#again I’m sorry also the tone of this reply is not dismissive or anything I think the theory is really great | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

misshoneyimhome · 8 months

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250 FOLLOWERS FESTIVAL

"Because I know you" I Frederik Andersen

Summary; Encountering a handsome man sitting solo in a coffee shop late at night was far from what you envisioned as the beginning of a close relationship with the Danish goaltender

Tropes & warnings; Strangers to friends, friends to lovers, clueless reader, sweetheart Freddie; no warnings

Other notes; nothing really - just a little something on my favourite Danish man 🤍 Hope you like it

Word count; 2.3K

➼｡ﾟ

Frederik Andersen was probably the most significant and conflicting person in your life.

He was the dependable pillar offering solace and steadiness, yet he was also the type of friend with whom you could engage in heated arguments.

Freddie always exuded calmness and kindness, likely the most amiable man you'd ever encountered. But he could also be incredibly stubborn, much like yourself.

You could transition from being the closest of friends to quarrelling about trivial matters in the blink of an eye, only to return to being close friends again.

Whether it was debating what to have for dinner, with you suggesting something in line with his diet and training, only for him to argue why it wasn't suitable for you or discussing the ideal snacks for a movie night.

And over time, your disagreements would delve into more personal subjects like dating, relationships, and even sexual experiences.

However, as much as you would argue, he would equally be your closest confidant, providing comfort and support. He was always there for you, whether it was calming your nerves before a work presentation or lending a sympathetic ear after a rough day.

Despite his incredibly hectic schedule, he always managed to carve out time for you, and you did the same for him.

Though, your girlfriends often found it a bit odd hearing about the amount of time you spent with Freddie. They always wondered why you were always at the rink, cheering him on during games, and hanging out with him on his days off. And naturally, they'd ask the obvious questions:

"If you spend so much time together, why aren't you dating?"

"Are you sure you're not in love with him?"

"What would happen if either of you started dating someone?"

But you easily dismissed their inquiries. You and Freddie were simply good friends, and neither of you ever viewed each other as anything more.

It all began in a quiet little coffee shop.

You had moved to the city just a few days prior, and now you were treating yourself to a late-night hot chocolate.

And as you’d entered the coffee shop, Freddie was already seated there. Initially, you hadn't noticed him, but when he stood up from his seat and approached you, almost nervously, he caught your attention.

"Hi, sorry, but are you... Denise?"

His voice was gentle, his imposing figure towering over you, and a faint smile beginning to form on his lips.

"Uhm, no… I’m sorry," you replied, shaking your head softly.

And you could see the disappointment wash over his face, his fleeting hopes dashed once again. Then he politely excused himself and returned to his seat.

However, as you ordered and waited for your hot drink, you couldn't help but steal glances in his direction, wondering why such a handsome man was sitting alone, waiting for 'Denise.'

And seeing him still seated as you collected your drink, his fingers idly playing with the coffee mug in front of him, you decided to strike up a conversation.

"Hey there, are you alright?" you asked, with a hint of concern.

He looked slightly surprised as he glanced up at you. "Oh yeah... just um... waiting for someone..."

There was a hint of sadness in his tone, his honey-brown eyes reflecting a sense of defeat.

"For Denise?"

"Yeah... but I guess she probably won't show..." he attempted a faint smile, though it seemed forced.

In that moment, Freddie had to acknowledge that he'd been stood up.

Your heart went out to him. He appeared so gentle and kind that you couldn't help but feel drawn to learn more about his story.

So, stepping a bit out of your usual character, you decided to take a chance, thinking it might be worthwhile to try making some new friends in this new town.

And Freddie was more than happy when you asked to join him. Though he had already resigned himself to leaving within the next minute or so, you managed to change his mind

"I'm y/n," you introduced yourself as you took a seat opposite him.

"I'm Freddie."

His smile had grown slightly, a sense of relief evident in his demeanour.

"Well, Freddie, whoever this Denise is... she's out of her mind for standing you up like this... I mean, it's just so rude," you tried to comfort him with a light chuckle.

"Yeah, I suppose so... guess that's just the downside of agreeing to go on blind dates."

And from that moment, the conversation flowed effortlessly. Something that felt a little strange to you; no awkward moments with this stranger, just a gradual process of getting to know each other, sharing laughter and smiles.

You just felt an immediate sense of openness with Freddie, and soon you found yourself spending more time at the rink than you ever imagined. Hockey was somewhat new to you, at least in terms of watching it several times a week. But you had a blast learning about the sport, especially with Freddie as your guide.

And since he had also recently moved to the city, he enjoyed teaching you about his passion. While he had his team to hang out with every day, and you had your new colleagues in Raleigh, the time you spent together was like no other.

A year and a half later, it felt as if nothing had changed.

Although both of you had become much busier since your initial meeting, you still managed to find time to be together. There were even nights when you stayed at his place while he was away, as your roommate often had guests over, and over time you found solace and tranquillity at Freddie's flat. Plus, he had a much larger TV for watching away games, and a comfy sofa where you could snuggle up under a blanket and enjoy some snacks.

But then things began to shift ever so slightly. You were encouraged by a few colleagues to dip your toes into the online dating scene, and while Freddie remained your rock through all the disappointing dates, he started to feel a bit uncomfortable being the shoulder you leaned on whenever things didn't work out.

Not that you were overly dramatic about it; you ended things with guys just as often as they ended things with you.

However, after several instances of hearing about your likes and dislikes regarding the guys you'd been set up with, those you'd given a chance only for them to end things with you, Freddie decided to address it.

"Y/n," he began as the two of you strolled down the street, holding cups of beverages. "Maybe you should take a break from dating, just for a while."

His suggestion didn't exactly resonate with how you were feeling about your dating life at the moment, but as always, honesty was key between the two of you, and you valued his input.

"Hmm, maybe, but I'm actually having quite a bit of fun," you said cheerfully, briefly glancing up at the tall ginger-haired man. "I mean, I've been having so much sex, I'm not sure I can live without it!" you playfully added, prompting Freddie to let out a deep chuckle.

“Well, great sex is important. But don’t you think you've been playing the field enough?”

“Hmm, I suppose. I just... I don’t know. I feel like I've almost got everything; a good job, stable finances, good friends. I guess the only thing I miss is someone to... share more intimate moments with, you know, to share the most personal parts of ourselves.”

As you spoke, you hadn't noticed that you had suddenly walked slower and eventually come to a stop, turning to face Freddie, your eyes meeting his, both flashing soft smiles.

“So, you're not going to take my advice, are you?” he chuckled lightly, briefly glancing down at the pavement.

“You know, Freddie, I might actually listen to your advice this time,” you flashed him a sweet smile.

“No, you're not.”

“What do you mean, no, I'm not?” You let out a playful gasp, overemphasizing your tone a little. “How would you know that?” you teased with a sarcastic note, rolling your eyes slightly.

Freddie couldn't suppress another chuckle. “Because I know you. I tell you one thing, and we both know you'll do the exact opposite.”

“I do not do that!” you tried to defend yourself, although both of you knew he was actually telling the truth.

“Yes, you do,” Freddie continued, laughing under his breath. “But it's okay, it's one of the many things I love about you.”

You shared in his heartfelt laughter as he then slowly started walking again. However, a brief moment passed where you remained still before a tiny bell in your head suddenly reacted to his choice of words.

"What did you just say?"

"What? That's one of the many things I like about you?" he questioned, stopping in his tracks and repeating his own words.

"Well, you said 'love'..." you tried to point out, but Freddie just shrugged it off nonchalantly as always.

"Did I? I mean, I guess I do, you know, love things like friends, right?" he flashed you a crooked smile.

You couldn’t quite decipher what was going on in the mind of your friend. Your eyes darted from side to side, searching for any hints in his expression. But you found none. Although Freddie wasn't always the easiest to read, it was a skill you had developed during the time you had spent together. However, in this particular moment, he left you absolutely clueless.

But finally, you managed to break from your stare and force your voice to speak. "Yeah, like friends."

Although the two of you kept walking as if nothing had happened and finished your drinks before parting ways, you couldn’t completely shake off what Freddie had said.

Sure, you loved each other on a friendly level; you did consider him your best friend after all, and you strongly believed he considered you as his as well.

But in the evening, as you rested on your bed and scrolled through all the messages and photos you and Freddie had exchanged over the past year or so, you couldn’t help but let your mind wander – what if there was something more going on between you?

Was that the reason you could never find someone you felt compatible with like Freddie?

The way the two of you had been texting every single day, sharing Snapchats and Instagram posts, even calling each other when he was on the road or when either one of you was feeling lonely. You looked over the photos you’d taken together, noticing how closely you stood in almost all of them, some where you were even sitting on his lap, which at the time had felt completely innocent. But then you noticed how his large hand always seemed to rest on you, whether it was your shoulder, your waist, or even your thigh – Freddie always kept you close to him.

He was like the protective best friend, almost brotherly, yet you didn’t think of him as your brother. At least you wouldn’t have shared so many intimate details with him if so. And it’s not like he felt like just another colleague that you’d share foolish and immature jokes with. With Freddie, you could have deep conversations, share feelings, and whatever else you needed to get off your chest. And furthermore, he was rather attractive. Right?

The only detail you hadn’t considered until this very moment was that you actually had feelings for Freddie. Feelings that went beyond just friendship.

Sitting straight up in your bed, you let out a light sigh. "Fuck..."

Normally, you weren’t the quickest to get out of bed, but right now, you couldn’t leave the apartment fast enough.

Swiftly, you grabbed your coat, slammed the door, and dashed down the stairs, not even bothering with the lift. The train ride, which usually seemed rather quick, felt like an eternity as you made your way to Freddie’s place.

And after a few hard knocks on his front door, he greeted you with a smile. Though you were out of breath, you tried your best to formulate an understandable sentence.

“You... you said 'love'... things you love about me,” you breathed out, gazing up at him with a slightly concerned expression as you confronted him, nervously.

“Well... yeah, but I also said as friends—”

But you couldn’t let him have this one either. You had finally noticed the signs and admitted your own deep feelings to yourself.

“No, not just as friends, Freddie...” you spoke with a soft tone, finally managing your breathing, and you saw how his smile faded and he let out a deep sigh.

“No... not just as friends...” he softly admitted.

And you couldn’t help but feel your heart skip a beat in your chest as you saw how he had finally admitted his secret. Your eyes locked, as it took you a brief moment to fully comprehend the situation. But without much thinking or any words spoken, you instead let your arms wrap around his neck and leaned in to close the gap between you, connecting your lips.

Freddie immediately met you in the kiss, his hands swiftly finding your waist to hold you closer.

It started off soft and tender, but gradually grew deeper and more passionate as you both allowed yourselves to explore each other. His tongue gently passed your lips, meeting yours in soft motions, before you both pulled apart to catch your breaths.

Again, you looked at each other, exchanging soft moans and sharing the air between you.

A tender silence hung in the air, but licking your lips, you decided to break it.

“So, were you ever going to tell me?” you let a crooked smile creep onto your lips, trying to defuse the tension a little.

“Probably someday…” he let out a soft chuckle, still holding his hands onto you.

“No, you weren’t…”

“And how would you know that?” he cocked an eyebrow.

“… because I know you."

#250 followers festival #freddie andersen imagine #frederik andersen imagine #frederik andersen x reader #carolina hurricanes imagine #nhl fanfiction #nhl imagine

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d-issent · 2 months

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Botched. (Dissent AU.)

Peter Sam encounters Proteus. Having had the Sad Story of Smudger in the back of his mind for decades, he wishes on a whim for Smudger to be restored. Months later, after a remarkable discovery at the Mid Sodor, rebuild!Smudger is indeed - well, rebuilt - but has seemingly lost all of his memories in “exchange.” He loses his personality, his quirks, everything, he’s completely reset. Peter Sam doesn't do well with guilt. This is part of the Dissent AU! So these guys are all robotisized - robofied? Robotified. Hell if I know. I could've written this with them as their normal engine selves that you see in the show but uhhh I didn't want to! Enjoy!

After days and days of a stalemate, on a hazy, muggy summer evening, Peter Sam finally spoke up, with no one around to hear him but the root cause of his grievances.

“I just feel so guilty,” he blurted out to his shed-mate, “I feel responsible. I feel like I’m the only one at fault for the state you’re in, and I can’t speak about how I feel without someone dismissing everything as ‘just an old fairytale.’ I can’t get closure like that.”

Silence followed his words, at least at first, but soon enough a gentle, almost melodic, metallic ticking of well-oiled parts began to sound, as the second occupant of the shed slowly stretched his arms up to the ceiling. As he moved, the cylinders in his shoulders and elbow joints clunked, releasing a few short, sharp jets of steam, and with it, the tension of the day’s work judging by the sigh of relief that also left him.

“Dunno how I feel about that wording of yours, Peter.” He finally replied, blinking rapidly as the fading daylight from outside prompted the automatic lights in his eyes to flicker on, bathing the shed’s dull, wooden ceiling beams in soft, golden light. Even on their lowest setting, they still illuminated the dust, the cracks and the spider webs stretched across the wood.

Another pause, then his voice sounded again, a twang of something that almost resembled humour mixed into his usual monotone.

“I like to think that I’m in a far better state than some of them poor bastards in the scrapyard at least.”

“That’s setting the bar pretty low if you ask me.” Peter Sam mumbled, his eyebrows pinching together in distress, a crease forming in the soft silicone of his face. “Anyway. My wording’s the least of my worries, God’s sake, Smudger, I’m pouring my heart out to you here, mate.”

“I know, I know. Sorry, I’ll try to be a little more compassionate.”

With another muffled cacophony of clicking and ticking, Smudger hauled himself up into a sitting position, more steam hissed, warming the already humid air.

“I don’t wanna sound like everyone else when I say this, I really don’t,” he began, “but aren’t I enough closure for you? I’m back up and running again, right?”

“Not all of you.” Peter Sam retorted, his voice deepening into an almost pouty, sulking tone. It was a wonder he hadn’t stuck out his bottom lip. “Sure you’re working, Percival even said he’s never seen a re-hauled engine operate so smoothly, but that’s all there is. So what if you’re a ‘miracle of engineering’? You’re not you, Granpuff said so.”

“Duke hasn’t made you feel like this, has he?” Smudger asked. “Because from what I’ve been told, he’s never had the best opinion of me.”

“He hasn’t done anything like that. He never wants to talk about the Mid Sodor anymore.” Peter Sam said defensively, proverbial hackles immediately raising at the thought of the tension between Smudger and his mentor. His hands twitched and twisted in front of him anxiously, wearing down the already peeling, plush grey silicone a little further down his fingertips, revealing the smooth metal beneath.

Smudger eventually spoke up again, his shoulders pulled up around his head in a tiny shrug.

“Eh. That’s his cross to bear, I guess. Anyway, even if I’m not all there as you said, I’m not sure if I even wanna be the ‘me’ I was back then if just the thought of that ‘me’ gives our fellow engines a headache, Peter.”

The older engine tilted his head, eyebrows raising, bringing a little bit of life into his usual plain, weary expression.

“Leave your dang fingers alone. You know it’s not easy for management to get hold of that material. You wanna look like the Terminator?”

“Ugh…”

Peter Sam threw his mauled hands down with a groan of frustration, but the itch to do something with his hands just wouldn’t leave him, and soon enough he was back, almost stealthily picking at the peeling silicone, hoping against hope that Smudger wouldn’t notice.

Silence fell between the two of them, in which the air around them hung heavily with troubles yet to be spoken about, grievances yet to be aired. Peter Sam really couldn’t stand it, he knew that the night was drawing in, and with it the other engines, all groaning and complaining half-heartedly about the day’s work, yet all of them still content and chatting away, filling the shed with noise and stripping away all privacy. He wasn’t sure if he could go another day without getting this off of his chest, he feared his boiler might explode.

“Look. I know how silly this sounds, I know it’s nonsense!” He blurted out, voice high and wavering with misery. “But I know what I saw and I know what I did. I wanted you to be found, I wished for it, I asked Proteus to save you and he said, consider it done! Should’ve known that it would’ve been too good to be true; that it was a botched deal; look at what he’s done to you!”

He turned in his seat, gesturing wildly towards his bemused friend.

“You’re a total blank slate! I know everyone is all cock-a-hoop about your re-haul, everyone’s always talking about how good a job they did and everybody’s always saying how well you run and how bright and glossy your livery is, but what does it matter? You get up; you do your work; you come back here and that’s it! You hardly talk to anyone, you barely react to anything, it’s like you’re sleepwalking through life. Is that really what you want?”

“Sleepwalking through work doesn’t sound so bad.” Smudger quipped.

“God above, Smudger…”

Peter Sam ran his patchy hands down his face, the last remnants of steam leaking out from his ears, covering his face in a misty halo, obscuring his expression for a moment.

He continued on.

“I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t ask for you to be so apathetic about everything, I asked for you to be given a second chance, but what does that matter if he didn’t bring you back? You’re completely rebuilt, you don’t have a single original part left, save for your chip, and even that got completely overwritten! It’s like you’re still lost under the Mid Sodor. You don’t remember what happened, you don’t remember who you were, you couldn’t even remember your name when you first came here, for goodness’ sake, and it’s my fault!”

He exhaled sharply, leaning forward with a creak of metal, his head in his hands, shoulders hunched, a truly pitiful sight to behold.

“I hate sitting on all of this, and I hate that no one believes me.” He grumbled.

Outside, the muggy, sticky heat was finally given a period of reprieve. From the murky sky, raindrops began to fall, thick and fast, peppering the ground and the buildings of the Skarloey Estate with much needed water, a roll of thunder sounded in the distance, deep yet muffled, a promise of a stormy night yet to come.

From the gaps between his fingers, Peter Sam saw Smudger tilt his head towards the sound inquisitively, and he couldn’t help but wonder if this was the older engine’s first storm since his retrieval from the Mid Sodor, and his suspicions were confirmed as he spoke;

“Man. It ain’t just you. Dang sky’s yelling at me and all now.” He muttered, his voice almost lost in the white noise of the rain.

Peter Sam grimaced.

“… I’m sorry,” he sighed, finally lifting his head out of his hands, an uncharacteristically haggard expression on his face, it made him look far older than he was, “didn’t mean to shout, really.”

