#I got my tablet back so warming up with some scribbling

[corruptimles]

guys with pineapple hair that almost committed fratricide

[rue-isabelle]

Author's note: This is a dark story!

Age is just a number (Part 3)

The sun was setting outside Carlos’s window, casting the room in warm orange hues. He sat on the edge of his couch, phone propped up in his hand, waiting for the familiar buzz of an incoming FaceTime call. It had become a ritual—Yn’s voice and face were the highlights of his evenings. Tonight was no exception. His heart skipped a beat as her name flashed on his screen.

He swiped to answer, and there she was, her long hair cascading over her shoulders, face glowing with excitement.

“Hi!” she greeted, her voice light and bubbly. “You ready for another round of my super interesting daily updates?”

Carlos chuckled, leaning back against the couch. “Always. Tell me everything.”

Yn tilted her tablet toward the camera, revealing a sleek pair of black ankle boots with silver embellishments. “So, first of all, I bought these amazing shoes. Aren’t they cute?”

“They’re beautiful,” Carlos said, though his eyes didn’t stray from her face. He couldn’t help but be captivated by her excitement.

“And,” Yn continued, moving the camera up to reveal a small haul of makeup items, “I finally got that lip gloss I told you about. The one that was sold out last time? Look, it’s so shiny.”

She swiped some on her lips, puckering at the camera with a playful smile. Carlos’s heart raced.

“Perfect,” he murmured, voice softer than he intended. “It suits you.”

Yn giggled, her cheeks flushing. “Okay, okay, enough of my shopping adventures. I also got some work done. Look!”

She switched her camera to show her tablet screen, where perfectly organized school notes were displayed in elegant handwriting, adorned with soft pastel highlights and little doodles in the margins.

“See? Aesthetic, right?” Yn asked proudly.

Carlos leaned closer to his phone, feigning serious study. “Wow. I didn’t know notes could look like art. You really do everything perfectly, don’t you?”

“Stop,” Yn said, brushing off the compliment, though her smile widened. “But yeah, I figured if I have to study, it might as well look nice.”

“I wish I had been that organized in school,” Carlos admitted with a laugh. “My notes were just scribbles. I think even I couldn’t read them half the time.”

Yn laughed, her whole face lighting up. Carlos stared for a second too long, completely mesmerized. She shifted the camera, now angled toward her outfit—a cute sweater and pleated skirt.

“I threw this on earlier, but wait until you see my pajamas!” She darted off-screen, returning moments later with a fluffy pastel pajama set covered in little cartoon clouds. “Aren’t they adorable?”

Carlos couldn’t hide his grin. “Muy adorable. But you could wear anything and still look beautiful.”

Yn rolled her eyes playfully, though her blush deepened. “You’re too sweet. But enough about me—what about you? What have you been up to today?”

Carlos leaned back, shifting the phone in his hands. “Not much,” he said vaguely. “You know, just the usual. Some workouts in the morning, then I spent the afternoon planning a little holiday.”

“A holiday? That sounds fun! Where are you going?” Yn asked, her eyes lighting up with interest.

“I was thinking about somewhere warm. Maybe a beach,” Carlos replied, keeping the specifics vague. “I like to stay active even on holidays—some hiking, swimming, things like that. And then there’s the food. I’m all about finding the best local spots to eat.”

“That sounds amazing,” Yn said wistfully. “I wish I could go on a holiday like that. But it’s not like my parents would ever take me. They’re always so busy.”

Carlos’s brow furrowed. “They travel a lot for work, don’t they?”

“Yeah,” Yn sighed. “They’re never home. It’s just me most of the time. Which is fine, I guess—I’m used to it. But still, it would be nice to have someone around, you know?”

Carlos’s chest tightened at the hint of loneliness in her voice. He had been thinking about it for days, but now felt like the right time to bring it up.

“Yn,” he said carefully, his tone soft but serious. “What if I came to visit you?”

Yn’s eyes widened. “You mean… here? Like, in person?”

“Sí,” Carlos said, his lips curving into a small smile. “I want to see you. For real this time. We’ve been talking so much, but I feel like I need to meet you in person. Only if you’re comfortable with it, of course.”

Yn’s smile grew impossibly wide. “Are you kidding? I’d love that! My parents are never around, so we’d have the house to ourselves. I can finally show you my favorite spots in town.”

Carlos felt a wave of relief wash over him at her enthusiastic response. “Perfect. I’ll arrange everything. Just say the word, and I’ll be there.”

“Word,” Yn said with a grin, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

Carlos laughed. “Alright. Let me figure out the details, and I’ll let you know when I can come. It won’t be long, I promise.”

“You’d really do this?” Yn asked, her voice tinged with wonder.

“For you? Of course,” Carlos said softly. “I’ve been wanting this for a while, Yn. I can’t wait to see you.”

Yn’s cheeks flushed again, her smile never fading. “Me neither.”

As they continued talking, planning out the logistics of their meeting, Carlos couldn’t help but feel a surge of excitement. He knew this wasn’t a typical situation, but something about Yn felt special—different. And he was willing to do whatever it took to make their connection even stronger.

-------

The next day, Carlos arrived at Yn’s house just as the morning sun cast a golden glow over the quiet neighborhood. Yn stood at her front door, dressed in a simple sundress that flowed with the breeze, her long hair catching the light. Her heart raced as she watched him step out of his car, wearing a casual button-up shirt and jeans that somehow made him look effortlessly perfect.

When their eyes met, Carlos smiled warmly, striding up to her with an ease that made her knees feel weak. Before she could say a word, he wrapped her in a gentle hug, his arms strong yet comforting, his cologne surrounding her in the most intoxicating way.

“Hola, hermosa,” he murmured, pulling back just enough to press a soft kiss to her cheek.

“Hi,” Yn whispered, her cheeks flushed. “You’re really here.”

Carlos chuckled. “Of course I am. I told you I’d come.”

She beamed, grabbing his hand and pulling him inside. “Come on, I have so much to show you!”

Her excitement was infectious, and Carlos followed her through the house as she gave him a tour. She showed him the cozy living room where she watched movies, the kitchen where she often experimented with baking, and finally, her bedroom.

“This is it!” Yn announced, throwing the door open dramatically.

Carlos stepped inside, taking in the soft pastel tones, the neatly made bed, and the little trinkets and photos scattered around. It was so perfectly her—sweet, bright, and full of personality.

“It’s beautiful,” Carlos said, smiling as he glanced at the fairy lights strung along the walls. “Just like you.”

Yn blushed, her fingers nervously fidgeting with the hem of her dress. “Stop flattering me. It’s not that special.”

“It is,” Carlos insisted, his gaze soft as he looked around. “You can tell a lot about someone by their room. Yours is cozy, warm… it feels like home.”

Her heart fluttered at his words. She pointed to her bookshelf. “Okay, but this is my favorite part—my little library.”

Carlos walked over, brushing his fingers along the spines of her books. “You read a lot.”

“I love it,” she said with a shy smile. “It’s my escape.”

He turned to her, his expression tender. “I can see that. It suits you.”

After the tour, they headed to the kitchen, where Carlos suggested they cook together. “I’ll teach you how to make perfect spaghetti Bolognese,” he offered, rolling up his sleeves.

Yn lit up. “I’d love that! But fair warning—I’m not the best cook.”

“Don’t worry, mi reina,” Carlos teased, “I’ll guide you.”

As they started, Carlos positioned himself behind her, his larger frame enveloping her smaller one. His hands gently covered hers as he showed her how to chop the onions and garlic.

“Like this,” he murmured, his breath warm against her ear.

Yn’s cheeks burned as she concentrated, his proximity making her heart race. “Am I doing it right?”

“Perfect,” Carlos said softly, his voice filled with pride.

When it was time to stir the sauce, he guided her hands again, standing so close that she could feel his chest against her back. Once she got the motion right, he wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her closer.

“You’re a natural,” he praised, his lips brushing her temple in a soft kiss.

Yn felt herself melt into his embrace, her body relaxing against his. “It’s because you’re a good teacher,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the sound of the bubbling sauce.

Carlos couldn’t help but smile. He was obsessed with their height difference—the way she fit so perfectly in his arms, her head just below his chin. It made him want to hold her forever.

As if reading his mind, Yn turned her head slightly to look up at him, their faces suddenly inches apart. Her breath hitched as their eyes met, the air between them thick with unspoken emotions.

“Carlos…” she murmured, her gaze flickering to his lips.

“Yn…” he whispered back, his voice low and filled with longing.

Slowly, they began to lean in, their lips just a breath away from touching. But before they could kiss, a loud hiss broke the moment—the water from the pasta pan was boiling over, spilling onto the stove.

“Oh no!” Yn exclaimed, breaking away from Carlos to grab the pot.

Carlos groaned in frustration, running a hand through his hair. “The timing!”

Yn giggled as she turned off the burner, her cheeks still flushed from their almost-kiss. “Maybe it’s a sign we should focus on cooking before we burn the kitchen down.”

Carlos laughed, shaking his head. “Maybe. But next time, no distractions.”

Yn felt her heart flutter at the promise in his words, and as they finished cooking together, she couldn’t help but feel that this was just the beginning of something even more magical.

--------

After finishing their dinner, Carlos and Yn moved to the living room. The soft glow of the TV illuminated the room as Yn scrolled through the movie options on the streaming platform. She was curled up on the couch, her knees tucked under her as she scanned titles, while Carlos lounged beside her, his long legs stretched out and his arm resting casually along the back of the couch.

“How about this one?” Yn asked, glancing over her shoulder to show him the screen.

Carlos raised an eyebrow. “A romantic comedy? Again?”

Yn pouted, her lips forming a small, exaggerated frown. “It’s my favorite genre! Please?”

Carlos sighed dramatically, pretending to be reluctant. “Fine, fine. I can suffer through one more,” he teased, though his smile betrayed him.

Yn grinned triumphantly and pressed play. As the movie began, she settled beside him, leaning just slightly into his side. Over the next hour, their positions gradually shifted. First, Carlos’s arm slid lower, resting on her shoulder. Then Yn tucked herself closer, resting her head against his chest. By the time the credits started rolling, she was lying completely on top of him, her small frame fitting perfectly against his.

Carlos’s arms wrapped securely around her, his chin resting lightly on the top of her head. He could feel her breathing, slow and steady, and the warmth of her body against his sent a wave of contentment through him.

“Comfortable?” he asked softly, his voice teasing but warm.

Yn tilted her head up to look at him, her cheek pressed against his chest. “Very.”

Carlos smiled, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “You’re going to fall asleep on me like this.”

“Maybe that’s the plan,” Yn replied with a sleepy giggle.

He chuckled, holding her a little tighter. “You’re impossible.”

As the room fell quiet, Yn let out a small sigh. “We should probably go to sleep.”

Carlos hesitated, not wanting to let go of her just yet. “You mean I should go sleep on the couch?”

Yn sat up slightly, looking at him with an expression that was equal parts amused and bashful. “No, I meant we should go to my room.”

Carlos blinked, taken aback. “Your room?”

Yn nodded, standing and grabbing his hand. “Come on.”

Still surprised, Carlos let her lead him down the hallway to her bedroom. The pastel hues and soft fairy lights he’d admired earlier felt even cozier now. Yn turned to him, her cheeks slightly pink.

“You can sleep here with me,” she said shyly, motioning to the bed.

Carlos tilted his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”

She laughed softly, brushing past him to climb onto the bed. “Just don’t hog the blankets, okay?”

Carlos kicked off his shoes and joined her, lying down on his side. Yn turned off the lights, plunging the room into a gentle dimness illuminated only by the soft glow of her fairy lights. The bed dipped slightly as Yn slid closer, curling into his side.

Without thinking, Carlos pulled her into his arms, his larger frame easily enveloping her. Yn relaxed against him, her head nestled under his chin as he became the big spoon.

“This okay?” he asked, his voice low and gentle.

Yn hummed in response, her fingers lightly gripping his arm around her waist. “Perfect,” she whispered.

Carlos smiled, his heart swelling. His hand moved to her waist, stroking gently, his fingers brushing against the soft fabric of her pajamas. Every little movement she made, from her breathing to the way she shifted slightly to get more comfortable, made his chest tighten with affection.

“You’re amazing,” he murmured, leaning down to press a soft kiss to her neck.

Yn shivered slightly under his touch but didn’t pull away. “You’re not so bad yourself,” she teased, her voice tinged with sleepiness.

Carlos chuckled, his lips brushing her ear. “You know, mi pequeña,” he began, his voice dropping to a whisper, “I could stay like this forever. Just holding you.”

Yn smiled, her fingers gently brushing his arm. “I like being in your arms. It feels… safe.”

Hearing her say that made Carlos’s heart ache in the best way. He kissed her neck again, his lips lingering this time as he whispered sweet nothings in Spanish.

“Eres mi todo,” he murmured. “Mi hermosa estrella.” (You’re my everything. My beautiful star.)

Yn let out a soft sigh, her breathing evening out as she drifted off to sleep. Carlos stayed awake, his hand still lightly stroking her waist. He couldn’t help but admire her—the way her face looked so peaceful, the soft rise and fall of her chest, the way she trusted him so completely.

As his thoughts wandered, doubts began to creep in. What would the guys think if they saw him now? If they knew about Yn?

Lando’s voice popped into his head, sharp and serious. “Mate, are you insane? She’s 18! This isn’t like you. You are acting like a fucking pervert.”

And Charles, always the moral compass, would be even more dramatic. “Carlos, what are you doing? Have you lost your mind? This is—this is crazy! She is younger than your sister. Fuck she is younger than the youngest drivers on the grid. Have you lost your mind?!”

Carlos groaned quietly to himself, shaking his head. He knew they’d judge him. They’d be shocked, maybe even disgusted. He wasn’t sure how he’d explain it to them—or if he even could.

But then Yn shifted in her sleep, her small hand clutching his shirt, her body pressing closer to his as if seeking his warmth.

In that moment, all his doubts vanished. It didn’t matter what anyone else thought. Yn was here, in his arms, trusting him completely. That was all that mattered.

“Te quiero mucho,” he whispered into her hair, his voice filled with quiet conviction. “I’ll protect you. Always.”

And with that, Carlos closed his eyes, letting himself drift off, his heart full of peace.

[finelinevogue]

the fact that Y/N has post natal depression Is somewhat refreshing idk I just don't see it talked about much on here and if it is it's like Hella angsty and the partner doesn't understand what it is but I was wondering if u could touch on it a bit more cause it's something I'm really scared about happening to me and I just want harry to hold me and tell me it's going be okay 😚😚😚😚

P.s. if u don't wanna it's understandable

anon: can u write about harry helping y/n through her ppd maybe like the 3rd time was so bad that h decide that he won’t be having more children

so this was requested twice so i would love to be able to write this for you both, hope this is okay - mind it’s heavily angsty!;

tw: vomiting, ppd and od

oli - 4, felix - 3, belle - 12 weeks

Motherhood was really fucking hard.

The birth of your newly born daughter, Isabella, had really taken a back pedal on your mental health. You had suffered with post natal depression after the birth of your two sons, but nothing as bad as this.

It had hit you around the 7 week mark after giving birth. The pregnancy itself was okay, even though she was slightly premature, but it was after you’d taken her home that it’d all spiralled downhill. It started with complications with her breastfeeding - like she was rejecting the milk that you had produced. It hurt to see her reject you and your body, finding more comfort in drinking from a pre-made milk bottle as her dad rocked her to sleep. You recall the evening so clearly and felt like an utter failure as you watched her drink a bottle of formula for the first time.

“Ssh ssh,” Harry cooed to your 7 week old daughter as he rocked her in his arms on the rocking chair in her nursery. She was whining because she was hungry, but the problem was that she wasn’t accepting your milk. She hadn’t been accepting your milk all day and now it was becoming dangerous for you to keep on saying ‘Oh i’ll just try later.’ Harry had told you to make a formula bottle for her. “Mummy’s coming.”

As much as you didn’t want to, you were walking back to the nursery with a warm bottle in your hands. You’d tested it on your hand to make sure it wasn’t too hot and then taken a sip to taste it, out of jealousy, and you thought that it didn’t taste any different to you. Then again you’re not a 7 week old human whose only date is milk.

“Look here’s mummy with your yummy milk, okay? Look Belles!” Harry cooed at his darling angel and you only wished he wasn’t as happy for her as he was.

“Yeah.” You spoke softly, handing him the bottle and standing nearby, part of you hoping that she would reject this too and she wasn’t just rejecting you.

But no, she drank the formula like it was her last meal.

“Such a sweet girl, aren’t you?” Harry praised her, watching her in awe as she kept on drinking the formula. Watching as she was drinking to become the strong girl you knew she’d become. It just hurt that it wasn’t you that could help her become that.

You felt powerless. Worthless, even. The one thing that you had carried the weight of your breasts around to do and you couldn’t even do it. Your nipples were so sore and your breasts ached so badly and it was all for nothing. Perhaps it was punishment for being such a bad mum. Perhaps you’d never been good enough for this job and it was your bodies way of shutting you down forever. You wouldn’t need the ability to produce milk anymore, because you weren’t worth the title of becoming one again. You wanted to be happy for your little one, seeing her happy but all you felt was rejection and sadness. She didn’t think you were good enough to be her mum and that really hurt.

Along with the breastmilk problem, Belle also became very stubborn when you wanted to change her nappy. Anytime you tried to change and help her she put up a fuss, kicking her legs and sometimes she would bite or hit you away. It was just a reminder that you weren’t a good enough mum for her and that she didn’t feel safe enough around you. She didn’t find comfort in your presence and she was so fussy about what you did around her. With Harry, though, she was an angel. She loved him so much and obviously he made her feel so loved and safe - something you’d clearly never be able to give her.

There was also the chores of being a mother to your other two sons too. Oli and Felix were old enough to understand that they had a baby sister, but they weren’t old enough to understand how miserable you were. Harry wasn’t even able to figure it out yet. You tried your best to put on your bravest face, knowing that your family needed you to be strong but the truth was that you were crumbling on the inside. You were feeling less and less like yourself and you were waiting for the moment when you’d completely fall apart. Nothing felt right anymore. Everything was just numb.

“You two boys okay?”

You walked into the children’s playroom see that they were sat at the little table colouring in. Felix’s little legs dangled slightly, whereas Oli’s legs touched the floor and it made your heart swell at how big they were both getting.

“Yep!” Oli cheered, scribbling with his left hand as his tiny tongue stuck out from his lips as he concentrated - a habit passed onto him from his father.

“What are you both drawing?” You asked, coming over and kneeling on the floor beside them and having a peek at their drawings.

“We’re colouring for daddy.” Felix answered, some of the words not being pronounced properly due to his young lisp and lack of being taught how to say things correctly yet.

His words stung though. You appreciated that he was only a toddler and he meant nothing evil or malicious by it, but it hurt to think that maybe, just maybe, your sons were doing this for their dad because he did so much more for them than you did. Of course you tried to be the best mum you could, but maybe you weren’t doing enough. Maybe you weren’t meant to be a mum after all, or at least not a good one.

“O-oh,” you tried to hold back the tears in your eyes because your boys looked so proud at their artwork - and you should be too. “Tell me about them then, my loves.”

Oli went first, “So this is me and this is Oli and this is dad. It’s us playing football like we did the other day, mummy.” He pointed out to each of the figures, some looking actually quite terrifying but you’d never have the heart to tell him that. The figures were all holding hands though and it hurt to think that you weren’t a part of that.

“Oh that’s so good Ols!” you rubbed his head of hair and then turned to Felix’s, “What about you Fix?”

“I drew daddy as the best.” He pointed to a trophy that the figure - more like a stick-man-slenderman - was holding, which was decorated with the award of ‘my hero’.

“I told him to write hero, mummy.” Oli added, and you smiled at both of them.

“Well done. Good job both of you. Daddy will love these!” You only wished that they would draw something for you. You hated to think that you were being petty, but honestly you just wanted to feel loved. “Shall I go cut up some apple for a snack, hey?” You asked, trying to feel useful.

“Daddy is making us smoothies!” Felix answered and you had to stand up, up and away from their heigh, so they didn’t catch the tears in your eyes.

“Okay! Don’t forget to give him those pictures - he’ll love those.” You praised them and they both giggled to each other.

The sight of your sons laughing should’ve made you so happy, but it only reminded you that you weren’t the source of their happiness. You weren’t on their mind enough to be their inspiration for drawings. You definitely weren’t their hero. You were just a woman to them, not a mum. You wanted to be so much more but it was clear that they didn’t need you. They were loved by their dad and each other, not in need of your heart.

Eventually Belle settled down and was sleeping better through the night, leaving you and Harry to much more peaceful nights sleep. Well, just Harry.

You had found it near impossible to get to sleep now. You lay awake at night wondering when Belle would next wake up, wondering when she’d next need you. Harry was always quick out of bed though, even if he actually was sleeping, to help her ordering you to stay in bed and rest yourself. You couldn’t help feel like he was telling you to stay put because he knew you wouldn’t be able to do your job properly - and you started to believe him.

You’d found yourself getting jealous of those that could get to sleep. When you were walking down the road you’d judge a person by how much sleep they looked like they got last night. You definitely looked like you only had 2 hours - even when you’d only had 37 minutes but who’s counting? Your dark circles were heavily noticeable, but no one cared enough to ask. Even Harry stayed clear of you more and more often; spending more time with the kids than you and sleeping on his side of the bed instead of yours at nighttime.

There had been one evening where you had been so restless that Harry had gotten so frustrated and left the room, with a blanket and a pillow, and slept on the couch. You’d never felt so much like a burden than that night. Your family was rejecting you and you felt like a failure. You were a success at failing in everything. The meals you cooked went half eaten by everyone because you would’ve forgotten to add a key ingredient. The children preferred to spend more time playing with their dad because you weren’t energised enough to play the games they wanted to. Your daughter still rejected your milk. It was all too much and you just wanted one nights peace for it to change.

Last night had been that night.

Fuck these were so addicting. You were finally getting the sleep that you so badly craved, only with the help of tablets.

You wanted the sleep because that was the one place you could escape to. You needed that escape to help you get out of bed the next morning. Life was too hard for you to not dream, and without dreaming you didn’t want life.

It started off with taking one every night before bed, but then they stopped working again, so you started taking two, then three. Four was obviously where your body hit its limit.

“Mummy? Can you come tuck me in please?” Oli asked, little toy giraffe in hand and shaking you in hopes of waking you up to send him peacefully off to sleep.

You’d gone to bed a bit earlier tonight, lying saying that you were extremely exhausted. Harry said he would be able to handle things and that’s when you excitedly ran upstairs to take your pills; 4 of them. You’d made it into your bed, feeling slightly drowsy after completing your nighttime routine, but then you started to feel unwell and really ill. Before you’d passed out you’d stuck your fingers down your throat in hopes to make the feeling in your stomach disappear, but it ended up you throwing up all over the bed and pass out right there.

“Mummy! Wake up!” Oli rattled your back, but you were still unresponsive.

Oli padded out of the room and down to his sisters room where he knew his dad was. Belle was being extra fussy this evening and Harry suspected it had everything to do with you retiring early. He heard Oli come into the room just as he’d gotten Belle down.

“Y’alright buddy?” Harry whispered, tip-toeing out of Belle’s room, leaving the door open slightly, and crouched down in front of him.

“No. Mummy’s not waking up.” Oli pouted, rubbing a tired fist over his eye.

“She’s probably in dreamland, bud. She was really tired today.”

“She’s really tired all of the times.”

“I know, Ol.” Because Harry did know, but he was too much of a coward to face up to the problem. The doctors had said that post natal depression can strengthen with every birthed child, but he was too blind sighted by the fact that you’d overcome the first birthed post natal depression so quickly, and was so in love with his baby girl, that he didn’t truly see how bad things had gotten. Harry had tried giving you some space, distancing himself from you in bed and spending more time with the kids so you could relax and rest up, but nothing seemed to be working. He was surprised, actually, that you’d been having better sleep recently and so was hopeful that maybe the worst of the depression was over.

Hell, was he so wrong.

“Go to bed, bud okay? I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Wake mummy up so she can give me a kiss.”

“I’ll try little man, alright?” Harry scuffed his sons hair and then watched him walk off to his room.

Harry walked into your dark room, the air smelling slightly sour, and walked around to your side of the bed. He sat down next to you sighed heavily. He needed to speak to you, no matter how tired or angry you’d be with him. He was losing you as a wife and a mother and a soulmate and a lover. He was just losing you, just as you were losing yourself and he was doing tip-toeing around the problem any longer. He was going to try and make this better. He was going to better understand how you were feeling in order to help you.

“Baby?” He spoke softly, nudging you gently, “Baby wake up.” No response. “Y/N, my love? Wake up for me darling, need to speak with you.” Normally you would’ve stirred by now but there was still nothing. “Y/N?” Harry shook you a bit more urgently now - one that would surely wake even the deepest of sleepers. “Y/N!” He shouted, perhaps a bit too loudly for the comfort of his children.

He turned you over and that’s when he knew this was very, very, bad.

Your face was pale grey and your mouth was covered in the remains of vomit, and he suddenly understood the gross sour smell from before. Your hair was greasy and stuck all in the wet sick all over your face. Your eyes were puffy from the remains of tears. You looked dead.

“No, no, no. Y/N! No you don’t.” Harry’s eyes starting weeping and he couldn’t think straight. He checked your pulse on your wrist and timed it - it was unhealthily faint. He wouldn’t be surprised if you were in your last beats of your heart. His tears and sobs were uncontrollable, but he had to be both strong for you and his children, as well as for him. “Fuck sake pull yourself together Harry. Okay, baby hold on please. Okay? You don’t get to leave me like this, you hear me? I love you so much, baby. Fuck i’m so sorry.” He gently placed your head back down on the pillow and pulled out his phone.

