light and it matches perfectly with the delicate silver chain and silly cat pendant that dangles at your collarbone. But none of it shines brighter than your smile.

“You did really well.” He reassures you, as he follows you out of the rink, towards your car.

“I know.” You say smugly. Your tone is at odds with the banadages around your head and on your face and the medal that glints silver instead of gold.

“She would have been proud.” He informs you, and your answering smile is even more smug.

“I know.” You answer cheerfully, and it brings a smile to his face.

“I’m proud.” He tells you, and you shrug nonchalantly as the two of you arrive just outside his car.

“I know.” Still, you are smug and Jimin is gripped with the sudden and cheeky urge to see what you don’t know.

“I love you.” He tries, one final time, and the smile slides off your face and is replaced with something shocked. Jimin grins as he gets into the car, and it takes you a moment to recover from your shock and slide into the passenger seat.

“I… didn’t know that.” You finally say, and Jimin laughs. He shrugs. You open your mouth and close it a few times before you attempt at last to respond sincerely. “I… I like…. no, I love y-“

“Save it for the Olympics.” He cuts you off, and your eyes go wide in a comical way that makes him laugh. “You can say it when you get the gold medal.”

Your eyes harden with the challenge and you petulantly fold your arms across your chest in answer.

“Just wait and see, then.” Is your answer, your pride provoked, and honestly Jimin wouldn’t have it any other way. Perhaps he should feel uneasy, or desperately need to hear that you reciprocate his feelings. It’s a risky gamble, to not just wait for your response for something that might not even happen, but to delay it. But see, that’s the thing. He knows it’s going to happen. He has all the time in the world, now, and he can absolutely afford to wait for the Olympics.

Because you’re going to take home his third gold medal for him.

[neverplannedonnewsies]

hey, are you taking requests? if so, can i ask you for some fluffy finch x reader please? (do you need more of a prompt than that?)

I am SO SORRY about how long it took me to actually get around to writing this. I really wanted to but the motivation was a-lackin’. Also this required a LOT of editing, I didn’t realize how long it had been since I had written anything, doesn’t flow quite as easily anymore. Anywho, here is some Finch fluff, and in the course of writing this I got some ideas for a few other fluffy fics, so more should be coming in the future - I just did this one because I was particularly motivated. I hope it’s ok that it is a modern-era fic!

No warnings; Finch x reader pairing

You rush into the staff meeting, making it in just as the principal is getting the meeting started. Sliding into the chair your friend Katherine saved for you, you survey the room, trying to get your bearings and straighten your many books and papers. As you’re shrugging out of your coat you spy a new face in the crowd of teachers that you know so well. A tall lanky man roughly your age with curly hair is seated several chairs down at the conference room table. A very cute man your age. Before you have a chance to lean over and ask Katherine who he is, the principle clears up the mystery for you. “And of course, we have a new member joining our staff today. Everyone I’d like to introduce Patrick Cortes, who will be our new boy’s gym teacher.”

Mr. Cortes smiles and nods at the group in general as a few people call out a welcome, glancing around and making brief eye contact with you before he turns away again. Anything that mixes up the school day is always welcome, but a new teacher is something particularly intriguing. You have no doubt this is all your students will be able to talk about today, and honestly you can’t blame them. After all, he is a very handsome gym teacher.

When the meeting ends you want to go introduce yourself, but Jack Kelly, the art teacher, immediately goes over and begins engaging him. You decide it’s probably for the best, Jack is far more comfortable talking to strangers than you. Plus, you’re still disheveled from your rushed morning and need to get things in order before your first class. You’ll just have to meet the new teacher later.

---

You head outside for your lunch break. Unfortunately, due to Katherine’s class schedule with the upper level English students you do not have the same lunch break, otherwise you’d eat with her in the staff room. But this year the course schedule made that impossible, and you didn’t particularly care to eat with any of the other teachers. While you liked them all, your lunch break was a time to relax and not think about school. Instead you had managed to find a picnic table that none of the students seemed to use. Not only was it a far walk from the cafeteria, but your school had open campus lunch, meaning at least half the student population vanished for the lunch period as long as possible, always running back to class just in time before the bell.

Today however, you were stopped in your tracks as you rounded the corner of the building and were confronted by the sight of Patrick Cortes sitting at your table. He looked up from his lunch slightly startled.

“Oh, hello there,” he said, giving you a bashful smile, “Am I in your spot?”

“Hi,” you replied, getting over your shock, “No, not at all, I’m just surprised. None of the other teachers have found this spot yet. May I join you?”

“Of course.”

“I’m Y/N Y/L/N, I teach the upper level history courses here,” you said as you sat down and began unpacking your lunch.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Patrick Cortes, though please call me Finch.”

“It’s nice to meet you as well. Finch. That’s an interesting nickname.”

He shrugged, “Got it when I was really young and it kind of stuck. My father is also Patrick Cortes, so the family needed some way to distinguish between us. It’s better than Junior.”

You laughed, “How’s your first day going?”

“Pretty decent. No trouble with the kids and everyone has been very welcoming. It’s a little strange coming in after schools already been in session for a month, but it hasn’t been too rough so far.”

“That’s good to hear. If you don’t mind me asking, why are you eating out here instead of in the staff room?”

“So this is your spot,” he said with a teasing grin. “Honestly I just wanted to get outside. It’s such a beautiful fall day and I prefer being out of doors. The kids in my classes are going to have to learn to dress for all weather, that’s part of the reason I became a gym teacher – perfect excuse to have class outside.”

“It’s certainly easier than getting a history class outside,” you laugh.

“A little bit,” he agreed with a smile.

The conversation shifts to where you’re both from, other schools you’ve taught at, other basic “getting to know you” information. You learn that Finch moved to town to be closer to his parents, that he has a cat named Pringle, and that he does not have a girlfriend or wife. This last bit of information isn’t unwelcome to you, though you try not to dwell on it too much.