“S’fine. Feels good to yell sometimes. You’re just lucky Handel ain’t around to make a fuss about the noise.”

Another lapse, and outside the rainfall turned into a deluge, pouring from the sky in a great sheet. The temperature steadily dropped, and the scent of petrichor lingered in the air; the sight and the smell normally would’ve brought some sense of comfort to Peter Sam, but tonight the gloomy weather just made him feel boxed in. He gazed reproachfully up into the dark hills that surrounded the estate, eyes narrowing.

Was Proteus up there right now? Skulking around, refusing to interact with anyone, human or engine, loyal to no railway, answering to no man; spreading his spoiled wishes across the island, duping silly little engines like him into thinking they could make a difference.

Oh. If he found him again…

“Think you’re beating yourself up about this for nothing, y’know.” Smudger said, bright eyes watching the rain, blinking slowly, lazily. “All that spiel that came outta your mouth was great and all. But you didn’t actually stop to ask me how I feel about all of this, the uh… So-called victim of the hillbilly and his faulty lamp.”

Peter Sam drew his knees up to his chest, his face pulled into a sullen, moody arrangement, feeling for all the world like a student being reprimanded by his teacher. It was a weirdly familiar sensation, one that he really didn’t care to look into at the moment.

“Alrighty. Penny for your thoughts?” He asked, doing his best to lighten his tone.

“I ain’t that cheap, sorry,” Smudger sighed, barely disguising a yawn, it was clear that the older engine’s lack of steam was winding him down for the night, but still, he spoke, “look, I just reckon you’re thinking about all of this the wrong way. Sure, I don’t remember anything about Duke, or the Mid Sodor, but from what I’ve been told, I’m not sure I want to.”

“I can understand that.” Peter Sam nodded, though an awful, sour feeling now sat resolutely in his throat, a need to tell Smudger that he should at least be a little curious as to his origins, but he stayed silent, letting the older engine speak on.

“Even if I could remember all of my misfortune, all of my spills, all those decades spent as a generator, I’d probably wanna forget all that crap anyway.” Smudger said simply. “Wouldn’t you? Growing and healing from horrible stuff that’s happened to you is cool when it’s a plot for some cheesy novel, but it sucks in the real world. Would you wanna do it if you didn’t have to? I wouldn’t.”

“Depends on the engine.” Peter Sam pointed out. “Some of my friends wouldn’t be who they are today if they hadn’t gone through the hardships of life.”

“Guess you could argue that, yeah. But I’m not interested in working through everything that’s happened to me,” Smudger replied, “if I was given the choice, and I have been; I’m fine with not knowing. That’s good enough for me, and that should be good enough for you too, right?”

Peter Sam didn’t reply, but it was clear that Smudger’s words hadn’t sat well with him. He was frowning mightily, his mouth pressed into a thin line, and when he finally spoke again, that sulky edge was present once more, rough and grating.

“Being told about who you were and what happened to you isn’t the same as remembering it.” He grumbled. “It’s hard to think about the past, of course it is, but how are we supposed to grow if we don’t? We need that experience and those life lessons, otherwise we never learn anything, we end up doomed to repeat the same things over and over again.”

“Peter, I’m not stuck in a loop, you know.” Smudger said sharply. “I’m not an idiot, man. I’m not doomed to make mistakes and then immediately forget why and how I made them.”

The older engine sighed, a short and sharp exhalation of breath, a frustrated sound.

“Maybe I haven’t started growing yet,” he went on, “maybe you, and Duke have just gotta give me a chance to figure some stuff out first. Maybe this right here is gonna lead me to become whoever I am in the future. ‘Cept this time the world’s a kinder place, this time I’ve got a bit more sense and this time, I’ve got a couple hints as to what I shouldn’t do under my belt. How about that?”

“What happened to you on the Mid Sodor wasn’t right.” Peter Sam said doggedly, and in his anxious fidgeting, an entire strip of silicone was peeled away from his thumb, earning a grimace form him. “Fiddlesticks. You shouldn’t have been put away like that because of a bad track record, no engine who was treated like some object with no sentience did. What humans did to some of us back then was draconian, you know that, right?”

“That’s not what I’m getting at,” Smudger replied with a shake of his head, “I don’t wanna be a victim. I’m tryna reassure you that this is a far, far better start in life for an engine like me, and knowing what little I know about who I was back then is enough to make me wanna be better. Useful, if you want, that sounds like a second chance. Sounds like you got your wish to me.”

“But…”

Peter Sam struggled to think of another point to make, another angle at which he could approach this, all of what Smudger said made sense, but it still did nothing to appease the squirming, nauseating feeling of guilt inside of his stomach.

“Think what this all boils down to is you worrying that after all of that effort to restore me, I’ve ended up as some miserable prick. A bit like Duke,” Smudger snorted, casting a glance at the deluge outside, “contrary to what you think, I’m pretty happy right now. I’m not out in that mess at least. That’s a cause for celebration if you want my opinion.”

Peter Sam finally found himself cracking something like a smile, a wobbly expression that didn’t quite reach his eyes, and from across the shed, Smudger appeared to notice this, as with a groan of metal, he sat up a little straighter, fixing the younger engine with those intense, yet warm eyes.

“Peter Sam.”

“Smudger?”

“You did a good thing, alright? It’s fine.”

Peter Sam swallowed a retort, a retort that he wasn’t even sure he wanted to make. Something about the way Smudger spoke worked to calm the storm howling away inside of his head, after such a hard conversation, it was strange how just that simple sentence was enough to quell the unease plaguing him.

It’s fine.

Directly above Smudger’s head, the lamp hanging from the wooden ceiling beam suddenly fizzled, the lightbulb buzzing and dimming almost to the point of popping, before it flashed back up again, bright and warm as if nothing had happened.

Smudger glanced up, an eyebrow cocked.

Peter Sam held his breath, hoping against hope that nothing would come of it, hoping that it was just a faulty lightbulb, hoping…

“Someone’s gotta check out the wiring in this shed tomorrow.” Smudger commented, his eyes sliding closed. “Reckon I might know a thing or two about that.”

#TTTE #TTTE AU #ttte peter sam #ttte smudger #smudger #ttte duke #ttte proteus #there's a whole bunch of ways you can interpret this ig #like maybe proteus isn't magic at all and smudger's just fucking unlucky #or maybe he is and this is some kinda curse and he possibly also maybe has some influence over electronics still iunno #it's up to you tbh #I like ambiguity so it could be either #wild times

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keouil · 26 days

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rhetorically aging & retroactively living

“we have your child,” nanami says. “what are your demands?” gojo asks. nanami blinks, looking down at megumi, who also blinks. “sir,” he starts carefully. “this is the daycare center. we’re closing soon. you need to get him now.” 1k. gojo/nanami. fluff. also on ao3.

It takes ten attempts for Gojo to pick up.

“Hello?” the voice on the other end picks up, a song in his voice.

Nanami considers himself a pretty patient person, but surely there was a line. For a second he’s stunned out of replying, having spent literally the last hour of his shift trying to get this man to respond to any of the number of texts and emails and voicemails they’ve dropped him. If he didn’t pick up, he’s almost entirely sure Ijichi was more than ready to call Child Protective Services. He practically had the number ready on speed dial.

“Gojo-san?” says Nanami instead, righting himself with some effort. “Is this the correct number?”

He hears an amused chuckle on the other end of the line. “The one and only!”

Nanami doesn’t know how to take that in, the amusement, the easy dismissal of the last ten missed calls he so surely saw by now. Instead he schools his expression to something calmer, before finally saying, “We have your child,” Nanami says.

A beat of silence.

“What are your demands?” Gojo asks, seriously.

A beat of silence, again, longer and more awkward this time.

Nanami blinks, looking down at Megumi he had clutched against him, who also blinks. “Sir,” he starts carefully. “This is the daycare center. We’re closing soon. You need to get him now.”

“The what?” he hears a shuffling of feet on the other end, a door being closed, and finally a clearer voice that repeats, “Sorry, come again?”

Nanami takes a calming breath. I am patience, he manifests, Patience is me.

“This is the Tokyo Metropolitan Daycare Center,” he says slowly, spelling it out for him. “We met earlier this morning. You dropped Fushiguro Megumi off with us at 9am, with instructions to look after him the whole day. Are you—” he stops, feeling his voice gaining steel unexpected. “Sir, please just get him soon.”

“Which one is this?” Gojo asks, a lilt to his voice Nanami can’t place.

“I’m sorry?” clarifies Nanami.

“Who am I speaking to?” Gojo says, in a clearer, more serious tone. Finally, thinks Nanami. “The blonde or the brunette?”

Nanami looks around the center, noting how most of the morning staff have already packed up. All that’s left were him and Ijichi, who was busy making googly eyes at Yuji and Nobara, whose parents were on their way and had the decency to at least let them know they were running late. As if on cue, he feels Megumi making grabby hands towards them, begging to be included in on the fun. Nanami carefully sets him down before turning back to his phone.

“The blonde, sir,” he says. “My name is—”

“Nanami,” Gojo finishes for him, something like amusement palpable in his tone. Nanami feels the ends of his skin prickle at the voice. “Nanami Kento.”

Nanami narrows his eyes. “Yes,” he confirms wrily, before adding, “Sir.”

This time the chuckle he hears on the other end was unmistakably directed at him.

“I’ll be there in ten,” is all Gojo says before the line goes dead.

Gojo arrives with the same fanfare he did this morning and all the mornings he’s dropped his child off: all bright, pearly white teeth and a loud, booming voice announcing his presence.

“Megumi-kun~!” he gushes, opening the door with about five bags of designer bags slung on each arm. “Did you miss me~!”

Megumi, on his part, clearly feels anything but. He takes one look at Gojo, giving him a slow and deliberate and obviously weighted once over, before turning his head in disgust and goes on his merry way to play with Yuji instead. The look of such open defeat and humiliation in Gojo’s face made even Ijichi snicker, hiding it with a cough and suddenly turning to find the cashier all that more interesting.

“Gojo-san,” Nanami breaks the silence, coming up from behind the counter. “Thank you for making it before closing time.”

He feels Gojo’s eyes drinking him in, from the pink bear slippers Nobara forced him into as soon as she saw him and demanded he carry her for an hour, to the panda ears Panda refused to let out of his head. She’s an overexcited child and needs a lot of emotional attention, Shoko had noted on Nobara’s application form when she and Utahime started making regular drop-offs. Just be patient with her. Yaga’s note on Panda had been much more curt: Don’t put him next to any plant or he’ll eat it. Real or fake. Nanami basically lives off patience. You don’t own and operate a daycare center for children under the ages of 8 if you didn’t exercise some modicum of saintly restraint.

But the unhurried, almost lazy, almost lewd way Gojo was looking him up and down made Nanami all but patient.

Nanami coughs. “Gojo-san.”

Gojo’s eyes snap back up to his face, a sliver of something glinting off his eyes. “Yes?”

Nanami gestures to the children behind him, beckoning Megumi over.

Gojo rights himself. “Oh, yes, right!” he grins. “Megumi!”

Nanami steps aside, carefully disentangling Megumi’s fingers from where it clutched at his pant leg. Never underestimate the baby grip was his first real, practical lesson in daycare. “You can let go now, Fushiguro-kun.”

“Yeah, Megumi,” says Gojo slowly, the smile on his face straining a little. “Let go of the blonde man and come over here.”

Megumi just burrows his face closer to his pants and makes inaudible noises of contempt.

“I’m sorry?” Nanami prods gently, leaning down to hear him better.

“Djnsndjajwanan,” Megumi mumbles.

Nanami sighs. “What did we say about using our words to communicate, Fushiguro-kun?” he coos gently, crouching down to hold him by the shoulders. “Can you try that again for me?”

Megumi blinks at him once, twice. “I—” he starts, eyes flickering back and forth between him and Gojo. “Idunwanna.”

Nanami stills.

It’s then Gojo decides to haul him to his side, all while chuckling and heaving and not at all attempting to mask his embarrassment. “Ha!” he huffs in feigned amusement. “Children these days! So funny! Hahahaha!”

Nanami doesn’t look convinced. “Is everything okay?” he addresses Megumi directly. “Fushiguro-kun?”

Megumi was currently pinned down from under Gojo’s hands, hands that locked in place no matter his thrashing. He didn’t look to be in any particular danger, more so just, Nanami guesses: annoyed.

“He’s fine,” Gojo waves him off easily. “He just hates it when I pick him up late.”

Nanami stands, noting Gojo was taller but not by much, before levelling him with what he hopes is a firm look.

“This is the third time this week, Gojo-san,” he reminds him. “We understand full-time working parents are extremely busy, but please also understand that for the sake of stability and routine for these children, it pays to keep and stick to a schedule.”

Gojo looks absolutely mortified at being schooled.

Megumi only looks too pleased to being an audience to his humiliation, and the shit-eating grin on his face was proof enough.

Gojo covers his face with his hand and smothers his whimpers, trying to get his bearings, almost missing the disappointing look Nanami gives him as he makes to turn away, when:

“Then—” Gojo stammers.

Nanami turns around slightly. “Then?”

Gojo blinks, rapidly, in quick succession; trying to remember his words and not let Megumi’s obvious leering get to him. “Then would you mind—” he starts weakly. “Teaching me?”

Nanami arches a brow. “Teach you what?”

Gojo lets out a breath. “Everything,” he breathes out, gesturing to Megumi and the daycare and the general area surrounding it. “He’s, uh, not my kid,” he explains, getting it out of the way. “But I still want to do right by him, and if it wasn’t obvious,” he stops, suddenly shy. “I—I’m kind of new. To all this.”

“It’s obvious,” deadpans Nanami.

Gojo flushes even more. “Right,” he rubs the back of his head, ears tinged red. “Yeah, I bet it is.”

It’s then Nanami takes a proper look at him, drinking him in in a fashion dissimilar to how Gojo did earlier: with clinical interest, much like how he vets parents who want an in on the daycare. Megumi was a legacy kid, the only thing sticking out of his application form the very hefty sum of donation promised if and when they took him in as a regular. But maybe if he had interviewed Gojo then, he’d have seen so much earlier—how wet he still was behind the ears, how impossibly young to parent such an emotionally resilient child that sometimes Nanami had half the mind to think Megumi was the one doing the parenting.

But all the same he sees that same sliver of determination, that same naked desperation he sees in most parents: this wanting to try their best and the willingness to move heaven and hell to get there.

Gojo is imperfect at it. But then who is, really?

“Fine,” Nanami concedes. “Pick him up earlier, then we’ll have time to talk.”

Just as he’s about to turn away for the second time, he hears Gojo call him back out again.

“Sorry?” Nanami strains his ears to hear.

Gojo looks absolutely sheepish now, but summons just enough confidence in his posture with such ease that Nanami is surprised a little, to see, how natural the transformation was. How coming into his own skin looked as easy as breathing. How, Nanami wonders, if there’s more to it.

“I was thinking,” Gojo starts, the small emblems of a grin blooming on his face. “That maybe we could do it over coffee?”

Megumi throws up on the floor right then and there.

#nanago #gojo satoru #nanami kento #jujutsu kaisen #fic

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rookielover · 8 months

Text

Being born into a royal family was not the easiest thing Tim kind of hated it. He was constantly under public scrutiny and had very little privacy. He also had to live up to certain expectations and responsibilities that came with being royalty. Tim longed for a simpler life where he could make his own choices and live without the constant pressure and attention.

What made it worse was he was the oldest kid in the family, and therefore felt the pressure to be a role model and set a good example for his younger siblings. This added pressure and responsibility only intensified the stress and anxiety he felt about the situation. It also made it harder for him to open up and seek help, as he didn't want to burden his family or disappoint them.

And when his parents called him into the room that day he knew it would not be good

"Father," Tim said as he entered the room, his heart racing with anticipation. His mother and father were both waiting for him, their expressions serious and grave. Timothy could feel a sense of dread wash over him as he wondered what they could want to discuss with him. Taking a deep breath, he prepared himself for whatever news they were about to share.

"Timothy, please take a seat," he huffed, slouching down into the chair and crossing his arms over his chest. His expression was annoyed and his body language conveyed a sense of irritation. It was clear that he was not happy with the situation at hand. "Have I done something?"

"No, you haven't done anything wrong. However, we do have a very important discussion that needs to be held with you."

"What?" he grumbled, clearly irritated by the interruption. "We have your marriage contract ready." "Excuse me?" Tim quickly asked his father. "Your father said we have your marriage contract ready."

"I know Mom, but why?" Tim questioned, perplexed by the news. "Because it's time for you to get married and start a family," his mother replied with a smile. Tim couldn't believe it. He had always dreamed of finding the perfect partner on his terms, not through a pre-arranged marriage. He knew he had to stand up for himself and make his own decisions.

“Are you fucking kidding me?!”

“Talk to your mother like that again and I will personally beat your ass. I will not tolerate any disrespect towards her.”

"I’m sorry," he had to force that apology out as he felt so much anger boiling within him, he knew it was foolish but he couldn’t stand the idea of marrying a woman who not only wasn't his choice but was picked by his mother and father. It was a situation where he was not in control of his life, and he was expected to accept and comply like a well-behaved good little son. However, he couldn't just sit back and let his parents dictate his future. He needed to take a stand and make his own decisions, even if it meant going against his family's wishes.

"That's more like it," he said, watching his son's actions. "Now let's go over it together." He wanted to make sure his son understood the task at hand and was able to complete it successfully.

"Dad—"

"It is beyond debate Timothy, me and your mother believe it is time for you to get married. It's important for your future and the growth of our family."

“Why me Dad, why not Genny?” Tim shouted, looking between his parents desperately.” Timothy, you're the oldest, now's the time to step up and take responsibility. The day will come when you are king, and I want to be sure that whomever you marry will be able to carry the throne with you."

“What if I don’t want to be the king?”

“Timothy, I am not going to allow my son to marry some bimbo who cannot handle the responsibilities of the throne. You were born into this family, and you will inherit the throne one day regardless of what you feel about it.”

“Yeah yeah okay Dad ever. Who are you going to try and set me up with this time, some prissy princess with too much makeup and a stick up her ass?”

"That's enough Timothy! I don't appreciate your tone or your dismissive attitude towards this discussion. It is not just some 'prissy princess' we're talking about, it is a serious matter to choose the woman who will be by your side and the mother of your children. Do you not realize the importance of your choice? Your responsibility to maintain the royal bloodline and uphold the legacy of this family?"