999

“What’s your emergency?”

“I need a-an ambulance p-please. I-I think my wife i-is dying.”

The rest of it was a blur for Harry. Him trying to wake you up. The ambulance arriving. Oli and Felix crying when they saw you being carried away on a stretcher. Belle’s deafening screams. Harry’s heart beating for the both of you.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

It was the rhythmic beeping sounds that woke you up.

Your whole body felt achey and sore, your head a pounding mess. You opened your eyes slowly, adjusting them to the light of the room. You expected to see the family photo on the wall opposite you and the white of your curtains, but you were met with a heart-monitor machine and a hospital bed instead. You looked down at your body and noticed a cannula in your arm, making you squirm because you hated stuff like that so much. Your nose had a tube running inside it too, feeding you the oxygen your lungs weren’t receiving properly.

It then dawned on you how you weren’t in the room alone. You saw a sleeping Anne and Gemma on the chairs in the far corner, with Felix and Oli tucked against their sides - Anne with Oli and Felix with Gemma. It was so cute to see them so cuddled up close. They looked peaceful. You took note of the baby pram that was at the end of your bed, most likely playing bed to your beautiful daughter. Your mind felt lost. You can’t really remember what had happened, apart from taking four of those sleeping pills. You fully remember the weight of feeling worthless and useless as both a mum and a wife, though, and that feeling was still very prominent.

Your eyes lastly landed to the side of you, where Harry was sat but also laid on your bed. The top of half of his body laid upon the bed, his head buried onto this arm deep within the bed, whilst his bottom stayed rooted to the chair. His hand was holding yours tightly, which was a sign that he wasn’t asleep. You were so scared to face him though. You had failed him, again and again and you weren’t sure whether you could be enough for him anymore. Enough for your family anymore.

You squeezed his hand three times saying ‘I love you.’

“Y/N,” He whispered so hoarsely, but you were so focused on him to even catch it. He looked ruined, and you’d done that to him. His eyes were dark and tired, but also red and puffy from where he’d been crying. His hair was a mess and you could tell it hadn’t been washed in a while. How long had you been out for? You felt rested in your sleep, but not in your mind or your heart.

“I—” Your breathe got caught in your throat, but you persevered to finish your words. He deserved to here them. “I’m sorry.” You were whispering so you didn’t disturb anyone else in the room.

“No, stop it. I’m sorry baby.”

“Harry don’t, you don’t have anyt—”

“Stop yes I do I—”

“Harry please you don’t owe—”

“Y/N listen!” He cut the little volley-conversation and ordered you to just stop. You started crying when you saw that he was too. “Whatever you’re going to say, don’t. Whatever you’re thinking, stop it right now. Because I love you. Fuck, I do. I love you so much that when I found you unconscious in a pile of your own sick thinking you were dead, my only thought was that I wished it were me instead”.

“Harry, you don’t mean—”

“My god Y/N! You don’t get it, do you? I would do anything to switch places with you right now. I would suffer a thousand times over if it meant you were okay. I’d suffer in hell for you. Nobody else but you has ever made me feel like this. I married you because I love you and I want to wake up next to you every day of my beating hearts life. I chose to have children with you, because I knew how great of a mum you’d be and what beautiful people you’d help bring up into the world—”

“But i’m not.” You cut Harry short, trying to pull your hand away from him but he didn’t let you - only tightening his grip and pulling himself closer towards you. He was so close you could kiss him.

“Not what?” He asked, although he already knew the answer. You’d both had this conversation before, but you were both tired of it and were ready for it to be your last now.

“A good mum. I’m- i’m not a good mum or wife, Harry and i’m sorry.”

“I told you not say it and stop thinking it, because you’re completely wrong Y/N. You’re a good mother and a good wife, because you are a good person.”

“But i’m not great.” You whimpered, thinking back to the drawings your Oli and Felix had done. “I’m not the best.”

“But you don’t have to be, baby. You see our beautiful, healthy, happy and safe babies over there?” Harry turned to look at them, love in his eyes as in yours. “They wouldn’t be all those things, no matter how you feel about yourself, without you. I could never have brought them up to be half the people they are without you by my side, the way you make me a better person. You claim you don’t got this, but baby you’re already doing it and have been doing it for 5 years with our children and so much longer with me.”

“I’m just so fucked up Harry.” Your head tilted back on the pillow as you got heavily emotional over the situation.

Harry shook his head and moved his hand to cup the back of your neck, moving your head forwards until it met his. The touch of his skin against yours, no matter where and how small, made you feel alive and you’d missed him and that feeling so much. You missed loving him so much.

“Listen to me.” He ordered, keeping you still. “You are strong and you are brave Y/N Styles. No matter what you tell yourself I will be here every goddamn day of my life, if I have to, to remind you that you are worth more than your fucking weight in gold. You are my heart. You are my soul and the mother to my greatest achievements. I know they are yours too, just as I know I am your heart.

“You are.” You whispered so quietly under your breathe, but Harrys heart warmed when he caught you saying it. He knew though.

“Just let me love you. Let me be there for you. If you want medication then let’s do it, and i’ll be there for every step of the way. If you want to go to a rehabilitation centre for a bit, that’s okay we can—”

You shook your head and licked the tears away from your face. You were both such tearful messes, but the love between you was undeniable. “No, no please, no.”

“Okay, okay, love. We won’t. See, you’re okay. I promise, you’re okay. Stay with me, yeah? I’ll love you and keep you safe, just as you will me.”

“Promise.” You told him sincerely. He brought his lips to yours with that single word. He was so proud of your for being so brave and strong. He wishes he was half the person you were. His lips conveyed those thoughts of his and you could taste the love and passion burning through his heart and out on to his lips. He tasted like home. z he was home. Your lips smacked together messily, but you didn’t care because you loved each other too much and had kissed each other even more. Once you pulled back he stayed close to you, smiling at you with such awe. “I think.. I think I want to try medication please.”

Harry didn’t say ‘okay’ or ‘sure thing’, no. He said four words that meant more to you in that moment that any others in the universe. More than saying ‘I love you.’ Words that reminded you that not everything is okay and that sucks really bad, but you’re doing your best to get through it. It was a reminder that you had so many people who loved you and cared for you. It was a gun at the starting line symbolising that the journey ahead wasn’t going to be easy, but worth it.

“I’m proud of you.”

[monsterenergysimp]

Forgetful

Or, the four times you flirted with corpse and the one time he flirted back

corpse husband x fem! reader // coffee shop au

summary: you work at a café and get a new regular

request: okay i have a request could you please write about corpse and a fem! reader and she works at a coffee shop and she always writes something cute on his cup and he eventually asks her out or something like that! also i love your writing!! ❤️❤️

warnings: cursing like once or twice 

word count: 1.3 k

tag list: @watermelon-mess @oldblackandwhitetown @susceptible-but-siriusexual @gday5sos  @ashanti-granville @03ohj @djxrin @grapewish @crapimahuman @saturn2000 @whatawonderfulusername @johnjacobjingleheimerschmidt @lauramacch @socialdesires @teaspill8 @whathasateezdonetome @seutarose @whiteblacknothingpanda

notes: This is proof read but I could have missed some stuff. I’m back from my tiny and unofficial hiatus and I’m gonna start writing again. I just had a ton of school stuff on my plate but I’m back and gonna be writing more. I have some great requests I wanna get through. Thank you for your request and your kind words nonnie I really hope you like it. I hope everuone enjoys :) 

main blog: @itsmysleepover

“That’ll be $3.45,” you said smiling as you handed the customer their tea. It was dark and the café was closing in about 15 minutes. You were ready to go home and relax after such a stressful day of school and work. You leaned over the counter and twisted the rings on your finger. You heard the door open and you looked up. A guy wearing all black, and a mask walked in. You stood up and got ready to take his order.  

“Welcome, how can I help you?” You asked with your customer service voice once he reached the counter. “Can I have a small hot chocolate and uh- that sandwich please?” He said in an incredibly deep voice while pointing to a sandwich behind you. You nodded and rang him up. You picked up the small cup and your marker. “Your name please.”

“Uh... Corpse,” he said. You looked at him for a second to make sure he was serious and wrote the name down. You decided to draw a little smile on the cup. You got the milk and put it in the kettle. As you waited for the milk to get to the right temperature you looked over at him.

“You have nice hair,” you blurted, catching the mysterious man off guard. “Thank you.”

You finished making his hot chocolate and placed the lid on the cup. You walked back to the counter and handed him the cup. As you did so your fingers grazed his and you looked into his eyes. “Thank you for comi- oh my god your sandwich I’m so sorry I almost forgot!”

You rushed to the small refrigerator behind you and grabbed the sandwich he was referring to earlier. You walked back and handed it to him. “I’m sorry about that, I promise I won’t forget next time,” you told him and smiled at him genuinely, not your customer service smile.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

It was near closing time and you were wiping down tables in the café. You had to get to your apartment and finish an essay but after that, you didn’t have much to do. You heard the front door open and looked up to see the same guy from last time walk in. This is the second day in a row he comes right before closing. You racked your brain trying to remember his name, but you knew it was him.

You walked over to the counter and got ready to take his order. “Same as last time?” You asked him. He looked taken aback by the fact you remembered him. “Can I have a croissant this time instead?” He asked and you nodded. You rang him up and took one of the last three croissants out of the display. You put it in one of the paper bags and placed it on the counter. You went to work on his hot chocolate. You picked up the cup and your marker. What was his name?

The milk finished warming and you finished making the hot chocolate. He was the only person here; you could very well leave the cup blank. There would be zero repercussions but you’ve been doing this job for so long leaving a cup blank felt wrong.  

Instead, you scribbled the word sunshine on the cup and filled it with the chocolate. Remembering what happened last time you placed the cup on the table and smiled at him. “There you go. Thank you for coming.”  

“Thank you.” He picked up the cup and began to walk out of the café. You waited for him to leave before you began to wipe down the tables again. He stopped in his tracks and looked back at you. He held his cup up to show you the writing and you felt your face heat up a bit. You just smiled and gave him a thumbs up. Even through his mask, you could tell he was smiling from the way his eyes crinkled. He turned around, walked out of the café, and you began to wipe down the counter.

“Corpse! His name is Corpse!”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

You were sitting at one of the tables, you should have been wiping down, scrolling through social media. You heard the door open and looked up. Corpse walked in. You smiled at him and walked behind the counter. “Are you starting to become one of my regulars; same as usual?” you asked him.

He chuckled and looked through the display at all the pastries. “Yeah, thanks. I tried stopping by yesterday but you weren’t here.”

“I don’t work Thursdays. And on Fridays, I open shop instead of close.”

“Guess I’ll never see you on Fridays.”

“There are ways to work around that.” You wrote his name with a small heart and poured the chocolate into the small cup and handed it to him. He inspected the cup and looked up at you.

“You remembered my name this time,” he said and chuckled. “Do you smell something burning?”

You sniffed the air and looked over to where you prepared his hot chocolate. “Ah shit, the kettle!”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

You sat at one of the tables waiting for Corpse to walk in any minute. He’s been showing up consistently for the past week. You tied your hair back and made yourself a cup of tea. You enjoyed your tea and once you finished the door opened. Corpse walked in and you smiled at him. “If it isn’t my favorite customer,” you said as you prepared his hot chocolate.

“How was your day?” He asked when he reached the counter.

“Uneventful. Just some school, now work.” You walked back to the counter and leaned over, resting on your elbows. “But you walking in definitely made it a lot better.”

“Me buying hot chocolate made your day better?”

“You don’t even need to buy the chocolate, you just need to show up.” You smiled up at him and went to finish making his hot chocolate. You picked up the cup and wrote “my sunshine corpse :)” on the side. You placed the hot chocolate on the counter. He saw what you wrote and chuckled at it. “And to prove my point your hot chocolate will be on the house. And the last croissant!”

“Did you forget you don’t own the place, you don’t have the right to do that!” He said giggling.

“See that’s where you’re wrong pretty boy; from the hours of 8 to 9 pm I’m here alone and that makes me the queen of the coffee shop.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

You prepared the hot chocolate for Corpse so when he came in it was ready to go. You put the milk in the kettle and cut up the chocolate tablet. The door opened, you looked back and saw Corpse walking in. “Are you making my hot chocolate already?” He asked as he approached the counter.

“Thought I’d get a head start,” you said and continued what you were doing. “Don’t want to keep you waiting too long.”

“I’m fine staying here forever as long as I’m with you.” Your face started heating up and you giggled nervously. You picked up a small cup and thought about what you could write on it. You decided to just write his name and draw a smile on his cup. You filled it and held it out for him to take. Your fingers grazed like the first time you gave him his hot chocolate. “You told me you don’t work the closing shift on Fridays, right?” You nodded. “Wanna see each other on Friday night, and y’know work around that.”

You picked up your marker and a small cup and scribbled on it. “Here’s my number, so you don’t forget.”

[vivifrage]

(This one is a Siriks Lives He Just Got Captured AU because @shadowtriad endeared me to him and now this catboy lives rent-free in my brain. I hope I got him right.)

4: Taken Hostage

The days stretched on, indiscriminate, in the cell.

They were interrupted sometimes, but he couldn’t say when in the day it was, or whether it was in the same day, another day after, a week after, what. The Exo had tried to bring a clock, show him the time once or twice at least, but the clock had been whisked away shortly after she left, and Earth timekeeping without the sun to double-check was a headache on top of his current, overarching, already massive headache.

How Eramis had withstood decades of this, he didn’t know. Whether she had recognized all the years passing, how much she missed, until she stepped outside into a changed world, he didn’t want to think about.

In comparison, he’d barely been in here (he knew that, at least), and he was already considering sneaking another one of the snacks the Exo had left him. The first had been good, but they’d been brought as some sort of… pity offering by the being who by all rights should have killed him, instead humiliating and dishonoring him like this. But his stomach was starting to ache, and he didn’t know when food would come next.

Maybe he would simply bite the next person to enter the cell.

The Exo was a relatively frequent visitor, so calm even when he growled and bared his teeth. (She’d laughed at that, once. Just a short burble of a noise. It was the first time he bit her, teeth scraping against her armored forearm. He hadn’t been able to open his left front eye for a while after she punched him for it.) She was likely, but biting her wasn’t even worth the revenge for capturing him.

Other Lightbearers stopped by sometimes. Usually they just hovered around the edges while someone else - staff, interrogators, what have you - worked, and put on their most threatening face. If he didn’t know what they were, he would have laughed at the little dolls trying to look scary. As it was, he kept his face hidden behind an arm when he snarled back.

Then, perhaps worst of all, was the House of Light. Usually one of their Splicers, gauntlet snap-snap-snapping over their arms, asking question after question. Or, at times, a Captain, much more blunt and to the point. Always accompanied by their Scribe. She rarely spoke, asking whoever she was with to clarify something or another, and listening to just that had made it plenty clear that she was young, hardly finished growing. But she scribbled note after note, hadn’t backed down at all after the first time he lunged for her, and when he’d looked her in the eyes, something uncomfortable settled in his stomach. He couldn’t place it, but it left him on edge until the Exo visited again.

...That would work. Bring the House’s meager nobility down a bit. Busy the Sacred Splicer, so-called Kell of Light, with worrying over his baby rather than getting in anyone’s way.

Said Kell hadn’t even bothered visiting his prisoner in person. Maybe he did have a more sadistic side, and was waiting for him to be thoroughly infuriated and ashamed with himself before coming in to dock him.

He didn’t know how much longer he sat there, seated on a bed sized for Humans, the couple of scruffy blankets he had piled in a poor excuse for a nest at his feet. He toyed with one of the snacks, listening to the wrapper crinkle, and ignored the hunger building in his gut.

But eventually, the door clicked and his head snapped up, fixated on it. He shoved the snack back into its hiding spot, crossing his hands over his lap. Watching, waiting, to see who came in the door this time.

It opened a crack, enough for him to hear Eliksni voices. So the House of Light again. Bringing question after question, no doubt, or maybe some new trick to dig into his memories and see what he knew. He growled, low in his throat.

He was definitely biting the Scribe. At this point, just for the grim glee of seeing her and whoever she came with squeal.

It opened more, just enough to admit, yep, the Scribe, as bundled up as she always was, like she’d spent so much time among Humans and their ilk that she was trying to hide what she was. Poorly, considering her secondary arms and the glow of her eyes, but still.

“It’s fine. It’s just to talk-” She turned to him and dipped her head. “Hello, Siriks- We’ll see how things go.”

A much deeper voice rumbled behind her, and a new hand replaced hers on the door, pushing it wide open. In the doorway stood a taller Eliksni wearing a purple mask, glowing lines tracing around his form. He kept two hands on the Scribe’s shoulders, kneading away. “If you need me for anything, I am right here.”

“Yes, I know. I’ll see you.” The Scribe gently pried his hands off her, turning so her back was to him, and stepped into the room. Nervous confidence filled her short form, keeping her head high and chest puffed but her limbs close to her chest, clutching her tablet like a weapon.

With a hand wielding a Splicer’s gauntlet, the other Eliksni tapped under his eyes, shooting Siriks a sharp glare.

The door closed, leaving him alone with the Scribe and a sinking feeling in his stomach.

Shit. Shit. Fuck him.

That was her father, wasn’t it? Standing right outside the door, ready to rush in if anything went awry.

And he knew, he had been told, the Scribe of House Light’s father was its Kell.

Oh, he was fucked every which way.

If he did so much as make her shout a little too loud, sound a little too angry or afraid, he was dead. No chance to appeal, no chance to argue that he still knew things they didn’t (not that he would give them up, but it would buy him time to try and escape), no chance to even apologize for upsetting her. The Kell didn’t have to answer to any authority save perhaps the Vanguard, and he could lie to them. Whatever he wanted to justify killing him on the spot.

“I don’t think I ever introduced myself.” The Scribe startled him, suddenly just out of arm’s reach. Close enough to be caught if he lunged, but her father was right there. She didn’t even seem to care, instead picking around at her thick, woolly cowl. “I am Eido. I’m sure you gathered that I am the Scribe of the House of Light.”

Perhaps it was for the best she already knew his name. It was like someone had tied a knot in his throat, and the only thing that could escape would be a growl.

She sighed; she wasn't even looking at him any more, too busy fiddling with the tie keeping her cowl and hood in shape. "I hope you don't mind if I take this off. It's warm, but if I didn't know better I'd swear someone wove prickles into it."

She met his eye, and said, deadpan, "To be honest, if you do have an opinion on it, that's your problem, not mine."

He managed to chuff. Oh, the Scribe thought she had some backbone to her, didn't she? Speaking like that to a Devils Baron. No wonder. She looked like she might be getting a Captain's Ether rations, when by all rights, at her age she would just be getting promoted to a Vandal. Provided she had the skill and tenacity to back up that overinflated ego.

"Anyways," she said, finally undoing the tie. The cowl slackened, the hood slipping back enough to reveal a lock of coarse, dark brown hair. She continued to unwind the length of fabric, folding it over her arm as she worked. "I do not plan to interrogate you as the others did. I'm here in my duty as House Scribe, not a notetaker. Which means understanding all involved points of view. Yours included."

The fabric fell away, and she stared back at him, barefaced. "If you will work with me, that is."

He couldn't answer. He couldn't breathe.

There was no mistaking it. The eyes alone were easy enough to dismiss; a greyish blue was nothing spectacular. But the shape of her brow, her nose, jawline, mandibles, it all flowed together into a face he swore he saw in old pictures. The color of her skin and shell were almost an exact match, too. And her hair, wrangled into a thick braid - he could almost feel the coarse, ridiculously voluminous texture under his hands, hear ghosts of conversations marked with banter and dramatic stories. Not to mention her stature, the sound of her voice - now that he saw, it all added up.

He had seen one of her siblings, when he'd been able to search the wreckage. Trapped under dented metal, lower body crushed.

Late one night, decades later, Eramis had whispered to him about the other two, the ones they had never found and who must have died long ago. Including a little girl who looked just like her, and had a patch of thick, dark hair, trying to be fluffy even while egg-damp.

And she was standing right there, alive and well. Still the spitting image of her mother.

He had grieved for her and her siblings. He knew all too well the ways of war, he knew they were at risk. But that didn't change how his heart had sung seeing the eggs in their nest on the Sepiks-Fel. It didn't change how he had cradled them while he sat in the dark, shining a light through their shells to illuminate the dark, growing forms within. It didn't change how he had cheered them on when they wriggled and kicked while he watched, and traced a knuckle along the eggshell to see when they started responding. One had reached out once, when he did that. Had it been her? Was she the one who had pawed at the inside of her shell with a scrawny, underdeveloped hand, her egg the only thing between her and his palm cupped around where she patted?

Maybe it was. It was a one in three chance, after all, that it was her. Two in three that it had been one of her siblings, killed in the crash.

And she stared at him, unknowing. Stepped closer, close enough he could catch her scent and erase any lingering doubts in his mind.

It was her.

He was supposed to be her father.

He choked back a raging storm of conflicting feelings. Deep, white-hot rage that she had been taken from him, that he had gone all these years with her, her siblings, and her mother ripped away all at once. She should have grown up cradled in his arms, raised to be a proud Devil. He should have sung her to sleep, taught her everything he knew, taken her onto his crew.

But at the same time, she was alive and well. Cared for, educated, given such a notable rank. If she had ever suffered for anything, he didn't see any sign of it. And, all right, he doubted Misraaks would have taught her any sort of unpleasant biting tricks.

She was still the Scribe of House Light. She had still stood there, watched, and taken her notes through interrogation after interrogation.

But now she stood within arms reach, painfully familiar, the father who raised her waiting just outside while the father-who-could-have-been, the father-who-should-have-been, sat before her, imprisoned.

He swallowed down the keen rising in his throat. He couldn't even tell her.

[fandom-puff]

hi i have a request! imagine for tommy he picked you up at the bar so he doesn’t know you very well but you guys ~do the nasty~ and later he overhears from your one friend telling lizzie that you faked your orgasm and he hunts you down determined to make you cum for real

HI! thanks so much for this request- I adored writing it!

Word count: 3.3k

Warnings: SMUTSMUTSMUTSMUT also swearing bc... peaky blinders?

It was the grand opening of the Shelbys’ new bar, and naturally, almost all of Small Heath was crammed into the main room. The whiskey and gin (from Shelby Company Limited, of course) was flowing, and the Swing Band was playing loudly, much to the joy of the inebriated men and women dancing. You hummed to yourself, touching up your lipstick before calling for another round for you and your girlfriends, Ada and Lizzie. “You want another drink, Linda? Maybe just stout?” you asked, getting your coin purse out. 

“Don’t bother yourself. I won’t succumb to that temptation. Just tonic water for me,” you rolled your eyes and soon received your drinks. “So you won’t touch gin, but you’ll happily play in the snow, eh?” Ada smirked, winking at you as she sipped her drink. You spluttered into your own. 

“Come on, ladies,” you said, sensing the tension growing between sisters-in-law. “Let’s dance before the band starts playing that American rubbish,” 

Together, you joined in with the dancing, giggling and cheering each other on. “C’mon Lizzie! Spin me around! I wanna be twirled,” you squealed, and the taller woman happily complied. You were new to the company, and she wanted to make you feel welcome before the boys scared you off. Soon you left the dancefloor, leaving the girls, to get another drink. You arrived at the bar, giggling and breathless, and ordered your favourite drink.

 “Miss YLN,” a low voice rumbled next to you as the bartender poured your drink. “I don’t believe we’ve properly met. Been keeping the books, eh? My brother John says you’ve very neat handwriting, and hardly cross any number out,” You nodded as your eyes met Thomas Shelby’s.

 “Oh… yes, Mr Shelby,” you murmured. “I try to make them neat so you lot don’t get muddled up,” you said. He nodded. The bartender put your drink in front of you and you reached for your purse. Tommy stopped you and gestured to the bartender that your drink ought to be on the house. 

He soon took you into the side room, kicking Finn and Isiah out. “My secretary, Lizzie, recommended you to me,” he said as you perched opposite him. He lit a cigarette, rubbing it along his lip before taking a drag. “And I’ve been trying to figure you out. Couldn’t find anything,”

“I didn’t grow up ‘round here. When my mum died I took her maiden name. Most of her lot were killed. The Somme, I think,”

“And your dad?” he asked, watching you as you drank.

 “The bastard died in France too, as far as I know. But I left home after Mum died. That was before the war,” 

An hour later, you were still talking, although the pair of you had drained a bottle of whiskey. You were giggly and warm when drunk, but Tommy only closed in more. This didn’t bother you in the slightest. You leaned forward and smirked. “So, Mr Shelby, do I meet your approval, eh?”You were so close to him, and your pupils were dilated with what could only be described as a mixture of inebriation and desire. 

“Yes. Yes, you do. C’mere,” he grunted, dragging you into his lap. He pressed his lips to yours in a bruising kiss, his hand already running up your thigh. You groaned and wriggled, sucking his lip into your mouth, grinding your heat onto his tenting trousers. He growled, unbuckling his belt and shoving his trousers down, and tearing your knickers down. He stood up, bending you over the table, before rutting into you animalistically. You whimpered, crying out, pushing back into him. His thrusts soon became sloppy, and you reached to stroke your pulsing clit- but he grabbed your hand as soon as he saw you moving, pinning you down and shouting out his release. It was a good job the band had started playing a popular song, otherwise, the whole of Birmingham would have heard you. 

You panted, expecting him to carry on thrusting to bring you over the edge. Instead, you heard the sound of a belt buckle and the door slamming shut.