As you finish up and begin to head inside Finch stops you and says, “So is it alright if I continue having lunch here? It’s seriously fine if not, I don’t want to invade your space if this is where you come to relax during your day.”

You contemplate his question for a few seconds before replying, “Actually, it would be great to have a lunch buddy. I don’t mind at all.”

Finch grins at your words and you have a brief moment of wondering if you made a mistake. Afterall, he had a very adorable smile that could be hard to resist.

---

As you continue to have lunch together, you and Finch start to become good friends. It was nice to have another close teacher friend besides just Katherine, someone who could relate to the challenges of your job without judgement. The weird thing was though, you had yet to hang out outside of school. You of course had lunch, and were also together at all the staff meetings, chaperoned homecoming, and you had even convinced Katherine to come with you to a few of the basketball games now that Finch had taken over coaching the boy’s team. But all of this was within the boundaries of the school, where it was very clear that you were both teachers and coworkers. At first this was fine, but you started to wonder what it would be like to be with Finch outside of the bubble of the school.

Of course, the other aspect that complicated things was the fact that everyone else also seemed to notice how much time the two of you spent together. You began noticing that kids in the cafeteria would spot you and Finch walking together and start nudging each other and giggling while very not-subtly staring at the two of you. And there were times the other teachers would look inquisitively at the two of you when you laughed a little too loud in a staff meeting at a joke the other had made. Katherine kept encouraging you to go for it but you were worried. You were coworkers, you didn’t want to make him uncomfortable. What if he didn’t feel the same? And what if you had waited too long to make your move? All the while you dreaded when fall would turn to winter, effectively ending your private lunch dates.

Fortunately, Finch didn’t seem to notice your inner struggles or when you would stare at him for a moment too long. He had started coming to your classroom to “pick you up” before walking to your lunch spot, prolonging the time you had together. Occasionally he’d even come to your class during his free period, claiming to need help with a school procedure he wasn’t familiar with, but then staying for the rest of your lesson. To say that wasn’t distracting to you or the students would be a lie, but you couldn’t bring yourself to kick him out either. You just enjoyed being around him.

Finally, on one of those glorious fall days Finch, as always, appeared in your classroom doorway. Unlike usual though, he seemed a little nervous.

“Hey,” you said, looking up from your desk with a smile, “ready for lunch?”

“Yeah… Actually, I was wondering if instead of lunch you’d like to go to dinner?” Finch said, rubbing the back of his neck shyly.

You sat in shock for a few seconds before smiling even bigger and saying, “How about both?”

He laughed in slight disbelief and with a huge grin on his face said, “Deal.”

[shepherd-of-the-stars]

Quest of a Prince Ch. 2

Updating a fic after 2 years? More likely than you think. Also the first chapter has finally been edited and I am embarrassed to say that I made like 20 spelling mistakes. Oops.

Also I forgot to explain in the first chapter but Volkhvy (singular, volkhv) are pagan priests, the spiritual leaders of the Slavic people.

Word count: 5,815

Summary:  Before an heir can take the throne, a quest is bestowed on them from the Goddess of Fate. If they complete it, they will be considered blessed by the gods and rule gloriously. Prince Ivan's quest is to journey into the Frozen Sea to the Forest of Ice. There, he will find a beautiful creature that lives in the deep that will give him a treasure greater than gold. Kingdom AU. Merman!Alfred and Prince!Ivan

Chapter summary: The creature they seek is found. But can he give them what they need? 

Warnings: None

Rating: T 

Also avaliable on ao3 and FFnet

Chapter 2: Beauty

The first thing Ivan felt was heat. It wasn’t warmth like basking in the sun, but heat like a dragon had breathed its fire into his body and scorched him from the inside. His body lurched as he vomited and coughed out the water from his lungs, staining the crystal clear water right below his face. 

His vision was blurry, and his memory just as much. The thoughts in his head flowed like thick mud, but slowly, pieces of his memory returned. He could feel the hardness of wood under his hands and the gentle rocking of his rowboat. Or perhaps that was just his head swaying from dizziness. He remembered the water. He remembered drowning. But something had saved him when he had already accepted his fate. 

Something glinted in the candlelight beside him making him turn his head, but his entire body froze when he locked eyes with the creature staring right back. Those same blue eyes that he saw before he had been dragged into the deep waters were locked on his. He didn’t dare blink, fearing that if he did, his dream would end and the creature would vanish into thin air. 

Without the veil of water altering his view of the creature, Ivan found that it was not as beautiful as he once thought. Its eyes were a dull blue, hair the color of sand, and a face that placed him at an age perhaps a year below Ivan. It seemed to be male and was decorated with jewels in a fashion that, to Ivan, looked like a child who had ransacked their mother’s entire collection and thrown it on themselves. There was no order, no coordination, just accessories worn on his body for no other reason than to just have them on. 

“Beautiful” was the word he had used just moments before to describe this creature, but now, after seeing him in the dim light, the new word that came to his mind was “ordinary.” The only thing beautiful about him was his tail. From the waist down, he had the tail of a fish with scales the color of his eyes lined with gold on the rounded edges. Was this really the creature he was looking for? The Goddess had described them as a creature more beautiful than he could imagine, but as he was looking at the face of the creature in front of him, Ivan felt like this wasn’t the creature he was seeking. 

Regardless of what he thought, this creature was still one of myth. “Merfolk,” they were called. They were shy and fast with the only recorded encounters being sightings of them basking on rocks, or the echoes of their voices traveling across the open ocean. Their voices hold magic and they’re rumored to be so beautiful that just one sighting will poison a human’s mind and lead them to a watery death. Perhaps Ivan was just not one to appreciate beauty. Or maybe he was just too tired to see it. 