“Yeah yeah I don’t need you to remind me, Dad I know my place, I mean I know the history of this family that I was born into, and now I need to continue it by marrying a princess or queen, right?” he asked with a hint of mockery to his voice

"The legacy of this family is a serious matter, son. The woman you choose to be your wife has to understand her responsibilities and her role within the family. Now, there is a woman we have in mind for you and I will be talking to her father today to arrange your wedding. Your mother and I have already met her and were quite impressed by her virtues. She will be an ideal mate and I expect you will show her the utmost respect."

“Tell me you're joking!”

"I am not joking, Timothy. I am quite serious. And I expect you to obey my wishes and be respectful towards the bride we have chosen for you. She is a fine, virtuous woman who will make an excellent match for you and it is your duty as my son and the heir to the throne to marry her and keep the royal bloodline going."

“And If I don’t agree with all this royal marriage crap and just want to marry for love Dad. Huh?” he said with a slight hint of anger in his voice

"You are showing me utter stubbornness and disrespect, Timothy! I am trying to help you, and this is how you react!? What kind of heir are you, a spoiled little boy who can't see reason? A proper heir would have acknowledged the importance of maintaining the royal bloodline and chosen a wife based on her virtue and ability to be a great mother, not some silly notion of falling in love. Are you too self-absorbed to see reason!? I expect you to straighten your back and stop acting like a defiant child!"

“What am I supposed to do just marry some girl I don’t love just to please you and uphold the bloodline. The fact that we are sitting here now discussing the future of my marriage is already bullshit.” he was screaming now not even bothering to be discreet about it

“You are supposed to marry the girl of my choosing so that you can uphold the bloodline and maintain the reputation of this family! Do you think I care about your personal feelings!? No! I care about the interests of this kingdom and this family! The fact that you are arguing with me is already showing me your immaturity and lack of respect. Do what I tell you and marry the girl of my choosing or face the consequences!”

Tim remains silent, unable to voice his true feelings. He yearns to get away from these expectations and pressures of this life. He hates being in this family where he feels like a puppet, constantly being told what decisions he has to make and who he must obey. He would give anything to be free from this burden and be able to choose his destiny, yet he knows he can't. His parents have already chosen his path for him and he must follow it. He can't express his anger or frustration to them out of fear of disappointing them.

“When shall I meet the bride.”

"You shall meet her soon I shall arrange for a dinner gathering of the two families so that you may meet her. In the meantime, I expect you to straighten your attitude towards this matter. There is a time to be frivolous and a time to be serious, and this is one of those times. This is a very important decision and I cannot have you being flippant or dismissive towards the process."

“Yes sir……tell me about her.”

"The bride's name is Ashley McGrady, and her father's name is Jerry McGrady. They are a very respectable and influential family in the kingdom with great standing and renown. This will be quite a formal and prestigious event as the two families will be introduced and allowed to know each other. Please behave yourself appropriately and be on your best behavior at the banquet."

“ I can't make any promises I mean fuck Dad I don't even know the girl I'm expected to marry.”

"Son, listen to me when I say these words. This is not a matter for you to have an opinion on. This is not a matter that your feelings should dictate. This is an obligation. This marriage has already been arranged and nothing you do or say would change this. You need to act like a man and do your duties for this family. Is that clear!?"

“I don't even know what she looks like.”

"It doesn't matter what she looks like, son. That is not the issue here. The point is that this is an arranged marriage, a political marriage if you will, and that means you must marry the bride who has been chosen for you for the good of the family. It is not about your feelings or your desires. It is about doing what is best for the kingdom. "

“I understand but y'all aren't even giving me anything.”

"What do you mean, son? This is a marriage. This is not some sort of business transaction, this is an alliance made between two powerful families for the good of the kingdom. You don't get anything out of it because the whole premise of an arranged marriage is that the son and daughter serve to strengthen the bonds between their families. You are expected to do your duties and uphold the family name and legacy. This is a far bigger picture than just you and what you want."

“Oh great so not only do I have to marry someone I don’t love but I also get nothing out of it, why can’t I just find a woman I love and marry her?”

“Tim your mother and I were arranged and turned out fine.”

“Fine? Are you joking? You guys absolutely despise each other!”

"That is not the point here, son. The point is that this is a marriage of duty and it is expected that you complete this duty for the sake of the kingdom. This is not a marriage for the sake of your feelings, it is a marriage for the sake of the royal bloodline. Do not argue with me further about this. You will marry who I choose and there is no point in arguing with me about it. This conversation is over."

“So that's it. I don't have a choice but to marry this girl and I won't be able to get out of this? There has to be another way.”

“Son she's the best option, what else are you going to marry a commoner?!”

“So what if I did? At least I would have fallen in love with her. Maybe she would have cared about me and what I thought.”

"Fall in love with a commoner!? Son, you are insulting me with such a ridiculous claim. I would never allow you to marry someone with such low status. This is a matter of the kingdom and the royal bloodline. I will not have it tainted by common blood. You are being unreasonable and you're acting like a spoiled little child who won't listen to reason. This marriage has already been planned and approved. There is no more discussion to be had on the matter. Just accept your fate and be done with this."

"Fuck you," he snarled before storming out of the room and down the hall, his vision blurred with anger. His actions were fueled by the hurt and resentment he felt towards the person who had betrayed him. As he stormed away, he couldn't help but think about how much he had trusted and cared for them, only to be met with such betrayal.

The pain and anger he felt were overwhelming, but he knew he needed to walk away before he said or did something he would regret.

The door slams shut behind him and it is silent in the room as Timothy storms past all the servants he heads to one of the rooms slams open the door and throws himself on the bed. He was frustrated, angry, and resentful of this whole situation he couldn’t believe that his parents were forcing him into this marriage with someone he had no feelings for, all these emotions were building up inside of him making him more and more angry with each second passing. He couldn’t believe this was his life now.

Timothy lies on the bed, feeling overwhelmed by the weight of this situation. He is angry and frustrated at the lack of control over his life and the unfairness of it all. He didn't ask to be born into this family or to have his entire life and future planned out for him, and he is sick of not having any choices in how he lives his life. He lies there unable to sleep, feeling completely helpless and alone in his anger.

He just wished he could love, the only problem was he couldn't seem to find anyone who was right for him. All the people he met were either too different or too similar to him, and he couldn't seem to find a connection with anyone. He longed for a deep, meaningful love, but it seemed like it was just out of reach.

(STORY IS ALSO ON MY AO3 https://archiveofourown.org/works/53524270 )

#the rookie #chenford #fanfic #lucy x tim #lucy chen #tim bradford #smut #royalty

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virtualcarrot · 9 days

Text

[KKIR] Pen of Paper - Part 4

[Ao3] [Part 3 on tumblr]

A week later, Iruka gets a reply.

The numbers don’t add up. Even the single trip to Kiri took over eight days, let alone a back and forth between the villages.

“That's… some efficient delivery,” he observes, blinking down at the mail in his hands.

The receptionist pulls a face.

“Well, ye-ah. Because Toki sent it by bird,” she retorts, I-told-you-so clear in her voice. “Because your Hokage was waiting for a reply.”

For lack of a reply, Iruka zeroes in on the unknown quantity. “Toki?”

“Yes? The courier?”

Her tone alone speaks a whole tirade of judgment. It’s not undeserved. It’s the start of the third week of the course, and he doesn’t think any of the students have bothered treating the staff around them like anything more than a supporting cast. Iruka probably wouldn’t look kindly on a pack of self-centered and self-serving strangers descending upon Ichiraku without even a smile for Teuchi and a kind word to Ayame.

He rubs the back of his neck and ducks his head in contrition.

“Ah. You’re right, I've been very rude. Sorry. What's your name?”

“It’s Kaya.”

“Pleased to meet you, Kaya-san. Could you thank Toki-san for me?”

“Sure,” she replies dispassionately, but also with a hint of something more amicable to her voice.

It’s a start.

Mail in hand, Iruka meets up with the others in the foyer.

Nobuko raises an eyebrow at the sight. Toru’s the one who mentions the letter.

“More news from the Hokage?” he asks with a smile.

Iruka’s correspondence with his head of state seems to fill him with vicarious pride.

“Apparently,” Iruka replies, a strange uneasiness churning inside of him.

He’s very aware, all of a sudden, that when Kaya called him up to get his mail, his first reaction wasn’t to stand at attention for words from his leader. Instead, he felt just happy and warm and excited to hear from a friend.

Putting some distance with Konoha really hasn’t been helping as much as he had hoped.

“I’ll read it later,” he announces, tucking it away.

Little steps.

It turns out to be a good decision because nothing short of his full attention will help him succeed with his studies, and even that isn’t enough.

“I don’t get what I’m not getting!” he hisses in frustration at yet another failure. His seal gives a short, smoky burp and dims into inertia.

He wants to scream. He wishes he was in Konoha so he could do just that. They’re used to it, over there. His outbursts. Here, he feels like he’s a bad mood away from ruining the reputation of all of his compatriots. The effort it takes to contain his emotions is exhausting.

He drags a hand over his face with a groan of displeasure. “I should be improving by now and I’m only getting worse.”

“You really are. Even a beginner should make a better seal,” Masato comments behind him, bending over their table. “You’re not supposed to be one.”

He pins the corner of Iruka’s sheet with a finger and drags it forward to inspect.

“Let’s see,” he mutters with a dismissive click of his tongue. “Well, the strokes are acceptable, at least. But there’s barely any chakra here.”

Features gone tight, Masato turns a deeply skeptical look on Iruka.

When he speaks again, his tone is that of a lecturer, drawing the attention of the whole room. “Did you lie on your application?”

The blood drains from Iruka’s face, only to return with a vengeance as it begins to boil at the outrage.

“What? No! I didn’t--!”

“You’re a teacher, you say? Because this isn’t worthy of any fit shinobi, let alone an instructor.”

Masato has a good, strong voice for public speaking, and is quite skilled at the craft as well. He pauses, letting the accusation hang in the air while he looks around the room to garner support.

When he meets Iruka’s eyes again, his gaze is flint-sharp. “Is your Hokage aware of your cheating? Is this what all that letter was about?”

“Absolutely not!” Iruka only realizes he jumped to his feet after the fact. “How fu--”

He bites his lips against the curse.

It’s been a long while since he’s had to hold himself so tightly back. He’s out of practice. Years ago, around the time he started teaching, he decided he needed to act his grown-up age and with moderation. He drowned his usual temper in apathy to keep it in check, and Naruto almost died trying to prove his worth in return.

He’s never again tried to stop himself from caring.

He lets out a slow, shaky breath and locks it all down before he speaks.

“There was nothing untrue about my application, Masato-sensei, but I apologize for the disappointment.” He stamps down on his ego, kicks it out of the way, and bows. “Please, as my teacher, help me improve.”

The room thrums with nervous anticipation and old chakra. Iruka holds still, ponytail falling across his brows while he waits with his head down.

Finally, Masato snorts.

“Nothing to be done, I’m afraid. Some people have talent. Others, not so much,” he declares like a sentencing.

Then he shouts, “Resume!” to the room at large and soon enough the scratching and brushing of paper starts again.

Iruka sits down and grabs a pen, a sheet, anything to pick up where he left off and keep busy.

“That was out of line,” Toru says, whole face scrunched in displeasure. At his side, Ryo stays quiet, bent over nir notes with nir shoulders pulled taunt. Ne really doesn't like conflict. “Masato should not have spoken to you like that. The whole point of the course is to grant access to techniques few people know. Nobuko and I, we’re older. We've dabbled. But just because Ryo has a natural knack for it, that doesn’t mean it's easy.”

Ryo scowls down at the paper at the mention of nir name and quickens the scratching of nir pen, like ne’s hoping ne can speed-write nir way out of this whole situation.

Toru isn’t done.

“It doesn’t mean your struggles are abnormal. Masato--”

“Masato’s a piece of shit,” Nobuko cuts in with welcome finality. “Moving on.”

It could be worse, Iruka tells himself, because he believes in the power of small favors. He could have a headache. At least that is working.

Dear Iruka-sensei,

I was very touched by your gift. Thank you. I will put it to good use.

How are you ?

Here, last Tuesday, a small group of Academy students engaged in the time honored tradition of exploring the forest unsupervised. Don’t worry, they’re fine. I dare say they’ll make a fine genin team if they manage to graduate in the same year.

You'll be proud to know, though, that Sadoru-sensei found her voice upon their return. She greeted them back with quite the scolding. None of your caliber, of course, but much of your influence.

Teuchi mentioned you yesterday. According to him, Ichiraku’s earnings have dropped significantly since you left. Dare I ask just how often you eat there, Iruka-sensei?

(We shall not mention my own presence in that very shop)

I wish I had time to write more, but alas, duty calls--that, and Shizune. Gone are the days I could read up a tree and lay claim to the empty bench underneath to ensure my peace and quiet. Or share it with a friend.

I think I miss that.

Kindest regards,

へのへのもへじ

Iruka finds it in himself to give a small smile. It doesn't last long, but it's a welcome relief from the daze of humiliation and resentment that's haunted him since Masato’s accusation yesterday. He's glad for the respite of the weekend.

As they have multiple times since he first opened the letter, his eyes are drawn back to an early line.

How are you ?

Terrible. That's how Iruka is. Terrible and inept and many more things that he really shouldn’t burden Kakashi with.

He considers a formal reply, barricading his emotions behind walls and walls of propriety. But it feels insulting to answer Kakashi's undemanding familiarity with dishonesty.

And he's alone. His roommates have left the room to enjoy a day of leisure. There's no Hokage office, no high desk, no ceremonial robes and hat hanging somewhere, no inscrutable hooded eyes staring at him with unnerving focus.

It’s just a note from Kakashi, the weird jounin whom he shared a bench with all these years ago.

It's pen on paper.

It’s easy, all of a sudden, to spill out his frustration.

Dear Kakashi-san,

You’ve asked how I’m doing, and I hope you don’t come to regret it because I’m going to take you at your word.

I ashamed to admit haven’t been up to the task thus far, and I’m afraid to fail. But I haven’t given up on improving, don’t worry. I won’t let this be a waste of time, we’re only a third into the course. This will be my personal challenge.

Or one of them. The other is being subjected to Masato-sensei.

Listen, I make no excuses for my failure, but the man’s insufferable. He’s clearly more interested in the prestige than in the teaching itself. Perhaps if he stopped trying to assert his superiority he might make a good teacher. As it is, he’s too busy putting up airs to do any of the actual work. He finds faults to feel good about himself, not to fix them.

We’re just props for his ego trip. It’s infuriating.

On the bright side, at least when this is over he’ll have been a lesson in the sort of behavior I don't want at the Academy. It’ll be much easier to weed it out now that I’ve experienced it. Small favors, am I right?

But look at me ranting. I hope you won’t hold it against me too much. Rest assured I’ve kept a cool head. I’m not going to give Konoha a bad reputation.

Anyway, I’m going to enjoy this week-end of respite with some studying and fish fry. It’s not Ichiraku but the seafood’s fresh from the sea and it’s damn near as good.

Don’t tell Teuchi.

Take care,

Iruka

After dropping the letter off with Kaya, he decides on a walk to clear his head.

He doesn't go far. The mist’s thick and soupy today and his feet are cold in his open sandals. He warms them with a flare of chakra and retraces his steps.

Toru, Ryo and Nobuko greet him on his way back past the common room. They're gathered with a few other students around cards and what appears to be a marginally better packaged new batch of Numa’s cookies.

“Ah, there you are! Come and sit with us!” Toru says cheerfully.

With only some brief hesitation, Iruka decides to shrug off his bad mood. He’s already feeling a bit lighter anyway.

As it turns out, they’re playing a chaotic game of daifugō, that Iruka's quick to get pulled into. Miserably last, Ryo deals the cards with a look of baffled confusion. Ne may be a prodigy when it comes to seals but this here’s clearly not nir game.

“Don’t worry about Masato,” Akitaro says somewhere during the second round. His meta-analysis of nested summoning spaces is top of Iruka’s reading pile back home.

Iruka winces sheepishly and rubs the side of his neck.

“Aah, yes. I can’t say my seals have been turning all that well. I’m sorry for the trouble.”

Across the table, Kyoko looks at him like he’s grown two heads. Sometime after the war, she wrote a thesis on chakra paper density. It shook up the market.

“What are you talking about?” she asks.

Akitaro lays down a card with a careless flick. “Nah, think nothing of it. Masato’s just a dickhead.”

“Yeah,” Kyoko agrees with an aggressive nod. “He’s been bugging me about my shorthand. Of all things.”

“He has? Hah! He’s offended that I'm taking too few notes.”

“He called me lazy and a show-off,” Ryo confides sullenly.

Iruka blinks. “What? When?”

Ne hunches over nir cards. “While we were mopping the water from my two-nodes.”

Akitaro lets out a bark of laughter. “Sounds like him, alright.” He looks to the head of the table. “What about you?”

From his throne, Toru gives a smug little smile. “Oh, he knows better: I have seniority.”

Nobuko sighs. “I divorced him.”

The table erupts in screams.

On Monday, Nobuko watches him apply the balm with her eyes narrowed.

She snatches the tin box when he’s done.

“Balm of Sea Foam,” she reads slowly. “Uh. You a sensor?”

Iruka winces at the term, which always feels like much too high praise for the struggle it takes him to pin down echoing chakra.

“Kind of.”

She pulls a face in acknowledgment. “Right. Makes sense.” She hands back the box. “You wash your hands after?”

“Should I? It dries fast.”

She rolls her eyes with an expression of deep inner pain.

“Wash your hands. Write a seal. Feel silly.”

An hour later, it's with relief that Iruka watches the fireball explosion of his chakra, single-character seal raining down such abundant embers over their table that the Archives’ protection jutsu takes a short beat to snuff them all out.

Masato’s very unimpressed by the whole display. Iruka doesn’t care.

On their first week in Kirigakure, Nobuko taught them a welcome shortcut from the hostel to the Archives through a succession of alleyways and side streets. In the early morning, most of them display the forbidding sight of closed shop fronts. Later in the day, though, they become a whole other sight, bustling with temptation.