 The experience sobered you up slightly and you straightened your dress, fixing your lipstick and hair before slipping out of the side room. You bumped into Lizzie and told her you were going home, as you were working in the morning. She nodded and took in your dishevelled (despite your best efforts) appearance. “Get some rest,” she said knowingly, giving you a wink.

 The next day, you arrived at work despite your headache. You lit a lamp, as it was still a little dark out, and started on the books, flicking through the notes scribbled by various members of the Shelby clan. You worked in peace for ten minutes before Lizzie and Pol came into the room, chatting. 

“There she is. How’s your head?” Lizzie grinned, sliding you some aspirin. You smiled gratefully and took the tablets.

 “Holy shit,” Pol commented, staring at the bruise on your throat. You blushed deeply and tugged your collar closed. You hated wearing this blouse buttoned all the way up, but needs must. 

“Wild night, eh?” Lizzie asked, getting her own paperwork sorted as Pol went to fix tea. 

“Not really,” You sighed, looking down. You wanted to ground to swallow you whole. 

“Oh, piss off. You came out of that side room five minutes after Tommy, looking like you’d been dragged through a hedge backwards, and you show up to work with a dirty great love bite on your throat,” she grinned. “I’m not judging you, by the way. If anything I’m impressed. He’s been a right prick lately,” 

“And he was a right prick last night,” you hissed. “Moody bastard, and a lousy fuck as well. Didn’t even finish me off, I had to fake it in the end,” you glared down at your paperwork. Lizzie chuckled and rubbed your shoulder gently. Polly came back into the room with the cups and teapot, pouring for you all.

 “So who’s the man? Boyfriend we haven’t heard of?” She asked, smirking. 

“It was Tommy, Pol,” Lizzie explained. You kept your eyes down. “Apparently he’s a lousy fuck. Our poor YN was treated worse than the back alley whores by the sounds of it,” 

Prolly frowned and set your tea in front of you. “Wouldn’t think a lousy fuck would leave that mark,” she said slyly. “Use a cold spoon and some powder when you get home,” she advised. 

“And then tonight, go dancing and get a man who’ll treat you right, eh?” Said Lizzie. “You deserve better than someone rutting against you like a dog,”

The two women had cheered you up significantly and you smiled weakly until Arthur’s loud voice cut across your conversation.

 “Rutting like a dog? Was that what you and Tommy were up to last night?” He grinned, having overheard,  and you flushed angrily. 

“Hey, no need to be embarrassed, YN, you are a pretty little thing-” he said, his smile dropping when he saw that his banter wasn’t making you laugh like normal.

 “No. I’m not embarrassed. If anything, I’d be embarrassed for your brother. Who would’ve thought Thomas Shelby didn’t know his way around a woman, let alone how to properly please her!” You turned around. “Pol, I’m going home. My head is banging and I need to concentrate on these books. Arthur’s done all the adding up wrong. Dock my pay if need be,” You took the heavy leather-bound book and tucked it under your arm, before storming out of the betting shop, right past Tommy without even noticing. 

The peace of your home was what you needed. You brewed yourself a pot of tea with the nice teabags you had picked up from the market, and settled yourself at your rickety old desk, going through the books and copying them up neatly, and more importantly, precisely. You even hummed to yourself, soon letting the stress of the previous night slowly fade away. 

That was until there was a sharp knock on your door. You sighed, getting up. There was another knock. “Alright! I’m coming. Rent’s not due for another week, though!” You called, going to take the door off the latch. 

There in the doorway, in all his glory, was your boss. His cap was drawn over his face and he blew out a breath of smoke. “YN. Can I come in?”

 You wanted nothing more than to slam the door in his face and lock it, put the chain on and drown him out with your rusty gramophone.  But-

“Fine. But put that cigarette out before you step over my threshold. The last tenant was a bad smoker and I’ve only just got the smell out of the cushions,” when the door shut, you turned around, crossing your arms. “What do you want, Mr Shelby?” 

“Mr Shelby, is it now?” He asked, smirking. “That’s no way to greet a guest, is it. Are you going to offer me a drink?”

 “No, I’m not. You don’t take me as one for cold tea with no milk,” you quipped. “What do you want?”

 He arched his brow, looking you up and down as if you were a fresh cut from the butcher. You stood a little straighter, determined not to look small. “What I want, YN, is to know what your little fuss was about earlier on,” he said lowly. 

You scoffed. “Oh please. You know exactly what it was about, and even if you didn’t, I’m sure the boys would’ve informed you,” you said coldly. “If you must know, I was pissed. Still am. Because I let you… have me. And I’m pissed because you treated me like a common whore, and I’m pissed because everyone knows and will think less of me,” you said, flushing, brow furrowed. 

“And what’s all this about being a lousy fuck, eh?” He asked, face like stone. 

“Oh you heard that part well enough, didn’t you?” You suppressed an annoyed laugh. “It’s true. You are a lousy fuck. D’you bend all your women over and hump them like a dog in heat or am I just special?” 

“YN…,” he said, voice low, standing up and walking to you.

 “You know, I’ve had better shags when I was a teenager. At least the lads I used to go out with had the decency to finish me off once their balls were empty!” You ranted, unaware of him stalking closer and closer, like a panther on the prowl. 

He pushed you against the wall, arms braced either side of your head. You gulped. Had you pushed him too far? You looked up at him through your lashes, and couldn’t help but lick your lips, your breath already becoming shallow. “Finish you off, eh? Is that what you want?” He asked lowly, leaning to growl in your ear, sending a shiver that crawled all over your skin and made your eyelashes flutter. 

You bit your lip and nodded. “Y-yes…” you whispered.

 “Yes, what?” 

“Yes please, Mr Shelby,”

 That was all he needed. He gripped your hips and pulled them tight against his, kissing you ferociously, his hands gripping, squeezing, stroking every inch of you he could reach. You moaned against his mouth and scrabbled at his heavy coat and jacket, pushing them to the floor. You began fumbling with his belt when he grabbed your wrists, holding the, above your head.

 “Ah Ah Ah,” he said roughly. “I intend to make up for last night. And believe me, YN, I’m feeling particularly generous tonight,” He hoisted you up by the thighs and held you against him, carrying you to your bedroom and kicking the door shut. He deposited you onto the bed, before looking down at you. “Dress. Off.” He demanded, and you all too eagerly complied, much to his satisfaction, casting it aside, quickly followed by your slip, leaving you in your knickers and bra. He chuckled darkly at your eagerness, and when you went to undo your garter and stockings, he halted your hands, shaking his head. You nodded obediently and watched as he kneeled down in front of you. You pressed your knees together, but he tutted and caressed your legs, from ankle to thigh. 

“Don’t be shy, YN,” he murmured.

 “No one’s ever…” you whispered, shifting your thighs together. He cocked his brow up and smirked. 

“No one’s ever what, pet?” He asked, pushing your thighs apart and making quick work of your stockings. “Tasted you? Not even all those boys who knew how to please you, eh?” 

You nodded and bit your lip, gasping at the new sensation of his hot breath skittering across your core as he pressed filthy, open-mouthed kisses against your heat. He nipped the inside of your thighs to get you to spread them further and inhale your musk, shuddering at the scent of your arousal.

 “You won’t even remember your own fucking name once I’m through with you, love,” he promised, stroking his finger lazily up the seam of your underwear, pressing it against your clit. You clenched your fists into the sheets, thighs already trembling. This did not go unnoticed, and Tommy chuckled darkly at your desperation. “So responsive,” he murmured, dragging your underwear down torturously slowly, before burying his face between your legs. You whimpered as you felt his tongue running up your slit, gathering your arousal before he swallowed with a groan, gripping your thighs tightly and holding them apart. He traced your sopping folds with the very point of his tongue, his nose occasionally bumping your swollen clit, but giving it nowhere near enough attention for your liking. 

“Tommy please!” You whimpered after at least ten minutes of him scrubbing the flat of his tongue against your heat, nipping at your thighs, and even pushing his tongue into you. He pulled away and looked up at you with raised eyebrows, your slick glistening obscenely on his chin.

 “Please, what, YN? Use your words,” he demanded.

 “Please, touch me!” You cried, shifting your hips, trying to get some friction to your needy clit.  

“Touch you where YN? I can’t help you if you don’t tell me,” he said smirking cockily, pinning your hips down to still you.

 “On my… my… here!” You whimpered, reaching a hand down to flick at your throbbing nub. “Please, Tommy, please!” 

He growled and knocked your hand away, instantly attaching his lips to it, sucking like a man starved and flicking his tongue under the hood. You cried out and tipped your head back, gripping whatever handful of hair you could, swearing like a sailor. “Oi. Watch. Eyes on me.” He commanded, although slightly muffled by your writhing hips. You whined softly but nodded, focusing on watching the gorgeous man devouring you. Your eyes fluttered when you felt a familiar tension building up in the pit of your belly, your clit beginning to throb against his tongue. Your breath came in sharp gasps, and you bucked your hips up, desperate to tip over the edge, so close already-

Then… nothing.

 You groaned, glaring down at the man before you, who still held all the power despite being on his knees. You whined trying to grab him back. “What the fuck? Please, I was so close!” You said, intending to sound angry, but actually sounding needy and desperate. He grinned. 

“I know,” Bastard. He repeated this routine several times, bringing you right up to the edge, but dragging you away at the last moment, until you were practically sobbing with need. When he had taken his fill of your nectar, he worshipped your breasts, sucking and nipping and kissing and lathing his tongue over your nipples until you were writhing, arching your back, convinced you would cum from this stimulation alone. 

“Please, Tommy!” You whined, fingers tangled in his cropped hair as he sucked a dark mark on your breast. “Please, Tommy, you’ve proved your point, please!” You sounded pathetic, begging like a whore, but to be quite frank, you could give a bigger fuck if you tried. “Just… please, Tommy, I need you. Need to feel you,” you whispered, stroking his jaw as he resurfaced, his piercing eyes trained on yours. “Need you to fill me up, claim me… I’m yours, Tom. Don’t you want to feel me cumming all over your cock?” 

Your words were meant to rile Tommy up, but they made you shift and whimper and buck despite yourself. “Good girl,” he whispered. “I’m very impressed with you. I’m going to fuck you, YN, and I’m going to do it properly,” You nodded eagerly and watched with glazed eyes as he discarded his waistcoat, shirt and trousers. You licked your lips as he dropped his underwear, groaning at the sight of his long, thick cock bouncing free, already leaking.

 All for you. 

You whimpered as Tommy crawled up the mattress towards you, already spreading your legs for him. “Please,” you whispered, reaching for him. He nodded, slowly pushing himself into you, bracing his elbows either side of your head. You cried out at the stretch of him, arching your back to press into his warm chest. Already, you were digging your nails into his back, and he grunted at the feeling of your walls clenching onto him for dear life.

 “Fucking hell,” he groaned into your neck, drawing back almost completely, before driving back into you with slow, measured movements, his forehead pressed to yours as he fucked you slowly, yet each thrust was ended with a sharp snap of his hips. You whined out, throbbing around him, trying to meet his thrusts with faster, needier ones of your own.

 “More, Tommy, more!” you cried out, scrabbling your nails down his back, clinging to his shoulder blades. You raised your legs to wrap them around his waist, angling your hips up more, eyes rolling at the deeper penetration gained by the new angle. “Please, faster,” you begged, writhing eagerly beneath him. “Please?” you whimpered, practically sobbing with need. 

Tommy grunted and nodded, holding you tight to him as he fucked you harder, faster, more relentlessly, growling into your ear, before suckling dark marks down your throat and to your collarbone. Moaning, he pistoned his hips into you, each thrust bumping delicious pressure onto your aching clit. It was too much. 

You moaned wantonly, arching your back and biting his shoulder. “Fuck Tommy, I’m gonna cum,” you whined, clinging to him, not wanting him to pull away before your release again.

 “Good girl,” he groaned. “Cum around my cock, love, that’s what you want. That’s what I want,” he grunted, his thrusts sloppy and harsh. With his permission, you yelped out, crying his name as you came, seeing white spots, even when you clenched your eyes shut. Feeling you clench around him like a vice, he shouted his release, spurting into you, filling you with his hot cum. 

Panting, he pulled out, and for a moment you worried he would buckle up his belt and leave you like a whore again, but the mattress dipped beside you as he lay down. He drew you into his side, holding you close. 

“You alright?” he murmured, kissing the top of your head. “You okay, love?” you nodded, resting your head on his chest, breathing deeply. 

“I-I… more than alright,” you murmured, causing him to chuckle. He lit a cigarette and grinned, rubbing your side as you drew the covers around you both.

 “So, still think I’m a lousy fuck, eh?” he smirked. You grinned and looked up, reaching to kiss him.

 “Not sure,” you said cheekily. “That might have been a fluke. You’ll have to repeat that display a few more times so I know you didn’t just get lucky,”

 “Oh, I got lucky all right,” he smirked. “Sleep. We’ll take the day off work tomorrow, and I’ll show you that wasn’t a fluke, eh?”

[emcon-imagines]

Finally Okay, Pt. 3

part 1, part 2

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characters: Wanda Maximoff x reader words: 2194 summary: reader and Wanda are close friends, one joining the Avengers and one going rogue after Sokovia. But after one terrible night, Wanda is forced to face the reality of your mission for revenge. a/n: ahhh fingers crossed please don’t let this flop lmao I worked real hard on this part and you can catch up if you haven’t read parts 1 + 2 yet!!! but anyways surprise and merry christmas!!!!! it’s like a little additional gift to you guys and the conclusion to this trilogy. tagging: @moonlit-imagines​ and @xxxtwilightaxelxxx​, who both expressed interest in a part 3!

You sat with Wanda for a long time in containment, saying nothing, but her familiar presence calming you down enough that your stomach started to churn less and less, and the shaky, panicky feel began to dissipate into exhaustion.

“You still with me?” Wanda murmured as you laid into her, head resting against her shoulder. She squeezed your hand again, trying to get a read on where your mind was. “You seem better.”

You lifted your head up as the door opened, simultaneous with the mechanical beeping of it unlocking. Wanda seemed to sense you tense and she didn’t let go of your hand, even as you clenched hers harder.

“Y/N?” one of the SHIELD agents in the doorway asked. “We’re going to have you stop by the lab to get checked out one more time, and then someplace more permanent for you to sleep tonight.”

You looked at Wanda, uncertainty etched across your face, as you mouthed the word “lab?” with the fear unmistakable in your eyes.

“They’re gentle,” Wanda said. “They’re not going to hurt you. Probably just make sure...” she nodded at the bandage on your stomach. “Well, you really tore yourself up there,” she said, almost ruefully.

You considered her words and finally nodded, sliding off the cot and wincing at the muted stab in your side, still hugging the shawl over your shoulders, as if it could offer some sort of protection from the unknown. When you got to the door, the SHIELD agent waved over to Wanda, who had gotten up as well, but was still standing on the other side of the room.

“Coulson asked if you could stay with y/n,” the agent said. “It’s better than...” he trailed off, glancing down at you and then back at Wanda, who was glaring at him.

“Sedating them again?” Wanda asked. She stepped over. “That’s what HYDRA used to do. You scared them, working on them while they were asleep.”

“That wasn’t my call,” the agent said, quietly. “But... I’ll let Coulson know.”

“It won’t happen again,” Wanda said, and you weren’t sure if she was talking to you or the agent.

The journey to the lab was quick, though you couldn’t ignore the stares from other agents, and the way many of them stopped walking completely to let the five of you, the main agent accompanied by two others, pass. You tried to look braver than you felt, standing up straight, putting up the same mask of anger that had helped you survive for so many years with HYDRA, your eyes dark and your eyebrows furrowed, mouth in a hard slash.

It was clear that Wanda wasn’t comfortable around the agents either, perhaps she would have preferred Natasha or Clint be the liaison instead, but if she did feel that way, she didn’t say anything about it. She’s here, isn’t she? Not her hero friends. Wanda came.

There were only two people in the lab when you arrived, but it seemed busy enough for ten times that amount of people. Not like any of the labs you had seen before. It was well-kept, though lived-in, a mug of tea here, a sweatshirt tossed over a chair there. Work covered the lab benches; you could only begin to guess what SHIELD was working on.

“Hi,” the new woman said, and gestured to a medical station set up behind a glass partition. “You can sit right over there, I’m just finishing something up first.” The others agents stopped at the door, not going any further, and you stepped into the lab cautiously, as if breathing could break something.

“Fitz, where did you put my notes when you moved them?” the woman asked. “Was two tables not enough space?”

“I put them over there,” Fitz said, pointing to where you had been directed to sit.

“Oh.”

You said down on the edge of the cot just as the woman, who you realized must have fixed you up earlier, joined you, finding her notes. “Sorry about that,” she said. “We’re all over the place today, Fitz is trying to build a... well... never mind, that’s a whole other thing.” She pulled a tool off a shelf, something that looked like a gun and you flinched. “Mind if I take your temperature again?” she asked. “I want to see if it’s gone down at all.”

You relaxed and nodded, picking at the paper unrolled on the cot underneath you. She held the thermometer up to your head and read it when it beeped.

“Hmm. You’re still a bit warm. How are you feeling?”

“Y/N runs warm,” Wanda interrupted, and you looked over to see her leaning against one of the lab benches, her arms crossed. “Something to do with their powers. It’s why they’re always cold, too.”

“So, you radiate it all out?” Simmons asked. “And so it’s like you leave none for yourself?” She smiled a little as she put the thermometer away and scribbled a note down. “That’s neat.” She glanced back at you. “I mean, it’s just interesting is all.”

“Thanks.”

Simmons raised an eyebrow at Wanda, they talk?, before picking up her notes and writing something else down. “When was the last time you had a doctor’s appointment?” she asked. “I mean, a real one.”

“Um...” you glanced down at your feet. “Never?” You had managed to avoid doctor’s all these years, even the time you had the flu, or the time you nearly cut your own finger off trying to cook. Glancing at the nasty scar on your thumb, you began to think that maybe that was a mistake. From the other side of the room, you heard Wanda’s exasperated sigh.

“Right, okay,” Simmons said. “Well, I’m going to try to make this as painless as possible, as long as... well... you’re going to have to promise to help me out here. Have you eaten yet? I can send Fitz to the cafeteria to get you something to eat while we talk. What do you like?”

“I’m a bit occupied at the moment,” Fitz said from the other side of the lab, earning a hard look from Simmons, under which he finally relented. “Sorry, what do they like?”

Simmons kept her promise, which surprised you, and you kept yours, which maybe surprised you even more. She checked on your wounds and changed your bandages, tried to find out if anything else hurt that she had missed when you arrived, and only gave you one shot-- a flu shot-- of all things. And you finally ate, picking at the layers of the sandwich Fitz brought, eating one ingredient at a time, swatting Wanda’s hand away when she tried to steal one of the apple slices Fitz brought as well.

“You’re not going to share?” she asked, nudging you and giggling.

“No.”

“Brat,” she said, but she was still smiling. “After all this, you won’t even share one?” You saw red magic light up around her fingers and you clutched the bag of cut apples closer to you, knowing what she would try. “What if I--”

“Nope.”

Simmons’ exam ended shortly after that, and the SHIELD agents returned to escort you to your next destination, which the scientists had referred to holding. It was a stark white room, the walls made up of the same material your original containment cell had been made of, but this room was warmly lit, with a real bed, couches, a desk, and even a television screen. There were clean clothes laid out on the bed, grey sweatpants, socks, and a grey SHIELD sweatshirt, heavier than you expected. Warmer. There was a bathroom, too, already stocked with tiny soaps and shampoos, and you finally got to scrub the blood and soot off of yourself, turning the water as hot as possible and watching the grit run down the drain.

“Better?” Wanda asked, when you got out of the shower, examining the sweatshirt you had changed into. “You look better.”

You nodded, flopping onto the bed and staring up at the ceiling, just as the door opened again, and Wanda stood up from the couch to see who was there. “Hey, how are you?” Phil Coulson asked, stepping through the doorway, tablet in hand. You looked at Wanda, who gestured back to Coulson.

“He asked you, not me.”

“Tired,” you said. “Um... but all right.”

“I’ll take that as a good thing,” Phil said sitting down on the couch. He turned to Wanda. “Natasha dropped some things off for you if you want to grab them and clean up as well.”

You realized that Wanda still had blood, your blood, under her fingernails, and that she had been there the entire time you had. Did she not even leave this place once? When Wanda did step out, you sat on the edge of the bed, eying Coulson, still trying to figure him out. Is this someone I can trust?

“This won’t be too long,” he said. “I’m going to let you rest. I just wanted to talk with you a little more. Is that all right?” When you didn’t respond, he went ahead, glancing down at something on the tablet. “So, Simmons mentioned something in her notes here about your temperature readings. I’m assuming that has something to do with your abilities? Can you walk me though that?”

You paused, staring at your hands. “Um. They said I run hot. I heat things up with my hands... usually.... but sometimes without even touching them.”

“Is that how the fire started?” he asked softly, and you nodded.

“I didn’t want that to happen,” you said. “No one was supposed to be there.”

“I know you didn’t,” Coulson said, and you blinked, surprised. “Powers can be unpredictable. Scary, if you’re new to them, or if you were never trained.”

“I was trained to burn things,” you said. You remembered the trials, trial after trial, leaving you colder and weaker each time, unable to stop shivering, curled up against the glass wall of your cell, where a heat from the lab had warmed the glass enough for you to sleep.

“Wanda told me,” Coulson said. “I’m sorry for what you went through there.” He took another read through of his notes. “We’re going to bring someone else in to do a psych eval tomorrow morning. He’s one of the best, even helped our own. I think you’ll benefit from talking to him. And we’ll go from there. How does that sound?”

You nodded once, and Coulson stood back up, adjusting his suit as he looked around the room. “Get some rest for tonight. Simmons might be by a few times to check on you, and if you need anything in the meantime--” he pointed at a button under the screen “--call button is right there.” Just as he prepared to leave, the door unlocked and opened again, Wanda stepping back in, having cleaned up and changed herself, dropping a duffle bag by the door. She and Coulson nodded at each other as he left, the lights in the room dimming in his wake, something more suitable for sleeping.

You leaned back on the bed, sinking into the pillows, though the constant undercurrent of anxiety prevented you from relaxing completely. “Can you stay?” you mumbled, not daring to ask the question any louder, afraid of the answer. “Just until I fall asleep.”

“I’ll be here when you wake up, too,” Wanda said, crossing the room and sitting down on the other side of the bed. “Okay?” You had pulled her shawl over yourself again and she reached over to tuck it tighter around you, you pulling away for a moment.

Oh.

It was love. All of it, all around you, you realized, was love. Something you had been certain you didn’t deserve, especially in places when there was so little to go around, acts of kindness existing only in mercy. 

Wanda paused, waiting for you, as your heart beat a little faster. It was too much, sometimes, overwhelming to think about, these people with so much love to give, relentless until you were ready to accept that perhaps you deserved some peace after all. Not despite your past, but because of it.

Finally, you laid back down on the bed, leaning into her, tucking yourself in close to her warmth, sighing as a burden was lifted off of you. “There you are,” Wanda said, her hand rubbing your back as she pulled you in closer, and this time, you didn’t feel like you had to escape. It was okay. You were okay.

“Thank you,” you whispered, shutting your eyes, already drifting off.

Wanda planted a kiss on your forehead and you smiled in response, the first smile she had seen in a long time from you. It was safe to sleep here. There was enough warmth to go around. Your head rested in the crook between her arm and her chest as she laid back as well, her hoping maybe you finally would sleep peacefully for the first time in a long time.

“I’ll be right here in the morning,” she repeated again, the last thing you heard before you finally rested, finally okay at last.

[ofmythsandmadness]

pretty eyes.

you love diego hargreeves pretty eyes, sober and drunk off your rocker. only, when its the latter, it’s a little harder to hold back your eager compliments.

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WARNINGS & DETAILS: gender!neutral reader. mention of alcohol & drinking, some fighting later on in the chapter (it’ll make sense when it comes), idiots being idiots, mutual pining, a tad bit of angst. WORD COUNT: 6.5k NOTES: at the end (read please).

BUY ME A COFFEE HERE. | CHECK OUT MY OTHER WRITINGS HERE.

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“DO YOU KNOW WHY THE SKY’S BLUE?”

Diego didn’t look back, but from the sounds of tiny pants and dull clunks of shoes hitting the ground, he knew enough to paint a picture. You, struggling to rid yourself of the coat he forced you to put on, dropping the heels you claimed you hated so vehemently, all the while probably grinning from ear to ear like he imagined little kids looked on Christmas Day. He knew you’d be waiting for his answer, just as you always did, expecting something greater than he could give you in his own flustered state.

Sometimes you were predictable. But he liked that about you.

“I don’t know. Why?”

“No, silly! I’m asking you!”

“Oh.” His tongue danced across his bottom lip, wetting the chapped skin before responding. “I dunno. Sorry.”

Only a sparkling laugh and a thump answered him. He whirled around to see you flat on your butt on the ground, staring up at him with drooping doe eyes. It would be an irresistibly pretty sight, if he knew it wasn’t from extreme inebriation and you were completely off your rocker at the moment.

Still, pretty.

“Help me up?” You laughed, waving your hands aimlessly towards him. “Puh-lease?”

Diego grimaced slightly but moved anyways. He grabbed at your hands (clammy, another symptom of your heavy drinking choices)  and yanked you towards him. Only he overestimated you and greatly underestimated his own strength it seemed -- instead of lifting to your feet like any normal person, you practically flew towards him, landing just under his chin and flopping against his chest.

And Diego froze.

Normally he would have pulled away and shrugged it off as a mistake. Neither of you would mention it again and would move on with your lives, forgetting how close your bodies had been and the way your gaze was intoxicating upon itself. He had rules for those things; never getting too close to a friend who made his heart beat in a rather unfriendly way was one of them.