“My thanks to you for saving me,” he finally spoke, his voice raspy. The creature responded with a nod so small that Ivan wondered if he had imagined it. Did this creature even understand him? “Are you the creature of the deep?” he asked, praying that the creature had the gift of tongues. Most mythical creatures did. Or at least, they’re said to. Ivan’s never encountered one before. 

He made a face that Ivan recognized as confusion, and in those few seconds, Ivan was left to wonder if that confusion stemmed from not knowing what was said, or from not knowing how to answer. The creature began looking around as if trying to see if Ivan’s question had been directed at someone else. But when he saw no one, he returned his gaze to Ivan and wrinkled his nose in thought. 

“I am a creature… and I live in the deep…” He spoke the words slowly as if he was unsure of himself. His voice was soft and sounded so human-like that if Ivan closed his eyes, he would not have been able to tell the difference between a man and this mythical being. Ivan’s doubt continued to grow, but this was the only intelligent creature, besides his crew, that he had encountered in almost two months, so he had to try. 

He straightened himself and smoothed out his soaked clothes until he was, at least, moderately presentable. “I am Ivan Braginsky, Crown Prince of the Kingdom of Rusnia,” he spoke in a proud voice, only a slight tremor from the cold, “I am on a quest to retrieve the greatest treasure of the Frozen Sea, hidden in the Forest of Ice. I am to bring this treasure back to the Goddess, and only then will I be deemed worthy to rule.” When he finished, he stared back at the creature’s face of stone. 

“Why should I give it to you?” 

The answer made Ivan choke. How could this creature be so blunt? Did he not for a second consider it? “Well- Because I am the future king!” 

“In a land I don’t live in.” The creature scuffed and crossed his arms. “I have a king, too. I obey him, not you.”

Oh the arrogance! It made Ivan want to strangle him. His patience had already been drawn thin from endless days of searching, and now this creature wanted to be difficult and bratty? “Seeing that this sea is part of my kingdom, I demand that-” He stopped short when the creature grabbed on to the edge of the boat and leaned forward as if preparing to leap. On his face was an expression of disapproval, a face that said “if I don’t like your words, I don’t have to tolerate them. I’ll just go and you can do nothing to stop me.” 

So with a deep breath, Ivan swallowed down his words and smiled with gritted teeth. He took a moment to recollect himself and, hopefully, restart their conversation. This quest was not meant to be easy. It was a test of his being, and it seemed that right now, it was his patience that was being tested. 

“What is your name?” he finally asked. “I have given you mine. It would only be fair for you to give me yours, yes?” 

There was a long moment of silence as Ivan waited for the creature’s answer. He seemed to be thinking about what Ivan had said while also considering the fact that just moments ago, Ivan demanded that he give up the sea’s greatest treasure. His bottom lip jutted out in thought in a way that Ivan thought was childish. Then at last, he gave an answer. 

“Alfred,” he said, his grip on the edge of the boat relaxing just the slightest. “You may call me Alfred.” With how long he had taken to answer, Ivan questioned if the name he was given was his real name, or if he had chosen one that was human enough for Ivan to pronounce. 

“Alfred,” Ivan repeated. “Well, Alfred. As the Prince of Rusnia, I humbly request that you offer me your greatest treasure. In return, I give you my word that I will grant you anything you-”

“I want to be the king of your kingdom,” he interrupted with a smirk. 

“Anything,” Ivan continued, “within reason.”

“I believe my request is very reasonable.” 

Ivan watched as Alfred leaned on the other side of the boat as if he were lounging on pillows in bed. Surely this couldn’t be the creature the Goddess spoke of? How could a figure of such importance be so... haughty?

“My kingdom is very wealthy,” he went on, trying to go back to what he had been saying before Alfred had cut in, “if it is a chest full of jewelry or gold you desire, I will be able to provide.”

“I don’t need them.” Taking his eyes off Ivan, he gestured to the jewels decorating his slender body. “I collect these from the vessels that die here. I have plenty. They mean nothing to me. Just trinkets for my entertainment.” 

“Then why did you take my rings and my crown?” 

“I took your rings because I was bored and there’s nothing to entertain me ‘cept the fishes.” He propped his head under his hand and looked at Ivan with a bored expression. “As for your crown, I didn’t take it. It simply fell off when you were in the water.” Reaching behind himself, he grabbed the silver circlet and inspected it in his clawed nails. 

“Here.” He tossed it to Ivan so carelessly that the prince almost dropped it back into the water trying to catch it. “Have it back. It’s not pretty enough so I don’t want it.” 

“It is not meant to be pretty,” he said with a huff as he placed the crown back onto his head with numb fingers, “This crown is to signify my status as the Crown Prince.” 

“So you’re telling me that if I were to wear it, I would become the crown prince?” The glint in his eyes made Ivan put his hands on top of his head to keep Alfred from possibly snatching his crown.

“No! That is not how it works. There is a ceremony, there are vows and speeches, and you need to be born of royal blood for any of that to happen.” 

The last part had made Alfred snicker as he covered his mouth with his webbed hands. “Royal blood. Royal blood does not exist! Unless the blood you bleed is made of liquid gold, or can heal the sick with it, your blood is the same as any other human’s blood. In the end, you all meet the same mortal fate. Saying you have royal blood is just to make you feel better about yourself and put yourself above others. ‘Royal blood’ is just a title for those who end up on top. And when you lose that title, you’re nothing but a commoner. Do not talk to me about royal blood. You are not my king.” 

The mood had shifted. Alfred’s eyes glared down at the waters and his prideful voice lowered almost to a whisper as he neared the end of his speech. Something flashed in his eyes that looked almost like pain, but it had come and gone so quickly, Ivan thought he had been fooled by the flickering candlelight. 

The prince knew Alfred was right in everything he said. Ivan had done nothing to deserve his title as prince, and if he were given the choice to give it up, he would take it. But the truth of the matter was that he would never be given that choice. It was his fate to be king, and by the Gods he was going to use his title right. 