Akitaro calls out to them from the sidewalk seats of a small bar.

“Hey! Care to join us?”

Iruka’s group shares a look. They’re fresh out of well over an hour of additional study at the library. Iruka could do with a break, and Toru’s hopping little steps towards the bar seem to agree.

They shuffle three tables and their chairs around until their aggregated group of nine can all sit together. The waiter gives them a look from inside the shop but doesn't intervene. They take it as permission.

“Nice fire release, today. What happened? Decided to prove Masato wrong?”

Iruka scratches the bridge of his nose with a self-conscious smile.

“He had a breakthrough,” Nobuko cuts in wryly before he can incriminate himself.

It's such an unexpected kindness that he laughs, still riding the high of relief. But you can’t learn from a mistake you don’t acknowledge, and also, Iruka believes in not taking himself too seriously. His pride can take some stinging. It keeps him honest.

“Of a sort,” he admits sheepishly and gestures towards his temples. “I use a balm against chakra resonance here. Turns out, it also numbs the chakra points on the fingers.”

His confession’s met with a surprising lack of censure.

“Oh, you're a sensor too?” asks Kousuke, a scholar from Iwagakure who's close to Iruka's age. He starts to lean forward but drops back against his chair when confronted with the length of their adjoined tables. “Sorry, you're too far to high-five. But man, that Archive’s hell on my tinnitus.”

“So, that was the problem?” Kyoko asks somewhere from the left. She’s frowning in thought, like she takes offense that there was an issue to begin with and that she didn’t figure it out. “How did you fix it?”

“Ah. I washed my hands right after I applied it. Very high-tech.”

They all share laughter at that. It's easy-going and friendly. Iruka’s spent so long worrying about not fitting in, he didn’t consider that others might not even consider it.

He's proven even more wrong by Yumi, a fellow Konohan and a distinguished scholar on the diachrony of genjutsu formulae. Iruka tried to read her most recent book and had to give it up as beyond his current ability. He’ll work up to it.

With Masato, she usually walks at the front of the line.

“You know,” she says with deceptive focus. She’s going on her third beer and probably would have mentioned none of the following had she been fully sober. “I thought you'd be different. You're actually pretty down-to-earth.”

Iruka laughs. He's not sure it's the first qualifier that usually comes to mind to describe him. His temper tends to make more of an impression.

“How come?” he asks.

“I don't know. I guess… You taught Uzumaki Naruto. You were at his wedding. You're young and already senior staff at Admin. You’re VP of the Academy yet it’s not the Headmaster who’s in direct contact with the Hokage, it’s you.” She shrugs. “I thought you'd be more full of yourself.”

Iruka’s spent his childhood causing trouble for attention. He’s not afraid of the spotlight. But this is different. It feels dishonest, like he's enjoying some of the limelight from other people's achievements.

Before he can think of something to say, Ryo jolts to attention.

“You mean your Naruto is the Uzumaki Naruto?” ne exclaims too loud, voice snapping like a whip over their table. A few of the neighboring patrons look on in short-lived curiosity, causing nem to shrink at the attention. “The Savior of the World?” ne asks in something more hushed. “You were his teacher?”

Iruka frowns slightly. “I mean, I was his Academy teacher. I taught him the basics, like I do everyone else. It’s nothing special.” He feels his face soften in familiar fondness, chest swelling at the thought of all that Naruto’s achieved. “He was always brave. It just took a while for everybody else to see it.”

“You won’t take even a little credit?” Nobuko asks drily.

Iruka gives her a sharp grin. “Oh, I’ll take credit alright. For making him clean his messes and dragging him back to class when he tried to skip school.” He laughs. “He was a terror. I’m just lucky I was too young to get gray hairs from it.”

His smile of soft nostalgia drops in the face of their stares.

He backpedals hurriedly. “But really, Kakashi-san should get all the credit. And Jiraiya-sama,” he adds after a beat, but the mention gets swallowed by the cackle of Nobuko’s maniacal laughter.

He watches them all exchange looks that are a mix of amusement and wonder. She keeps laughing.

Eventually, he rolls his eyes. “Alright, I don't get it. What did I say?”

The corner of Toru's lips twitches. “I suppose it's unusual,” he says lightly, “which of those two you mention with the most familiarity.”

The burn of a sudden flush climbs the back of Iruka's neck.

“Oh for the love of--” he sputters, blinking just long enough to hide behind his closed eyelids. “It’s not my fault, alright! He insists on it!”

As one man, they all turn to Yumi for confirmation. She shrugs.

“Wouldn't know. Not like I get to hang out with the Hokage.”

Iruka lets out a groan of performative misery. He wishes Kakashi was here to back him up.

He wishes Kakashi was here, period.

He can't catch a break.

Much to his relief, they’re quick to move on from his slip-up. By the time the evening ends, they’re staggering back to the hostel in varying states of inebriation. Kaya watches them walk by with an ambivalent expression, like she doesn’t know if she should be amused by the antics or wary they might make more work for her.

Iruka waves at her, all cheer. She replies with a lazier wave of her own and a pointed thumb at the pigeonhole cabinet behind her.

“Another letter?” Ryo asks when they meet again back in their room.

As if entranced, nir eyes won’t leave the mail in Iruka’s hands. Iruka feels his own grin turn sharp and teasing.

“Yep,” he says, jostling nem with a shoulder bump. “From the ‘Savior of the World ’.”

Ryo replies with a look of chagrined offense that Iruka doesn’t buy one bit.

He gives an unapologetic grin and snaps up his towel, which had been hanging from the bed railing.

“First in the shower. Calling it.”

“Aw, come on!”

Dear Iruka-sensei,

Kakashi-sensei says you’ve been writing to him, but he wouldn’t say what because it’s ‘private’. That’s unfair, I wanna know! It got him all happy too, and apparently you sent him a gift?! I’m sooo jealous, Iruka-sensei, what about meeeee?

Anyway, I’ve been working on stuff with Shikamaru, did you know, getting ready to replace Kakashi-sensei cuz he’s getting old, and it’s crazy that we don’t have a fully funded orphanage? Like, I always thought it was just me, but then I realized, no, Sasuke too, and then I remembered you mentioned living on your own as a kid--

[...]

[Part 5]

#naruto #kakairu #kkir #umino iruka #hatake kakashi #my scrawl #fic : naruto

9 notes · View notes

punchdrunkdoc · 9 months

Text

Part 3, Chapter 6

Summary: After the events of S3, Matt Murdock is trying to once again balance life as a lawyer and a vigilante. But he’s been scarred by loss and betrayal - will a mysterious new neighbour help him heal? Or will her secrets drag him back into the darkness?

Notes: This is a slow burn romance with an original female character, told in 3 (maybe 4??) parts. There is mystery, intrigue, action/violence and angst - all the good stuff!

Also available on AO3 and Wattpad

Masterlist

Reference pics

————–

PART 3

Chapter 6

Matt paused, his hand frozen in the act of turning the key to open his mailbox, as a deep, gruff voice filled the lobby.

“You see this woman?”

The words were heavily accented in Russian, and the tone was far from friendly. Matt stretched out his senses, and received the impression of a large man, dressed in jeans and a leather jacket. He was standing in front of Mrs. Schneider’s apartment, holding up a photograph.

Matt could easily guess who’s picture was on it:

Calina.

Mrs Schneider peeked out from behind her heavy door and shook her head.

“You sure?” the man barked.

“Est tut mir leid,” came the hesitant, confused reply.

Matt pocketed his keys and turned around. “She doesn’t speak English.”

The Russian man glanced at him over his shoulder. He took in the tinted glasses and the white cane and dismissed Matt without a second look. He just moved on to the next apartment and rapped on the door with his meaty fist.

Matt approached him from behind. The scent of gun oil and sweat filled his nose, along with a subtler, damp musty odor that reminded Matt of old, wet carpet. “Who are you looking for?” Matt asked.

The man looked at him again, the sneer on his face obvious even to Matt. “My sister,” he spat out. “Her name Calina Balashova. She live here. Now she missing.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Matt replied. He fidgeted with the stick in his hands, trying to tamp down the impulse to beat the other man so severely that he’d forget all about Calina and the other Widows. Instead, he plastered a sympathetic smile on his face as he offered his help. “If you leave the photo with me, I’ll make sure to pass it around to the other residents. We have a message board for these types of things.”

Matt held out his hand. The man glared at him in response, and Matt could hear him grind his teeth in annoyance. But Matt held his ground. He wanted this intruder out of the building. The less he could discover about Calina and her activities while she lived here - and the people she socialised with - the better.

The man looked at the door in front of him, still closed after no one responded to his aggressive knocking. He tilted his head to look up the stairs to the several floors above, and Matt could almost see the calculation in his eyes: try more apartments, or give in for now?

He gave in. He shoved the photograph at Matt and stomped passed him.

“How should I contact you if I hear anything?” Matt called out.

The man slowed, but didn’t turn around. “I’ll be back,” he replied, the words sounding like a threat. Then he headed out of the building.

“Not so fast, you Terminator-wannabe,” Matt muttered under his breath. He turned and ran for the stairs, ignoring Mrs. Schneider’s startled gasp. He folded his cane and shoved it into his jacket pocket while he shot up the steps. Within minutes he’d reached the rooftop access door. He slammed through it and raced to the edge of the building, scanning the air for traces of gun oil and mildew.

There.

Matt zeroed in on the scent trail. The Russian was still on the street, heading east. Matt backed up, then took a running jump to reach the next building over. He followed his prey from the rooftops, curious to find out where he was based.

And eager to find someway to help Calina.

He was getting sick of sitting on his hands while she was out there in danger.

It was time to act.

———

Calina was lost in a day dream.

It was another new experience.

She’d never had the luxury of indulging in fantasy before. There’d never been time to get lost in thought back in the Red Room - every moment of her life was spent either training or out on mission.

And her thoughts had never really been her own back then anyway.

Even once she’d been liberated from the serum - and had all the time in the world - her imagination had taken a while to catch up. The rigid way of thinking imposed on her during childhood was a difficult framework to escape - the concept of creative thought and idle make-believe so alien to her.

But reading had helped. All the months spent exploring other lives and other worlds in countless novels had sparked something within Calina. It had awoken in her a playful, imaginative side that she’d never expected.

And right now, that imaginative side had captured Calina’s attention. It had painted a picture of a perfect future, once where she was truly free of her past.

And one where she was in Matt’s arms, the two of them together and blissfully happy.

They were on a deserted beach, in some nameless exotic location. The sun was a warming glow on their skin as they bathed on the sand. Her head rested on Matt’s chest and her arm was draped across his bare, muscled stomach. The only motion was the gentle lap of the tide and the glide of Matt’s fingers up and down her sunscreen-slicked back.

They were at peace. Still. With nothing and no one to disturb them. No battles to fight. No worries or cares.

It was wonderful.

Dream-Calina felt a rumble beneath her cheek. She raised her head to look at Matt. His red glasses had been replaced by dark frames, and a light tan touched his skin. “Did you say something?” she asked.

He turned to her and smiled. “I said-”

“Earth to Calina!”

Real life-Calina was yanked out of paradise by Yelena’s shout. She jerked her head around to see the other Widow in the door of the training room, arms crossed and a scowl on her face.

“I’ve been calling you and calling you,” Yelena complained. “What have you been doing in here?”

Calina rubbed her forehead and orientated herself back to reality. She was on the exercise bike, her legs working the pedals in slow, lazy revolutions as she stared out the widow to the blue sky beyond.

“Sorry,” she said, as she clambered off the machine. “What’s up?”

“What’s up?” Yelena spluttered. “What’s up is that your boyfriend is about to blow our whole operation!”

———

Matt crouched down behind the overgrown shrubbery of an abandoned delivery depot, and checked out the warehouse across the street. The warehouse his Russian suspect had entered a few minutes ago. The warehouse that was the source of the old carpet and mildew smell that he’d used to track the man through Hell’s Kitchen, across the Hudson and into Jersey.

Several times along the way he’d cursed the fact that he was still wearing his suit from the office and not his Daredevil gear - and he was regretting that even more now. He felt exposed out here as ‘Matt Murdock’. It would be more than a little awkward to try to explain what a blind lawyer in a shirt and tie was doing in this run down industrial estate.

And his options going forward were severely limited by his lack of disguise. He could wait until after dark and try to sneak in to the factory, if he could find something to fashion a mask out of, or he could just-

“Matt!”

The hissed whisper came from his left.

While he’d been fixated on the factory across the street, Calina had somehow managed to sneak up on him. “What are you doing here?” he whispered back as she came over to crouch beside him.

“Me? What are you doing here?”

“I followed someone - he must be part of Volkov’s team. He was asking questions about you back at the apartment.”

Calina frowned and stared across at the building opposite. “Volkov must be getting frustrated that he can’t find us.”

“Is he in there?” Matt asked.

“Not yet. But as soon as he shows his face we’ll be ready for him.”

“So that’s the trap you mentioned.”

“Yeah. We have a base nearby and we’re monitoring this site 24/7. That’s how we knew you were skulking about.”

“I don’t skulk.”

“Fine. That’s how we knew you were stealthily and incredibly skilfully scoping out enemy terrain.”

He smiled at her, glad her earlier annoyance seemed to have dissipated. He took her hand and squeezed it, and she used their clasped hands to guide him away from the warehouse.

As they crept through the labyrinth of crumbling buildings and dilapidated streets, Matt thought through the Widow’s strategy for capturing Volkov.

And how he could help.

When they reached a safe distance, he pulled Calina to a stop. “I went to Columbia with one of the assistant DAs for this county.”

She cocked her head, confused by the non-sequitur. “Okay…,” she said slowly. “And?”

“And I can talk to him. Bring him up to speed.”

“What do you mean?”

“For when you hand Volkov over to the authorities.”

Calina took a step back, breaking his hold on her hand. “Matt…we’re not handing him over to anyone. We’re…” She bit her lip and looked away.

The truth hit Matt like a gut punch. “You’re going to kill him.”

She crossed her arms over her chest, not in a defiant way, but as if to shield herself. “We have to, Matt. We have to put an end to him, and his entire operation. Its the only way to be safe. Please understand.”

Matt shook his head. “You can’t buy your safety with someone else’s death, Calina.”

Now her pose, and her tone, became defensive. “Why not?”

“Because its not right!”

Calina grabbed his arm. “Be quiet! Volkov’s men patrol nearby at this time of day.”

“We need to talk about this, Calina.”

She sighed. “I know. But not here. I’ll come by your place tonight.”

“No. Not while there are people running around asking about you. Come to Fogwell’s. Midnight.”

———

Calina picked at the polish on her nails as she watched the clock in the corner of the room tick by. She tugged at the ends of her hair. She kicked her feet, banging her heels against the side of the boxing ring.

She never used to be a fidgeter. And she wasn’t in most circumstances - years of Red Room training had eliminated those types of bad habits before they could form - but sitting here, in this dusty old gym waiting for Matt to arrive had sent her nerves into overdrive. Any poise she’d once possessed, any composure or calmness under pressure, had evaporated in the last few hours.

Because she knew this was the make or break moment for them.

She’d known it the moment she’d told Matt about the plan for Volkov. In truth…she’d known the moment she’d lied to him about the body in her apartment all those months ago, that it would come back to haunt her. She’d known all along that this confrontation was coming. Why else had she harboured so many doubts and fears about their relationship? They were just too…different.

Matt was principled. He held himself to a high standard, and it was one that didn’t involve taking another person’s life.

Calina didn’t enjoy killing - far from it - but she was a pragmatist. There was no room in her world for idealism. For taking the high road. That wasn’t the way she was trained. She’d lived a brutal, cold life and it had shaped the person she now was.

And the choices she was willing to make.

I’m a good person; I’m worth of love.

The mantra had never felt so hollow. Because as much as she was learning to accept the darkness in herself and forgive herself for the things she’d had to do to survive, she knew that Matt would be a much harsher critic.

She glanced at the clock again: 11:54pm.

She’d arrived to Fogwell’s early. Really early. She hadn’t had much choice after being kicked out of the Widow’s base. She’d all evening pacing the floor of their base in anxious anticipation of this meeting, and it had driven her sisters mad.

So she’d hopped on her bike and drove straight here. Picked the lock on the old, rusted door and sat down to wait.

She glanced around the room. It looked so different from the last time she’d been here - when Matt had brought her here to spar. When she’d tried to kiss him in this ring. Back then, the setting sun had suffused the room with a golden glow. Now wintery darkness pervaded the place, turning it gloomy and cold.

It felt fitting for the conversation to come.

Calina took a deep breath, then froze at the sound of the door opening.

He was here.

She released the breath, the air escaping in a juddering exhale as he stepped into the room. He was dressed as Daredevil, having obviously just finished his patrol of the city.

As it always did, the red suit emphasised his muscled frame and added inches to his height. The menacing mask obscured his face, hiding his expression from her. And for the first time since discovering his secret, the sight of the Hell’s Kitchen vigilante caused a brief pang of fear.

This wasn’t her boyfriend in front of her - her kind, sweet, gentle Matt - this was the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen.

And he was here to pass judgement on her.

Calina gripped the edge of the ring as that fear blossomed inside of her.

But then he took off the mask and he was Matt again. With his tired-looking eyes, and his rumpled, sweaty hair. And her fear dissipated.

She was getting really sick of this emotional rollercoaster ride.

“Hey,” he said.

She wet her lips. “Hi.”

He came over to sit beside her at the edge of the ring. He was so close, she could feel the heat of him through his suit, and she wanted to crawl into his lap and burrow against his warmth and pretend none of this was happening.

But she stayed still. And so did he.

For several long moments, they sat there in silence.

“Why does this feel so awkward?” he asked eventually.

She smiled sadly. “I gather most couples don’t schedule a time and place for their arguments.”

“Are we going to argue?”

Calina sighed. “Not if you accept our plan.”

“To kill Volkov.”

“Yes.” She jumped to her feet - too nervous to stay still - and faced him. “We can’t let him live, Matt.”

Matt looked up at her and shrugged. “You can. Its simple really - you just don’t murder him.”

She crossed her arms. “So we hand him over to law enforcement instead.”

“Yes.”

“For what crime?”

Matt paused. Faltered. And Calina jumped on the flaw in his plan. “There’s no proof of his involvement in the Red Room - which all happened in Russia, not in the US. And most of it was government-sanctioned, so extraditing him won’t stop him.”