But as you looked up at him, still smiling dopily and eyes almost crossed, he couldn’t remember a single thing about rules or precautions or anything of the sort. All that was on Diego’s mind, was you.

Your smile softened a tad, painted lips closing over your teeth and only hinting at the dimples he had stared at many-a-time before. Up close, he could see flecks of black under your eyes, staining flushed skin with ebony freckles that no one could believe was natural. He didn’t know the word for it, but guessed it was from you rubbing at your eyes and forgetting you had painted them hours before. Despite it, you still looked absolutely radiant.

“You have really pretty eyes.”

Diego blinked, startled by your giggled statement. “W-what?”

“Sooo pretty,” you gushed. One of your hands left his chest -- he hadn’t even realised they had been pressed there, but he suddenly missed the warm sensation -- and caressed his cheek. He shuddered at the touch. “Maybe the pre...prettiest eyes I’ve ever seen!”

If merely standing near you was heart-attack inducing, Diego was certain that all this was going to explode the vessel. Any second at that point, it would just burst and coat your grinning face with its guts--

-- he shook his head, ridding himself of both that image and the foolish thoughts flooding around it. You were drunk. Everyone said and did stupid stuff when they were drunk. Right? Like the time he lost a fight with a lamp post -- he wouldn’t do that sober, but alcohol made everyone a fool. You just chose compliments over actions, maybe.

The saying ‘drunk words, sober thoughts’ lingered in his mind for half a second, but he pushed it away. That only worked in late night television or shitty rom-coms, not reality. Not with them.

“You should get to bed,” Diego said gruffly, pulling away from your fingers. He didn’t miss the flash of disappointment on your face, but tried to push it away for his own emotions’ sake. “You’re gonna want to, ‘fore all this hits.”

“You should smile more.”

Diego froze. He didn’t turn back to her that time, knowing it would only hurt him more, but he couldn’t bring himself to move another inch.

“Your eyes are fu...cking beautiful, but your smile?” Clapping echoed paces behind him; his jaw clenched with every smack. “Diego, you’re so pretty!”

He reached behind him blindly, scrambling and feeling stupid before finally launching onto you. Still avoiding your charming smile, he pulled you along, leading you out and into your bedroom. “I’ll be back to get you some Advil. Sit down.”

“I wish you’d smile more,” you said, completely ignoring every word he said. You fell down to your bed with a plop. “It lights up those pretty pretty, pretty eyes so much...so fucking pretty, Diego! I can’t even think of any other words, that’s how be-yew-tiful you are.”

“Okay, I--”

“-- and you always look so grumpy. It’s so funny!”

Diego should have been long gone, at that point. For his own sake and for yours, because you would hate that you rambled on so much, and he was going to pay for the emotional turmoil you were putting him through. But he couldn’t. He simply stood, still and awkward in your bedroom doorway, watching as you tried to twist your face to look like his own.

It didn’t work at all. Your lips fought angrily to smile again, and your eyelids just drooped, so far you looked stoned, or maybe like a zombie ready to bite. But even if you looked beyond ridiculous, his mind still screamed at how adorable it was, and despite himself, Diego smiled.

“See! See, there - there it is!” You pointed frantically at his own face, like he didn’t know it was there. “God, I wish I had a mirror to show you how pretty you are! Lil...lil sunshine boy!”

Okay, ‘sunshine boy’ was new. It took a little bit of the piss out of everything, and he was able to grumble and walk away finally from your singing self. Calls of his name paired with nonsensical titles followed. Diego tried his best to ignore them, but he knew the coos would haunt him later. Even as he searched for a glass, the sounds bounced through his head like injured bats in a cave; no way out and too blind to escape, forced to flit around endlessly until someone ended their suffering.

But Diego, unfortunately, did not know how to do that. So he simply bore the weight of your compliments knowing that they were nothing but sounds and syllables made up by a confused mind, trying to push through the night with as little baggage as possible.

As he walked back to your room, he sighed. This wasn’t how he planned things to go. It had been a good night -- sure, he might not have had as much fun as you looked like you were having, dancing and drinking and laughing, but at least he was with you. And he liked that, and the lax nature you took on when you drank, making him feel less pressure about constantly being the best version of himself. He hadn’t felt like he needed to put on a show, he was just Diego, for better or for worse. And somehow, you didn’t mind that.

He only wished that he could have more than that and all the time.

“Okay,” he said, clearing his throat after the word came out garbled. “Uh - got you this, you’re gonna want to drink it and take these now. Okay? And I’m putting these here for tomorrow morning, so you can take that as soon as you’re up. You got that?”

Your head bobbed up and down excitedly, but he knew you didn’t take in a word he said. So as you swallowed the tablets and gulped down the water, he scribbled out a note to remind you of what definitely went right over your head.

Diego paused, pen slightly trembling in his hand, before jotting down two more sentences. Thanks for last night. Had a good time being with you, as always. He hesitated, hovering over the slip of paper before cursing and scribbling out the lines with added violence. He tried again, being a little bit more poetic (which wasn’t much, but words really were not his thing) only to be disappointed again, pushing down on the pen so hard he was sure it would burst. Once he was sure nothing but scribbles could be made of the mess, he put the note under the Advil bottle and stepped away.

“You wanna change out of that?” He asked, gesturing to your clothes. “Doubt that’s comfortable.”

“Nah,” you drawled. You smiled up at him and even dared to wink (it was more of a sloppy, half-assed blink, but it still made his head swim). “I’m just comfortable. Do...you…’re you comfortable?”

Diego chose not to answer that. He pushed you back gently, deciding not to fight with you on changing and instead just going with sleep. You didn’t fight him much. If anything you leaned into it, holding onto his hands for seconds longer than you should and mumbling sweet nonsense up at him.

“You know,” you sang, “you know what, Di...Diego?”

He didn’t pause. “What?”

“I would do anything...and everything...in order to make you smile forever. You know? Anything.”

Those were the words that weighed heaviest on Diego’s conscience as he drove back to his place. It was as though they had erased everything else, anything that had happened that day or any time before and just left that in its place. He didn’t know why, but they stuck, and as he wove through the dimly lit streets, your voice floated about like a bodiless apparition, set to destroy his mind and drive him mad.

Diego had had his heart broken several times before. It happened almost easily in his childhood, normally by the hands of his vindictive father. He had learned how to patch it up, sew up the cracks and try to make it so it wouldn’t happen again, and eventually he got better at that. But it shattered again when Ben died, and he realised that they were just kids, forced to play heroes in a horrifically gruesome world they didn’t belong in. That took a while to mend, but he did, until he screwed up at the police academy and Patch left him too. After that he had let the fragments just sit in piles in his chest, digging at his ribs and leaving him winded after long nights in the cold darkness. He hadn’t cared; he thought that was what was expected of him. Nothing but a broken heart to hold him when the nightmares got too bad.

But when you came along, he didn’t have to stitch himself back together. You did it for him. Somehow without him noticing you had snuck into his chest and unravelled the poor stitchwork and blotted out the stains left that he hadn’t bothered to clean up. Over time, you had managed to make it almost brand new again, and it was a whole new experience of smiling and watching as you failed to finish your joke again, only because you were already laughing too hard. Of getting wasted on Wednesday’s when your job sucked more and dancing down the streets up to your apartment, uncaring of those who watched. Of you chiding him for the cuts and bruises collected from his vigilante expeditions, but always being there to wash them out and make a fresh pot of tea. Of you, merely existing, and allowing him to bask in your sunshine a while longer.

But hearing those soft words leave your drunken lips, spilling out like tar from someone so angelic, hurt. Diego didn’t think that was possible with you.

He sighed, turning down the street towards the gym. It would be a sleepless night again.

YOU WOKE UP THE NEXT MORNING CONFUSED AND ACHING.

Not as much as you normally would be, which was a nice change of pace -- you assumed you had enough common sense to take premature headache meds, knowing how bad the hangover got for them. But your drunken self did not have the thought of changing out of your stiff, uncomfortable going-out clothes, instead draping yourself across the mattress smelling like the shitty bar you had careened in and leaving every part of your body pissed off. Sweaty fabric clung to your skin, leaving you feeling soggy and misworn and eagerly wishing you could have made better choices earlier.

You groaned and slipped out of the comforter, already missing its heavy warmth. Slowly you staggered over to your desk where you must have left the Advil for that morning. “Thank you, past me,” you sighed, twisting open the cap with a grimace.

A paper caught your eye, small amongst the stacks of work files you had yet to comb through. Downing one pill, you grabbed it, taking in the scribbled letters through tired, squinting eyes.

Leaving this for you because you’re too drunk to remember what I said. Take these and drink water before you die of a hangover. I’d hate to find your body that way. Also left your things on your kitchen counter, they’re not stolen. Also left your burrito in your microwave -- you insisted on buying one last night, so don’t forget about it. Take care.

Underneath were two lines of thick black scribbles, covering up whatever was written under that and leaving only a scrawled ‘Diego’ as your final clue. But, despite whatever mystery the pen covered up, you smiled and pinned the note to your bulletin board.

“Thanks, bud,” you grinned, speaking like he was there to hear. “Hope I wasn’t too annoying last night.”

You went about your morning with a smile despite the pounding pulverising your muscles, and enjoying the lazy Sunday hours spent cleaning up. You even spoiled yourself with a long shower, eating up your hot water minutes with joy, knowing you’d hate yourself for it two weeks later. After an hour of cleaning up, washing your face free of the makeup smudged across your cheeks and devouring that burrito left for you, you finally felt refreshed and better about things.

You glanced up at the time. Diego would be up, probably manning the desk for Al as he did most Sunday’s (the facet of his job he hated most). But, at least that meant he would be available to take your call. You missed him, even after seeing him just the night before, and selfishly craved the distraction of his low rasp. Maybe you could even make him laugh, cheer him up during his boring shift.

But five minutes later, you were left disappointed when none of the three calls went through. You tried not to think too hard on it -- he was a busy guy, and was either working or doing his other line of work, and ignoring your call meant nothing. Course, it probably didn’t look good for a boxing gym, but...you’d settle.

You would just call back later. He would definitely be available to talk then.

IT HAD BEEN A WEEK SINCE YOU LAST TALKED TO DIEGO, which was the longest either of you had gone without even speaking to one another in the history of your friendship.

On its own, the fact wasn’t so troubling. You were both working adults who had their own lives to sort through, jobs and bills and other friends that you didn’t like half as much as each other, grocery shopping and patrolling the streets alike, filling up both schedules easily. But the two of you were closer than that, and definitely more than just friends that saw each other every other week. You didn’t care about those friends like you cared about Diego.

And it hurt, that he was going to such lengths to avoid you.

Every time you stopped by his gym, Diego was gone. Al simply shrugged off your questions with a non-committal ‘I don’t keep track of the shithead’ and even when you went to knock on his door to check if he was lying, you got nothing. No regulars knew either, which was strange; he always liked to spend his afternoons training with a couple people, sometimes you if you showed up at the right time. You considered doing just that and waiting for him to show -- but even after hours of sparring, the man was nowhere to be seen.

You had tried everything, to the point where Al was annoyed and you felt like you were losing your mind. Surely Diego hadn’t just disappeared off the face of the earth. That didn’t seem right or possible and you knew you hadn’t made him up, because you had the pictures and notes to prove it. You could see his face, disgruntled and sometimes smiling in the photos you had snapped of him -- so why couldn’t you find it anywhere else?

With all options exhausted, you gave up for a few days, allowing yourself the chance to catch your breath. However, with that came the exhaustive process of trying to figure out why on earth Diego was avoiding you. And unfortunately, all that linked back to your last night spent together, and the bitter realisation that you must have fucked up the night somehow and left him not wanting to see you again.

And that thought broke you.

Thursday night was spent crying alone on your couch, trying to push past the depressing thoughts and failing miserably. You couldn’t remember half of what you did that night, but you knew he hadn’t been drinking as much as you, and alcohol always rendered you a ranting, rambling fool that he must have had to deal with. He had got you home, but for what? And what if it was all in that stupid note he had left you, scribbling out the real reason he was leaving you high and dry?

You threw the note out that night, staring down at it in the trash with tears pooling in your eyes. If only you could know why.

The issue was, Diego was more than just a friend to you. Sure your relationship had been built on totally platonic foundations, but it soon blossomed into so much more. He was a companion, your partner, the man who made you feel comfortable enough to wheeze into laughter-induced tears with, or just sob against his shoulder without feeling judged. He was the guy who brought you fast food when you forgot about dinner when work ran late, and the one who let you sleep over when you didn’t want to be alone. He made you smile by just being there -- like, you would open your door (or window, usually) and just grin like an idiot at the mere sight of his face. He was just Diego, but that meant more to you than you had ever been able to say.

Maybe, hell, you loved him. Was that so bad? It hadn’t been intentional to fall -- one day you had just been eating pizza on your countertop way too late in the night, and you looked over and realised your heart had only ever fluttered so violently for him. That he was the guy you could imagine spending the rest of your days with and never getting bored. Of course, you didn’t act on it, knowing that it was a platonic relationship and admitting such would destroy it completely -- but that didn’t mean your official break-up didn’t hurt any less.

You skipped work Friday, something you never did.

When your coworkers called, you wrote it off as illness related, while still drowning in the sorrow of being left high and dry.

Friends hit you up to make some ‘end of the week’ plans, but you ignored them.

You fell asleep at nine that night -- the earliest you had in aeons.

You stayed in bed for most of Saturday, staring at the ceiling or the photos pinned to your walls of the two of you, wondering if this was all just a weird dream you were going to wake up from.

Six hours later, you hadn’t woken up from your dream, but you had made up your mind.

One hour after that, at almost ten o’clock at night, you were rolling up to that same boxing gym you had haunted for that week, dressed in dark activewear and parked a ways away from the actual space. Steely-eyed and with your jaw clenched, you marched out the vehicle and into the building, knowing full well what you were going to find. You had a plan, and whatever it took, you were going to put it into motion.

Maybe it wasn’t the greatest plan, and maybe you had only just come up with it, with barely any time to consider it’s workability and whether or not you were just throwing words together, but nevertheless, you persisted.

You were going to get Diego back.

“DIEGO FUCKING HARGREEVES,”

The man, back turned away, stiffened and immediately went to move,

“run and I will end you, boy,” you growled, stomping towards him with force; he could practically feel each stomp echoing in his chest, cracking him down to the size of a pea. Somehow, he couldn’t move, frozen in place by your command. “Okay?!”

“H-hey, I--”

“--why the hell have you been avoiding me?!”

His eyes were wide and panicked and frantically, he searched all around for a way out. Unfortunately, your body in front of him blocked his only exit, leaving him stammering for answers you knew he didn’t easily have. “Look, I--”

“--I have been worried and scared and sad and out of my mind this entire week,” you snapped, jabbing a finger into his tank top, pushing him back in his steps. Your anger dug deep into him, thorns grabbing onto every bit of vulnerable flesh -- and the worst part was, you were absolutely right.  “You know that? I have called everywhere I could -- I even called the police, wondering if you were in custody and I just missed that news drop. But no, you were just gone, avoiding me for who knows what reason!”

“I didn’t--”

“--what did I do, Diego? What happened, what did I do wrong?”

“Nothing! You’ve done nothing.”

“Then why won’t you even look me in the eyes?” you hissed back, staring up at him in hopes he would catch your gaze. But he didn’t; his eyes still looked far away from yours, searching for something to give him a way out with. “You won’t even look at me, that’s how pissed off you are at me.”

“That’s not true.”

“I get if I did something wrong, but you can’t just pull away from me like that -- this friendship isn’t built on shit like that. I can’t cope with this void left by you deciding you don’t like me anymore!”

“That’s not what happened,” he insisted, his own voice raising in volume. “I swear!”

“Then what, Diego? What possible reason could you have that isn’t related to me doing something wrong? Because that’s all the evidence I got out of this and unlike you, I have zero detective skills so I’m working on one freakin’ theory here!”

His eyes averted to the ground, staring down at the both of your feet, one pair tapping angrily and the other shuffling in hopes of escape. He felt himself folding in, a habit he had broken a long time ago with you, one he thought he had killed off forever. But apparently it hadn’t. 

“You can’t even answer me,” you shuddered. Your sneakers squeaked against the shiny linoleum, leading you back a step. “You - I don’t understand this. At all. And you can’t even give me an answer why? D-don’t I deserve a reason for why I hurt you, Diego?”

“No, c’mon. I…” he hesitated once more as expected. Whatever he was planning on saying died in his mouth and thickened his tongue, leaving him once again stumbling for an excuse. He felt your eyes on him as well as his father, reproachfully clicking his tongue at once again, his stuttering, bumbling fool of a son. “I did...I didn’t…”

“Forget it. Screw this.”

“W-wait, don’t leave--”

“--I’m not leaving!”

He froze, holding onto your bicep in an attempt to stop you. Slowly, his hand fell away, “w-what?”

“I’m not leaving,” you repeated, and slowly he watched as a devilish smile stained your cheeks, pulling away the angry lines of before. “I didn’t come here to leave, I came here for answers. And I guess I just have to fight you for ‘em.”

At that point, Diego’s head had been through the wringer so much, he felt like it could just pop off if he wasn’t careful. And yet still, his eyes bugged out and he stared at you in complete shock, unsure just how he was supposed to process that last sentence.

“I’m sorry, what?!”

You shrugged like it was nothing at all, “c’mon. I know you’re better with the physical stuff and I wanna catch you off guard, finally get an answer out of you. I’m gonna, like, fight you for the truth.”

He watched as you toed off your shoes and shrugged off your thin jacket, letting it fall to the floor behind you with little care. You seemed ready, like you had planned this all along -- and had you? What was the reason behind all this? Was there something that he just wasn’t getting, in his state of emotional disarray? Or were you just losing your mind because of him?

“L-look, I’m s-sorry, but I,” he paused, trying to form the syllables in his mouth so they weren’t so thick and jumbled. “I can’t just fight you.”

“Sure you can. We spar all the time.”

“But w-w-why?”

Once more, your shoulders lifted and fell; ever the nonchalant dramatic. “Call it a bet. I win, you tell me why you avoided me for so long. And if you win, which you probably won’t but if you do…” you grimaced. “I’ll leave and you never have to see me again.”

Diego baulked. “I don’t want that.”

“Clearly you do,” you jabbed back. “Right?”

“No. I don’t. I don’t want to lose you.”

You huffed; clearly you didn’t believe him, but you also seemed set on the idea that you were definitely going to win, so he wasn’t sure where he stood in that. “Fine, pick your prize and keep it to yourself. I don’t care.”

Diego still hesitated, hovering to the side as you wrapped your hands. There seemed no way out of the situation, but surely there had to be - surely you weren’t just going to hop into the ring for an explanation.

Was this some ill-fated revenge?

You must have noticed his expression, because he heard you laughing from a whiles away. “I’m not looking to hurt you, Diego. Trust me, no matter what you do, I’d never want to do that.”

His heart fluttered.

“It’s just,” you cocked your head, thinking over your words before smiling again, “like you said when you first started training me. Freestyle, baby.”

You had deepened your voice tremendously to mock his own -- and while it was a horrible impression, it did call back to the one you did before of him. Not that you seemed to remember that, you had been piss drunk, but the thought still made him cringe.

All this, because of him. He screwed it all up and for what?

“Rules are the same as always. First person to pin the other down for more than five beats wins. No serious hits, so like, don’t break my nose or anything.”

“I can’t do this,” he mumbled, even as he stepped into the ring. “We don’t need to do this. We can just talk.”

You sighed and looked back at him. There was a fierceness in your eyes, a determination for something he wasn’t quite sure of -- like there was a plan in motion, only he couldn’t figure out where the steps lead. “I didn’t come here to walk away, Diego. I’m here to win a bet and get my friend back, and also kick his ass if I have to because I’m desperate. You can’t convince me to leave, so wrap your hands and let’s get this going!”

“But-”

“-it’s either this or I just stare at you until you crack,” you said, no longer smiling. “And I doubt you want that typ’a torture, do you?”

He stared at you askance. “Really?”

You didn’t answer him with words that time.

The fight was fast, and almost evenly matched -- you had a slight advantage with your eye on your prize, and he was faltering with every other blow knowing he couldn’t bear to hurt you. But the pace picked up and soon it was like you were one fluid being, predators locked on and desperate to claw the other away from them while simultaneously, drawing them back in. Fists flew and every so often he saw the sparks fly from the fire in your eyes, catching on everything he turned from and leaving him surrounded by the flames you spilled.

For a moment, Diego thought he had it. He had managed to pivot away from your last onslaught and pulled you away from the centre, edging into the corner where he could finally pin you down. His arms outstretched and for a moment he was actually smiling because it felt like the good old days -- sparring way too late into the night when he should have been working with the girl he secretly loved and the stars watching from way above, admiring the gruesomely pretty sight.

But in a flash, everything switched.

He lunged, you slid.

When he fumbled, your legs wrapped around his own, pulling him back and flipping over one another like beetles rolling in the hot sun.

You were everywhere, smothering his smoke with your body, forcing him down before he even realised what was happening.

Diego blinked, and suddenly you were on top of him, legs on either side of his waist and your hands holding his own up above his head. Your expression edged on feral as you grinned down at him, straddling him and fighting everything he pushed back with.

But he couldn’t fight back. Not when you were on him and everywhere and he could smell your shampoo as your hand dangled around him, dripping your scent around him like he was in that poppy field from Wizard of Oz, ready to give into the toxin and be one with the flowers. Your hands held his own and he wished he could slide his fingers into the clasp, holding them to him and kiss each bruised knuckle with tenderness he didn’t know he possessed. Your hips, legs, chest pressed against his own, both heaving and waiting for the other to move and interrupt the tension rising with every passing second.

“One,” you began, voice low and teasing. Did you know what you did to him? “Two…”

Diego writhed in your hold, but it was no use. You had him. He was yours and he would be satisfied to be so for the rest of your days, if only you never let him go. His gaze flitted across your face, tracing the way your eyebrows furrowed and relaxed with the numbers, eyes still wide and filled with emotions he didn’t quite know how to read. Sweat beaded on your brow and stained your cheeks and yet still, he thought you were as perfect as you could be, mere inches from his own darting eyes.

“Four...four and a half…” your smile grew and you got a little closer, almost touching his face with your own. “Five…”

He didn’t dare to breathe.

“I win, Hargreeves.”

But despite the hushed declaration, you did not move. Your body stayed over his, hands pushing his own down with gentle force but keeping him locked under you. Your eyes remained on his own, locking them in place as your face grew nearer. Soon enough your nose was just touching his own, nudging softly and turning so it fit better against his lips, which were parted and so close to pressing against your own-

-but you pulled away.

Just as Diego’s eyes had shut, your weight left his and he was left to sit up confused and watch you stomp away. You slipped out of the ring and down to the ground with a soft thump. He watched you unwrap your knuckles and to his surprise, he saw your hands shake with the movement. 

“This was a mistake,” you mumbled to yourself. He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to hear. “This was stupid, I have to-”

“-don’t go,” he mumbled. In one swift movement Diego had jumped back to his feet and pulled after you. You stumbled back a few paces; he raced after, hurrying to your side with an aggression he didn’t know he possessed. “Don’t go.”

“Diego, I-”

“-I pushed you away because I screwed up,” he said, all in one breath and so fast he wasn’t sure if you could understand him. “I messed this up. We’re only supposed to be friends, I know that, but I-I can’t not be in love with you, not when you’re that perfect and so beautiful and you make me smile e-even when I feel like the shittiest sh-sh-shit and-”

“-kiss me.”

“What?”

You stepped forward, angling yourself just under his chin. Your chest heaved. “Kiss me, asshole.”

And slowly his hands moved on their own accord, cupping your cheeks and holding you to him. His eyes darted down once, staring at the pink lips before reaching your own again for a silent affirmation. When you nodded in his hands he acted, pulling you to him quickly and pressing his lips against his own, finally.

It was fast and passionate, both beings pulling at the other, urging the other closer than the skin they already pressed against. His one hand left your jaw to hold your neck, angling your face so he could better caress it, smudging himself across your lips with little care. He felt your own touch against his back, sliding down to his hips and pulling -- without even thinking, he moaned, feeling your lower body roll up against him and leave his mind in overdrive.

You pulled away for air finally, gasping only to be pulled in again for a softer, gentler kiss. He pecked the corners of your mouth before finally taking your lower in between his teeth, biting softly before sucking on the tender swollen skin. He pulled away then, dropping his forehead to your own as you both took another breath.

“If…” you paused to inhale, grinning through the gasp of oxygen, “if I knew you were holding all that back, Diego, I would have kissed your ass a lot sooner.”

“I’m...I’m sorry…”

“Don’t be sorry,” you murmured. He felt your hands leave his waist, pulling up to the one he still had cradled against your cheek. Your head leaned into the gentle touch. Even as your fingers held his. “I just...is this why you stopped talking to me?”

Diego shook his head softly against your own. Once more his heart faltered and threatened to burst, but he ignored it. “No, I just...I realised that I was-”

“-sorry, I don’t - you have an eyelash.” He froze as your fingers stroked his cheek, pulling away the evidence that had caught your attention. Your eyes darted up to his for a moment, and he watched as they widened and brightened under his perplexed gaze. “Your eyes really are pretty.”

His heart stopped for a beat.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“That’s why I stopped!” he exclaimed. He pulled away from you then, gesticulating wildly around like the air was going to supply you with answers. “That’s why!”

You frowned, cocking your head like a lost puppy. “You...because of your pretty eyes?!”

“What? Wait, no, that’s not why.”