He waited until he was sure Alfred was done before he continued to speak, this time lowering his voice to be level with him. The prince spoke to him, not as a royal, but as a human. “I know I am not your king, but this quest means everything to me. If you would allow it, I would like to request an audience with your king since you will not reason with me.” 

Alfred finally turned his head away from the water and looked Ivan up and down with disdain. “That won’t happen. He is busy.” 

“How do you know?” 

“Because I know!” He had cut Ivan off before he had the chance to finish his question and returned his gaze to the waters. 

Ivan remained calm the entire time. He recalled his teachings, telling him that ruling using emotion is no way to rule. Emotions cloud judgement. Good judgement can only be made when the heart is calm and the mind is clear. 

“Alfred, you are my only hope.” Ivan held his hands out to Alfred, palms facing the ceiling of the cave in a gesture of respect. “If I do not complete this quest, I cannot rightfully become king. I need to become king to fix my father’s mistakes. He was a terrible and unjust king and I hope to repair the damage he has done. But it is not something I can do without your aid. 

“Please,” his hands still trembled from the cold. If he did not return to his ship and change out of his wet clothes soon, this conversation with Alfred would be his last. “As prince and future king, I am begging you.” 

For the first time since their conversation had begun, Alfred looked at Ivan with a face that wasn’t scornful or taunting. He looked at Ivan as if he had finally registered the importance of Ivan’s quest, and perhaps considered giving him what he needed to complete it. But that look only lasted a few moments. Once Alfred’s eyes landed on Ivan’s shaking hands, his face turned to one of concern. 

“I believe there are more important things for you to worry about right now.” And before Ivan could stop him, Alfred gave himself a push and slipped back into the dark water. Gone. 

It was like his entire world had crashed down, crushing him under the weight. Without his hope, he felt like he had been struck with a battle ram and thrust back into cruel reality. Alfred had denied him, and there was nothing that he could do. 

He tried and failed to close his hands into fists, joints aching from the bitter cold, so he slowly pulled them under his cloak in an attempt to return their functionality. His whole body shook as it tried to provide the heat he needed to survive, and with his hands so stiff they couldn’t close, he had no hope of grabbing on to the oars. 

“My Goddess,” he closed his eyes, “if you are merciful, I pray that you will allow me to pass this trial.” His voice was barely above a whisper, the heat of his breath making clouds slip from his lips. 

Then, as if his prayers were answered, his boat lurched backwards, moving towards the way he came. Words of gratitude were sent up to the heavens, but the soft sound of splashing interrupted his peace. 

Leaning his body to the side, he looked to the bow of the boat and realized that his vessel was not being moved by Her will. It was being pushed by something of this world. A head of yellow popped out of the water and smiled at him as Ivan stared in confusion. 

“Alfred? But… why?” 

Alfred rolled his eyes with a snort. “A dead king can’t rule a kingdom. I’m going to return to your ship so you don’t die. It would also give me time to think about my wish.” 

“So you will consider my offer?” 

“How about you worry over yourself first, Prince Ivan? Now sit still.” 

Warmth and hope blossomed in Ivan’s chest, sending a chill through his body strong enough to make him jolt. But for Alfred, and for his kingdom, he did as the merman instructed. He sat still and allowed Alfred to push him all the way back to the ship, weaving through the caverns like he knew every path better than he knew his own name. 

Then it hit him: Alfred knew all along. He wasn’t sure for how long, but Alfred knew that Ivan and his crew were here and had only now decided to show his face. How long had he been watching them? If Ivan had never fallen into the water, would he have stayed hidden forever? Ivan had opened his mouth to confront him about it, but when he saw the determined look on Alfred’s face, he pressed his lips together and held his words inside. 

Alfred revealing himself to Ivan was something he saw as a blessing. Alfred saving him when he could have let him drown was another. Alfred spoke his language, was considering his request, and was helping Ivan back to his ship when his hands couldn’t move. Those too were seen as blessings. For a brief moment, Ivan wondered that with so many blessings, when would his luck eventually run out? 

But he shook his head softly to dismiss the thought. All of it was fate. Every step had already been planned out and all he had to do was move forward. Or in this case, he had to move backwards. With his back turned towards their path, it was up to Alfred to bring them back to the ship. He trusted Alfred not to push him into a cave with no exits, or over the side of a waterfall. He trusted him enough to let his eyes slip close, the quiet splash of the water against his boat sounding like a lullaby to his freezing mind.

"Hey!" Giving a firm shove, Alfred made the boat lurch with such force that Ivan had almost fallen over face first. "Don't sleep." With a hard glare, he pushed the rowboat a little faster. Worry wrinkled his brow and his haste to get back to the ship made him bump and scrape against the cavern walls. Ivan had found it to be somewhat endearing. It almost seemed like Alfred cared about his wellbeing. But Ivan reasoned with himself that the merman was only keeping him alive to be able to fulfil his wish. 

Soon enough, the sounds of chatting and clanging metal reached their ears. The stone walls around them grew taller until light from the sun burst through. Disregarding his aching, burning muscles, Ivan forced his body to sit up straight and proud with only the slightest look of pain and fatigue gracing his face. One by one, his crew turned to them, but only when they saw the creature pushing the boat did they come running forward to the edge of the water. 

"Your Highness, is that the creature?"

"Did you find it, Your Highness?"

"Where is the treasure?" 

The ones who had rushed forward ignored Ivan to be the first to lay their eyes on the creature that had eluded them for almost two months. But a few of the humans pushed the others out of the way to get to the prince. "Your Highness, you're drenched! What happened? You're turning blue! Will you move?" The second question was directed at the men who cared more about Alfred than they cared about their prince. With them crowding around him, they couldn't help him back to the ship. 