“So we find something he’s done while on American soil.”

“The only thing he’s done that we know of is send a team of mercenaries to attack us in South Carolina. But we were holding him hostage at the time, so we could end up in just as much legal trouble if we go after him for that. In fact, anything we do to try to punish him legally will just expose the Widows. We either end up at the mercy of the Sokovia Accords, in prison…or worse.”

“Worse?”

“Your government doesn’t have a great track record with this kind of thing.”

Matt frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Does Operation Paperclip ring a bell?”

Matt nodded, somewhat reluctantly. “It was the codename given to the programme for the…rehabilitation…of Nazi scientists in the 40s and 50s.”

“‘Rehabilitation’ is a stretch.”

Matt threw up his hands. “Fine. The government gave them all jobs, and allowed them to continue their research. None of them faced trial for their crimes during the war.”

“We learned all about it in the Red Room - a prime example of ruthless American hypocrisy.”

“What’s your point, Calina?” Matt gritted out.

“My point is that Volkov knows the secret to creating an army of mind-controlled soldiers and assassins. If your Government found that out, they wouldn’t hesitate to make a deal with him. They may even start using us for their own purposes.”

“You don’t know that for sure.”

“Its too important to leave to chance! We need to keep ourselves safe, we need to be free, and we need the serum to stay a secret. All of that means that Volkov needs to die.”

It was Matt’s turned to get to his feet. He started pacing in front of her, running one hand through his already mussed hair. “No, there must be another way.”

Calina laughed. “I knew you were idealistic, but I didn’t think you were this naive.”

“Its not naive to value human life.”

“He doesn’t deserve a life! He deserves to die!”

Matt grabbed one of her hands with both of his. “No. I felt that way once, Calina. I came so close to killing someone because I thought it was the only way to stop him - the only way to stop an evil that was infecting my city and hurting the people I cared about. But it would have been wrong. Every life has meaning. Every person on earth has at least one has tiny spark of goodness that shouldn’t be snuffed out if there’s a chance they can redeem themselves.”

She yanked her hand out of his grip and stepped back. “Redemption?” she spat. “Is that what you’re banking on? There’s no redemption for men like Volkov or Dreykov! They tear little girls away from their families and torture them. They steal their futures and make them into monsters!”

“You’re not a monster, Callie.”

“Aren’t I? Isn’t that why were having this conversation?”

“No!” He grabbed her shoulders this time. Then slid his hands up to cradle her face. “You are not a monster,” he repeated, enunciating each word. “I know you’ve struggled with the things you were forced to do in your past, but you have the chance to make a different choice now. One that doesn’t involve taking another person’s life. Only God should hold that power.”

Calina shook her head. “I don’t believe in your God, Matt, so I don’t fear his judgement. Or yours.”

It was a lie. She very much cared how Matt saw her. And she was terrified of him growing to hate her. But she couldn’t show that kind of weakness to him - not now. It felt vital that she win this argument. That she convince him that this was the only path.

It was the only way she could envisage them having a future together.

“I’m not judging you,” Matt protested.

She pulled away from him again, scoffing at his obvious lie. “Yes, you are! You’re judging me against your standard, but we were raised in two very different worlds, Matt, and your values don’t belong in mine. They don’t belong in war - you wouldn’t judge a soldier for killing an enemy in battle.”

“You’re not at war.”

“Yes I am!”

“So it’s kill or be killed - is that what you’re saying? Is that how it works in ‘your world’?”

Calina shook her head sharply. “No. There are worse things than being killed. Like being stolen from your family. Having your personality erased before it had time to form. Being beaten and abused for years. Having your innocence and your autonomy stripped from you, and your womb cut from your body to prove that you have no future on this earth beyond being a mindless slave!”

As Calina recited each act of cruelty inflicted on her by the Red Room she stepped closer and closer to Matt, until she was standing right in front of him, panting with rage, fists clenched at her sides and hot, angry tears filling her eyes.

Matt staggered back. “Y- your what?” he whispered, shaking his head.

“That was our graduation present, for finishing our training. They strapped us down and ripped out our reproductive organs. Because we were just things to them. To men like Volkov, we were nothing. He didn’t see our humanity, so why should I give a fuck about his?”

Matt was silent.

All she could hear was the sound of her own fast breathing and the heartbeat pounding in her ears.

She’d always planned to tell Matt about her infertility. Eventually. During some far-off discussion about their plans for the future…she’d just never expected to blurt it out in a fit of rage. To expose her deepest vulnerability and her most hidden, buried grief in this callous way.

But it was done now.

And Matt still wasn’t saying a word.

Calina turned away from him to wipe the moisture from her cheeks. Then all of a sudden she was engulfed in his strong arms as he held her from behind. She struggled briefly against his embrace, but he was too strong.

And the lure of his embrace was stronger still.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he whispered into her ear. “I’m so sorry they did that to you.”

He tightened his arms across her chest as he continued. “But I’m so proud of you for coming through that. For being the kind and sweet and wonderful person that you are, despite everything they took from you. Don’t you see that that’s the way to beat these men? Be better than them. Be better than your training. You didn’t have a choice before - you were brainwashed and controlled and forced to kill. But you have a choice now. You have a choice to be better than that.”

Calina dropped her head forward and closed her eyes, fighting off more tears. She could feel her heart crack as she realised it was time. Time to tell him everything.

The whole, ugly truth.

The vague hints she’d dropped over the past few months about the darkness within her just hadn’t penetrated. He still had her up on a pedestal.

The way he saw her…it was beautiful. But it was a lie.

Calina slipped out of his arms and turned to face him. “Matt, you need to understand something. I’m not this…perfect victim…that you’ve built up in your head. I’m not innocent. I’ve been faced with this choice before, and I- I didn’t choose the option you’d approve of.”

He frowned at her, and it was his turn to back away. “You’ve killed someone,” he guessed. “Since being freed from the Red Room.”

“Yes.”

“More than one?”

She swallowed, as all her secrets were laid bare. “Yes.”

“Who? When?”

“Do you really want to know?”

“Yes!”

“Why? So you can judge my sins? I thought only your God was allowed to do that.” The sarcasm slashed like a knife.

But Matt showed no sign of taking a hit. He just rested his fists on his hips and demanded answers. “Dammit, Calina, just tell me.”

Calina raked her fingers through her hair and started pacing. “Fine! Before I came to New York, I killed a man during a mission. We were hunting down who we thought were the last dregs of the Red Room personnel and I…I took one of them out.”

“And the others?” All hints of Matt were gone. This was Daredevil in front of her.

Interrogating her.

Judging her.

Just as she’d feared.

But she didn’t regret her choices. She didn’t revel in them, and she hated that they made her doubt her worth as a person…but every act of violence could be justified in her eyes. So she stood up straight and told him the truth. “I lied to you about what happened the night you found out about me. The man who administered the serum did it in person. I woke up tied to my bed with him standing over me, stealing my mind. So I fought him, and killed him.”

Matt staggered back. “Jesus.” He lifted his head towards the ceiling - as if praying for guidance - then shook it and faced her again. “Jesus, Calina, I knew there was something off about your story, but there was a dead body across the hall that whole time?”

“Yes,” she admitted. “But what options did I have, Matt? Tell me! If I’d wasted time trying to subdue him, I would have been dragged under by the serum. I never would have had a chance to come to you for help. And I would have gone out and assassinated Governor Benson - and whoever else they programmed me to kill. Would that have been better?” She didn’t give him time to respond, her anger taking her over. “What about the two highly-trained and fully-armed mercenaries that invaded my home in South Carolina to try and take me back under Volkov’s control? Should I have left them alive to try another day?”

Matt shook his head, more in disbelief than disagreement. He seemed shocked by her confessions. But like the masochist he was, he couldn’t stop asking for more details. “Have there been any since we- since we were…together?”

Calina shook her head, glad that she could give him some positive news. “No.”

“How can I trust that?” he asked, shaking his head. “How can I believe you, when you lie well enough to fool your own heartbeat!?”

It was Calina’s turn to take the hit. She felt Matt’s mistrust and suspicion tear at her already bleeding heart, the pain of it a physical ache. She rubbed her hand over her chest, suddenly feeling…tired.

All her self-righteous anger was gone. All her hopes of salvaging their relationship…gone.

It was over.

“I’m not lying, Matt,” she said sadly, all strength and passion gone from her voice. “Everything I’ve said tonight was the truth. I’m sorry for lying to you before. I really am. But…could you blame me? You had me up on a pedestal almost from the moment we met. And I knew if I burst that illusion, you would want nothing to do with me. And I couldn’t bear that.”

Her wounded heart finally wrenched in two. But she choked back the sob gathering within her, and lifted her chin, determined that he wouldn’t see her fall apart.

She still had some pride.

I’m a good person; I’m worthy of love.

She grabbed her coat and shoved her arms in the sleeves, then faced him one last time. “Volkov has to die, Matt. And I know what that means for us. I know you’ll never understand, and you’ll never forgive me. You don’t have to. Just don’t stand in my way.”

With that final warning, Calina strode past the man she loved and left.

————–

I'M SORRY - both for making you wait for this chapter, and for all the angst in this chapter. But that fight has been months in the making. And I loved writing it (I must be a sadist)!

Chapter 7

Tag list: @hollandorks @chezagnes @stilldreaming666 @yanna-banana @tearoseart-blog @acharliecoxedfan @freckledbabyyy

If you’d like to be added - let me know!

#daredevil #daredevil fic #tabula rasa #daredevil fanfic #daredevil fanfiction #daredevil x original female character #matt murdock #marvel's daredevil #matt murdock fanfic #matt murdock x oc

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bijouxcarys · 6 months

Text

𝐏𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐧' 𝐆𝐮𝐲 - 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍

Masterlist

𝐈 𝐚𝐛𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐮𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐚𝐟𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐨𝐫𝐬, 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐞𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧𝐩𝐨𝐮𝐫.

Chuckling, I shook my head at Roger, the blonde mischief-maker who was currently peeping through the letterbox of the boys’ house.

“Roger, you’re such an idiot,” I laughed, unable to contain my amusement.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know who either of you beauties are. I’m afraid I can’t let you in,” he responded, pretending to be clueless.

“Roger, stop being a dick and open the door. It’s pouring out here,” snapped Emma, crossing her arms in annoyance. I glanced over at her, taken by her dismissive tone. She didn’t seem to mind the rain, allowing it to drench her hair, slightly smudging her minimal makeup she had applied for the night. Unlike her, I held my jacket over my head, determined to protect my nicely done hair and makeup that had taken considerable effort.

There was some muffled commotion from inside the house, and finally, the door swung open, revealing a jovial Freddie with open arms.

“Maria, darling, happy birthday!” he exclaimed, stepping aside to greet Emma briefly before allowing us to enter. “Ignore Blondie here; he’s in a terrifyingly good mood. Let me take your coats, dears.”

Emma handed Freddie her coat, thanking him before immediately gravitating toward Roger. I couldn’t help but feel frustrated with her attitude at that moment—so self-absorbed and oblivious to everything else. But I decided not to dwell on Emma’s behaviour; this night was meant to be about me—Brian’s words.

I handed Freddie my soaked denim coat, cringing at its dampness. “I’m sorry it’s so wet. I should probably invest in a proper coat.”

Freddie chuckled, carefully draping my coat over his arm. “Nonsense. Never apologise for anything being too wet,” he said, winking at me and leaning in to plant a sloppy kiss on my cheek. Turning around, he hung our coats on the hat stand, which was adorned with Roger’s eccentric and experimental hats. When he faced me again, I found myself gazing at the couple across the room. Emma stood just inches away from her boyfriend, her back turned to me.

“Have you gotten hurt again?” Freddie murmured to me, his gaze also fixed on the couple. “Can’t deny the tension when you walked in.”

“It’s whatever,” I replied nonchalantly. “It’s becoming predictable now.” I looked back at Freddie, trying to decipher his expression. I couldn’t tell if he was frustrated, confused, or perhaps even shocked.

“No time to fret, my little tulip. It’s your day!” Freddie declared, taking my hands and prancing backward toward the centre of the living room. “What’s your poison today, Maria, darling?” he asked, twirling around and grabbing a gin glass.

“Can I have a beer? It’s a bit early for mixers,” I gestured toward the cluster of cheap beer cans on the coffee table. Freddie set down the glass and handed me a chilled can. “Cheers, Fred.”

“Of course, darling,” he replied, lifting his own beer to his lips and taking a sip. There was something undeniably satisfying about cracking open a can—the sound it made, the fizzy liquid within. It was a timeless sound that never grew old.

Taking in my surroundings, I realised Freddie had gone all out for me. A part of me thought it was unnecessary, that a simple get-together would have been enough. But secretly, I relished the attention and affection—I rarely received such extravagance, not even from my own parents on my birthday.

“Mary’s in the kitchen, by the way, dear. She’s been cooking a baking with us all day,” Freddie informed me.

I nearly choked on my bear, my eyes darting between Roger and Freddie. “You’ve been baking? And the house is still standing?”

“Of course! Mary was here,” Freddie said, glancing at Roger before taking a casual sip of his drink.

“We would’ve been screwed if she hadn’t been,” Roger added, shaking his head.

I would have loved to say hello to Mary in the kitchen, but the lack of warmth in the room—both literally and figuratively—caught my attention. I felt a sense of emptiness, a vulnerability.

“Hold on,” I raised my hand, causing Freddie’s tipsy giggle to cease. “Where’s Bri?” I asked, a tinge of disappointment creeping into my tone. Furrowing my eyebrows, I caught Emma rolling her eyes out of the corner of my eye. “Is there a problem?”

“What?” she hummed, wrapping her arm around Roger and leaning against him. “No problem here, Maria. My eye just itches.”

Roger seemed disinterested in our squabble, as he always did whenever we argued. I couldn’t blame anyone for avoiding our sour moments—sometimes I wished I could hit the eject button myself.

“Enough, ladies, Brian popped out for something,” Freddie interjected, attempting to calm our curiosity. Checking the clock on the wall above the small fireplace, he pursed his lips. “It’s been about an hour now. He should be home soon, dear, no need to fret.”

Twenty more minutes ticked by, and I found myself with yet another beer. Slumped halfway down the armchair, I engaged in a lively conversation with Mary, who had joined us in the living room. We delved into the details of her outfit, which turned out to be a masterpiece she had styled herself with the help of a talented colleague from Biba. She even showed me the pictures that Freddie had taken of her earlier that day when they went on a trip to the shop for baking supplies. She exuded a natural modelling prowess and had an undeniable flair for fashion. I couldn’t help but admire her.

In the realm of fashion, Freddie couldn’t contain his excitement to showcase the new hat he had purchased the previous week. It was a delightfully peculiar creation—so quintessentially Freddie, yet eccentric in its own right. That hat boasted a wide rim and a large, pointy red feather protruding from the top. Freddie pranced to the centre of the living room, causing Roger to burst into uncontrollable laughter. To match his flamboyance, the atmosphere in the room took a whimsical turn. The melodies of Little Richard filled the air as the two men glided around, proudly sporting their fashion-forward hats.

“Everything suddenly feels so lively and gay,” I remarked, bursting into laughter after a hiccup. “Emma, did you know your boyfriend had such a fabulous side? How delightfully gay of you, Roger.”

“Why must anyone be confined to a single label, my little sprout?” Freddie chimed in, taking one of my hands and one of Roger’s hands, spinning us around. I held onto Roger’s other hand, preventing myself from stumbling and saving myself from a potentially embarrassing story. “Let everyone embrace their gayness!” Freddie sang out in an impromptu tune, oblivious to the fact that the door had quietly opened and closed behind us.

“Speaking of gay,” Roger interjected, readjusting his hat that threatened to slip down his head.

I turned my head toward the doorway, my eyes widening in surprise. “Brian Harold May. What on Earth do you have wrapped around your neck?” I exclaimed, sounding like a character straight out of a British opera.

Brian stood in the doorway, wiping his shoes on the doormat. He was dressed in his signature style—flared trousers that reached his stomach, a plain blazer jacket, and a partially buttoned-up blue shirt. Not to mention the clogs that I had gifted him for Christmas. It would have seemed like his usual attire, except for the flashy rainbow-pattered scarf snugly wrapped around his neck.

“What?” Brian queried, noticing our slightly tipsy expressions. He lifted the accessory off his shoulders and hung it on the hat stand. “Did you start the booze without me?”

“Brian…” I whined, releasing the hands of the others and reaching out towards him. He chuckled and graciously accepted my desperation. “Hiii… You’re late.” I held onto his shoulders, leaning into him as I noticed Emma descending the stairs. She had been in the bathroom for quite a while.

“I know,” Brian laughed, cautiously stepping backward and bringing me down with him as he fell onto the sofa. I was pulled into his side, my body resting over his, and it briefly reminded me of the first time we kissed – both of us drunk, in the dark, the night I began to let my walls down for someone other than Emma. And now, look at us. “Someone recognised me from one of our gigs at the Britannia, so I got a little held up.”

“Recognised you? That’s incredible!” Mary exclaimed, grinning. “Shall we proceed with the cake and presents now that everyone’s here?” Mary stood up from her seat on the cushioned floor, smoothing out her skirt. She glanced over at me for an answer, but with alcohol seeping into my system, I no longer cared about the order in which things were done, as long as we did them. In the end, I shrugged at her and simply replied, “Sure,” before she retreated back into the kitchen.

“How may drinks have you had?” Brian asked with a giggle, while Roger handed him a can.

“Three, actually,” I held up my fingers.

“That’s four fingers,” Brian pointed out.

“Shut up.”

“Alright, well… We all know you’re a lightweight, sweetheart. It’s no surprise,” he teased.

My mouth dropped open, feigning hurt and shock. “What on Earth do you mean by that, eh?”

“It means that you can’t handle more than five drinks without throwing it all back up, Maria,” Emma chimed in, downing her fourth glass of gin.

“Yeah, and you’re the epitome of moderation when it comes to drinking,” I retorted, playfully mocking her. I pulled myself up into a more upright position as Mary emerged from the kitchen with a fancy cake on a platter, candles sticking out from the top, their flames illuminating the coloured wax beneath.