“I’m so confused right now, bud, and I just--”

“--last week,” he rushed, cutting you off before he could lose momentum again. “I took you home. You were wasted, and you kept talking and - and you told me I had pretty eyes.”

Still, you looked bewildered.

“I-I have been obsessed with you since the day I met you,” he said, soft and unsure if any of the words would come out right. Or if they themselves were the right ones to say. “I couldn’t help it. And I didn’t let myself act on it because I knew that it wouldn’t wo-wo-work out, you’d get mad and I’d lose you. I rathered having you as a friend, then losing you cause I was in love with you.”

“Love?” you questioned, barely a breath of a sound lingering between them.

“But that night, you went on and on and I realised then that I was too gone to keep it in. And I realised that you wouldn’t feel the same...and I didn’t want to hurt you, so I left. And…”

“Diego Hargreeves, that is the stupidest thing I have ever heard.”

His brow furrowed low, anger mingling with befuddlement on his flushed skin. “Hey, I-”

“-first of all, you really think I would just hate you because you thought of me as more than a friend?! Even if I didn’t like you - which I do, by the way - I wouldn’t do that, I value you too much. But second of all, you’re telling me that you never noticed how much I liked you back?!”

“I-”

“-I have felt like an idiot for the past year, holding in my feelings for you and wishing you could feel the same way. And when you left, I thought - I thought that was it, and that I screwed things up when I was drunk, which I guess I did but-”

“-you didn’t screw anything up, I did!”

“No you didn’t, I did! I’m the drunken initiator!”

“I shouldn’t have just left!”

“Okay, so we both screwed up!” you shouted, throwing your hands up in the air in exasperation. “But dammit, Diego, I have loved you for ages, and you - we - this is what it came to?!”

“Well, I-”

“-I can’t believe this!” you chortled. “All this time?!”

“I guess so,” he said, voice catching on the ‘so’. “I guess, yeah.”

“Holy crap.”

“Ha. Yeah.”

“I love you,” you giggled, breathless and still flushed, messy and beautiful in the shitty gym lighting. “I love you, Diego Hargreeves.”

His heart didn’t break. It didn’t even crack. Diego instead felt the slight twinge as the organ settled in his chest, content and buzzing with the panted cry. The breaklines of before didn’t feel so harsh, mended by your shiny eyes and swollen lips that he wanted to stare at until the end of his days. For once, his heart actually felt whole.

“I love you too,” Diego mumbled, smiling like a little kid. The muscles in his face, rusted over with age and disuse, groaned at the extreme grin but he kept it on anyways, smiling down at you with the strangest feeling of happiness coursing through his body. “A lot.”

And you beamed. “Have I ever told you, your eyes look like, a thousand times prettier when you smile?”

A/N: WHY DO I KEEP WRITING ALCOHOL BASED IDIOTS TO LOVERS FICS?? Have I any other creative thoughts?? Does this make me seem like that’s all I think about?? These are the thoughts that now run through my mind as I rush to post this...and truthfully, I don’t have an answer. I swear I’m a little more creative! I just...have a hankering for these things. Oops.

I wrote this weirdly super super fast and it’s super nonsensical, especially the middle bits? But I weirdly like it. I’m not sure. The plot is a ~little~ wonky but I’m rolling with it!

I’m open to make more stuff on here, I’ve gotten quite bad at it but I like writing these things as practice pieces. So, if you want to read more, requests are open and you can find a list of prompts (if you want them) in my masterlist. I’m putting out an updated list later on in the month, but I also am just open to have any sorts of requests. xx

(also as always - if you enjoyed and you want more, follow, reblog, and consider buying me a kofi! linked in my bio bc tumblr doesn’t like direct links on posts, please check it out if you’re feeling generous because I’m recently unemployed and any bit helps. but sharing this post and showing others the work is appreciated a great deal and i love you if you do!)

[yutahoes]

Otou-Chan

Yuta Nakamoto x Reader (Y/N) Smut

(Chapter Twenty One)

Summary: 𝐁𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐝𝐮𝐥𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐡𝐰𝐚 𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝. 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐘𝐮𝐭𝐚’𝐬 𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐬.

Warning: Fluff, Sexual Fantasy, Teasing, Violence

Word Count: 3.3k

Masterlist

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ ❤️❤️

21. Kintsukuroi

But that Friday became uneventful for Yuta since she woke up first and was already out of his house when he woke up. Really? Why is she always an early riser? Breakfast was left on the table and he did the only thing he can think of.

Taeyong was laughing when Yuta opened the door to his unit. "A bento box? Really, Yuta?" He teased, entering his house as if his own and proceed to the kitchen. "Doyoung is right. She got you in her fingers." 

The other raised an eyebrow at him. "She's my girlfriend. I'm supposed to take care of her." 

The man who was already fixing the ingredients shook his head. "She can take care of herself, Yuta." He reasoned out that made the other look at him, asking to elaborate. "You're pulling her to your world. Don't you think you're grooming her too much to fall in love with you?" 

"I'm not!" He revolted. "She likes me." 

The other shrugged. "Why is she living here anyway? Where are her parents?" Yuta sighed. Should he tell Taeyong? And why does he feel uncomfortable with the thought of bringing back (Y/N) to her dad? Where exactly is her dad? Her mom?

--

It was half an hour before lunchtime when Yuta parked outside of the publishing house. Jaehyun, who was informed by Taeyong, welcomed him by opening the door surprised that he was bringing in two bags full of things. "I'm glad you came here." He claimed that made the older confused. Why? Did something happen? "Can you calm your girlfriend down?" 

She was focused on her computer, biting her thumb. It was a habit he noticed whenever she's fidgety. She might be nervous. "What happened?" 

"Her work will be published today." That's a good thing. She said that it was approved. What is she so nervous about? "I'll bring the other foods inside." 

Yuta followed the younger's order. When he approached (Y/N)'s table, that's when he noticed that she's alone in their office. Where are her other co-workers? Inside? Why is she left alone? 

Maybe she really is that nervous that she was just scribbling on her drawing tablet, not noticing that he sat beside her. She was drawing him that made him chuckle. "You are so obsessed with me." He teased placing the bento box in front of her. 

"What are you doing here? Did Jaehyun call you? Don't you have work today?" 

She really is nervous. "It's my day off, I forgot to tell you last night." He took tempura from the bento box, feeding her using the chopstick. "Jaehyun didn't call me. I delivered lunch for you and your workmates." She was obviously surprised but cannot talk since she's munching on the batter covered shrimp which is really good, she might add. "Where are they?" 

She gulped before answering him, "Inside. Discussing my work." She glanced at the closed door and blinds. "Yuta, what if my work isn't fit for publishing? What if they realized that it wasn't good enough? What if…?" 

He held the back of her head, patting her to calm her down. "You said Johnny already accepted your work, right?" She nodded. "Then it will be fine. Maybe they're just teasing you." But she shook her head. It's work, they wouldn't do that. "I believe in you, (Y/N). You should believe in yourself as well." 

The girl had to breathe hard at that. Yuta is right, she can just try again next time. "Can you stay for a little bit? Until they're done with the meeting? Please." 

Yuta smiled. "I have nowhere I want to go but here." He tapped on the bento box. "Now, eat. Or do you want me to feed you?" She shook her head, taking the chopsticks to feed herself. The guy would ask her to feed him as well in between bites that made her giggle. Yuta had a really peculiar way of bringing up her mood. 

She wasn't even finished with her rice when the door opened. Jungwoo was skipping outside, congratulating her and thanking Yuta for the food. Ten followed, smiling widely at her. "(Y/N)," Johnny called, peeking from inside the office. "It's already posted. You can check on it." He congratulated her but his words didn't register in her mind.

Yuta quickly fished out his phone, typing the publishing's website on his search engine to check on it. Before it can load, he felt her head on his shoulder. "Why am I so nervous?" She mumbled that made him chuckle. 

He rubbed her back, kissing the top of her head. "You're doing great, my love." He whispered that Jungwoo overheard, making the other smile. The website loaded and Yuta clicked on the first panel, chuckling to himself. "You are really obsessed of me."

(Y/N) had to prevent herself from crying. That is her work, published on the company's site. A risque romance about a CEO and a secretary. A story with her name written on the bottom of the first page. Her first real story. She's a manhwa illustrator now. A dream she thought she cannot make. It's all happening in front of her now. Is this even real? She's not dreaming, right?

"You already have a hundred readers," Jungwoo noted and Yuta nodded. She felt overwhelmed all of a sudden. Although it's a small number compared to Ten and Jungwoo's works, that is huge for her who was just starting. "This is promising, (Y/N). You have to work harder now." And she nodded, her eyes getting mistier as time passed. 

"You have to treat your model with something expensive." Ten teased. 

Yuta watched as she turned to look at him, smiling with tear-stained eyes. She looked really happy. Really beautiful. An image he wanted to etch in his mind. He wanted to see her like this every day, wanted her to be happy all her life. He wanted to protect that smile to see it for the rest of his life. "Are you happy?" (Y/N) nodded, whispering 'very'. "Then that's all that matters." 

Jungwoo looked at Ten and he mirrored the same expression as his. (Y/N) is with the right person now.

--

Jaehyun kept on forcing Yuta to come with them and have drinks but he kept on saying that they should just go and celebrate. "You just want to celebrate alone with her." The younger teased that made Yuta smile. When he asked if he should just pick up (Y/N), Jungwoo asked his permission if she could stay with him since he's missing Lucas. Yuta had to smile at himself when he realized that (Y/N) had to make up a story that Lucas is here in Korea just to stay with him. Well, he's not mad. It's the opposite actually. And he doesn't dislike the idea of her living with him. 

While driving back to his apartment, he pondered for a way to make her live with him. Should he change the apartment's interior? Or maybe he'll buy a house for them to live in together? It must be nice to live with her. Sleeping and waking up next to her, eating breakfast that she cooked, even going home with her welcoming him with a warm hug.

Maybe he really should buy a house. It will be hard for kids to go up and down the elevator. A child-friendly home with a large yard where he can play soccer with his son or even do gardening with his daughter. A spacious living room where the little ones can run as long as they like. He smiled at how warm it was then shook his head. You shouldn't count the chicks until the eggs are hatched. She should ask her to live with him first. 

And that came sooner as he expected. 

Yuta was surprised when the doorbell rang while he's doing paperwork for the presentation tomorrow. Her appearance by the doorway surprised him even further. Shouldn't she be at Jungwoo's place now? Why is she here? But who is he to revolt anyway?

(Y/N) is really red and he wanted to ask how she came here. Did Jaehyun drive her? Did she take the cab? She should have just called him. But she went straight to the bathroom, leaving her bag and jacket scattered in the living room. She's really drunk. 

A glass of water can be seen from the doorway of the bathroom when (Y/N) flushed the vomit from the bowl. She drank the contents of the glass, watching as to how Yuta sat beside her on the toilet floor. "How much did you drink?" He asked but she shook her head just as another wave of vomit escaped her stomach. 

The guy held her hair in a ponytail in one hand, the other rubbing her back and letting her get out all the food she had eaten earlier. God, she wouldn't drink that much anymore. Yuta took the glass and ordered her to gargle some water and he'll just take another glass for her to drink, asking if she wanted some medicine or anything. "I'm fine. You'll smell like vomit, leave already."

He chuckled at that, kissing her forehead that made her push him. He'll reek of vomit if he kept staying inside the bathroom with her. "We'll probably do this soon. Think of it as practice." He stood up with a smug expression, smiling to himself in her confusion. 

The girl brushed her teeth twice to remove the smell from her then removed her blouse when Yuta came inside the bathroom. "Oh. Sorry. I'll get you some clothes." he said, disappearing after giving her the glass of water and some aspirins. 

He's still rummaging the closet when she entered the bedroom, lying on his bed without her blouse. "I'm not getting drunk like that again." He chuckled before throwing a shirt and sweatpants at her. "Otou-chan…" she called cutely. "Can you change me?" 

Yuta giggled at that. "You are such a baby." 

"I'm your baby," she mumbled as he sat next to her, asking her to sit up. "Do you want to do it?" she asked playfully as he expertly removed the hooks of her bra, removing it from her. "It's been so long, Yuta." 

He put on his shirt on her, kissing her forehead when the fabric passed her head. "I know. But you're drunk. You might regret it later." She wrapped her arms around his neck, hugging him tight that surprised Yuta. "Why?" 

Her heart is full of warmth. All because of him. This is it, the warmth she's been yearning for since she was young. The happiness she wanted to feel. The feeling of home. She's now at ease. She's now at home. 

Yuta is her home. 

"I like you so much," she whispered as tears fell from her eyes. "I don't have anything, I'm broken and I'm an annoying big giant whiny baby…" He smiled at that, how cute. "But please Yuta, stay with me." 

The guy had to smile. She's really something when she's drunk. He had been imagining it before, a way to ask her to live with him but here she is, saying those things to him. She's not actually a giant baby, come to think of it. How can she have the courage to say those things when he's so nervous? "I will, love." He wanted to be brave. To have courage like her in expressing himself. In expressing what he wants. "Let's get married, (Y/N)."

But she didn't look surprised. She didn't look happy or sad as well. For the first time, she looked so hard to read. Is it because of the alcohol? Or is it because he's too nervous about her decision? "It's too early for breakfast, Yuta." Then a smile appeared on her lips. "Let's wait for the right time to talk about this."

Of course. But her answer is comforting enough. She didn't say no.

--

Doyoung was surprised when Yuta went inside the office with (Y/N) beside him. He doesn't have anything against them with this dating thing but does he really have to bring her to work to show how cool he is? Yuta really changed. How can this determined man look so fragile now that he's in a relationship with someone? "The board room is ready for the presentation," he announced that made the CEO nod. "Do you need anything else?" 

Yuta glanced at the girl beside him then at Doyoung. "Can you call Taeil hyung?" he asked that made the other surprised. What is this about? "I need to talk to him." The younger guy nodded, already making his way outside the office.

"Thank you, Yuta," she whispered. "For doing this."

He nodded, kissed her forehead then grinned at her. "Anything for you, (Y/N)." He gestured to the computer on his desk. "You can use it while I'm in the meeting. I'll be back before Taeil hyung gets here. If you're hungry, just call for a delivery." She nodded. Is this the right thing to do?

That morning, she asked for Yuta's help in finding her dad. Although he had done traumatic things to her, he's still the only member of her small family left and she badly missed him. She wanted to tell him that her life is in order now, that she wanted him, still, to be part of her life. She wanted to ask for his blessing to marry Yuta, wanted him to walk her on the aisle of her wedding day. Wanted him to be one of the firsts to hold his grandkid. She just wanted to see if he's okay. 

Her nervousness lead to drawing an exact copy of Yuta's office on her drawing tablet. This can be a nice setting for her illustration. But how can a CEO and secretary have sex in this large office? What will happen if she becomes Yuta's secretary?

It was a cliché scene. The CEO being angry that the proposal he made got rejected by a multi-million dollar company that he started fucking his secretary on the oak table of his office. Too cliché, she thought. This will get rejected again, she's sure of that. 

But the image of Yuta fucking a girl, a blonde girl with a curvaceous body, on his desk can’t leave her mind. If she didn’t know him well, she might think that he’s a playboy who makes a girl scream due to amazing pleasure in his office. She giggled at that, Yuta can definitely do that with his stamina.

Like always, she was in her own world while doing her illustration. By the fourth panel, she felt someone sat beside her. Yuta was chuckling when she made a desperate attempt to hide what she was doing. "Is that supposed to be me?" he asked while laughing. "Is that your fantasy?" he asked, his arm wrapped around her waist while the other grazed on her thigh. "To be fucked on my office table?"

A whimper escaped her lips as his soft lips kept nibbling on the side of her neck. Her breathing became ragged as his hands move upward to touch her. "Yes." she breathed then moaned when one of his hands cupped her clothed breast. His other hand moved closer to her core, pushing the zipper of her jeans that it puts pressure on her clit. 

"I always think of you when I'm alone here in my office," he whispered then licked her earlobe that earned a soft purr from her. His fingers went to her clothed core, tracing the wetness from her underwear. "I want to fuck you in that window." 

The imagery of her naked in his office and being fucked deliciously by Yuta on that full glass window was the only thing running in her mind. Her breathing shallowed as she felt his hand inside her shirt, tracing her hardening nipple on top of her bra. His other hand massaged her clothed wetness that she jerked her hip up to create friction. "Yuta…" she called, clawing on the sofa. "I'm close…"

A knock on the door made Yuta stop and she whined at the loss of touch. God, she's near her climax but Yuta had to stop. And what the hell? Who might be knocking that disturb them? Once her breathing stabilized, Yuta gave her a breathtaking kiss that made her glare playfully. "Come in," he said while laughing at her annoyed state. 

Doyoung came into the office followed by someone else, this might be Taeil, (Y/N) thought. "Love, this is Moon Taeil, he's an investigator I met while working here." he introduced. The guy lend a hand to shake. "My girlfriend, (Y/N)." And the way he said those words made Doyoung smile. He's too comfortable addressing her as his girlfriend. 

He laid out pictures on the table that surprised the only girl in the room. She was just talking to Yuta about this earlier in the morning and now, here are pictures of where he is. This investigator is good, too good. "A psychiatric clinic in Gimhae." Yuta had to hold her hand to remind her that he's next to her as they listened to Taeil. "He was put in jail for stealing alcohol and assaulting an older woman." But why a psychiatry clinic? "He beat to death another prisoner so they decided to put him in a psychiatry clinic." 

"Beat to death? Did the prisoner die?" Yuta had to ask. Taeil shook his head and (Y/N) let go of the breath that she's holding on for too long. That's a relief. "Did you know why he almost killed someone?" 

Taeil looked at (Y/N) that confused Yuta. "His daughter." A choke escaped (Y/N)'s lips. The guy had to breathe hard before telling them the whole story. Apparently, the other prisoner kept on talking about his daughter and how they'll meet again when he gets out. The next thing the jail guards knew, her dad was choking his neck while saying that daughters are the worst. "He kept on whispering that he never killed his daughter, that he didn't do anything wrong so they had to put him in a psychiatric ward." 

(Y/N) hated that the investigator is too good that he even found out about that fact. Now, she doesn't know what to do with that information now. She knew he hated her, but not to the extent that he would think that she's dead. Does he really not want her in his life? 

--

She was just quiet the whole ride going home. "Do you want to see your dad?" He asked that made her look at him, funny he would ask that. “Or do you want to just go home…?”

“Bungeoppang,” she answered. “I want to eat bungeoppang.”

Yuta didn’t believe that food can comfort her in a time like this. But she seemed genuinely happy eating the fish-shaped buns that he was considering buying a store that sells bungeoppang just for her. How can a lovely girl, so adorable, like her, experience these hardships in life? She really doesn’t deserve this. She’s like a broken gem in his eyes and he wanted to pick up the broken pieces just to see her whole again even if it meant hurting him. “My kintsukuroi,” he mumbled, making her look at him. 

He tucked a loose strand of her hair behind her ear, smiling at her. “I want to marry you.” His elbow was on the table, his head propped on his hand while staring at her. “I’m going to give you so much love that you’ll grow sick of me.” The hand that was on her hair earlier, held her hand that was on top of the table, threading their fingers together. “I’m going to love you until death. Even if you cheat on me.” She giggled at that. Yuta and his words. 

“Why would I even cheat if I have you?” Yuta had to bite his lip to avoid smiling too much. God, he’s really in love with her.

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ ❤️❤️

Chapter 20 / Chapter 22

[thewildwaffle]

Haunted Houses

“You know the translators don’t work for written word right?” Danro grunted, eyeing the small tablet screen his human companion held out to him. It was displaying several small human glyphs.

“It’s just a waiver saying you’re okay with coming in, and that if you have any bad effects from the flashing lights or spooky stuff they use, you can’t sue them because you chose to be here willingly, blah blah blah.” Human Addy again held up the tablet. “Basically it’s just the legal-ese version of everything we talked about earlier. I can read through it for you if you really want.”

Danro let out a growling hum. “Just look through it and make sure there’s nothing in there that wasn’t what you told me earlier.”

“No prob.” Addy pulled the waiver back and scanned over it quickly, mumbling to herself under her breath as she read. Danro looked at the human working behind the check-in counter who was doing their best to not be obvious that they were gawking at him. Not that that bothered him or anything. Standing head and shoulders above most other humans and covered in long light brown and white fur, he certainly stood out from the gathered crowd.

“We’re good to go, everything checks out!” Addy declared, handing the tablet and stylus to Danro. “You just need to write a signature at the bottom and we can go in.”

“But I don’t know how to write in your language,” Danro glanced dubiously at the screen.

“Just take it,” Addy pushed the stylus into his large hands, “You can write in your language, it doesn’t matter.”

Danro doubted that. He sighed. Humans and their contracts. They were obsessed with them, and honestly, the more he got to know of their race, the more he started to understand why. Humans, for all their ingenuity and seemingly lovable natures, could be quite underhanded. They could think their way around and through most obstacles, especially when those obstacles were well-established but loosely-defined rules and expectations. Many a treaty or trade agreement had been swung wildly in favor of the party consisting of or including humans. It was like they lived for loopholes and variable interpretations. Intersystem lawyers have been scrambling to learn from and replicate the style humans wrote contracts. After all, only a human contract could (at least somewhat) confidently bind a human.

He scribbled his name in his own familiar letters, figuring that would have to be good enough. He trusted Addy when she said it was just a liability waiver after all. She had already signed one herself. After handing the tablet and stylus back to the kid working the booth, they were off.

As they walked around the entrance gate, Danro’s mind immediately went into overdrive trying to take in and process the scenery. The surrounding buildings creating the quad the event was hosted in were lit up with orange, purple, and green lights. Queues of patrons stretched along the concrete sidewalks that ran between buildings. They were watching costumed dancers in the middle of the quad as they waited to enter the “haunted” buildings. What looked like old metal trash cans had fires lit inside them with small crowds of humans and the occasional alien figure huddled around them. There were smaller lines in front of a few trailers and booths that looked like they were selling very aromatic foods and drinks.

An approaching figure caught Danro’s eye. It was almost as tall as him, draped in a raggedy shawl, and had a grotesquely disfigured face with lacerations running from the top of its head and across one eye. Danro sniffed. He saw blood, but he didn’t smell it. This must be a human actor in a costume, something Addy had warned him of beforehand. They were likely wearing stilts as they were almost eye level to him.

“My my my, what have we here!” The actor’s voice was both screechy and gravely, a combination that made Danro’s fur prickle slightly. "I've seen many a ghost and ghoul in these mansions, but I've yet to encounter any of the likes of you two." They made an exaggerated show of looking between Danro and Addy, as if sizing them up. “What do I call you two apparitions?”

Addy gave a small chuckled and gestured to herself. “I’m Addy, I’m a human. And this is Danro, he’s a kexi biet.”

“Mortals?!” The mask wobbled a bit as the actor stepped back dramatically and then leaned in to whisper conspiratorially, “I’d keep that information to yourselves while you’re here. Who knows what lurking terror might overhear and decide to snack on your bones!”

Danro smiled indulgently at the costumed human. They were certainly well in character.

“We’ll be sure to not mention it again,” he nodded.

“Be sure that you don’t!” the mask rose up so that the fake, glossy eyes were almost level with his own. “You are a brave biet, Danro. Brave, or perhaps foolish. I do hope you and your small companion survive. Come.” They turned and led them towards the center of the quad. They paused and waited for them to catch up next to one of the trash can fires. “Have either of you been here before?”

Addy nodded, “Yeah but it’s been YEARS.” Danro shook his head.

“What a treat, then.” They pointed to one of the closer buildings with a purple light out front. Danro noticed that the actor’s costume was detailed down to the largely uneven stitches on their sleeves. It gave their arm an odd shape. Or at least, he hoped the odd shape of their arm was just part of the costume.

“Each of these buildings is haunted, some more than others. They are color-coded by the lights of how ‘dangerous’ they are.”

“So is that one the safest?” Addy dipped her head to the building being pointed to.

Their guide only laughed ominously. “Present your passes to the attendants by the door. No running, no pushing, no flashlights or video, no explicit language as it disturbs our… residents, and keep your hands to yourself if you’d like to keep your hands.”

And without another word, their guide ambled off. Addy shuffled a little closer to the fire and grinned at Danro.

“Alrighty then! Which one do you want to do first?”

Danro looked around at the quad. The dancers finished their song and were now walking and milling away to tents to warm up or rest, smallish humans were carefully nibbling on a pink puffy food on a stick that looked suspiciously like hair. The buildings themselves loomed around them, lit by their colored lights and the flickering fires around the quad. Their boarded up windows gave no indication of what was inside, although they couldn’t quite muffle the occasional scream from within.

“I’d prefer it if we could find the one that’s the mildest first,” Danro admitted. “Kind of ease myself into this, if you will.”

“No worries, bud.” Addy started towards the building with the green lights. “I think that would be this one. Green usually means easy, or mild, or good or whatever.”

That’s not what green was usually associated with on his planet, but hey, trying to scare yourself as a method of amusement and recreation wasn’t really a thing back home either. This was all very new to him.

The line in front of the green building moved pretty quickly. As they approached the front, Addy put a hand on his arm and looked up at him.

“Hey, thanks again for coming. These things aren’t nearly as much fun alone.”

Danro smiled. “Thank you for the invite.” Addy had invited a few more from their crew once she knew they’d be planetside on Earth just before what she claimed was one of her favorite holidays. He had been the only one to accept. A few others had gone to a “corn maze” with another human from the crew. Apparently, it wasn’t “haunted” and so appealed to more crewmates. Danro accepted the invitation because it saddened him to think of Addy going somewhere scary alone. That, and afterward it would be known across the ship of how much more brave he was than those who were too afraid to come.