Their disregard for Ivan's safety had angered Alfred so much that he slipped back under the water and lifted the rowboat right out of it, holding it above his head. Ivan gasped and held on to the sides for dear life as he watched his crew jump back several feet from the water's edge. But instead of tossing him like everyone had expected, Alfred had set the boat down gently on the ledge, pushing it towards the ones who wanted to help. 

"He fell into the water. It was an accident," Alfred lied. The crew fell silent hearing him speak and no one dared to even move. "What are you all? Stone? Your prince is dying and you lot just stand around and gawk!" His fist slammed down on the rock, forming small cracks and making the crew leap back another step. 

Two men, who looked lankier and less brutish than the others, glanced at one another before rushing forward to grab their prince. They looked at Alfred with a hint of fear in their eyes, so Alfred moved further into the water to show that he wouldn't attack. Alfred watched with worry as they helped Ivan out of the boat. Ivan’s legs almost gave out under him when he stepped off, but the servants served as his crutches. 

Alfred's eyes followed them, stalked them, watched as they helped Ivan up the ramp onto the ship. Even when they had gone inside Ivan's cabin, Alfred circled around the hull of the ship to see if there was a way he could see inside. He was like a fly outside a glass window, fingers touching the hard wood of the ship as if the hull would magically open up and let him in. But it never did, leaving Alfred to swim around and around, his head occasionally poking above the water to see what was going on.

He was well aware the crew was watching him, but he didn’t seem to care. All he cared about was Ivan’s safety. It’s been ages since he had spoken to anyone, and Ivan was just too much fun to lose. 

It felt like hours had passed since Ivan was ushered inside, but had only been mere minutes. Then at last, one of the servants who had helped Ivan onto the ship came down the ramp and locked eyes with Alfred. The merman swam closer to hear the news, his arms resting on the rocky ledge. He waited as the fidgety servant took steps forward and back, clearly still scared of Alfred. Even when he stepped forward, he was still tugging on his short, blond hair.

“Are you,” the servant paused to clear his throat, “are you the one called Alfred? I-I mean, ha, you are the only Merfolk here. Who else would be called Alfred. Prince Ivan had-”

“How is he?” 

The servant squeaked and began fiddling with his clothes like he had done with his hair. “Um. Prince Ivan is well. All thanks to you. He has changed into warmer clothes and is regaining the heat in his body. He told me to come out and give you his thanks.” 

“And to make sure I haven’t left?” 

“I-...” He glanced over at the ship as if asking Ivan for the answer. “Y-... yes…” 

“Assure him that I will not leave just yet. I believe I have figured out what it is I want, so he won’t be getting rid of me that easily.” With a smirk, Alfred lifted himself up and sat down on the ledge with his tail partially in the water. “But do tell him to hurry. I am impatient.” 

The look Alfred gave the servant made him nod vigorously before sprinting back to the ship so quickly he had almost tripped over his own shoes. Alfred laughed under his breath at the clumsiness. It had been so long since he had company and he had forgotten how fun it was to mess with people. Speaking of, it seemed the rest of the crew had built up the courage to come a little closer. Alfred watched them as the eight men whispered between themselves, then one man gave a huff and pushed them aside. 

From the way he looked, Alfred assumed this man was a class above the others. His blond hair was neater, his clothes were not torn, and his chest puffed like a walrus as he came forward to Alfred. Not that any of those things held his attention for long. His eyes would not stop staring at the man’s eyebrows. They were well kept, but they were so thick and dark that Alfred had trouble looking away. 

“Oi. You can understand us, right?” he asked as he squatted down an arm’s length away from Alfred. 

The merman didn’t respond immediately. His gaze moved from the man in front of him to the ones crowded around in the back, then back to the man with the odd eyebrows. 

“No,” he lied, then looked away from him, “I don’t have a clue what you’re saying.” He had to keep himself from smiling as he swayed his tail left and right, making small ripples in the water. 

At his answer, the man chuckled and shook his head in an unbelieving way. “Creature’s got humor, lads!” he called back to his crew, “Raivis had called you ‘Alfred,’ right? Is that your name?” 

“Perhaps it is, and perhaps it isn't.” He flicked his tail with a bored look on his face, the motion making the sunlight glint against his shimmering scales and the jewelry decorating it. From the side of his eye, he saw the man waddle closer before sitting next to Alfred with his legs folded.

“Charming. I like that. Name’s Arthur, but the others call me Captain.” He held out his hand for Alfred to shake, but when Alfred had only given the hand a glance, he retracted it and put it back on his lap. “So, Alfred, how have you come to acquire those? If my eyes don't fool me, I can confidently say that the chaplet you wear on your head is the one named Tears of Fire which belonged to Lord Adrian’s daughter. Do you know what happened to her?” 

Alfred didn’t like the look on his face. It made him feel like he was walking into a trap. “Why should I know your human friends?” Reaching up, he took the piece off his head and admired it for just a second. It was beautiful, but simple, and just like its name, the tear-shaped rubies that hung down from the main loop made it look like he was crying fiery tears. 

“She was lost at sea,” Arthur told him, “Lady Hanna was an offering to our previous king from a land across the waters. She was meant to be his concubine, but she never made it to our kingdom. That chaplet was given to her as a wedding gift.” 

Arthur had barely finished his story when Alfred had tossed the piece at him. “Seems like she would rather die than be under him.” Arthur’s expression when Alfred said that proved Ivan’s words from before to be true. Even without saying a word, Alfred could tell that Arthur had thought the same. The previous king truly was a horrible man. 

“You’re lucky none of us were loyal to that cockstain, otherwise, magical being or not, you would have been beheaded.” 

“Shame to the old king,” one of the men in the back muttered, then spit on the ground. A few men followed behind him, all muttering various insults and laughing as they grew more and more vulgar. But Alfred didn’t laugh, he looked disappointed. 