I never enjoyed people singing “Happy Birthday” to me. I don’t think anyone truly does. To this day, I cringe with complete agony at the embarrassment that accompanied such a traditional and mundane act. So, forgive me for sitting on the sofa in complete silence, my movement restricted as my heart threatened to burst out of my chest, with everyone in the room now singing to me.

Brian must have sensed my discomfort, sliding his hand onto my leg and gently massaging the flesh with his thumb. He always had an uncanny ability to sense my unease.

I brushed my hair away from my face as I leaned over, blowing out the flickering flames before me. I felt Brian’s hand lingering on my lower back, his fingertips running up and down my spine in a nonchalant manner. Mary then took the cake back to the kitchen to remove the candles.

“You look sexy,” Brian whispered, his head resting against mine as he sat close beside me. I almost choked on my fifth drink of the night, my head tilting slightly to the side to see him. Freddie turned up the music as he engaged in conversation with Emma and Roger.

“Do I?” I asked in a low voice, seeking confirmation. Brian moved some hair away from my shoulder and placed soft kisses along my neck, nuzzling into me and inhaling deeply, his chin still resting on my shoulder. “I love when you wear these trousers,” he continued.

“Oh?” I feigned innocence. “How come?” I knew exactly why he loved it, but I wanted to hear it from him, to have that secret between us that I could tease him with without the others knowing.

“They make your thighs look incredible,” he began, ensuring his voice remained quiet so as not to draw attention from the others. “Whenever you wear them, I just have to stare at how amazing your arse looks in them—”

Suddenly, there was a loud knock at the front door. Nobody else seemed too bothered about answering it, so I got up and decided to handle it myself. Brian could wait a little longer; after all, we were in the midst of a party.

“I could recognise that mousy brown hair from a mile away,” I drunkenly remarked to the figure at the door. Stepping back dramatically, I allowed him to enter. “Deacy’s here!” I yelled to the others, rushing to close the front door and practically running back to John, embracing him from behind.

Deacy let out his familiar little laugh, adjusting his stance to hug me back as best he could. “Ah, there he is!” Freddie exclaimed, holding a can in his right hand and extending his left arm graciously. “We were wondering when you would show up, dear.”

“I’m not staying,” John replied, shaking his head, his fluffy hair brushing against my face. I pulled away from him and pouted dramatically, my drunken state amplifying my reactions. “I’m seeing Veronica tonight, but I thought I’d stop by and wish you a happy birthday.”

Brian observed the interaction from his seat on the sofa, contemplating me and my actions. He noticed the little mannerisms I never knew I had at the time, the things I would do when someone did something specific. I struggle to recall them now, as they belong to my younger days. However, I vaguely remember Brian once telling me that whenever someone did something nice for me, I would laugh loudly—a specific laugh that originated from the back of my throat. It was almost on the edge of discomfort or confusion. My nose would scrunch up, and my cheeks would remain flushed for hours because I couldn’t get it out of my mind. The little things Brian managed to recognise in me were truly remarkable.

I shuffled over to the arm of the sofa, making sure to be on the side where Brian was sitting. Leaning against it, Brian leaned forward to get a proper look at Deacy. In Deacy’s hand, he held a tall, rectangular-shaped bag.

“I was going to get you something a little strong, but… I don’t know, here you go,” Deacy beamed, awkwardly extending the bag toward me. I took it from him with a grateful smile and peered inside. There, nestled within the bag, was a bottle of something exquisite. Reaching in, I delicately lifted the bottle by its slender neck and let the bag drop to the floor. Holding the bottle close to my face, I admired the elegant print on it.

“Moet et Chandon…” I hummed, putting on an overly impressed expression. “Very fancy, Johnathan.” I knew he disliked it when I called him that, a fact I discovered after he winced for the third time since I had known him.

“Let’s have a look,” Brian interjected, poking his head around to get a glimpse. I handed him the bottle, and he examined it with interest.

“My mum drinks that,” Emma chimed in from her spot on the floor with Roger. “Vile. I don’t understand how anyone can drink it.” Her words seemed to affect John, as his eyebrows furrowed in concern, his gaze returning to me.

“No, no, I enjoy a glass of Moet, Deacy. Ignore Emma,” I reassured, shooting a metaphorical glare in Emma’s direction. “My dad has some back at home, and I save it for special occasions. I love it, thank you.” Extending my arms, I pulled John into a tight hug, all the while maintaining my piercing gaze towards Emma.

“I should get going. Happy birthday again,” John said as he pulled back. “You better call me and tell me how it all goes tonight. I love birthdays.”

I laughed, tilting my head to the side. “When’s your birthday?”

“August 19th, 1951.”

“Oh my God, I’m actually older than someone here! That’s exciting!” I looked at Brian and the others with wide eyes. “Isn’t that exciting?!”

“Absolutely thrilling, dear,” Freddie humoured me as he walked John to the door. Meanwhile, Brian had settled the bottle of Moet on the coffee table, and his arms enveloped me tightly. Before I knew it, he playfully yanked me back onto the sofa, my legs draped over him.

“I hate you! You scared the shit out of me!” I exclaimed, looking up at him with wide, doe-like eyes.

“Awwh, I’m sorry,” Brian pouted, leaning down to plant a tender, lingering kiss on my lips. With his right hand supporting my back, he held me up, while his left hand gently gripped at me legs. I absentmindedly ran my fingers through his hair, albeit somewhat clumsily, until Mary’s soft presence emerged from the kitchen once again.

“Can we not shag on the sofa?” Mary giggled, and Freddie joined us, his playful demeanour shining through.

“Oh, are we not allowed to shag on the sofa?” Freddie smirked at Mary, leaning in and showering her with affectionate, albeit sloppy, kisses. Mary playfully recoiled, laughing at her boyfriend’s antics. “So, are we doing the presents now?” Freddie whined, glancing at me as he made his way over to change the record that had stopped playing a while ago.

“Yes!” I exclaimed, almost accidentally headbutting Brian in my excitement as I stood up. “Presents are always fun, especially when they’re from all of you.” I glanced at Brian. “You want to go first?”

“Oh, um… Maybe it’s better if I go last, Ria. Don’t want to steal the spotlight before we even begin,” Brian replied, flashing a smug little smile at the others as he stood up. “I just need to quickly grab something upstairs. You can start without me.” Leaning down, he stole another tender kiss before disappearing upstairs.

I watched my boyfriend’s lean figure ascend the stairs, a sense of curiosity piquing with me. “He seems a bit jumpy today.”

“Don’t worry about it, darling,” Freddie reassured me, rummaging behind the turntable for something seemingly important. “I know I left it somewhere around here.” He muttered to himself, grumbling each time he thought he had found the elusive item. “Ah! Here it is!” He triumphantly spun on his heel, holding out a large, square-shaped, brown envelope with great care. He settled down next to me on the sofa and presented it to me as if it were the most fragile treasure in the world. Little did I know, it truly was.

The others wore expectant expressions, as if they were privy to the contents of the envelope. It wouldn’t surprise me if they had conspired to create this surprise. Surprises often brought me a mixture of excitement and anxiety, as my mind tried to process the unknown. Nevertheless, my curiosity overpowered any reservations about surprises. I didn’t question Freddie’s gift too much, appreciating his careful handling of the envelope when he passed it to me. It must have been something truly special. I mirrored his precision and delicately pulled out what felt like laminated cardboard from the envelope.

As my eyes feasted upon the sight in my hands, my heart burst with overwhelming pride for my best friends. I could momentarily sober up to fully appreciate this moment. It was a work of art, the epitome of simplicity and the essence of a classic album cover.

“It’s absolutely stunning, Fred,” I finally looked up at him, my voice filled with genuine awe. His face radiated pure joy.

In my trembling hands, I held the first sleeve print of Queen’s debut album.

“Of course, the record itself isn’t finished yet. But we put the final touches on the cover and sleeve, which I deigned myself, I might add,” Freddie shared, his excitement evident in his voice.

“Obviously. Is this the first one?” I asked, still in awe of the significance of the sleeve.

“Absolutely. The first-ever Queen sleeve in the world. Hold onto it. Because it’s yours forever, Maria,” Freddie replied, his voice filled with a profound sense of meaning. Before I could utter another word, he turned the sleeve over in my hands and pointed to the bottom of the rear side.

‘Special thanks to Maria Brennan, for we would not have this without you.’

“Fred… I don’t even know what to say. This is mind-blowing…” I was genuinely astonished. It was yet another moment in my life where Freddie and the boys showered me with validation that could last a lifetime. It served as a reminder that I was not only wanted but also needed by those around me. This realisation brought immense comfort and gratitude. I looked at Freddie, tears welling up in the corners of my eyes. “Thank you,” I managed to choke out, trying my best not to succumb to becoming an emotional mess. Then, I leaned forward and enveloped Freddie in a tight embrace. Freddie always gave the warmest and most comforting hugs. He gently rocked me from side to side, planting a firm kiss on the top of my head as he pulled away.

After carefully placing the sleeve back in the envelope and securing it in a safe spot on the rack beside the record player, Freddie turned his attention to Roger and Emma with a triumphant smirk. “Who’s next, amateurs? Try to top that,” he taunted, folding his arms and looking down at them. Roger and Emma exchanged a glance, silently communicating before Roger cleared his throat and stood up from his seat. He reached beneath a fluffy pillow and retrieved another square-shaped object, this time wrapped in shiny paper.

“Uh, Emma and I got you this. Not sure if you already have it. Saw it on the rack at Tesco, so I thought I’d grab it,” Roger explained, scratching the back of his neck nervously. He stood before me as I carefully unwrapped the gift. When I finally realised what it was, my smile widened from ear to ear.

“She’s going to have that playing nonstop now, Rog. We should have gotten her some more eyeliner or something,” Emma joked.

“Cut her some slack, Em. Their music isn’t half bad,” Roger defended the group of young boys depicted on the album sleeve I now held in my hands. Roger cleared his throat again, visibly awkward about being the one to present the git when it probably should have been Emma. “Em mentioned that you liked the Jackson 5. I didn’t really know what else to get you. Happy birthday.”

“It’s more than okay. I didn’t have this one,” I replied, feeling a twinge of empathy for Roger. I could sense his discomfort, and I wouldn’t have wanted to be treated unkindly if I were in his position. “Thank you, Roger.” A genuine smile spread across my face as I, Maria Brennan, got up from the sofa and gave Roger Taylor a warm hug.

Brian almost passed out when he walked in on the scene. “Did I stumble down the wrong set of stairs?” He joked, and I pulled away from Roger, giving my boyfriend an amused glare.

“We’re all adults here, Poodle. I assure you, I am a decent human being,” I smirked, glancing down at the two items Brian held in his hands. In once, there was a small, neatly wrapped present. In the other, his acoustic guitar—his beloved Trident recording companion.

“I should be happy. It’s about time you two got over your petty squabbling and became civilised,” Brian pondered, setting the present on the arm of the sofa as I settled back down. “Um, open that first, then I’ll… Yeah, just open that first,” he rambled, his cheeks flushing a soft pink. He looked down and around, avoiding eye contact, clearly flustered.

Perching himself on the edge of the coffee table, Brian balanced the guitar on his lap while I eagerly tore away the smooth wrapping paper. It was no surprise to find what lay inside. Not in a negative way, of course—I was more than delighted with his kind of gift. It was just so perfectly Brian.

“Oh my God, this is so you,” I teased, glancing up at him. It was a thick book on the compatibility of Pisces and Cancer—the perfect testament to why Maria Brennan and Brian May were destined to be together. As I flipped through the pages, the fresh scent of a new book filled my senses, and I landed on a section about sex and passion. “This was not intentional,” I mumbled, clearing my throat. “A Cancer will nurture their partner and ensure their Pisces partner experiences a rollercoaster of emotions in the bedroom—”

Freddie cackled to himself, cracking open another beer. “Oh, darling, you two are truly made for each other. The amount of emotional, sappy bollocks I hear pouring out of both of you is undeniable proof of your destiny,” he chimed in.

Blushing fiercely, butterflies swarmed throughout my body. I closed the book and set it aside, stealing a glance at Brian, who appeared mortified that I had openly read something so intimate. But behind his embarrassment, I could see the genuine smile and relief in his eyes. I mouthed a small ‘thank you’ to my boyfriend, who seemed more than pleased that I appreciated his thoughtful gift.

“So, um… This might fall under Freddie’s category of emotional, sappy bollocks,” Brian sighed, picking up his guitar and resting it on his knee as he always did, his fingers gripping the familiar neck. After a few fine-tuning strums, he lifted his head and locked eyes with me. “I hope you like this, darling.” And with that, he skilfully began strumming, creating a beautiful melody accompanied by harmonious chords.

It was a first for me—a private serenade from someone I cared about. I clasped my hands tightly in my lap as everyone around us listened with unwavering attention.

“You’ve never heard my song before, the music was too loud…”

“But now I think you hear me well, for now we both know how.”

As the sweet melody filled the air, I listened intently to the lyrics, allowing Brian’s heartfelt words to wash over me like a gentle wave. I couldn’t help but feel a sense of calm and contentment, causing me to completely relax and lean my head into my palm, resting my elbow on my knee.

In that moment, it was as though the world around us faded away, leaving just Brian and me. His emotions poured out like cascading waterfalls, his voice carrying every ounce of sincerity and vulnerability. The way he strummed his guitar with suck skill and passion only deepened the connection between us.

“No star can light our way, in this cloud of dark and fear. But some day, one day…”

My heart burst. Someday, one day. Our date at the park. Sneaky man. I forgot to listen to the lyrics for a while, I was just rolling around in how soft his voice was and how lucky I was to pull a man who treated women the way he did. I closed my eyes, savouring every word, every note, as they intertwined with my own emotions. Brian’s lyrics spoke of love, longing, and the beauty of our connection. It was as if he had borne his soul, revealing a depth of emotion that resonated within my own heart.

“A misty castle waits for you, and you shall be a Queen. Today the cloud, it hangs over us and all is grey. But some day, one day…”

The room seemed to transform into a private sanctuary where only our feelings and music existed. Time stood still as I allowed myself to be swept away by the tenderness of the moment. The soft strumming of the guitar and the warmth in Brian’s voice created a cocoon of affection and affectionate bliss that enveloped us both.

I couldn’t help but smile, my heart brimming with love and gratitude for this incredible man sitting before me. It was a moment that etched itself into the depths of my memory, a cherished snapshot of our connection and the intimacy we shared.

As the last chord reverberated through the room, there was a gentle silence that lingered, a moment of shared understanding and affection. I opened my eyes, meeting Brian’s gaze, and it felt as though a world of unspoken words passed between us. Without uttering a single syllable, we both knew that this was a moment to treasure—a testament to the depth of our love and the beauty of our journey together.

Tears welled up in my eyes, a mixture of raw emotion and a slight embarrassment at my vulnerability in front of the others. I couldn’t help but cover my face with my hands. Brian, sensing my emotions, tenderly set down his guitar and moved to sit beside me, instantly pulling me into an embrace that felt like a warm refuge from this world. It was an embrace I never wanted to end.

Leaning into his comforting presence, I inhaled the familiar scent that lingered on his skin, feeling a sense of safety and solace. His head nestled onto my shoulder, his breath gently caressing my skin as he murmured those three cherished words, “I love you.” His voice was hushed, meant only for my ears, and in that moment, his words resonated deep within me, touching the very core of my being. “Happy birthday, baby.”

God, I love that man.

Freddie

The aftermath of a wild night of drinking and partying was an absolute nightmare. The dreaded clean-up awaited me, along with the task of tending to hangovers, even though I had one myself. It was a painful ordeal, my dear friends, one that I cannot emphasise enough.

Resigned to my fate, I trudged down the stairs in my dressing gown, cinching tightly around me in preparation for the arduous work ahead. Foolishly, a glimmer of hope flickered within me, wishing that someone had taken the initiative to tidy up. But let’s be realistic, darling, who in their right mind would do such a thing? I woke up at eight in the morning, and trust me, nobody else would have a clue where to put anything. Or if they did, it would undoubtedly end up in the wrong place. You’d think Roger believed that ‘under the sofa’ was Japanese for ‘bin.’

Before diving into the chores, it was only appropriate to kick-start the day with a cup of tea. Well, more like a bucket of tea, if I’m being honest. I was parched, alright? But then again, when am I not?

To my surprise, the kitchen wasn’t its usual deserted self. Instead, the sole inhabitant was Emma, leaning against the window and downing a glass of water. Startled, my hand instinctively flew to my chest, trying to steady my racing heartbeat. “Emma, my dear, you’re as quiet as a mouse.” Or perhaps as sly as a snake.

“Am I?” She replied after gulping down the last of her water, a mischievous smirk playing on her lips. Setting the glass in the sink, she quipped, “I’ve never been accused of being quiet before.” I rolled my eyes, sauntering past her towards the kettle. “Oh, come now, Fred, you say things like that all the time.”

Chuckling, I filled the kettle with water, placing it on the stove. “I do believe you’re mistaken, my dear.” I carried on with my usual routine, acting as though she wasn’t even there, fetching the milk, preparing aspirins, and whatnot. “I reserve those jokes for Roger, not for you, my dear.” Pouring the boiling water into a cup, I promptly dunked a teabag, adding a splash of milk and a sprinkling of sugar to achieve tea perfection. Emma remained by the sink, arms crossed, clearly not pleased with my response. “Don’t be like that, Em. Skedaddle back upstairs now. I have a mess to clean, and I’m sure Roggie is missing your charming company.”

Positioning myself purposely at the doorway, I sipped on my tea as she begrudgingly followed my order. Well, she tried to follow it, but I was in her way. She looked at me with a puzzled expression—thank goodness I was only slightly taller than her, otherwise, she would have been petrified. “Just one more thing,” I began. “You may call me Freddie. Only my friends have the privilege of calling me Fred.”

Unable to contain my smug satisfaction, I smirked to myself as she scurried past me, letting out an exasperated scoff and stumbling slightly. I walked into the living room with a sense of pride, catching a glimpse of her stomping up the stairs. I cringed at the noise, fervently hoping she wouldn’t awaken the entire house. I wanted to bask in my witty triumph a little while longer.

Oh, how I loathed that girl.