The attendants at the door reminded them of the rules, marked their passes, and opened the doors for them.

Once inside, the doors shut noisily and Danro could feel the confidence he’d held on to outside drip away. His senses were being thrown off in here. The lights were dim, which isn’t too bad, he didn’t have great night vision, but it was alright. But there was something wrong here. He couldn’t tell why, but he could feel it. As Addy started down a narrow corridor covered with cobwebs, he took a deep breath and told himself it was just his nerves. Or maybe, he thought as they continued down the winding corridor, it was all this smoke stuff. It wasn’t real smoke, it smelled different, like minerals instead of burned materials. That was also throwing him off. The first time he saw an amputated human arm dangling out of a bag, he nearly freaked out. It was only when they passed right by it that he realized he didn’t actually smell any blood. He clutched Addy’s shoulder ahead of him as they walked by.

Danro muttered to himself. “It’s not a real arm. It’s not real. It’s not real.” He was really just saying it to himself, but from the way Addy looked back and up at him, he knew she must have heard him.

The next room was divided by a series of ripped and filthy “curtains.” As soon as they entered, Danro growled. The lights here were flashing strobe lights, making it difficult to see. There were human-sized figures standing in the room. As they passed by, he realized they weren’t human, but some sort of mannequins. Good, he sighed. Some of them looked grotesquely mangled and mortally wounded. He was glad they weren’t actual humans. As they were deep into the large room, his heart nearly stopped as he realized that some of them were moving. No, he thought, no, it had to just be a trick of the strobe lights.

Near the exit of the room, one definitely moved. The figure jumped out at them with a gravely yell. Addy screamed and jumped back. Danro froze momentarily and had to remind himself to not attack. They weren’t in danger. This wasn’t real. This wasn’t real. This wasn’t-

Addy scampered through the exit without him. Danro did his best to maneuver after her. The figure that had scared them stared at him with white eyes. That… that’s not normal. Humans have colorful and/or dark eyes. They smiled at him, baring their teeth. Even when normal humans smiled like that, Danro found it disconcerting, but this was on a whole different level. This felt genuinely dangerous.

Addy was waiting for him in the next room.

“Sorry,” she panted. “Didn’t mean to leave you behind back there.”

“Their eyes,” he whispered loudly to her, as if worried they’d overhear and come after them from their room.

“I didn’t even see their eyes. Were they creepy?”

Danro nodded.

Addy smiled, without baring her teeth, Danro noted appreciatively. “This place has really stepped up their game since the last time I was here.”

They continued through, warily watching out for hiding figures, walking through narrow maze-like halls, over uncomfortably soft and uneven ground, and through a tunnel where the walls looked like they were spinning around them. He nearly lost his balance off the walkway. He could have sworn the ground was moving. Even after they passed through that and went up a flight of stairs, he could still feel the dizzying effects. Coupled with his sense of sight and smell being confused around nearly every turn, he was starting to feel the tendrils of dread creeping into his mind. As they rounded a turn, he immediately noticed a dark figure moving in the corner. They looked like they were climbing the walls. After a few heartbeats of analyzing its movements, he realized it was mechanical. Good, it was just a prop then. As they walked through the room, bright lights strobed and the figure on the walls flew at them. Addy screamed again and ran to the door. Danro jumped up and fell back on the ground. The figure jerked to a stop in the air a pace or two away, and slowly retracted back to the wall. As Danro scrambled back up to his feet, he noticed the folding metal lattice mechanics that moved the dark creature. As terrified as he was, he had to admit that that was quite a creative scare.

There were several other rooms they walked through with no actors inside, just creepy dolls and mannequins or unsettling objects that made Danro’s fur prickle. There was a long hall with poor lighting and a very low ceiling that even Addy had to duck to get through.

“I hope nothing tries to scare us in here,” Danro muttered as he squeezed through the narrow passageway. “I don’t think I’d be able to get away very fast.” “I don’t think there’s anything in here. Or at least there wasn’t when I came through here when I was in high school. I think this part’s mostly “scary” because it’s supposed to make you feel claustrophobic.”

Danro scanned the bare cinder block and exposed dim light bulbs along the narrow passageway. Well, he thought, it was certainly claustrophobic in here. He could feel his heart rate increase the longer they walked through here and was incredibly relieved when they reached the end. Addy helped him watch his step as he climbed down from the small exit and into the dim cellar-like room.

"Are you okay?"  She carefully brushed some fake cobwebs from the fur on his arms.

“I’m fine. There aren’t any more small tunnels like that though, are there?” Danro, much like many biets, did not enjoy tight spaces.

“I think there’s another one in one of the other buildings, but it’s nowhere near as constrictive as that, or as long.” She looked up at him with a concerned expression. “Is that alright? You don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to.”

Danro smiled and nodded. “I’ll be fine. I got through this so far, I can handle it. Plus, it’s more fun to do these things together, right?”

Addy’s smile was worth any fright this place could throw at him anyway.

They pressed on and got a few more screams out of Addy and a few more alarmed jumps from Danro. As they rounded another corner and entered another dark room, Danro paused, senses alert to the scene before them. Something felt off, though he couldn’t place the reason why. His fur stood on end and he swore he could see his and Addy’s breath. He could see places where actors were likely hiding in wait to scare them, but that wasn’t where his attention was focused. There was something different about this room and it made his heart rate skyrocket.

He thought he saw movement in the corner of his vision, but when he turned his focus there, expecting to see an actor sneaking towards them, there was nothing. Addy slowly crept deeper into the dark room ahead of him. Not wanting to be separated in a place like this, he tried to stay close. Halfway through the room though, he froze. Did he really see… he swore mentally. Was that a chirnu? What was a thing like that doing in a human attraction? What was it doing here at all? It had no right, no right to exist outside biet folklore and nightmares. The living shadow, or the fang of the shadows, depending on who was telling the story. Danro closed his eyes instinctively. Don’t look at it. Don’t look at it and it might not look at you.

“Danro,” Addy whispered, realizing she no longer felt his hairy bulk behind her.

He said nothing but willed her to remain quiet. The chirnu might hear her if it hadn’t already.

“Danro, we’re almost at the end, just a little further.” She reached back to put a hand on his arm.

A loud shriek and rush of movement made them both jump. Danro swept Addy into his arms and ran. To gadring with the rules! He ran! He could hear laughter behind him and taunting voices that may or may not have been human, at this point he didn’t know nor care. He could smell fresh air ahead and it seemed to be like a beacon of hope to him.

“Danro!” Addy cried out but was cut off by a loud growl to their left. A figure jumped out from the shadows, donned in a ripped cloak, and holding a weapon that Danro later realized was a human tool used for cutting lumber.

How the heck had this maniac gotten in here with that?! Danro dodged to the right. Addy screamed and held on so tightly to Danro’s fur that she might have pulled a few tufts loose. The maniac with the saw laughed and gave chase.

This was a mistake! This was a mistake! This was a mistake!

Maybe if he could just make it outside where the crowds were, they could lose their pursuer. Surely he wouldn’t give chase into public?

Danro barreled through the final door and out into the chilly air outside. Relief! The roar of the saw was still right behind, and so he kept up with his pace. Thankfully, their pursuer didn’t seem to be able to keep up and eventually stopped a ways outside the door to laugh and Danro and Addy ran around the corner of the building and back to the crowded quad area.

Once he was absolutely sure they were no longer being followed, he stopped only long enough to set Addy back on the ground before he started again for the main entrance.

“Hey! Wait, where are you going?” Addy bounded after him.

“We need to let someone know. They need to be warned before someone gets killed!”

“What? Wait, do you- do you mean the chainsaw guy?” Addy was now at his side, but struggling to keep up. “That’s just part of the whole thing, it’s a classic end to a haunted house. There’s no actual chain or blade or whatever, it’s safe.”

Danro slowed and turned to face Addy. He studied her face. She was smiling and didn’t seem at all worried that they had almost been killed by a psycho with a “chain saw.” He took a few deep breaths to slow his heart down. “It’s not real? We’re fine?” He finally managed to ask.

Addy smiled and nodded. “We’re fine. So, first time through a haunted house, what did you think?” Danro looked back to the building they had just run out of. He stared hard at it, trying to make sense of the whole experience. Or mostly, trying to make sense of what he had seen in that last room. Had he really seen what he thought he saw?

“Danro? Are you okay?” Addy’s worried tone snapped him back.

“I thought…” he was almost embarrassed to ask now. Admitting that he had seen what would be to her an alien monster, a mythical alien monster at that, seemed to be a bit laughable now that they were back in the safety of the quad. Addy continued to look at him though, expecting him to finish his thought.

“I thought I saw… a chirnu in there in that last room,” he admitted quietly.

Addy blinked. “Chirnu? What’s that?”

He grimaced. It was said that talking about them could help them hunt you down later. As briefly as he could, he described the monster that terrorized biet folklore.

Addy listened intently and nodded. When he was done, she hummed. “That does sound pretty bad. But I’m pretty sure we’re okay. I don’t think what you saw in there was a chirnu.”

Relief flooded Danro’s system. He felt silly even entertaining the idea that chirinu were for one thing, real, and another thing, here on Earth. Although, that did leave one question.

“Then what did I see?”

“Well, I’m not entirely sure. That last room was definitely creepier than the others. I think it’s genuinely haunted.” Danro tilted his head and Addy laughed. “Although if I had to venture a guess, from your description I’d say it was probably a giant rubber spider. That room did kind of have a spider theme if you didn’t notice.” “Spider theme?”

“Yeah, I think the whole building kind of had a “phobia” theme to it. Arachnophobia is the fear of spiders. Lots of people have it. I just didn’t know biets had it too.”

Danro straightened his back in mock indignation. “I’m not afraid of spiders.”

Addy laughed. “Okay, then you were just pretending back there?”

Danro frowned, but the human’s happy energy was too much and he eventually cracked and smiled back. He looked around at the other patrons, mostly humans, who were waiting anxiously in line. They came to be scared. They wanted to be scared. How odd. And yet, Danro could feel himself still riding the high of his fight or flight senses. From what he understood, humans experienced a similar feeling, heightened by the production of a hormone called adrenaline. He could see how places like this might seem attractive to those seeking that rush.

“Well,” he responded airily, “I thought the whole point was to pretend to be scared.”

Addy laughed and teased. He teased back, recalling and imitating her many screams. They continued doing so while they waited in line to buy a bag of what Addy called “popcorn” and two caramel covered apples. Addy said they were some of her favorites, and caramel apples were a fall tradition. Danro enjoyed both. He smiled as he listened to Addy continue on about things she loved about the season and upcoming holiday before they went to wait in line for the building with the orange light.

That night became, quite possibly, one of his fondest memories. Humans are weird. They think getting scared on purpose is fun. Maybe Danro was a bit weird too because he whole-heartedly agreed.

[inactive-seathesilverlinings]

Let Me Help

Bonnie is back my friends and ready to keep making her brothers lives interesting! 🥳

@scarlett3drag0n @louthestarspeaker @willow-salix I know you guys like her 😁

**

When Bonnie walked into the main living area of the villa she had expected darkness but instead at the opposite side of the room, suspiciously in the location of Dad’s desk there was the faint blue glow of a holoscreen. This wouldn’t have been strange normally, she knew Scott often worked late, but no one was anywhere to be seen and the lights were usually on since they worked on a sensor through the night. As she stepped into the room the sensors did their job and the room was illuminated in a soft, warm, glow. That was when she saw it.

Scott was face down on the desk, asleep and dead to the world, a cup of what was probably now cold coffee sitting beside his arm. She approached him carefully, she didn’t like waking up any of her brothers out of the blue after the stuff they had seen but especially not Gordon or Scott.

She laid a hand softly on his arm.

Continue here on AO3 or

“Hey big bro…” She rubbed his arm gently, he stirred but seemed otherwise unaffected. “You can’t sleep here Scott, you’ll do yourself an injury.” She moved her hand and shook his shoulder slightly, still nothing but a snuffle and a twitch. “Hey, Scooter.” She raised her voice to a normal level. “It’s time to scoot your butt or Grandma’s going to give you such a roasting you’ll look like the thanksgiving turkey.” Nothing. “Scott!” She raised her voice a little more and it paid off.

Scott awoke with a start, knocking the holoprojector over the edge of the desk with one arm and sweeping the cup onto the floor where it landed with a resounding smash, spraying coffee and ceramic everywhere, with the other.

“Shit Bonnie! Were you trying to give me a heart attack!? Holy shit! Look at this mess! Don’t sneak up on a guy like that! What if it had been glass and not just a cup!”

Bonnie stayed silent but eyed him in such a way that put an end to his ranting.

“Sorry, sorry. Not your fault.” Scott muttered, stretching out his back and yawning at the same time.

“Too right it’s not my fault.” But she grabbed a mop and sweeping brush anyway. “For the record, I tried to wake you up subtly, but it didn’t work. You should be in bed. Beds are for sleeping, desks are for working.”

“Wish I could sleep, I’ve got too much to do.” He pulled the projector back onto the desk and pressed the restart button.

While it loaded up they cleaned up the coffee and smashed cup mess.

“Don’t tell Virgil, he’ll be very upset about that waste, it was some of his special stuff.”

“Your secret is safe with me.”

There was a soft ping and the screen reappeared on the desk.

“What are you doing anyway?” Bonnie examined the files on the screen as Scott sat back down.

“Financials for TI, Rescue reports for the GDF, monthly costings for IR. You name it I have to sort it out. Oh, and stuff for Alan’s school.”

He selected the last file downloaded and a report card popped up.

“He’s doing well,” Bonnie nodded.

“He’s behind though, can’t tell you all of the passive aggressive emails I’ve had about him needing to prioritise his schoolwork.”

Bonnie snorted. “They know what he does, right?”

“They are more than aware.” Scott sighed. “I’m behind on everything apart from this.” He picked up the tablet and scribbled his signature onto the projected report card, sending it right back to the email it came from.

“How far behind?”

“Enough that I can’t sleep for thinking about it, unless I just crash after a long day.” Scott rubbed his eyes. “Even then I only get two hours, maybe three if I’m really lucky.”

“Scott…”

“I can handle it.”

Bonnie frowned. “Do the boys know?”

“John and Virgil help where they can, but they aren’t authorised on this stuff. It has to be my signature unless I one hundred per-cent was not there at all on the rescue, not even coordinating from here. They fill in their bits and then hand them off to me, and I fill in the official forms.”

“You need to rest.”

“I’m good. I just need to catch up.”

“Oh yeah? And how long do you have to play catch up for?”

“Month or so, no big deal.” Scott shrugged.

He tried to hide the screen from her then, but since she was fully rested and he still groggy from his nap she managed to push him away with little to no effort.

“Scott! This one is from February!”

“So what?”

“We’re in June.”

“It’s fine, I can sort it. Done it before.” He tried to shrug again and play it off but the yawn that overtook him was large.

“You need to go to bed.”

“I just need more coffee.”

“I’ll go wake Virgil, and he’ll give you a sedative, or just manhandle you to bed.” She smirked as her glowered at her. “Better yet, I’ll go wake up Grandma. She’ll get you to bed, and lock you in if she has to.”

“But then who would do this glamorous job?” Scott thought he had her beaten until he took one look at her determined expression.

“Me.”

“What?”

“I’ll do it. I’ll fill everything in that I need to, check over everything that I have to, and you just need to sign it.”

“But I - -”

“You’re not running yourself ragged over this. I’ll tell you that for nothing.” She turned the projector off and Scott made an annoyed noise. “You are going to go to bed, go to sleep, I’m going to check on you every so often and if I find you gone from your bed I’m going to call Aunt Val and she’ll put you down as not mission safe, then you’ll be stuck.” Her eldest brother glared at her. “Then tomorrow, when you’re fully rested, you’re going to talk me through what I need to do, and I’m going to do this bureaucratic bullshit so that you don’t dig yourself an early grave through a horrifying amount of sleep deprivation. I’m still injured and I can’t help in any way other than this, so let me.”

Scott held her determined gaze with a half-glare of his own, but eventually sighed. Logic winning over control.

“Alright. Alright. If you’re so determined, you win. Have fun dealing with the TI board and the GDF.”

“Oh, I will,”

“Play nicely.”

“Don’t I always?”

Bonnie blinked at him innocently and Scott laughed.

“Come on biggest bro, time for bed.”

[renaxwrites]

Hello! May I ask scenario about the Nekoma manager at the national training camp (where Miya, Kageyama, Hoshiumi etc.)? She was called there as the best manager. And Atsumu fall in love with her.

Nekoma Manager Pt. 2

- (Atsumu)

a/n: lol y’all probably thought this would be a short scenario but nope I like to write long stuff hehe so here ya go!! I hope you enjoy it 💘 pt. 1 pt. 3 pt. 4

Life as the Nekoma manager was steady. Hectic, and practically babysitting twelve hyper menaces, but steady. You had become the team’s backbone, the one they would turn to to make sure things were up to par.

At this point in time, it was pretty evident that your analytical talent had begun to shine through. It had gotten to where coaches from other teams would seek you out to ask for quick guidance, whether it be for a specific player, a play they used, or on the team’s connectivity overall. Many knew you by name.

On one particular day, came a couple of surprises.

“Alrighty boys, huddle up! There’s a couple of announcements to be made,” the coach boomed. The team quickly circled around you and the coach.

“As you know, the All-Japan Youth Training Camp is coming up. Luckily, we’ve been fortunate enough to have one of our members be extended an invitation!” the coach beamed. The players excitedly began to exchange looks, as if they already knew who it was. You were curious as well, with a few possibilities running through your mind as to who it could be.

“Now, this member hasn’t been with us too long, but they have definitely made their mark on the team, and I think I speak for all of us when I say that I am very proud that their talent is being recognized. So, without further ado, go ahead and give your congratulations to y/n!!”

It took you a second to process, and within that one second the whole team managed to suffocate you into a giant group hug.

“Congrats y/n-chan!!” “You’re the best, you deserve it!!” “We love you y/n!!” “Remember us when you’re famous!!”

Once they release you and allow you to finally breathe, there was one more surprise.

“Congratulations, kitten. The team is so fortunate to have you as a manager, and as both a thank you and congratulations, the team decided to pitch in and get you this,” Kuroo hands you a thin wrapped box.

The team is eager for you to open it, and inside you find a sleek, brand new iPad along with an Apple Pencil.

You tear up, “This is for me? You guys didn’t have to!”

Lev pipes up, “All of us felt bad about your hand cramps and paper cuts from hand-writing all your notes. You always care for us, so we wanted to do something for you.”

You’re speechless, a tear slipping in gratitude. Instead of thinking of what to say, you take the iPad out of the box and tell everyone to scooch in for a team selfie.

“Everyone say Nekoma!” “NEKOMAAA”

You made it your wallpaper.

A few days later, you’re on the train on your way to the training camp. Just as you worry about being alone in the sea of people, you spot a familiar face.

“Tobio-kun!”

The blueberry-haired boy turns toward the sound of your voice. “Oh, hello y/n-san. Where are you on your way to?”

You look down at your directions. “I’m on my way to the youth training camp! I actually got invited to help manage. They want me to analyze their players, kinda what I do now, but a little more intense. I hope I’m going the right way though,” you nervously laugh.

Kageyama reassures you. “Oh, I’m on my way there as well. Don’t worry, I’m pretty sure we’re going the right way...this should be interesting for the both of us then.”

Turns out, you did go the right way. You’re soon met with the coaches in charge and introduce yourself, eager to get started.

Once the formalities were out of the way, one coach began to introduce you. “This is y/n, who is not only Nekoma’s manager, but one of the best in volleyball analytics we’ve ever seen so far. She has the same level of authority of any of us coaches. She is here to benefit your growth, therefore, if she wants you to do something, you need to do it. Understood?���

Everyone in the line nodded. Soon, you were going down the line of players, having them state their name, year, school, and position. You had uploaded pictures of each player that the coaches provided, and jotted down the general info underneath. God, this new tablet was so convenient.

Things were running smoothly until you reach the last player in line, a confident one with a lazy smirk plastered on his face.

Atsumu Miya. Second year. Inarizaki High School. Setter.

You’re scribbling out a couple of footnotes when you hear, “So, you’re our personal cheerleader for the most part, right? Well, you don’t have to critique me too much, since I was number one high school setter and got ‘best server’ at the Inter-high. Just in case you wanted to write that down too,” you look up to meet a sly wink and grin.

You put your tablet down at your side and the other hand on your hip. Everyone had their eyes on you before, but they were definitely paying attention now.

“Atsumu Miya, is it? Listen. This not only goes for you, but for all the players here. I may know a couple of you personally, but the second drills start, I’m observing each of you as if I’m seeing you for the first time. So anything you’ve done before stepping foot in here, you need to leave at the door. I’m going to analyze every single one of you with the same level of intensity to be fair. So I’m more of a coach than a cheerleader, I think.” Your statement wiped the smirk off his face, but there was still a glint of amusement in his eyes.

You turn and walk back to the coaches, who now give the vibe that they take you even more seriously. The main coach turns to you and suggests, “On that note, I think we should start our warm ups. How should we start?”

You think for a moment, and propose, “I think we should do some across-the-floor serves just to get them warmed up, and so I can see them individually.”

“Alright, you heard her! Let’s line up and begin!”

The first day came to a close, so you began to help some of the boys pack up the equipment. You’re taking down the net with Kageyama and Chigaya, who had reunited. They’re careful with their words as they bring up the earlier incident. “You know, if he ever bothers you again, just let us know.” “Yeah, it won’t sit right with us knowing if you’re ever uncomfortable.”

You wave your hand in dismissal. “I’ll keep that in mind, but it’s okay. I can handle it.”

Out of nowhere you hear, “Just know if you ever want me to teach him, let me know. I’ll clean up that little filth. Only real scums disrespect women.” You turn around to find Sakusa tenderly looking at you, only to turn to Miya’s direction and stare daggers into his figure.

“It’s okay boys, I’m fine, really. If I ever feel uncomfortable with anyone here, I’ll be sure to report it to someone. Okay? I do appreciate you all,” you reassure them, just in time to have the coaches summon you to start their strategy meeting.

Later on at dinner, you’re sitting with the coaches, exchanging funny and wild stories of things you’ve seen at matches. Kageyama and Chigaya sit together, eating and making idle chit-chat, when Atsumu goes and pulls up a chair to join them.

“So, Kageyama. You know y/n, don’t you?” Miya inquires.

Kageyama finishes chewing. “Yeah, Like they said, she’s Nekoma’s manager. She’s a pretty good friend to both myself and Karasuno. Really nice. I’m not surprised she got invited here. Extremely accurate in what she does.”

Miya chuckles. “You seem to know her pretty well. Do ya know if she’s single, too?”

That catches Kageyama off guard. “Well...uh...I’m not sure. I think so, it might have been mentioned at the summer camp...I don’t think we should talk about her business like that, what’s it to you?”

Once again, Miya has a lazy grin on. “Relax, it’s just general curiosity. At what I said to her this morning, it was only to get a feel for her vibe. That’s the first time a girl genuinely challenged me, most girls usually flirt when I talk to them. Now that I know she wasn’t, I’m kind of interested. She’s got that spunk ya hardly find, ya know?” He looks at you thoughtfully.

Kageyama snorts. “Yeah, good luck at that,” Chigaya shakes his head.

The next couple of days go by. Miya may have seemed to be joking, but he was actually serious when he said he was interested.

At first, it was innocent. He apologized for what he said, and made sure to let you know that he takes you seriously in your position. He then began to take good note of your critiques, immediately correcting anything that you suggested needed to be improved.

At some point, his interest began to grow. The two of you began to converse a little more, starting to get to know each other a little more personally. It was then he would offer you sweet compliments and subtle flirtations. These would go over your head, thinking he was just being polite, but the rest of the players deemed it obvious, and began to be a little protective.

There were times when a slight spark was shared. When Atsumu would accidentally brush against you, or when you would adjust his hands to make sure they were in the correct position for the drill. You didn’t want to put too much thought into it, but you could feel yourself blush every time. You usually would counter it by saying something sarcastic. But if only you knew that your playful teasing was watering Atsumu’s growing feelings.

“Y/n-san, have you ever been on a date before?”

You’re caught off guard from Miya’s question, and look of from the plays you were studying.

“Nope.”

“Really? You mean to tell me that someone as feisty and exasperating as you has never gone out with anyone?” you can hear the teasing in his voice. And a hint of something else, too.

You roll your eyes and push his shoulder with yours. You fail to notice how he leaned in a little more than before.

“No, Miya-kun. As hard as it is to believe, no one has ever had the courage to ask me.”

He presses his shoulder to yours in return.

“Well, what if someone at this camp wanted to take you out? What would you say to them?”

You feel his intense gaze on you, so you turn and stare just as deeply back.

“I would tell them that they need to beat Nekoma in order to take me on a date.”

He smirks, his eyes lingering on your lips for a split second. But it was long enough for you to notice. “Sounds like a deal to me, then.”

You raise a brow, “Oh? And who’s asking?”

Atsumu gets up and begins to stretch. “Just curious, is all.”

The camp had come to a close, and you were all bidding your good-byes. Kageyama and Chigaya offer to walk along with you back to the train station. You begin to walk out the doors when you hear someone call out your name.

You look back to see Miya raising his hand to you in farewell.

“Just so you know, y/n-chan, I plan on beating Nekoma very soon. Start thinking of somewhere you’d want to eat!”

You giggle and wave your hand in return. “We’ll see, Atsumu Miya.”