“I didn’t know humans were so disrespectful towards their king, dead or alive.” 

“Not all our kings, lad. Just this one. The whole kingdom is lucky he was a deadbeat father. ‘Cause of that, our prince is nothing like ‘im.” He bowed his head to the ship making Alfred wonder if Ivan had come out. But when he looked and saw no one, he turned back to Arthur. “Wouldn’t be here risking his life if he was. The lad has so much to prove, not just to the people, but to himself, most of all.” 

Everyone was silent after that: some out of respect, some out of pity, and some who weren’t brave enough to say what they thought in their heart. 

(-w-)

As the sun fell, the men began to return to the ship to resume their duties. But for hours, they had crowded around Alfred and flooded his ears with tales, some true and some legend. They let him experience a land he could never reach and opened his eyes to their world. Some tales had made him bend over in laughter, and some made him clutch his heart in admiration. 

They were a good group of men, he realized. Even though they were boorish and coarse, they were friendly and offered good company. But now, Alfred sat alone with his back against a boulder while the men were inside the ship having supper. Ivan’s servant, Raivis, had told them that Ivan was well and resting, so Alfred had no reason to hope that he would come out to speak to him any time soon. 

He had almost dozed off as he basked in the warmth of the bonfire beside him when the sound of footsteps brought him out of his sleepy state. To his surprise, Ivan and three of his servants were making their way down the ramp towards him. One was helping Ivan walk with a basket on her arm, and the other two each carried a crate. 

Now that he wasn’t drenched in icy water, he looked neater than what Alfred had observed before. His heavy, fur cloak kept most of his outfit hidden, but when Ivan moved his arms, it gave Alfred a glimpse of the plain but finely crafted clothes he wore underneath. While his crown and his clothes made him look royal, to Alfred, he just didn’t seem like a prince. He seemed like a normal person. 

“You are still here,” Ivan stated when he was close enough for Alfred to hear. 

Alfred’s face broke into a smile as he stretched lazily and groaned. “As if I’d dare leave, Your Highness. What have you got there?” 

“Our dinner.” 

Alfred’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Our dinner?” 

Ivan nodded and sat down next to Alfred as the crates were opened up and food was set out. Alfred had expected it to be served only to the two of them, but enough plates were set out for five. Once the crates were emptied, they were flipped over and used as makeshift tables. 

“Shouldn't a prince like you be eating alone in his warm, comfortable cabin?” Alfred said it in a tone that was almost like he was mocking him. But Ivan didn’t take offense, he simply chuckled and shook his head. 

“I prefer not to eat alone. Without company, the food turns bitter.” Ivan’s smile was soft and genuine, making warmth grow in Alfred’s chest. 

More and more, Ivan’s image as a prince began to fade, but Alfred couldn't bring himself to say that it was a bad thing. Ivan wasn’t the type of prince to put himself above the others. Even now, he sat on the cold ground with Alfred and the servants as if they were the same class. He shared his food with them, laughed at their stories, and told some of his own. 

Some time later, more of his crew came and crowded around them. All were eager to hear how Ivan had found Alfred, waiting for a glorious tale. But Ivan didn’t change the story; he told the entire truth. He told them how he was a fool thinking he could catch Alfred with his bare hands, and how Alfred had toyed with him like he was an idiot. Never in his life did Alfred expect a prince to label himself as a fool or an idiot, and here Ivan was labeling himself as both. 

Ivan had turned to Alfred and told him, “I was fortunate that he decided to save me. If not, then…” His eyes seemed lost in thought, but his stiff smile stayed on his face. 

To break the silence, the crew offered words of gratitude to Alfred for saving their prince. Some had pat him on the shoulder, and some bowed to him in a show of respect. To Alfred, it was just bizarre. He had once thought that Ivan wasn’t ready to be king because he wasn’t authoritative enough. But now, he saw that even though Ivan didn’t seem to hold the usual qualities of a strong king, he had a crew that respected him because of his actions, not his status. 

Over the days, he spent almost every second of his time with Ivan and his people. He learned many of their names, tried all their food, and heard so many of their stories. Alfred didn’t want the days to end. After so many years alone in the dark caves, he wanted them to stay forever and keep him company. But it was a dream he would eventually need to wake from. 

“Damned creature,” he heard one night after everyone had retired. The voice had come from up on the deck where he couldn’t see. Alfred didn’t recognize the gruff, male voice so it must have been one of the men that stayed away from Alfred and busied themselves with chores. “Who the hell does he think he is?” 

“He’s just a freak,” came another hushed voice, “His father must have bedded a fish when all women rejected him.” The two men snickered then one of them shushed the other. 

“Quiet, or the prince will hear us.” 

“Damn him too. He’s found the bloody creature and still won’t take the godforsaken treasure from his hands so we can leave this frozen hell and go back home!” 

The words had hurt, but those men were right. Alfred was selfish for keeping them here, and even though they seemed happy to keep him company, he was keeping them from returning home to their families and their lives. 

Morning came and Ivan came to visit him as the sun rose, just as he had every morning since Alfred was found. He brought breakfast with him to share together, but today he was alone. 

“Good morning, Alfred,” he greeted, his voice soft as it always was, “Did you rest well?” 

Alfred only grunted in response, his head resting on his arms as his body from the chest down was still in the water. Thoughts raced around his head as he watched Ivan set out the food. It was dried meat, roasted fish, and sliced cheese. The same meal everyday.  

“You heard it as well, then?” 

Alfred’s eyes flickered up to Ivan. “Heard what?” 

“What they said last night on the deck.” Ivan’s voice sounded tired, but a smile still graced his face as he looked out at the sea. 

“Am I that easy to read?”

Like Alfred had done before, Ivan gave him a grunt in response. “They were rude, but their words hold truth. Our supplies are dwindling. If we ration what we have, perhaps we can stay for two more weeks. After that, we have no choice but to return home.” Those words brought sorrow to his face. 