Maria

I was abruptly awaked by the resounding slam of a door upstairs. Reluctantly, I tried to open my eyes, but the mere act of squinting caused a jolt of pain to shoot through my head. I silently prayed that I could drift back to sleep, cocooned in the warmth of the bed. After all, I was far too comfortable to face the day just yet. Besides, my body ached from head to toe, a new sensation that I had never experienced before. I knew that soreness could be a consequence of heavy drinking, but it was a novelty to me. Hence, I was unsure of the best remedy. Unfortunately, luck was not on my side. The moment my eyes caught a glimpse of even the faintest light, my brain insisted that it was time to rise and shine.

Lying on my stomach, I raised my head and found myself gazing at the peaceful features of a slumbering Brian. Despite my exhaustion, my heart fluttered at the sight of him. He looked irresistibly adorable, his dishevelled hair spread haphazardly across the pillows, lips slightly parted, revealing a glimpse of his top row of teeth. I could feel his bony knee pressed against my calf since I had fallen asleep with my leg hooked over him, and my arm draped over his torso. It became apparent that we were both completely unclothed, although my memory failed to recall any specific details. I detested the fact that Brian and I engaged in intimate encounters while under the influence; it always left me with a hazy recollection unless someone filled me in later. But at least now I had a plausible explanation for the soreness…

As a bit of cold air infiltrated the sheets, causing me to recoil and groan in discomfort, I withdrew my arm from Brian’s skin, which clung stickily to mine from the previous night. Reality began to sink in about the chilly environment we were in. How was I supposed to summon the willpower to leave the cosy haven of these covers? I mustered enough strength to prop myself up and survey the room, searching for something suitable to wear downstairs. My eyes landed on a large jumper of Brian’s casually draped over the chair, tucked neatly beneath his desk on the opposite side of the room. Since it hung loosely on him, it would undoubtedly fit me. I had borrowed a shirt or two from him in the past, and it always struck me how natural they looked on me. Despite our contrasting heights and body shapes—Brian being tall and slender, while I was shorter and plumper—his shirts seemed to completement us both. In fact, I suspected that Brian quite enjoyed seeing me in his clothes, as they accentuated my curves more than my own wardrobe did. His appreciation for my feminine form never went unnoticed, and I cherished it. I devised a quick plan to slip out of bed and snatch the jumper before the cold could fully envelop me and make me regret it.

With minimal effort, I succeeded in my mission, slipping back into my underwear. I was proud to say that I had gained enough confidence to wear just this around the boys. Sure, my legs didn’t resemble those of a bikini model, and there was certainly so sign of a thigh gap—nowhere close, in fact. And my backside was far from petite. But after spending ample time with everyone in the house, I had reached a point where I didn’t care much about my appearance. Besides, Brian had seen every inch of me, on multiple occasions. Catching a glimpse of my flushed face in the hallway mirror, I left behind a cosy and content Brian wrapped up in blankets.

“Morning,” I softly called out to Freddie as I spotted him wiping down the coffee table. The downstairs area was even chillier, although the early sunlight seeping through the curtains promised a bit of warmth throughout the day.

“Good morning, my little sprout,” Freddie greeted without needing to glance in my direction. “How does it feel to officially be twenty-three years old?”

“No different from being twenty-two,” I smirked, leaning against the living room wall. He finally turned to face me, clutching empty cans in one hand and a few glasses in the other. “Do you need any help?”

“Nonsense. I’ve already prepared some aspirin and a glass of water for you, dear. You look like you could use it.” Winking mischievously, he dropped the cans into a black bin bag.

“Thanks, Fred, just what I needed to hear,” I playfully teased, sticking my tongue out at him as I made my way into the kitchen. True to his word, he had arranged a row of glasses filled with water and matching aspirins. “You really didn’t have to go through all this trouble,” I called out from the kitchen.

“Who else was going to do it, darling?” Freddie replied.

“Well, I suppose I could have fetched my own and even got some for Brian. It’s not exactly rocket science. I know where everything is,” I quipped.

“Enough chatter. Take the aspirin before your hangover consumes you,” his voice came from beside me, causing me to jump. Without further questioning, I followed his instructions and swallowed the pills with a gulp of water. “Oh, by the way, someone came looking for you earlier.”

“What?” I set the empty glass on the kitchen counter. “I hardly know anyone in London apart from Deacy and Professor Dickhead. Certainly not well enough for them to come looking for me.”

“I’m aware of that, dear. That’s why I told him I didn’t know any Maria,” Freddie replied, placing a hand on his hip. “Strange, though… I’ve never seen him around here before. I think I’d remember a man wearing an obnoxiously long trench coat and a silly fedora, especially when he goes knocking on doors at nine on a Sunday morning.”

His words sent a shiver down my spine. I should have been alarmed and taken immediate action, calling the police or doing something to protect myself from this man. But without any solid evidence and never having seen his face I couldn’t be certain if it was the same person.

“That is weird… Probably just a drunk or… unwell person,” I shrugged, forcing a laugh to dismiss the unsettling thought.

I lingered downstairs for a while, feeling guilty about watching Freddie rush around, tidying up everyone’s mess. I offered to help numerous times, but he insisted on handling it all himself. Eventually, I settled into the armchair with one of Brian’s perplexing textbooks on my lap. He still had those books scattered around the house, reading them for enjoyment. Bookmarking sections with scraps of paper, jotting down theories and additional notes. His handwriting could be challenging to decipher at times, but I made a silent vow to myself that I would learn to read his unique style effortlessly. It may have seemed like a trivial thing, but Brian’s handwriting was a part of him, a tangible reminder when he wasn’t present. The mere sight of it filled me with adoration and butterflies in my stomach. Despite my pounding hangover and limited understanding of scientific concepts, I attempted to grasp the contents of the textbook. However, my efforts proved fruitless, and I found myself scanning over his amusing colloquialisms and condensed summaries of vast texts.

“How’s our gangly astronomer doing this morning?” Freddie quipped, vacuuming the carpet.

I snapped out of my daze, raising my gaze to meet Freddie’s. “He was fast asleep when I came downstairs. I think last night really tired him out,” I remarked. But the mischievous smirk on Freddie’s face only fuelled my suspicions. “Speaking of last night… What the hell happened? I don’t remember a thing,” I said, closing the textbook and placing it on the coffee table.

“Oh, darling, you brought out a side of Brian that we rarely witness. I dare say we’ve never seen this side of him before,” Freddie replied, his tone filled with intrigue. My curiosity piqued, and I urged him to spill the details. “Stop with the vagueness and tell me,” I demanded, laughing.

“Well,” Freddie began, briefly pausing his chores. “After he serenaded you with that beautiful song, we all thought it was a splendid idea to indulge in some more drinking and let loose. And Blondie suggested playing a rather silly and juvenile game of spin the bottle, as if we were back in secondary school. We played it, though. We definitely played it, dear.”

I furrowed my brow, my posture straightening. “Fred, what happened? What did I do? Why did I do it? Oh my God… Who did I do it with?” My questions poured out in a flurry of anxiety.

“You never informed me that you were such an exceptional kisser, Maria,” he replied nonchalantly, disappearing into the kitchen with the vacuum in hand.

I leaped to my feet, rushing after him. “Excuse me? What did you just say?”

“Yes, dear, we may have shared a rather intense and passionate kiss last night. Brian deemed it insufficient, so he whisked you away upstairs… Well, I assumed he showed you who you truly belonged to, as the saying goes,” Freddie chuckled, clearly amused by the whole situation. “I’m blessed to remember these shenanigans despite being arseholed.”

I was utterly mortified. “Jesus Christ, he wasn’t upset, was he? I mean, Brian?” I asked, my voice laced with worry.

“Oh, darling, if he were upset, he wouldn’t have any right to be. After all, he and Roger also shared a rather close moment last night,” Freddie remarked, once again heading back to the other room. I followed him, needing answers. “Wait, stop walking away. What do you mean by ‘close’?”

“Maria, I’m just teasing you. It was a harmless little peck. Brian is definitely not gay; you can trust me on that. But it reminds me… You never mentioned your fondness for a ‘daddy kink,’ Miss Brennan,” Freddie teased.

“I’m going back upstairs!” I exclaimed, covering my ears and speed-walking toward the staircase. “I don’t wanna talk about this anymore!”

“We all adore you, Maria, you little minx!” Freddie playfully taunted, blowing an exaggerated kiss in my direction as I practically sprinted up the stairs. By the time I reached the upper floor, I couldn’t contain my laughter. The whole situation was incredibly silly, but I was ecstatic to finally experience the kind of carefree fun that most girls my age were having.

Slipping back into Brian’s bedroom, I made an effort to be quiet, although Freddie’s vacuuming noise rendered my efforts futile. I gently closed the door behind me, leaning against it as I laid my eyes upon my slumbering boyfriend. He had turned over onto his side, his head now occupying my pillow while his body sprawled diagonally across the bed. Approaching him with a soft tread, I attempted to slip under the sheets as gracefully as possible. However, Brian stirred in his sleep, groaning and shifting away from me, ultimately rolling onto his back once again. I stifled a chuckle at his sleepy antics and manoeuvred myself under the covers, seeking comfort and the desire to cuddle Brian a little longer. Pressing myself against his side, I nestled my face into his neck, assuming the same position I woke up in but with greater precision and comfort. This time, I was firmly on top of him.

Several minutes passed, and I could hear Brian beginning to awaken, his heavy swallowing and stretching indicating his return to consciousness. Like clockwork, his arms encircled me, holding me securely against him. I smiled against his skin, the chill of the room dissipating.

“Good morning,” he rumbled in his low, gravelly morning voice.

“Morning,” I murmured barely above a whisper, inhaling deeply. He still carried the musky scent of sweat and cologne from the previous night.

“How long have you been awake?” he asked, his eyes still closed as we conversed.

“Not very long. I went downstairs. Freddie’s cleaning,” I replied, my voice hushed.

“Mmm, of course…” Brian mumbled, neither of us bothering to open our eyes. With a grunt, he shifted his hips upward, causing me to glance down. I wasn’t particularly surprised to notice the outline of his morning arousal straining against the sheets.

“Quite an eventful night,” I let my words linger in the air, hoping for a more detailed explanation from Brian as I slid my hand over his stomach, trailing it lower to his abdomen. He shot me a playful glare with one eye before a mischievous smirk crept upon his lips.

“Indeed,” he agreed, shuffling even closer so that his head rested atop mine. “I didn’t hurt you, did I? I know I was a little rougher than I usually am.”

Our conversation had now become an intimate exchange of whispers near each other’s ears, thanks to our proximity. “I don’t really remember. I am a bit sore,” I chuckled softly, assuring Brian that any soreness was a testament to his prowess rather than an indication of recklessness. Meanwhile, my fingertips continued to trace his skin, gradually descending to the part of his body that craved attention. He sighed, his breath lingering on my shoulder.

“You, Maria, are a tease,” Brian whispered, his voice filled with a mixture of desire and amusement.

“I know,” I replied, my lips still hovering by his ear. With a delicate touch, I wrapped my fingers around his pulsating shaft, feeling his hips instinctively thrust up into my grasp. His unintentional movement elicited a gasp from his own lips, fuelling my excitement. Little was said between us during our morning rendezvous; only the sounds of our heavy breaths and the provocative noises that escaped as I increased the pace along Brian’s length. The slickness of his pre-cum coated my hand, allowing me to glide it smoothly over his shaft. He huffed, making a valiant effort to remain as quiet as possible.

“Don’t be quiet, Bri…” I whispered, my lips trailing kisses along his jawline. “Apparently, I wasn’t very quiet last night… something about me calling you…” I breathed out into his ear. “Daddy…” As those words left my lips, Brian let out a low groan, a response that sent a shiver of anticipation through me. I giggled softly against his skin, relishing in the effect I had on him. “I love hearing you moan… It’s like music to my ears. I could listen to it forever.”

“Oh, fuck,” Brian sighed, tilting his head back as his arm tightened around me, pulling me closer against him. His fingertips danced over my backside, sending delicious shivers up my spine. Seizing the opportunity, I moved to his neck, sucking and biting his skin, seeking revenge for the marks he had left on me countless times before.

The muscles in my arm began to burn as I maintained a steady rhythm on Brian’s throbbing length, occasionally tightening my grip and running my thumb over the sensitive tip. His chest rose and fell rapidly, his free arm sprawled out on the bed beside him. In the midst of his pleasure, Brian was a vision of raw beauty.

“I’m close, Ria,” Brian grunted, his teeth clenched as his nails dug into the skin of my lower back.

“I know you are,” I grinned against his neck, shifting my head to the other side, giving me a perfect view under the covers as I continued to pleasure him. “That’s it… Cum for me.”

And then it happened. Brian’s restrained noises erupted into a symphony of moans, grunts, and groans. His hips bucked uncontrollably, his release painting the sheets and my hand with thick spurts of his essence. I couldn’t help but moan in response, overwhelmed by the sheer sight of it. With deliberate care, I brought him to the peak of his pleasure, riding out his orgasm until he was spent.

Slowly, I withdrew my hand from under the covers, gazing at the glistening evidence of his pleasure. Bringing my hand up to my mouth, I sensually licked and cleaned off his essence, savouring the taste. Brian watched me intently, his eyes heavy-lidded and his mouth slightly agape. And then, without hesitation, he pushed the back of my head toward him, crashing his lips passionately against me.

Without warning, he flipped us over so that I was locked underneath him. “I need to taste you,” he murmured against my lips. “I need to hear you say it again.”

Within minutes, the air in the room flipped, charged with even more of an intoxicating blend of desire and anticipation. Brian disappeared beneath the blankets, the rustling fabric accompanying his movements as he positioned himself between my legs. The soft touch of his breath against my skin sent shivers of excitement coursing through my body.

As his head dipped lower, the fabric of the blankets contoured around him, creating a cocoon of secrecy and intimacy. With a hungry desperation, his tongue ventured forth, teasing and tantalising every inch of my most sensitive flesh. It was as if he had become a master of pleasure, exploring the depths of my desires with an expertise that left me gasping for breath.

His movements were deliberate, his tongue tracing intricate patterns, flicking and lapping at my most intimate core. I arched my back, my fingers tangling in the sheets, as waves of pleasure coursed through me. The sensations intensified, building an insatiable hunger within me, as his mouth claimed me in a whirlwind of ecstasy.

Brian’s actions were a symphony of passion, a dance of oral devotion that consumed my every thought. He lavished attention upon me, his lips and tongue working in harmony to elicit moans and sighs from the depths of my being. I surrendered to the rapture, losing myself in the vortex of pleasure he created.

Time seemed to lose meaning as I revelled in the sensations that engulfed me. Every flick, every stroke of his tongue, sent shockwaves of delight cascading through my body. The intensity grew, swirling in a vortex of desire that threatened to consume us both.

“F-fuck…” I stuttered in a shaky breath. “Oh my God, Brian—”

He cut me off by humming a displeased noise against me. He pulled away from me, leaving me depraved and whimpering. “What did you call me earlier?” He gazed up at me, his eyebrows creating an almost menacing shadow over his eyes. I writhed against his hold on my hips, too intoxicated to answer. That was, until I felt his nails dig into my thigh as a reminder to answer him.

“Daddy…” I moaned out, not caring about if anyone else heard me.

“That’s a good girl,” he praised softly before resuming his ministrations.

With each passing moment, Brian’s ardour increased, his hunger matching my own. He delved deeper, exploring the hidden recesses of my desire, unearthing every secret longing. It was an act of surrender, a union of bodies and souls bound by an insatiable craving for one another.

I held nothing back, my moans of pleasure mingling with the sounds of his ministrations. The room became an echo chamber of ecstasy, the rhythm of our connection vibrating through the very air around us. In that moment, it was as if time stood still, existing solely for the purpose of this profound union.

And as the intensity peaked, a surge of overwhelming pleasure washed over me. I clutched at the sheets, my body arching in rapture as Brian’s skilled tongue pushed me to the brink of an exquisite release. The world around me dissolved into a haze of sensation, the only reality that mattered being the incredible pleasure coursing through my veins.

In the aftermath of our passionate encounter, we lay intertwined, bodies bathed in a warm glow of satisfaction. The room was filled with the sweet scent of our intimacy, a reminder of the depths of pleasure we had explored together. In that moment, there was no doubt that our connection was a force to be reckoned with, a union of desire that transcended the physical realm.

As our lips collided in a fiery force, a potent mixture of desire and affection surged between us, weaving an intricate tapestry of emotions. The world around us faded into insignificance as we became immersed in the electrifying current that flowed between our bodies. But alas, our stolen moment of bliss was abruptly interrupted by a cacophony from the outside world.

From the confines of the upstairs hallway, Freddie had taken it upon himself to ensure that everyone was roused from their slumber and ready to face the day by the unforgiving hour of ten. His boisterous enthusiasm shattered the delicate intimacy we had cultivated, and I reluctantly pulled away from Brian, our lips parting with a soft sigh of longing.

He greeted me with a tender smile, his fingers gently brushing a wayward strand of hair away from my flushed face. His eyes sparkled with adoration and a hint of mischief, accentuated by the soft morning light that filtered through the window, casting a warm glow upon us both.

A wave of affection washed over me as his words enveloped me in a blanket of warmth. “You look so good in my clothes,” he whispered, his voice filled with a mixture of admiration and possessiveness. The oversized garment I had donned from his wardrobe seemed to fit me even more perfectly, like a physical manifestation of our connection. It was a tangible reminder of the intimate bond we shared, a testament to the intertwining of our lives.

A flush of colour crept up my cheeks, a blend of both embarrassment and a deep sense of gratification. I revelled in the knowledge that I was adorned in something that belonged to him, something that carried the essence of his presence. It was a subtle yet profound way of claiming me as his own, a symbol of the intimate connection we had forged.

In that moment, I felt a sense of belonging, a deep resonance with his words that transcended the material realm. It was as if his clothes wrapped around me were an extension of his embrace, enveloping me in his love and protection. It was a silent declaration that I was cherished and desired, a testament to the intimacy we shared behind closed doors.

As the echoes of Freddie’s cheerful voice reverberated in the distance, reminding us of the encroaching demands of the outside world, I couldn’t help but devour the fleeting moment of tenderness we had shared. In a world that often seemed chaotic and unpredictable, I found solace in the sanctuary of our connection, in the simple joy of wearing his clothes and being enveloped in his love.