[brittledame]

Pairing: Semi Eita/Reader 

Tags: Teen and up audience, Post-timeskip, Canon divergence, Coffee Shops, Meet-cute, Fluff, Musician Semi, University student reader, POV changes

Word Count: 6.6K

Summary: In which a broken coffee machine leads you to meet an attractive musician also inhabiting the only coffee shop near campus open at an ungodly hour. The lack of sleep and the stress of your assignment are eased by the nonsensical tunes the unknown musician struggles to compose a significant song. Unknowingly, you both indirectly help each other through mental roadblocks and inspire him to write a hit song. It wasn't until your next fateful meeting that you were able to thank each other.

Current situation aside, you were usually a diligent student. You preferred to finish an assignment at least a full 24 hours before editing and submitting it, rather than leaving it to the last minute and handing in a half-assed attempt. However, this one particular assignment that had crawled from the bowels of hell was the exception to your characteristic conscientiousness. The assignment had blindsided you, slipping under your radar as other more pressing assignments drew your attention away from it. Much like an ignored weed problem, under your wilful neglect it compiled into an unimaginable mess. There was no possible way for you to get this done without pulling a soul-sucking all-nighter.

Another exception to your quickly spiralling out-of-control life was the fact that your prized coffee marker in all its shiny black plastic glory after five long years has finally turned in its resignation of being used and abused by you. So not only were you frantically rushing this twenty-one-page report due in not even eight hours, your one source of liquid determination is completely off the books.

Standing before the hunk of useless machinery refusing to even turn on, you stood there in silence as you mourned the loss of a good friend and an alright cup of coffee every morning. This did not help your current situation and you knew that you would not make it without some form of caffeine and you refuse to take the final dive into the uni student life and take no-doze tablets.

No, you refuse go that low just yet.

Although they are starting to sound tempting as the harsh wind tugs at your clothing and nips at your skin like you weren’t wearing two layers in the middle of normally warm Spring night to make a trip to the only local coffee shop you knew of open at this ungodly hour of 2 am. A faint orange glow grows steadily larger with each hurried step. You rushed to both get out of the wind and continue the futile act of completing your assignment to a decent enough standard to pass the subject.

The high expectations you entered the semester with had all but been eviscerated at this point. You would be outrageously thankful to pass at this stage in the semester.

As you push through the door, you crush the unwanted thought of your academic score plummeting. Oh well. Que sera, sera.

Glancing around the small and dimly lit establishment, you were surprised to note that it wasn’t deserted. In total, there were three people inside, excluding yourself. Two being workers and the other being a figure sequestered to the distant corner of the small cosy shop.

Behind the counter sat a bored-looking barista scrolling on his phone and a person with a very familiar face wiping down the benches.

“Jin! I didn’t expect to see you at this hour.” You exclaim while walking up to the counter while simultaneously fishing out your purse from your bag.

Said brunette turned at your voice, smiling when he sees that his ears didn’t deceive them.

“Hey! Didn’t expect to see you right now, either.” He grins amiably.

You had to give it to him, even at 2 am, his friendly smile put your stressed heart at ease. That was the true power of one Jin Soekawa, asides from the heavenly caffeinated ambrosia he concocted.

“Yeah, well if my coffee machine didn’t abandon me in my darkest hour, believe me when I say I’d be at home in my pajamas.”

Jin laughs as he rings your total up without question and starts the process of making your usual order. A perk of visiting at least three times a week was getting to know the friendly day baristas. Placing the exact amount of change on the counter, you move down the counter to catch Jin’s words.

“I never took you for a night-owl.” You scoff and shake you head at him, noting the teasing glint in his dark eyes.

“I’m not,” you bemoan, “this is punishment for putting off a big assessment and thinking it wouldn’t take long to finish. And to top it all off, my main source of night-late fuel ditched me.”

Jin nods sympathetically at your whining, not wanting to disturb the other regular shop patron in his also stressed-fueled all-nighter.

“No one with sense would be up at this hour working.” The angry-looking brunette you’ve never seen before mutters loudly.

Jin looks at the male, thick eyebrows furrowed reproachfully. You raise your eyebrow at Jin, wondering if he always had to burn the midnight oil with someone that looked like they were ready to quit and walk out at any second.

“Don’t mind Yunohama, he’s just pissed that he got tricked into the graveyard shift by the manager along with me.”

His cheery tone contrasted greatly to the gloom surrounding Yunohama. Smothering the laugh that wanted to come out at their polar opposite personalities, you instead turn to cough quietly into your hand.

Your gaze locked with chocolate brown irises that even at this distance, you could tell were mesmerising. The male’s eyes widen as he realises he was caught staring at you and quickly turns away and busies himself with the papers littering the table.

Well that was odd.

You stared at the back of his head full of shoulder-length ash-blond hair, waiting for him to turn back around. After a beat, you shrug to yourself and turn back to a busy Jin.

“Do you mind if I grab a seat and start on my work?” You point a thumb over your shoulder, gesturing to the seating area.

Jin nods his head and gives a cheery smile that didn’t fit the sleepy night-time atmosphere.

“Sure! I’ll bring it over when it’s done. It shouldn’t be much longer now.”

Shooting him a thumbs up, you hike the bag strap further up your shoulder and select a table to slowly lose your mind at. You end up choosing one that was about three tables away from the stranger, not wanting to intrude upon his stressed-out vibes. From the short glimpse you caught of his face, he seemed quite attractive. If you weren’t as tired or stressed as you currently were, you might have had the guts to sit closer and sneak subtle glances, but the sword of Damocles currently swung menacingly above your head.

As you walk over, you notice a dark blue Ashton-branded acoustic guitar leaning against the chair on his lap. You also notice him frantically scribbling down on paper, pausing and then staring at the paper like it insulted him. You file this in the back of your mind, saving it for a later time.

You almost felt sorry for the odd guy. If it weren’t for the burden of your laptop holding an unfinished assignment due in exactly seven hours now, you would spare some sympathy. Sighing, you plop yourself in the seat and quietly go about setting yourself up. Logging into your laptop, the not even half-filled word document met your weary gaze. God, even with the smell of coffee and warmth surrounding you, no motivation welled up like you hoped it would. Taking a deep breath, you steel yourself for a long night-slash-morning.

Focused on your work, you failed to notice Jin coming over with your order, sitting it out of the way of your work with a quiet “good luck” . The cup of hot coffee was left forgotten as a decent-sounding ideas flashed through your mind unprompted. It was safe to say that by the time you did notice and started drinking it, it was lukewarm.

Grimacing after taking the first sip, you lean back in your chair and look at the ceiling to give your eyes a break. A soothing tune of random string plucking fills the air. For a brief second, you were confused as to when background music started playing, only to realise it was coming from the hot guy you caught staring at you earlier.

Attracting your attention, you glance over to his table. The guitar was now propped against his lap and lovingly cradled in his arms. The position accentuated his biceps partially concealed by white cotton V-neck tee, not that it stopped your appreciative looks. Fluorescent pink guitar pick in hand, the ash-blond musician continues to strum a few nonsensical tunes that your stress-filled mind failed to name.

As if remembering your existence, he whips his head around to meet your interested gaze. Flustered at finding you already staring at him, the male holds his hands out in a placating gesture.

“I’m so sorry! I should have asked if you were okay with me playing. I mean the baristas said it was okay but that was before you came in…” He rubs awkwardly at the back of his head.

Giving him a friendly smile, you shake your head.

“No, don't apologise. It’s fine.” You assure him. Immediately, the tension drains from his features. Man, the poor guy must have dealt with his fair share of assholes to respond so visibly at the prospect of pissing people off by playing out loud. That had to suck.

“Besides, who am I to deny the arts?” You continue, lazily waving your hand in the air.

He laughs at your unusual response, hands settling back into their designated positions on the instrument. The sound was completely unexpected. You sat there in shock as the rich-sounding rumble rolls through the air. Sure he was good-looking but damn, to have a nice deep voice on top of all that? He was truly blessed. To top it off, he gives you a smile that should be outlawed for how attractive he is.

Damn, awkward music guy was hot.

The belated thought had you flustered. Hiding behind your hand as you brush back hair out of the way, you recompose yourself. Meeting his gaze once again, you notice a twinkle that you didn’t spot before, confirming your initial suspicion of his eyes being mesmerising.

Blinking yourself out of the stupor, you inwardly scold yourself for staring at the poor dude that didn’t come here to get stared at by someone dressed in comfy clothes and a whole collection of lilac bags under their eyes.

Ignoring the questioning look you receive at your odd facial expression you unintentionally made, you turn back to your laptop and dive head-first into the report. It was a nice escape from the embarrassment that wanted to choke you at acting like you’ve never seen an attractive person before.

God your tired self was an embarrassment.

He continues on playing the guitar, now strumming out a soft lingering song that soothed your frazzled mind and weirdly energised you to keep going.

From the very moment that you stepped across the threshold, bringing with you a wisp of chilled air that nipped at his nose, Eita could pick that you were an overworked university student.

Your lilting voice filled his ears as you had a friendly chat with the amicable barista. He ignored the noise as he stared at the blank manuscript paper before him, frustration bubbling within him. This was the seventh attempt at writing the final song for their break-out album in just as many days. An invisible clock hovered over his head as the hours tick by, closer and closer to the deadline their production manager had set.

The other songs came so freely to him - serving as an outlet for the experiences he’s had or heard about from close friends and family. But this last song? It fought against him tooth and nail, refusing to be put on paper. Eita had a vague concept and a tune, but the words evaded him. That was the most frustrating part really, but it happened to the best musicians so it shouldn’t surprise him that writer’s block finally hit him like a truck on a foggy night. Hard and seemingly out of nowhere.

Eita wanted the final song on their first album to be about his last relationship, as conceited as it may sound to some. He found it was the best way to close that messy chapter of his life. It was never fun to be strung along whilst your partner was looking at - loving - another, and yet refusing to let him go. Plus, people love break-up songs and their up-and-coming band needed something to round out the alternative rock songs they usually played.

Fragmented and incomplete thoughts filled his mind as you continued chatting, now with the mean-looking barista joining in. Easily pulling his attention from the anger-inducing blank white space, Eita gets a good look at you now that you're standing closer. Wearing comfy-looking clothes and a tired expression, you looked like the poster child for the average student and yet Eita felt inexplicably drawn towards you like a magnet to its opposing pole.

Unexpectedly, you turn towards him, catching him in the act of checking you out. Eyes clear despite the tired lines etching into your face, lips pulled into a slight smile that had his heart miss a beat. Okay, wow. Maybe he’s been out of the dating scene for far too long to react like that. Breaking the eye contact, Eita whirls back around in his seat and starts messing with the papers spread before him to feign being busy.

A hot blush seared across his cheeks as he mentally groans at his inappropriate behaviour. The cute university student probably thought that he was a creep now, great. While Eita wanted to do nothing but bury his head into his hands and scream until his throat was raw, the blank page laying innocently there taunted him.

God damn it. He hadn’t felt this frustrated and inadequate since high school. No one wanted to revert to their high school selves. Scrubbing at his eyes, all Eita wanted from tonight was a simple song, that was all. Nothing more. Nothing less. Yet it still felt like a herculean task. The picture of his ex with a fake expression of hurt rises to forefront of his mind unbidden.

Ah yes, there were other times he'd experienced this intense frustration. It hurt to walk away from the first real relationship he’d been in, but she was bad for him in a lot of ways that he was blind. That was until his friends lifted the rose-tinted love goggles and pointed out each and every red flag he had missed.

Suddenly, Eita was struck with the perfect words to encompass the maelstrom of emotions within him, namely bitterness and helplessness.

Not wanting the words escape him , Eita captures them with frantic hands. Scared of their ephemeral nature, here one second and gone the next. Those few words grew into a verse, much to Eita’s elation. He still needed a chorus and an outro, but the intro was looking fine and Eita knew not to push his luck.

Reaching for his guitar and pulling a pick from his jean pocket, he gives his prized possession a quick strum. Judging it in-tune, a few warm-up melodies are played as his hands move without much thought.

Looking back at the sheet of paper sitting before him, incomplete but much better than before, he suddenly notices that the sound of your rapid typing in the background has stopped. Panicked at annoying yet another person angry at the world, Eita turns around quick enough to instill the fear of whiplash.

Met with your inquisitive look, he’s glad to see that you’re not frothing with rage like how some of the less-forgiving people get with his playing. After awkwardly apologising, he concludes you’re not mad in the slightest, instead giving him a weird response and shrugging off his disjointed apology.

There was definitely more than meets the eye with you. Even while being obviously exhausted, you were still kind to him, a stranger, while rushing to complete what he can only assume to be an assignment of some sort. From the short conversation, he couldn’t get a proper gauge for your personality, although he somehow just knew that you would have the most fascinating stories to share.

Eita fails to notice your flushed cheeks due to his laughter, instead he was admiring how your eyes wrinkled at the corners as a smile lit up your entire face. It was entirely too cute for him.

Abruptly, you turn away from him and return to your work, eyes fixed on the screen and furiously typing and clicking away across the room. Bewildered at your sudden change in mood, Eita leaves you be. Following your example, Eita turns back to his own business. There was a reason that he was in a deserted coffee shop in the dead of night, or more like morning at this point. He had work to do and a lot of it.

Despite that, he couldn’t help his eyes straying towards your figure as he strums out one of the first songs he learnt on guitar. From the corner of his eye, Eita notices at how the harsh light of your laptop highlights the exhaustion the soft lights of the shop smoothed out. Concerned at how tired your eyes looked, Eita knew that the coffee you sipped at was not doing its job to chase away the threads of tiredness that threatened to pull you under.

His examining looks go unnoticed by you, surprise, surprise. From what he overheard earlier, it’d make sense that a final assessment would take precedence over one’s self-awareness, not that he knew what that felt like. From how exhausted and slightly panicked you looked, he was glad he didn’t submit to his parents pestering, instead filing straight into the work force while he worked on his aspiring music career.

A sudden scene took his mind hostage, not letting him go until he payed it attention. Muses were odd like that, one minute he was daydreaming about his life’s choices and the next he sees you physically deflate in your chair as you hit a mental roadblock as he blows past his.

Hand possessed with words that filtered so fast through his mind, he couldn’t afford to process them as he messily tries to immortalise them onto paper before they leave him forever. Like the opening of flood gates, abstract scenes flash before his mind’s eye, constructing an intricate life for the unknown person before him and likening them to moments in his own life. You looked tired, overworked and under pressure to complete whatever you were toiling over.

Eita vaguely wonders what brought you to this coffee shop at this god forsaken hour. Was your roommate being too loud? Were you working through a bout of insomnia? Maybe you wanted to get some decent coffee while getting ahead in your course?

Whatever the reason, Eita is thankful for the pure happenstance it was for fate to place you before him. Before you showed up, exasperation was clouding his mind and creating minute tremors his hand. It was never a good mindset to have when puzzling together a significant song for both his band and his own closure.

Slowly, the disjointed verses and chords became stanzas and melodies, forming a fully-fleshed out song before his eyes in what seemed like a blink of an eye, but was most likely a few hours. Reading over the words and chords, Eita mentally sings the verses and then hums the chords out loud, checking that it flowed and it wasn’t a chaotic mess like the last iterations turned out to be.

Smiling at the fruits of his labour, Eita mentally pat himself on the back for persevering and not caving into his band mate’s insistent offers of assistance. They were all versatile in this industry and each had multiple roles within their rag-tag group. The least Eita could do was offer to compose the songs for them to play. Writing them was also a good outlet, he found. Since high school, he’d composed a few short jams, not that they would ever see the light if he could help it.

Pushing his joy back to regain focus, his eyes flit over to your hunched over figure. Even after all the hours that have passed, your fingers still tirelessly flew across your keyboard before pausing and correcting a few spelling and grammar mistakes as you go. Sending you a telepathic “good luck”, Eita once again picks up the instrument with the intent of playing what hopefully will be the final version of this song.

Now knowing that you wouldn’t mind his playing, he went ahead without holding back. Eyes following along with the keys written down, fingers plucking and strumming away at the strings. The notes blend together and softly swells and peaks with each repetition of the chorus. While he knew that you didn’t mind his playing, he didn’t want to distract you, so he mouthed the lyrics as he played.

The last chord hung in the air before fading into nothing. There were a few places that could use a few alterations, either a change in pitch or pace, but all in all it was a decent song accounting for the fact that it was written in less than a night. Now all it needed was a name.

Coming up with an appropriate name was always the hardest part of the process, Eita thought. Typically, if an artist wanted their song to be found easily, it was best to name it after the chorus. Scanning over verses and chorus, he pauses over the words ‘honey go home’.

Eita didn’t even have to turn around to know that you were running on fumes. If he had the confidence to strike up a proper conversation, he knew he would voice this sentiment to you. Pushing aside the thought, he writes the potential name in the top margin with a query next to it.

The song itself needed approval by the rest of the group and by their production manager, but he was overall very proud at completing it under the pressure of a dreadfully close deadline and the absence of a muse. That was, until you walked in.

Without even realising it, you served as the catalyst to the intense emotions that Eita felt in that futile relationship.

That wasn't to say that you reminded him of her. From what he could tell, you weren’t like his ex in the slightest. In fact, he was tempted to say from your short interaction and mannerisms that you were the polar opposite to the stiff and stand-offish demeanour his ex possessed. Still, you somehow triggered a part of him that he’d been unknowingly out of touch with since his break up. it was freeing in a sense, a weight lifted off his shoulders.

Calling it a night, Eita begins to pack up his mess of papers and stack dirty coffee mugs. Organising the sheet music into neat piles, he tucked the newly composed song in a sleeve separate to the half-baked songs written earlier on in the night. Throwing the folder and other miscellaneous items into his tote, he briefly wonders about when would be an appropriate time to message the team and notify them of his success. Checking his phone, Eita was not surprised to see that he stayed up so late from how groggy he felt. It definitely feels like almost six in the morning.

Tucking his phone away in his pocket, he grabs the bag and slings his guitar strap over his shoulder. Without even realising it, Eita looks back over to your table. Still in the exact same position, now with a half-empty cup of coffee cooling by your elbow as your emptily stare drills into the word document before you click something and fix whatever mistake you could find. From your unhurried pace, Eita assumed you were in the editing phase of the assignment, close to the end.

He was tempted to walk over to your table, to both say thanks and to get your name. You didn’t know how thankful he was of your presence obliterating his two-week long writer’s block and he wanted to make you aware of it. If he just so happens to offer to thank you over a drink or dinner and you accept, then that'd be a bonus of getting to know you.

As Eita walks towards the exit, he still tosses up whether to approach you or not. As he nears, you sigh heavily and message your temples, signalling that maybe you weren’t in the best of moods to make friendly conversation. That’s alright, Eita thinks as he bypasses your table at the last second. He really didn’t want to be the cause of breaking your focus, especially when you looked so done with life right now.

Like a fool, Eita lets the opportunity slip trough his fingers. Sparing you once last look over his shoulder, he pushes the door open and leaves the shop just as the sun kisses the horizon with her golden rays.

As he makes his way home, in the back of his mind he hopes that you get to go home soon to get some well-deserved rest.

Watching the monster document upload slowly on the café’s slow wifi was torture in and of itself. Sipping the last dredges of the cold coffee, you stare unblinkingly at the loading bar, hoping that it wouldn’t pop up with an error and terminate the upload. If that happened, you were going to scream. And maybe break something. You’re sure Jin wouldn’t mind so much. He knew you would pay for whatever damages you caused in your hysteria.

A small green notification confirms the upload and gives a receipt of your submission. The time stamp was enough for a cold sweat to break out along your skin. Ten minutes longer and it would’ve been late and you would've receive a big fat zero for it. The professor was an asshole to have that stipulation, but you were well and truly too exhausted to be angry at this point.

Shutting down the device, you recline back in the chair and swivel your neck that was stiff from holding it in a weird position for hours on end. God, your whole body was aching from unconsciously holding tension for the entire night.

The faint sunlight filtering through the windows suggest that it was time to pack up and get some much-needed sleep before your class today. Mid-day classes were the best, you cheered. Thankfully you’d be able to get at least a few hours before having to survive the rest of the day. You still had other assignments and module quizzes after all.

After neatly placing all your stuff away, you turn to seek out the attractive musician. At the sight of the empty chair he once inhabited, your heart sinks. You hadn’t even seen him leave, too wrapped up in rushing to submit before the rapidly approaching deadline.

Dismayed at the musician’s absence, you crush the unwarranted thought of being lonelier than you thought to fall for a stranger after a short conversation. If it could even be called a conversation since it was mostly him apologising.

Sighing out loud, you grab your bag and wave at Jin as you stand.

“Thanks for the coffee. You’re a miracle worker I swear.” Your compliment made him smile as he continued to sweep behind the counter.

“Good to hear that you enjoyed my coffee even though they were probably cold when you drank them.”

You chuckle at that and give a good bye as you leave the shop. The trip home was a blur in your mind. You were asleep before your head hit the pillow. As blissful unconsciousness enveloped you, the image of the ash-blond musician pops in your mind.

Eita was torn between cursing ever meeting you or thanking every god that existed. No that was a lie. He definitely didn’t regret meeting you. What he did regret was telling his prying room mate about the unexpected form his muse appeared as, after being asked how he pumped out a song so quickly.

Satori had a field day about his incompetence in asking for a someone's name.

“You have the looks and charisma of a modern day Adonis and yet you are the most awkward person I know when it comes to flirting.”

Eita had no grounds to defend himself. He knew he was hopeless when it came to dating. That was probably why he stayed so long in his last one, knowing how hard it is to put himself back on the dating scene.

“Yeah. I know.” He replied, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. It did nothing to alleviate the headache he felt coming on.

“Have you tried going back there to meet them again?” Satori looked at him questioningly while upside down from where he had his head thrown over the back of the lounge.

Yeah, Eita has tried going back there. All at varying times that he was out and about and had succumbed to the urge to go back there and see if maybe you were there. On his tenth visit there, he was sorely tempted to ask the barista with the thick eyebrows that you spoke to on that fateful night for your name. Common sense was quick to convince him out of that idea, he really didn’t want to come across as a creep.

Satori didn’t have to know all of that, though, so he stayed vague with his answer.

“Yeah I have, but they weren’t there.”

“Well,” Satori dragged the word out for longer then necessary and Eita felt his eyebrow tick in irritation. “Maybe it wasn’t meant to be. Like Romeo and Juliet but with less death.”

Shaking his head at the analogy, Eita silently agrees with the flamboyant red-head. Maybe meeting you once was enough of a miracle that he should be thankful for and just accept his star-crossed meeting with you.

Still, he had a lot to thank you for. You served as a catalyst for became the most popular song in their first album, 'Honey Go Home' shooting up in the charts every passing day. Since then, they’ve been booking gigs left and right. Not that you ever knew it, nor would you ever since he hadn’t seen you since that fateful night.

A text from their manager pulls him out of the bittersweet reverie, notifying him of an impromptu meeting to cover the packed schedule for the next month. Running a hand through his hair, he contemplates if he had enough time to get dressed and grab something to eat along the way.

Judging that he could, but it’d be a tight fit, Eita shoots off into his room to chuck on random articles of clothing before heading out. He hears Satori snort at his outfit combination and ignores it in favour of beating the lunch-time rush.

By the time he makes it into the business district, Semi had a handful of minutes to spare to grab lunch before what he assumes is going to be a long meeting. Spotting a takoyaki stall not far from him, he was soon waiting in line with others that were won over by the delicious savoury smells permeating from the stall.

The order turnover was pretty quick, still he eyed the time on his phone’s home screen with worry. His band mates wouldn’t let himself live it down, hell he himself wouldn’t let it go. No one wanted to be that guy holding everyone up from going home to their lives. Generally, they all got along like a house on fire but with their recent schedule, it was hard not to want to spend lost time with friends and family.

Hearing his order called out, he rushed to collect the bag. There was no time to eat it now, so he’s have to eat during it, which wasn’t the worse thing to ever happen. Picking up his pace whilst answering a text, he doesn’t see the person he ends up crashing into, too wrapped up in his own thoughts.

They gasp as he slams against their back and start to tilt forward before he reaches out and pulls them by their shoulder to get back their footing.

“Sorry! Are you okay?” His eyes sweep down the person’s body, ensuring he caused no physical damage. As the person turned around to face him, Eita met the  face he'd least expected to see. Taken aback, Eita stared at you in shock as you mimicked him.

It was a humorous twist of fate that he would quite literally come crashing back into your life, after trying to find you for entire week.

It took you a moment to recognise him, trying to place his face to someone you met while his eyes roam your face. Once you do remember, you flushed at the close proximity of your bodies, his hand still clasped on your shoulder.

You both stared at one another as the world passes by, unknowing of the second fortuitous second meeting of the pair. Shock was the predominant emotion reigning inside of Eita, followed by gratefulness.

He suffered a full week of teasing from Satori and his band for acting like a hapless fool in love with some nameless person. There was no way in hell he was going to let you slip through his fingers again without at least getting a name.

“Hey, I know this sounds weird, but can I ask for your name?” He cursed the way his voice cracked at the greeting, wanting to scream at how awkward he was being again.

For whatever reason, it seemed that you were charmed by his latent charisma trumping his stiff question and you respond with your name. Testing it, he says it back to you and you respond with a nod at his pronunciation.

“What’s yours? I can’t keep calling you hot music guy.” You query in kind.

A light blush covers his cheeks at the compliment. He knew he looked good, people never failed to remind him, but it was always an ego boost when someone that made his heart flutter gave a compliment.

“I’m Semi Eita.”

He realises he was still holding your shoulder as they jump up as you silently laugh at his adorable blush. As if you burned him, he snatches away his hand as the blush intensifies. Eita was sure his face was bright red now.

“Well, hi Semi. I’m glad I got to meet you again. I wanted to thank you for playing that night, it really pushed me to keep working.” You glance off to the side, not meeting his surprised expression.