From his expression, Alfred knew what Ivan had meant to say. 

I have to go home without the treasure. I failed the quest.

“You know, Ivan,” he paused, waiting until the prince turned to look at him, “you’ve already granted my wish.” 

“I have?” A flash of hope crossed his eyes, then the realization that he had forgotten to ask what it was in the first place. “What was your wish?” 

Alfred unbuckled a belt from his hip, something he’s never worn until today. On the belt was a sword, the sheath black as night and decorated with gold designs. He held the sheath of the sword tightly in his hands and looked down at it until the memories pained him so much that he had to look away. 

“This sword belonged to my father, King of Svetloyar.” He watched as Ivan’s eyes grew wide. 

“You’re a prince?”

[stattic-writes]

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[viogsquad]

someone you loved - david dobrik

authors note; i might make this into a lil series which is why i have left it how i have so lemme know if you want one! also ik this has probs been done a lot but it was requested sooo word count; 1.6k. warnings; angst. 

The sound of your front door being opened should have made you smile at the fact that your boyfriend had arrived home earlier than expected after spending most of the day with Jason and Jonah but the only feeling you got was dread. No long did David return home and greet you with a kiss and ask about your day before offering to go and collect food so you could relax for most of the night. Instead, you got a muffled hello before he announced that he was off to go and edit the vlog.

You had often wondered if it was you that was the problem. What had started out a quick hook up had turned into something more drastically, the relationship moving faster than any of your previous ones. A few months after his break up with Liza, you were sharing his bed, a few months after that, you had practically moved in. Even though you were fully aware of the complications that came with dating a man who blatantly was still not over his ex, it still didn’t stop you from proceeding with the relationship.

What had started out as something fun and thrilling had turned into something you were starting to regret. At first, the relationship had been full of laughs and spending the free hours you both had tucked up in bed or on the sofa watching some rerun of an old sitcom or you’d be out filming fun footage that had the two of you laughing loudly at four in the morning. Natalie was exceptionally thankful when you first came onto the scene - David practically a new man when the two of you began to date and it got him out of his bubble that he had forced himself into when Liza broke up with him. For the first time in months, Natalie had heard his familiar and infectious laughter ring through the house and down the hallway into her bedroom, all natural and not forced.

David’s eyes brightened whenever they were with you at the start. You distracted him from his work and kept him sane at night when he was editing and under pressure to get a video up and you brought him happiness for the first time in months. Still, a part of David knew that he was stringing you along and even though he felt guilty about it, he couldn’t stop it. He was daft enough to think that his feelings for Liza would vanish overnight and feelings for you would appear without him having to make an effort.

“Did you get any good content?” you asked, sparking up a conversation before he could get the first word in.

David shrugged as he opened the fridge door, his hand grasping the cold red bull that he would eventually end up leaving on the counter. “Don’t know if any of it will end up in the vlog but yeah, I guess so. You had a good day?”

“Yeah,” you lied, not wanting to admit that you had spent the whole day running over different reasons as to why David was acting so odd around you. So far, you had decided that he was just stressed with YouTube and that it was nothing to do with you but of course, your mind kept going back to Liza and how David’s contagious smile grew even wider whenever Liza entered the room or made one of her unfunny puns. “Been with anyone else other than Jason and Jonah?”

“Saw Carly and Erin briefly but that was about it…” David trailed off as he looked up at you, a frown on his face when he noticed the unhappiness that you were radiating. “Are you okay?” he asked - the first time in weeks he had seemed genuinely concerned.

You debated saying nothing and keeping your troubles to yourself but you didn’t know if you could carry on like this anymore. You wanted to get to the root of the problem so you could either move on with your life or sort it out.

“Do you want me to be honest?”

“Yeah I do.” David sat down on the barstool across from you, his camera gently placed on top of the counter before he turned his full attention to you. His eyebrows were furrowed as he waited for you for express your unwelcome emotions but all he got was silence. “Is it something I've done?” David asked, taken back slightly when you scoffed loudly and waved your hand in the air. “I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what the issue is.”

Shaking your head from side to side, you let out a long breath. “Don’t act like an idiot David because it really doesn't suit you.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve had a problem with me for weeks. You hardly talk to me and when you do it’s about the vlog and nothing else, you prefer to spend most of your nights wandering around LA instead of with me and even then, you don’t invite me out. I don’t even fucking get a hello when you walk through the door most days so yeah, it is something that you’ve done.” Stunned at your sudden outburst, you took a step back and lowered your voice as you continued to speak, not daring to look David in the eyes as you knew that you would instantly shut up and change the topic of conversation into something that wouldn’t cause a quarrel. “I know that I sound needy but it would be nice to get some attention from you. I’m not asking to be with you twenty-four seven, I’d just like you to act like a boyfriend occasionally and not leave me in the dark about everything.”

“I’ve been busy - “

Another scoff from you had David silent again, the overused excuse not bringing you any sense of emotion other than annoyance. You understood that it was time consuming doing what David did, the continuous grind of getting footage, editing and uploading along with other opportunities that came along but it didn’t excuse his behaviour towards you.

The argument that was coming had been a long time in the making, built up anger finally becoming too much until it had no choice but to be released and potentially ruin the one good thing in your life, even if it wasn’t going swimmingly at the moment. Despite how unhappy you currently were with the relationship; it didn’t change the fact that you wanted things to work out between the two of you.

“That’s always going to be the excuse, isn’t it? We both know what the problem is but neither one of us is willing to admit it.”

“If you know what the problem is then bloody tell me.” David’s voice rose with every word, his frustration getting the better of him as he snapped.

He knew what you were talking about, of course he did, but David didn’t want to be the one who said it and he would play dumb for as long as possible until he had no choice but to confess his secret to you.

“Liza.”

“Liza?” It was David’s turn to let out a fake, over dramatic noise of frustration mixed with confusion as he squinted his eyes towards you. You knew David well enough to know when he lying through his back teeth and this was one of those situations, the boy not at all good when it came to acting all calm and collected when in your presence. “What has Liza got to do with any of this?”

“I told you not to act stupid,” you replied, finally moving so you were sat down across from him and not standing on the other side of the island awkwardly. “Do you still love her and please don’t lie to me because I think that would hurt me more.”

Scratching his cheek, David turned his attention the side of the kitchen, his eyes focused on some of the alcoholic bottles that had been left out. “I don’t know what you want me to say other than I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?” The silence was making you feel sick. Even though you know what David was implying and it had been on your mind for weeks, it didn’t make it any easier. “Right, got it,” you mumbled, awkwardly clearing your throat and busying yourself by clearing up some of the cans on the island.

“[y/n] - “ David cut himself off as he tried to think of the right words to say, not wanting to break your heart any more than he was already doing. His fingers pinched the bridge of his nose, the glasses he wore lifting up slightly.

“I don’t want to be the other woman.”

“You are not the other woman.”

“So, what am I then? Do you have any feelings for me? Am I just someone you can come home to when you need to get your mind off Liza, hmm?” The empty red bull can in your hand slammed down on the island as you neared David, eyes full of anger and disappointment. “Quiet, aren’t you?”

David’s shoulders lifted into a half-shrug as he finally looked up at you, his bottom lip trapped between his teeth as he tried to keep his emotions in check. “I wouldn’t say that I love Liza because I don’t think I do, I don’t know. I think I’m just still hung up on her because she was in my life for so long and it’s a struggle, [y/n]. It doesn’t mean that I don’t like you because I do.”

“But I love you.”  

[glorious-blackout]

Summary of Junior Doctor Life - Surgical Receiving Edition:

Came back from annual leave to find that the pager I left in our doctor’s room has vanished off the face of the earth. Which is honestly a dream come true, until you start the annoying process of requesting a new one.

Surgical Receiving means you’re the junior who covers all the new patients coming in, while also holding the page that accepts GP calls referring patients to the department. We need to either accept or redirect these patients, and if they’re accepted we need to clerk them in and take bloods on top of our other jobs. It ultimately creates far more work than you can physically do in one shift, hence me feeling guilty for managing to grab a whole 20 minute break during my 12 and a half hour shift.

It’s also a seven-day stretch: three 12 and a half hour shifts - which usually end up being 13 hours - followed by four 9-hour shifts. By day seven I was starting to crave the sweet release of death, though I would maybe have settled for a good nap. 

Carrying the Surgical Receiving page means you occasionally get calls from GPs who aren’t quite at the stage of referring a patient, but are asking for advice. I’ll say again: the GP who’s been working for several years has to ask me - the clueless FY1 who’s only been working five months - for advice on a patient I’ve never met. It tends to go about as well as you can imagine.

It’s also an indication that the receiving page should really be held by seniors who can actually make informed decisions about who to accept and offer useful advice to GPs. The only reason we carry it is because the shift is so rubbish that none of our seniors can be bothered.

Six out of ten calls we get from GPs are due to suspected appendicitis (very few of which actually turn out to be appendicitis). The rest is a lovely mix of gallstones, rectal bleeding, bowel obstruction/perforation and abscesses. Who says surgery isn’t glamorous?

It only took five months but I finally have a patient who stuck something up their bum that doesn’t belong there (it was lip-balm...and no, we still don’t know why).

One day two of my patients decided to collapse while on the toilet. The first lady was so dramatic that a peri-arrest call was put out... only for it to turn out she’d had a fainting episode due to dehydration (when I saw her that afternoon she was sitting up and reading a magazine). The other lady had some extensive rectal bleeding which led to her BP dropping into her boots and the need for multiple blood transfusions. We were all a bit exhausted by the end of that shift, not to mention wary of letting any of our patients near a loo.

One of the patients absolutely hates me with a passion, to the point where she groans every time I approach her. Granted, I tend to be approaching her with a needle so from her perspective I probably am a bit of a monster.

(She’s surprisingly tolerant once I explain why I need to take her bloods/insert a cannula for the umpteenth time. It just takes a bit of gentle coaxing :P)

A common phrase you hear during the really busy shifts is “Look, I know you’re swamped but...”. Nine times out of ten the nurses are genuinely sympathetic and the request is reasonable, but there is the odd time where they seem to want you to discard your mountain of jobs in order to deal with their problem.

Case in point: I was paged three times to review a lady who was still nauseous despite having regular anti-sickness meds. She was otherwise well and we’d made a plan for her during the ward-round which I’d only just put in place. This wasn’t a priority compared to my other jobs and I had a more unwell gentleman to review, but the nurse was insistent that I review this lady just for ‘peace of mind’. Which is a nice thought... so long as you happen to have a spare 20 minutes (which I didn’t).

After three days of Receiving you do a Post-Receiving shift: basically you look after the same set of patients but you no longer carry the page or accept new ones. Seeing as all the required surgeries/treatments are usually over by that point, most of Post-Receiving revolves around sending people home. Which on the one hand is lovely because your workload reduces every day, but on the other it results in you having to do fifteen discharge letters/prescriptions in one shift. 

The last day of Post-Receiving should, in theory, be a breeze. Your list of patients has dwindled from 30+ to 9 and most of those nine are on their way out. Sadly my dreams of an easy shift were ruined when one patient who should have been going home selfishly decided to drop her oxygen saturations. C’est La Vie.

The wonderful folk who designed our rota were obviously sadists, because instead of splitting up this particularly exhausting set of shifts, they’ve grouped them together so you have two Receiving/Post-Receiving weeks in a row. Round Two starts on Monday... Yay?