A soft, warm feeling fills him at your words. The power music possessed was a mysterious thing. To know that his playing had such an effect on you was incredible. It was extremely flattering.

“That's funny, because I actually wanted to thank you.” The words pour out of his mouth before his brain could catch up.

A curious look lights up your face and urges him to continue.

“In a round-about way, you inspired me –“ The shrill ring tone of his phone cut off his explanation.

Giving you an apologetic look, he looks at the screen and grimaces when he sees the contact name of his manager paired with the time. He was late already, so what was a few more minutes? He might as well shoot his shot, Eita concludes as he denies the call and meets your beautiful gaze.

Under the sunlight in light clothing for the warm spring-time weather, you looked stunning. The lack of tired lines etching your face and eye-bags soothes his heart, knowing that you got some decent sleep last night. It was weird how he barely knew you and yet he wanted to know if you got some sleep. Eita barely knew you and he craved being able to take care of you on those long nights when you were unable to do so yourself.

“Was that important?” You tilt your head at him and Eita had to refrain himself from visibly showing how much the cute action affected him.

“Ah, yeah, it kind of was,” Came his stilted reply. You bit at your cheek as Eita wanted to bang his head against a wall. What was it with him losing his cool with you around? Usually he was pretty good with small talk, or so he was told. His phone starts ringing again in his hand and he doesn't even bother to look at it.

Time had run out, it was now or never.

“Can I have your number? I’d really like to thank you when I’m not being rushed.” The words rushed out of him in a single breath, the split second of courage proving to be his downfall. As he regained that breath, he realised how fast he spoke. It was highly likely that you might’ve not caught them. Okay, now he was ready to bury himself alive.

R.I.P. Semi Eita.

Cause of death: trying and failing to ask for your number.

You stared at him blankly, mind taking a moment to process the word vomit, unknowingly watching him as he has an internal melt-down. His question suddenly hits you and it takes everything in you to not blush at the thought of a kind and talented musician asking for your number.

“Oh! You want my number?” You ask, pulling out your phone and pointing at it in question.

Relief sweeps away the embarrassment that threatened to surpass all logic and just leg it away from you and forget about ever meeting you entirely.

Not trusting himself, Eita nods. Pulling up a new contact and handing over his phone, you wordlessly do the same. Standing there filling out contact details, his accomplishment didn’t strike him until he thanked you and promised to text you soon after you urged him to get where he was needed.

While it wasn’t exactly the way he envisioned your first proper conversation to go, it did end with your name, number and a promise of a future meet-up. It was hard to keep the grin off of his face as he enters the room filed with unimpressed people. Once he explained his tardiness, the mood turned on its head as they gave him encouraging pats on the back and a few hair-ruffles that he batted away.

The entire time he sat there, his phone felt like a lead weight in his pocket. It took all his self-restraint to not text you right then and there.

In the end, it turned out you were the one to send the first text. If anyone saw the way he reacted to receiving that text as he walked out the building, he would refute any and all claims of him lighting up like a Christmas tree until the day he died.

Unlike asking for your number, it took a while for him to gather the courage to ask you out after a few easy-flowing conversations. With your enthusiastic response, he felt on top of the world.

Eita never made a habit of looking back at the past, arguing there was nothing one could possibly gain from doing so. Although, after the short few months since meeting and consequently dating you, he found himself often looking back to that quite night in the dimly-lit coffee shop. By all means, that stress-filled night should not have lead to him finding his other half. But as Eita had come to learn, even the mundane becomes extraordinary with you by his side.

Notes: I wrote this in a night and had to stop myself from posting it without editing because I have no self-restraint sometimes. Critiques, Comments & Notes are always welcomed!

[gumnut-logic]

Ellie (Part Two - Bit 1)

Part One | Part Two - Bit 1

This fic appears to have happened. I still have no idea what I’m doing or where it is going, but it is what it is. This is the first half of Part Two as I fumble my way through.

Many thanks to @vegetacide​ and @scribbles97​ for both reading and putting up with my wibblies today as I tried to put one word after the other. I have no doubt there will be more wibblies tomorrow at some point.

I hope you enjoy whatever this is ::hugs you all::

-o-o-o-

“So, what’s he like?”

“Who?” Ellie chewed on the end of her stylus. Setting up a new tablet was a pain. All the fun of a new piece of tech had been taken away by the fact she couldn’t really afford it and paying for it had physically hurt.

“Virgil Tracy.”

She entered her password yet again. How many times did she have to prove she was who she said she was? “Who?”

“Your saviour! Verri said you nearly fell down the stairs in class and Virgil Tracy grabbed you at the last second.”

That had her sitting up. “What?” Verri was all mouth and no brain. Then it clicked. “Oh, Virgil.”

“Oooh, so it is a first name basis then is it?”

“What? What else would it be?” God, Terri was almost as bad as Verri at times. It was understandable as they were sisters, but Terri was usually so much more.

Usually.

Terri put down her coffee. “Well, you know, with him being famous and all.”

Ellie frowned, finally distracted from her tablet. “What?” Great, now she was repeating herself.

Terri looked at her as if she was an idiot or something. “Virgil Tracy. Of International Rescue. Son of Jeff Tracy. Billionaire.”

She stared at her friend, her mind spinning. Really?

“Oh, god, you didn’t know?!” Terri burst out laughing. “I can’t believe it. You need to get your head out of those romance novels, girl, or you might miss one of your own.”

Ellie stared at her a moment longer aware that her face was flushing red. Damnit.

She picked up the marshmallow sitting beside her hot chocolate and threw it at Terri.

It bounced off her forehead, leaving a little puff of icing sugar.

That, of course, only made her laugh harder. “Omigod, you had no idea.” Now her giggles were becoming irritating. Why did she invite her friend over for breakfast?

Oh, yeah, because she was her friend and Ellie being on the night shift meant it was the only time they could see each other.

Ellie went back to her tablet and the hell of setting it up.

How was she supposed to know? “I was late to class.” It was mumbled.

“Well, that explains it.” Terri picked up her coffee again and sipped it. “Verri said he walked in with a security guard and there was this room check thing before he even sat down. I’m surprised you didn’t get harassed at the door.”

She blinked. There had been that guy she’d had to show her ID to, but wasn’t that the norm? He had been as dark as the shadows he was standing in.

Ellie had been too panicked about being late to care.

Virgil Tracy. Famous hero who saved lives on a regular basis.

No wonder he had caught her.

A flash of bicep.

An embarrassed swallow. Okay, now she was just being stupid. If there was any chance of getting to know him better, it had been snuffed out by his identity. Why on Earth would he even care she existed?

But he had caught her.

His voice had been so kind.

“Are you okay?” Terri’s voice was suddenly soft…concerned.

Ellie shook herself and forced a smile. “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”

Her friend frowned at her. “You sure?”

Elli forced her bravado. “So, what is a famous hero doing in my nursing class?”

Terri blinked. “Buggered if I know.”

“Hmmm…”

“You could ask him.” Terri peered over her coffee cup.

Talk to him? Famous hero, Virgil Tracy?

Then she realised that tomorrow she would have to sit next to him again.

Oh, shit.

And her embarrassment at her clumsiness last time welled up yet again.

Oh god.

Terri was eyeing her suspiciously again. “Don’t forget to breathe, Ells.”

“Shut up.”

But she was right.

Damn.

-o-o-o-

Ellie was on time to class the next day despite the night shift. Actually, she was early. Early enough for the lecturer to frown at her and possibly question if she had been replaced by an alien.

“Ms Tyler, I’m happy to see you here.”

“I’m happy to be here, ma’am.”

That did it. She gave the old battle axe respect and immediately the woman became suspicious. Ellie would be under surveillance for the entire class.

Pfft.

She’d had worse patients. Those frowning eyes didn’t scare her.

“Hello again.”

She jumped as Virgil Tracy sat down beside her. Oh god. She hadn’t even seen him come in.

And yes, there was that mysterious guy running around with a scanner of some kind.

“Don’t mind Jeremy. He’s just pedantic.” It was said with a warm smile that had her stomach filling with butterflies.

As if to illustrate that fact, the security officer narrowed in on her and requested her identification. Dark eyes sliced and diced her as she fumbled in her bag for her card.

He said nothing as he eyed it, scanned it with his gadget and handed it back before moving onto the next student.

“He’s not happy because I made us late.”

Ellie blinked. “You’re not late. You’re early.” Wow. She had found her voice.

Virgil snorted. “Not when Jez wants to secure the premises, I’m not.” His smile was a little fond as his eyes tracked the man skipping between arriving students. “But then his boss is even more pedantic.”

“You’re pedantic?” Ellie frowned.

He turned to her. “Me? Oh, no, I’m not his boss.”

Then who? But she didn’t ask as he turned back to tracking his security officer with his eyes. His profile gave her the chance to actually look at Virgil.

Dark hair coiffured into some kind of pseudo-mohawk, tanned skin…she tried to remember where the Tracys actually lived. Wasn’t it an island somewhere?

She could almost hear Terri laughing at her. She really needed to pay more attention to current events.

Particularly if they were going to sit beside her in class.

But yes, tanned skin. She frowned. No…was that makeup?

The soft texture of foundation kicked up at the edge of his hairline and the skin colour changed as it merged into his hair.

Oh god.

She could barely see it, but there was the shadow of a massive bruise on his cheekbone.

He turned to look at her at that moment and she was forced to look away.

She swallowed.

Terri was laughing at her again.

The man had his arm in a sling. He had obviously been injured somehow.

Her mind wandered off wondering how.

“Did you receive my notes?”

She blinked. “Oh, yes, thank you so much.” She fished out her new tablet and held it up. “New device acquired.”

He smiled just a little. “Good to see.” But if he was going to say anything further, he was interrupted by Battle Axe calling the class to attention.

She pulled Spud out of her bag and stuck him on the tiny lap desk. His stitched-on smile brightened her despite herself.

Vaguely she was aware of Virgil glancing at the toy, but Battle Axe was talking, and unfortunately Ellie had to pay attention.

Today’s topic was about drug development and testing as background to administration. It was dry fodder and Ellie found herself zoning out.

She could smell his after shave. Or was it his cologne? Whatever it was, it was pleasant and warm.

The scratch of his stylus on his tablet was a soft counterpoint to Battle Axe’s droning voice.

Why hadn’t she taken the online version of this course?

Oh, yeah, because Battle Axe actually knew what she was talking about and there were certain things she just had to see in person.

That stylus scratching was almost a beat she could write music to.

She found herself visualising her fingers on her grandmother’s piano, notes marching out in time.

She drifted for a moment there, only to be nudged gently…

Awake! She was awake.

“Ms Tyler?”

What? She was in the lecture hall and Battle Axe was glaring up at her.

What?

“Ms Tyler, I recommend you get sufficient sleep at all times. A patient may depend on your alertness.” Battle Axe was frowning at her.

Oh, shit.

“Yes, ma’am.”

The woman’s eyes flickered to the man beside Ellie and smiled without smiling.

What?

Ellie looked at Virgil and found him frowning.

Battle Axe was blushing!

Ellie’s eyes widened.

Virgil shifted where he sat, fingering his sling.

But then the moment snapped and Battle Axe went back to babbling about Medsafe and New Zealand’s legal requirements for all medications.

What the hell was that?

But Virgil was looking down at his tablet, apparently scribbling notes, and Battle Axe had gone back to lecturing. She babbled for a few more minutes before darkening the room and activating the holoprojector.

Depressingly, the video was the same one she had viewed herself for her special study. She was already familiar with Emergency Department drug procedures. Which was probably just as well since she now worked in one.

She almost wished she had stayed asleep.

“You okay?” It was whispered baritone.

She turned to find his shadow looking at her. The holoprojection reflected in his eyes.

Whispered back. “I’m good.” Her body betrayed her by yawning at that exact moment. “Had the early shift this morning.” Or very late. It was kind of both. But it did give her the opportunity to attend the lecture. This early part of the course may be boring, but she needed it for the later part which she hoped would be worth it all.

It just meant she had to crash and burn when she got home before getting up in the dark to go to work.

“That and I’ve seen this before.” She straightened in her seat and prepared to keep herself awake for the next forty-five minutes.

“So have I. Bought it for reference.” In that moment he appeared as tired as she was.

She grunted and shifted in her seat again and they sat there for another five minutes.

“You want to go grab a coffee?”

What? But he was looking at her, his shadow sculpted by hololight.

“Okay?” It was out before she could think about it.

Without further word, he picked up his tablet and stood.

Caught out, she fumbled again, grabbing at her things and shoving them in her backpack as he started to make his way to the exit.

“Mr Tracy, where are you going?” Battle Axe emerged from the shadows below, her finger the pause button.

Ellie froze half out of her seat.

“Please excuse us, Ms Kingston.” And he kept moving.

Ellie blinked. He offered no apology, yet was still polite. It left Battle Axe with no ground to stand on and somewhat speechless enough for the two of them to make a quick exit.

It confirmed that Battle Axe was fully aware of exactly who Virgil Tracy was and that he could do pretty much what he wanted to. Ellie had no doubt that if she had tried it herself, the results would have been considerably different.

But she was never one to look a gift horse in the mouth and she hurried out of the room after him.

-o-o-o-

Next

[cherwd-pen]

double shot black coffee

✐ stamp: 1449 words

▸ cherry wood cafe order: double shot black coffee

▸ size: large

▸ customer: gn!reader

▸ a/n: can you tell im an aizawa stan? no? well i am

“I’ll take a black coffee, double shot.” you decided following the lady inside. Uppity jazz played from speakers all around. Not loud enough to be obnoxious but loud enough to be heard when it was silent, it only added to the peculiar atmosphere. 

The wooded floors were a beautiful ash wood and the walls were exposed brick that you doubted were actually part of the original building plan. So, you asked. “This looks nothing like a normal Japanese coffee shop.”

The lady leads you to a booth fit snug in along the left wall. It gave a beautiful view of the open floor plans where a long line stretched halfway to the door. You were shocked at how popular the place was actually, mostly among the younger generation and foreigners from what you could tell. You took a seat, sinking into the plush black leather seat and set your backpack down. It was worth trying to work on your newest art commission here.

Unknowns to you, the lady had caught on to the skeptic you had for her place. She brushed a strand of sandy brown hair out her face, “This is my own creation; did it with my inheritance and running it with a few friends. We took the liberty to add some excitement to Japan and make it a safe space for everyone.” she smiled. “You can request a song, too.”

“No, I need to finish this for work and I’ll be out your way.”

The lady nodded, “I’m Cherry so just shout if you need anything.” Cherry bid you a goodbye before yelling at someone behind the register. The boy flinched and seemed to coward away from the short female who looked ready to jump on him. Your eye twitched. “She’s insane.” you muttered, fishing out your drawing tablet and stylist. Propping the sleek sticker-obsessed device up, you pulled up your public appropriate folder and the newest commission: a comic book that would go for a good forty dollars, maybe even fifty given the size of it. You’ve been working on it for a week and today was the last day before finalizing it then printing copies.

Settling in you quickly popped a few joints then started to work on the last panel page. All you had left was outlining and base colors, maybe starting on details but nothing too big. Again, it was the last working day and tomorrow was fit for last minute details.

For what felt like hours you erased and redrew the fine lines of the customers character. You got a lot done in what really was twenty minutes. Somewhere around five in, Cherry had brought you your coffee and you in turn asked for the house specialty pastries: homemade cheese danishes. By then you finished other panels and when she brought the sweet treats it was ten minutes in and you had just this final character. A soft grunt fluttered out when, yet again, you got a hair line wrong. Wordlessly, you dropped the stylus only to grab at the cooling drink to the left. You brought it to your lips and almost groaned at its smell. It was rich and strong - possibly Ethiopian - and that just made your mouth water. So, you took a sip and instantly reached for the danish, taking a bite. You never thought homemade food could taste so good but today was an experience.

But while you were lost in the food and coffee, you missed how the stylus rolled off the table. You didn’t notice until pale hands caught your attention. Your eyes flickered up and you almost choked. Dark, sleepy eyes glanced down at you and you almost dropped the mug. Now, you aren’t one to find people attractive by just seeing them but, damn.

“You dropped this.” he voiced. The sound rose from his chest and rolled from his tongue with ease. His hand was outstretched, your styles held loosely between two fingers. Gingerly you set the coffee down, taking the pen back slowly. The man quirked an eyebrow. “You’re an artist.”

“I am. Self-employed,” you stammered out. The dark-haired man nodded, the hint of a smile gracing his face and making the stubble just a tad more attractive. You didn’t know what came over you but tearing away from his eyes you caught sight of a satchel. So, you did the least you thing: “Would you like to take a seat? It’s getting crowded and you might not have a seat if you wait for Cherry or someone-”

He slid into the seat cross from you, setting the bag beside him and taking a few papers out. He stuck a pen behind his ear, voice dragging along. “My friend will be here and he’s obnoxious.”

“That’s fine! I’m sure he’s alright-” you cut yourself off, cheeks warming at the realization you didn’t even know his name. Anxiously, you asked and he sighed. Clicking the pen, he went to work scribbling on the papers.

“Aizawa. Shouta Aizawa, and your coffee is strong. I’d take one of those.”

For some reason, your heart skipped, rendering you silent for a few seconds. Then, you told him your name and -

“Cherry! Can I get another double shot black?

[consentaclecthulhuwrites]

Free Bird, Chapter 6

The next time Revali saw her was at the informal ordination of Link as her sworn protector and chosen knight. The ceremony had supposedly been crafted to be uplifting, and a symbolic beginning for the dangerous journey upon which they were all about to embark. However, if this ritual was meant to set the tone for the entire mission, Revali could only dread the outcome of the plan.

The commentary while Zelda stood above her chosen knight suggested Revali was not the only one with this sense of foreboding.

“Gee, this is uplifting.” Daruk sounded disarmingly sarcastic. “She’s making it sound like we already lost.”

Revali piped up, “Wasn’t this your idea? You’re the one who wanted to designate the appointed knight with all the ceremonial pomp, grandeur, and nonsense we could muster. And if you ask me, the whole thing does seem to be overkill. I think I’m on the same page as the princess regarding… this boy.”

“Oh, give it a rest,” Urbosa sighed. “That boy is a living reminder of her own failures. Well, at least that’s how the princess sees him.”

Her own failures? Revali didn’t understand what Urbosa could have meant. From what he knew of her, Zelda was an accomplished scholar and the pride of the Hyrule legacy. She had modesty, charity, and chastity. She was elegant, well-spoken, truly kind, and carried the weight of royalty like it were gossamer. There was something weighing her down to be sure, but Revali couldn’t imagine it had anything to do with her royal lineage.

Especially around the boy, she seemed more distraught than ever. What was it about this chap that got so under her skin? All the boy had was a stupid destiny. Unlike some people, the champions actually had to work for their skill, for their place in this league of future legends. It was apparent that Zelda had more than earned her reputation as one of the foremost scientific minds Hyrule castle had to offer, as well as a devoted acolyte. Sure, the murmurings made her sound more fanatical and eccentric than anything, but Revali chalked that up to shallow minds with shallow thoughts. It was the squabble of the little people, and what did they know or matter? It was their ignorant hides that needed saving.

After the ceremony had concluded, the champions were allowed time to explore the grounds of the castle. Link had gone to the stables with Mipha, Daruk was off near the armory, Urbosa was in the dining hall carousing with some of the younger soldiers, and Zelda had supposedly returned to her quarters. Revali observed that the princess had slipped out of sight rather swiftly, and none seemed eager to attend her despite what was clearly a downtrodden appearance.

He wondered...

Zelda hunched over the desk in her lab, scowling down at her journal. Why did she ever listen to Daruk? He was such a blockhead sometimes. She appreciated his sentiment; for a man of stone, he certainly had a warm heart, but the ceremony had been an absolute disaster. All the muttering amongst the champions while she spoke the ceremonial script… She caught bits here and there.

“Already lost…”

“Overkill…”

“Failure…”

Her face burned with shame. She wanted the ceremony to be meaningful, positive, and give hope to everyone. She should have known that endeavor would fail. Zelda had no hope herself. Since childhood, the inkling of the goddesses, the innate sense of their presence, just did not exist for her. Her prayers were answered with silence. Her fasts were met with ravenous spiritual hunger. She even offered up plants as sacrifices, then cried with guilt for wastefully plucking them without result. For whatever reason, the goddesses found her… unworthy.

She scribbled hastily, trying to put down the words as fast as they entered her brain. On the verge of tears, she noted, “It is as if there is a great chasm between the goddesses and I. I shout and shout for them to hear me, but only my voice bounces back from that deep, unending void.”

She heard a noise and snapped her journal shut. Someone was clearing their throat. She whipped back to the doorway, but no one was there upon opening the door, nor waiting at the end of the bridge that led from her scientific tower to her bedchamber.

She began checking the windows and at last, she saw a fierce green eye surrounded by blue feathers floating within the frame of one of the slit-sized windows.

“Champion Revali, I believe it was you who reiterated that it was rude to eavesdrop when we first met.”

He hoisted himself up to where he was fully visible in the window frame, flapped his wings, and gave a bow. “My sincerest apologies.”

“Also, do you not think it inappropriate to come see a member of the royal family in their private chambers?”

“But I’m not in them, now am I?”

Zelda laughed. “Are you in need of something, master Revali?”

He offered a gallant smile. “Perhaps your majesty would care to join me for a walk on the grounds. I can see everything up here, but I’ll admit… Hylian structures are baffling to me. I wondered if perhaps you would be willing to educate me.”

The warmth of the smile that grew on her face told Revali he had succeeded in breaking her out of whatever dismal reverie she’d been in when he peered in at her, scowling at her journal.

Zelda met Revali at the base of the stairs. They began to explore the walkways leading down the primary battlement of the castle with a leisurely gait.

“Here we have the entrance to our library.”

“Library?”

Zelda blinked in surprise, then ushered Revali inside.

“What in Hyrule…” His eyes widened as he glanced around the massive room filled wall-to-wall with books.

“Surely you know what a library is, Revali.” Zelda giggled.

Revali rolled his eyes and ruffled his feathers, then said, “Of course I know what a library is… I’ve just never seen one this massive. There is no actual library in the Rito village.”

The princess’s head cocked to the side. “Why not?”

The Rito raised his wing up to the princess’ field of vision and wiggled the most controllable, dexterous portions of his wing, which still looked wildly unwieldy.

“Oh… penmanship and flipping pages must be difficult!”

“Only disciplined Rito, dedicated to the art, actively pursue reading and writing beyond a primary education. We are creatures of oral tradition and have little use for books, though some of the oldest legends are inscribed on tablets of stone.”

“Is it mostly birdsong?”

“Yes. Why would we speak about the legends of the Rito when we could sing the ballads of heroes, the laments of our tribe, the lullabies our fathers learned from their fathers?”

Zelda pondered this for a moment. Then asked: “Do you sing, Master Revali?”

“I can, but I generally do not.”

Zelda had led Revali up a cascading set of stairs and was clearly determined to show him a specific volume. She was scowling and tracing her fingers along titles as she walked along the upper level of the library.

“I could have sworn it was in this section… Found it!” She pulled out a broad but thin volume, clearly weighted, almost square enough to be used as a breastplate for armor fitted to the girl. A harp was crested into the volume’s cover, gilt in gold.

“This is a musical volume of songs from Hyrule’s history. Do the Rito use notations like this?”

She showed him a page with a simple melody. The notations were similar but…

“We use lines like this but typically our musical staves are much larger…” He squinted at the page and then pulled back. “Our notes are not all round. We use shapes and lines to indicate different note lengths…”

“Fascinating! Could you read a melody like this?”

“I am not well-versed in musical notation. We received basic training in childhood, but after those initial years, my studies were dedicated elsewhere. However, this melody is similar to one we learned as nestlings. The Ballad of the Goddess, I believe?”

Zelda laughed with excitement. Revali could not help but notice her laugh was high and sweet, almost birdlike with a chirpy nature.

“Would you sing it for me, Revali?”

“I would rather not.”

The disappointment that fell across her face was immeasurable. It nearly ruined Revali’s day to see her so put out; he felt he had to explain, even if the reason was made up on the spot.

“I do not like the way I sound when I sing from prescribed notes; the planned nature feels stifling. I would rather you not insist.”

“Oh. I would never dream to impose upon you. I’m sorry!”

Revali turned very stern, and gazed at her directly. “Do not apologize. It is not for someone of your position.”

Zelda was a bit taken aback by this admonishment. Most did not speak to her in this blunt fashion. No one but her father had spoken in unfiltered directives. She understood the Rito were a singularly bold people; perhaps tact was not really part of their vocabulary. Her facial expression betrayed her utter bafflement. She nodded sharply.

“You’re right, Revali.”

At that moment, a member of the royal guard emerged at the top of the stairs and was clearly headed in their direction. Revali moved from the princess’ side just as the guard focused his attention on her and said, “Your presence is requested by his majesty King Rhoam.”

Zelda turned to speak with Revali, but he was already taking a bow.

“Till we meet again, your highness.”

The guard extended his arm, and Zelda passed him by, where he took up her rear as he escorted her from the library, following her quite closely.

Revali watched as she disappeared down the staircase, the royal guard following behind her. Why send a guard? Why did he follow her with so little space between them? What an incredible sign of disrespect. It’s as if they expected her to give chase if they even dared to blink. He hoped nothing was amiss. But he couldn’t help to wonder, yet again…

~*~*~*~*~

Link to Chapter 5 HERE

Link to Chapter 4, Part 2 HERE

Link to Chapter 4, Part 1 HERE

Link to Chapter 3 HERE

Link to Chapter 2 HERE

Link to Chapter 1 HERE