With a soft sigh, I leaned in to press a lingering kiss against his lips, conveying my gratitude and affection in that stolen moment. Despite the intrusion, the essence of our love remained, a flame that burned brightly amidst the chaos of the world around us. And as our lips parted, I held onto that warmth, carrying it with me as we prepared to face the day together, knowing that we would always find solace and strength in each other’s embrace.

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supremedinosaur · 3 years

Text

the hill that I die on

Wanda x reader

Warnings: major angst, cheating, no pronouns mentioned

Summary: After three years of marriage, complications in your marriage began to surface. Will you be able to work through your differences?

Word count: 1590

(not my gif)

---

Whether or not you were able to make sacrifices for the woman that you love, was out of the question. But that didn’t mean you didn’t have boundaries.

Love us not ever easy, despite how books and movies make it ought to be. Love is filled with trials and tribulations, compromises, and compassion. It didn’t mean that loving Wanda was difficult-No if anything loving Wanda was the easiest part.

During the first year of marriage the two of you moved into your first home together in a town called Westview, it was everything you dreamed of. Each morning was filled with warm embraces and soft kisses.

You never would have expected that three years down the line, you would be speaking to your therapist about the difficulties of maintaining your relationship. Nothing was the same anymore.

“I don’t know where we went wrong… It’s like I could just feel her pulling away from me more and more every day. I think that’s what hurt the most… that I could feel all the pain right in the moment, but nothing I could say or do, changed what was happening to me.” You confessed staring down at your palms as if you were trying to grasp the situation.

Even though you didn't exactly know the day everything went downhill, you had a general idea of when. Gradually, your wife sought out your comforts less and less. Although you didn’t want to panic too quickly, you easily dismissed it as getting past the honeymoon phase. Then when it kept happening more often, it would turn into petty fights that were solved too easily with halfhearted apologies. Nothing was ever truly solved.

“You lost control of the situation. Something you normally felt you had,” your therapist commented bringing clarity to your emotions. “Do you normally have control of every situation you’re in?”

“Well yeah, I’m an Avenger and a soldier, losing control of a situation could mean death,” you replied as if it was obvious.

“But being in a relationship doesn’t mean certain life or death, does it?”

“Well, no… “

“You shouldn’t have to be in fight or flight mode in a relationship with someone you love. You also can’t ever control how other people treat or react to you, because there is always going to be someone who doesn’t respect your time or energy. You can only control how you react and what you allow yourself to take. So, I think it’s time to let go trying to control other people,” your therapist articulated as it hit you like a freight train.

As the words began to sink in, you audibly gulped as reality began to hit you and the reanalysis of your life flooded in.

“I just want to be sure I did everything I could to fight for the relationship,” you countered as your mind began to linger.

“Fight for what you want, but don’t disrespect yourself in the process,” they replied while fixing their glasses.

---

The lights in your shared apartment were dimed. The dinner table was set as the food on both your plates grew cold. It was supposed to be a romantic dinner with your wife, but here you were alone and left waiting again. You were sat at the table, hunched over trying to piece together why you were even still here, trying.

After an undistinguishable amount of time, the door began to jingle signaling that someone was coming in. When she finally came through the door, her shirt was loose and slightly out of breath.

“Baby, I’m so sorry I was held up late at the tower and as soon as I realized, I came rushing over,” she stuttered out of breath. Her hair was a bit frizzy, and her clothes wrinkled as if she had thrown on old clothes in a rush to work.

“Who is it?” You asked with a cold tone, eyeing her messy appearance.

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“I don’t even know what you’re trying to say,” she cautioned.

It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that the woman had gradually started to cheat on you. Your doubts suddenly replaced with conjecture, as more nights alone became common.

“It’s like you don’t even try to hide it anymore,” you pointed out shaking your head in disappointment.

Her eyes avoid your gaze like the plague, finding the cool cherry wood floors of your apartment more interesting. The breaths she takes calm down until they can no longer be heard, making the air between you two that much louder. Wanda was at a loss for words.

She had been caught and confronted, she knew that this day would once come eventually, but nonetheless continued down the path that she was taking. The immediate reward and gratification that much more satisfying in the moment than the long term love she would steadily have with you.

The toxic part of her grew too complacent with security of what you gave. She had never experienced a relationship so wholesome in a long time. All her intrusive thoughts placed doubts in her mind that she was incapable to receive the love she was given, so what did she do?

She proved them right. Why not ruin the best thing in your life first, before they can ruin you?

Suddenly, Wanda was snapped out of her head when she heard your keys jingle. “Where are you going?” She trembled.

“Out,” you replied with a deep sigh. Your demeanor was tired and disheartened, as if you were ready to give up and stop fighting right then and there. As you trudged your way to the door beside her, but to your dismay, she stands in front of it blocking your way. “Please move, Wanda, I don’t have the energy to be here right now,” you almost begged.

“Not until, I know you’re coming back home,” she whimpered as the fear came crashing down on her. Her eyes were bloodshot already with all the emotions pooling in her eyes but not yet falling.

“I can’t give you an answer to something I don’t know,” you agonized with your face visibly fallen from all the overwhelming emotion.

“I love you. Please don’t go…,” she pleaded with you as her behavior grew more and more distraught.

Wanda could hear and understand everything that was happening, but the emotions had not caught up to her until this very moment. It was like she could only comprehend the validity of the situation now that it was no longer a possibility, but a reality.

“If you loved me, you would have come to me with for help instead of finding it in someone else. We were supposed to be a team, Wanda. I tried so hard to keep us afloat… I-I did everything right! I gave you everything and none of it was enough for you,” you mewled as your lip trembled and Wanda flinched at the raise of your voice.

Your wife had never seen you so fragile and broken, receding into the scared little kid inside of you. She had also never heard you raise your voice at her, you were always the calm and collected one out of the both of you. This was when the weight of what she had done to you became too much for her.

You had done everything you could to cater to your wife, and Wanda did everything to ruin it.

In Wanda’s grief, she crumbled to the floor on her knees as all the strength in her body escaped her. At this point, you were too numb to care about her condition and your body only operating in autopilot. Suddenly, Wanda lets out one last wrenching sob and her head goes flying back. The red energy of her magic burst out of her chest and palms, encapsulating the world around you.

“Please, Wanda…,” you faltered as the tears welled up in your eyes. The eyes you once loved so much, burned the brightest red with such anger powered by the deepest feelings of desperation and fear. You desperately tried to reach out to her to stop her, but it was like you trapped running over the steepest hills and mountains, only to find her being worlds apart. Everything happened so quickly, and before you knew it, your vision went dark.

---

When your eyes fluttered open again, you looked around confused and dazed at the dull and neutral state of your surroundings. After a second you realized you were in your bed, but you have no recollection of how you got here. As you got out of bed you trailed down the stairs to find you wife. Upon the final step of the stairs, you scratched your head in confusion as you looked around until you finally saw your wife.

There she was looking gorgeous as ever in a dress and her bright shy smile growing on her face at the sight of you. She reached her arms out and rushed over to hug you dearly as if you hadn’t seen her in a while. You wanted to ask her why your memory was quite hazy, but the overwhelming amount of love you felt with her drew you away from asking.

“I love you Y/N, never leave me,” she told you softly as she searched your eyes while caressing your face. There was a lingering ominous feeling about her words. The chilling realization that it was a statement and not a choice… but it was already too late.

“I would never leave you, my love.”

#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #wanda x you #marvel #Marvel MCU #MCU #wandavision #lgbtq #gender neutral reader

178 notes · View notes

multiplefandomsblog · 3 years

Text

Fuyuhiko and Kokichi’s reaction to their s/o replacing them with a plushy

request; Rantaro, Fuyuhiko and Kokichi’s reaction to their s/o giving them almost 0 attention because they’re giving all their love to a plushy? Lol no cuddles for them- plushy’s too cute

warnings; fluff, lots of cussing, unedited, gender-neutral reader, implied human strangulation, strangulation of a stuffed animal, stuffed animals, jealousy?? minor neglecting, comfortyyyy, angst but like, so little angst, hard days at work :(

note; i didn’t do Rantaro’s because i did something similar, right here! also, sorry for making fuyuhiko’s so much longer— i don’t even know why i wrote that much, i have no reasoning-

Kokichi Ouma

“S/oooooo~? I’m cold, can we cuddle-?” Bright purple eyes widened, and a look of pure unfiltered betrayal dawned over his face, it almost looked as if you had poured the expression over his face. His eyes darted towards the plushy in betrayal; his expression almost convinced you that you had accidentally cheated on him. “K-Kokichi? What’s-” You were suddenly very rudely interrupted by his obnoxious shriek of horror—

“UWAAAAAAH! You’re-!” He snortled like a child, inhaling in all his snot loudly and grossly before screaming, “So! Mean!” Wincing at the loud and exaggerated sobbing, you frowned at him, only bringing the plushy closer to your chest. “You can’t guilt me into hugging you instead, Kokichi- Hey— Hey! Stop!” Before you could finish your sentence, Kokichi had pounced on you, his devastated expression from earlier long gone, as now his eyes shone pure rage.

He was strangling the fucking stuffed animal.

Kokichi may be the hugest liar you will ever meet in the world, but he keeps to his word, that he’ll do anything for love. Even strangling someone.

And in this case, the ‘someone’ was a lifeless stuffed animal.

“K-Kokichi! You fucking dumbass— What do you think that’ll even do!? Kill it!?” You cried out, straining as you tried to yank the plushy away from his iron grip. “Stuffed animals can’t breathe!” Kokichi replied in between grunts, white knuckles gripping the plushy tight around its.. its neck. “Not after this, it won’t!” Cackling victoriously, the gremlin finally managed to pull the plushy away from, and the extraordinary momentum had thrown it across the room.

“Kokichi! That was my favourite-” Your words had been taken away from you as Kokichi suddenly jumped you, tackling you to your bed as he wrapped his arms and legs around you. “I thought I was your favourite..” His voice was soft, the innocent, puppy-dog tone almost had you cave in. Almost.

“Kokichi…” You whined, “I want my plushy back; you’re too heavy.” Kokichi pinched your back, prompting a squeal out of you, “I’m not heavy, you meanie!” You squirmed, sitting up with the boy clinging to you on your lap. “You didn’t have to pinch me, you ass.” Mumbling, you shuffled up, chest feeling as if it had been crushed by the boy sticking to you.

Kokichi didn’t reply to your insult, instead, shifting closer to you before stilling, almost like dried clay. “Nishishi! Now you’re all mine!” You stifled a smile, “What? Were you jealous of a plushy?” Kokichi shook his head, grin wide and bright as always, “Of course not! It never had a chance against me so I wasn’t even a little worried!” That was a lie. He was scared if you had gotten too attached to the plushy, you’d rather the plushy’s hugs instead of his—eventually, never hugging him again. Kokichi shuddered at the thought.

“I don’t know, the plushy doesn’t—you know—pinch me so..” Kokichi gripped tighter onto you, making sure to prevent your leave before sighing dramatically, “Fine, I’m sorry, okay? Now just promise to always hug me instead of that stupid pillow, kay?” Kokichi spoke in an annoyingly cute voice— but despite being shrill to your ears, you couldn’t help but melt as you heard the real meaning to it. The meaning behind his little act. In a frustratingly teasing voice, you tantalized him. “So you were jealous.”

Kokichi snorted dismissively, grip not loosening, “Nishishi! Why would I be jealous of a plushy? You’re lucky to even be touching an Ultimate Supreme Leader!” It was ironic, seeing as how you hadn’t even been hugging him back, let alone touching him—to which he had painfully noticed, and disliked. Yet he was acting like you were the one who had been strangling a toy for him.

His grin faltered, and you could catch the almost unnoticeable flash of jealousy that shone in his purple eyes. But despite the small tell, you let him win this round, you neglected him enough. you neglected him for less than a minute before he pounced on you, mans was insane.

Fuyuhiko Kuzuryuu

Fuyuhiko had just gotten back from a rough day at work, he sighed as he opened the door, he was extremely exhausted from doing— what was he doing? Well, he’s a Yakuza, that’s a secret. “S/o, I’m home..!” His voice sounded drained, though relieved, he was finally home and all he wanted was to cuddle you— Ah. But it seems you’ve chosen a plushie over a real-life man.

Fuyuhiko’s eye fell on the sight of you, snuggling a plushie whilst you watched a movie. He pouted, he was always the one you snuggled. Betrayal ran through his veins; what had changed? Did you not love him anymore?

No, I’m kidding; he’s just being a drama queen.

Despite his sulky demeanour, he refused to beg for your attention just so he could get your.. your soft and warm cuddles... that make him feel safe no matter where he was.

... Well, he tried to refuse. It seems, even Yakuza bosses couldn’t refuse the uncontrollable want to be in your arms. Could you blame him? The man just wanted to be held by his partner.

He wasn’t going to admit that though. The boss baby had too much pride to demand cuddles, unlike Kokichi-

So he decided, you were going to be given the silent treatment. Yes, Fuyuhiko Kuzuryuu, the ultimate Yakuza boss was planning to give you the silent treatment(and fail). It didn’t seem like he needed to anyway, you had been so invested in the movie you didn’t even hear him come in, nor did you greet him like you usually did. Sheeesh, that one must have hurt.

Fuyuhiko furrowed his brow and waited for you to notice him, dropping his shoes on the ground twice. It wasn’t until he started jangling his keys aggressively and slapping his bag against the counter, did you actually notice his presence. After you finally did, you spared him a meek hand wave before bringing the same arm back around your plush tightly. “Oh. Hey, Fuyu.”

You didn’t even turn your head to look at him.

He simply stared at you, you who had just snuggled closer to your plushy— were.. were you giving it head pats!? His frown deepened, you were just doing it on purpose at this point.

Scoffing, he sat next to your spot on the couch, glaring daggers into the plushy as you seemed distracted with the TV in front of you. He felt his heart sink as you didn’t cuddle into his side like you usually did. Crossing his arms over his chest, he leaned into the armrest opposite to you, feigning a grudge.

He couldn’t even get comfortable on the armrest, he kept shifting every 5 seconds just to get your attention and because he really couldn’t seem to get comfortable on the chair. Fuyuhiko watched you with wide, astounded eyes as you only seemed to stuff your face in the plushy. And yup, you guessed it, he caved in. “Tch... if you’re mad at me for something, can you just tell me what I did wrong? This... plushy bull crap is irritating me.” You turned your head to finally look at him in surprise, he thought you were mad at him?

“Huh?” You perked your head up from the plushy, attention completely on him now. He felt embarrassment wash over his entire body; had you not been doing it on purpose?

“N-nothing- whatever, it’s nothing.” Fuyuhiko’s face flushed, your sudden attention on him; he hadn’t gotten used to it.

Drilling your eyes into him, you sent him an unconvinced look, but shrugged anyway— He’s a grown-ass man, if he wanted cuddles, he can ask for them.

Fuyuhiko sulked as he watched you turn away, it obviously wasn’t nothing. You turned your head back at him as you heard him mumble something. Looking at him with a feigned-confused expression, you cocked your head to the side. “What’d you say?”

He flushed and looked away, unconsciously scooting towards you, “I- You can cuddle me instead of that pillow, if you want or whatever. It doesn’t matter.” He murmured, moving to stand up. “Never mind.” You grinned at his brooding demeanour, yanking his hand back onto you and throwing the plush somewhere, “Okay, okay! I was just joking with you, I know how much you want my hugs.”

He fell with an ‘oomph’ against your body, face blank as his mind didn’t seem to register what had happened yet.

Ohh, but the moment he felt the warmth spread throughout his body, he let out a sigh of relief. “You’re such a cute fucking asshole.” You laughed at his somewhat compliment, somewhat insult, letting him wrap his arms around you tight. You could feel his body relaxing on top of you, and in response, your own shoulders dropped in relaxation. ‘Yessss..! This was the shit.’ Fuyuhiko’s bad day at work had been long forgotten, as his mind was currently occupied with running thoughts of you.

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imagining-in-the-margins · 4 years

Text

The Birds & The Bees (S.R. | Pt. 3)

Summary: Reader earns her nickname, and Spencer sinks to a new level of sin. A/N: Here, take your first dose of smut 💊 ✨ Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Category: Slow Burn (NSFW, 18+) Content Warning: Drinking, alcohol, masturbation (male) Word Count: 5.3k

MASTERLIST | Series Masterlist

——————————————————

If I had to pick my favorite thing about working for Spencer Reid, it would probably be something that most people wouldn’t expect. Sure, it was nice to be able to work with a human encyclopedia, and he was definitely very nice to look at, but neither of those things contributed to my love for my job.

It was the sense of belonging. An overwhelming feeling of serenity that existed, flowing freely beneath the surface like a network of roots twined together. I never felt out of place when I was with Spencer — which couldn’t be said for basically any other time. Especially not now.

Halloween is one of my favorite holidays because it’s just absurd. You harass your neighbors while dressed in a costume and they reward you with something sweet (or, in some cases, change). As I’ve grown older, not much has changed aside from the creativity and length of the costumes.

... and the sweet treats being replaced by the bitter sting of alcohol.

“You do realize that guy was hitting on you in there, right?” my friend shouted from less than a foot to my right.

“He was just being nice.”

“Yeah... in a bar,” another girl chimed in, “On Halloween.”

I tried to remember the face of the man they were talking about, but my memory of his eyes blended into the flashing lights of the club. Even if I wasn’t drunk, I knew it would have been hard to remember him. Because the truth was that he wasn’t the person I wanted to see when I closed my eyes.

“Leave her alone. She’s trying to stay pure for her professor,” my friend snickered.

Despite the treachery, I still caught her before she almost pushed us both straight off the curb in her drunken state. But it wasn’t her opinion I was worried about, because at that point, I was certain she would remember none of it by the time class rolled around come Monday. It was our other acquaintance that I responded to, with a very squeaky and unreliable, “I am not doing that!”

“Yeah, what she wants isn’t pure at all,” the mess on my shoulder droned. That was enough of a reason for me to drop her, although it really resulted in both of us barely staying on our feet on the somewhat crowded sidewalk.

“Stop! It’s not like that!”

“Sure it’s not.”

Then, something else caught her attention. Knowing her, I figured that it was either a man in a scandalous costume, or it was a two for one drink deal plastered in front of a bar. I assumed it was the latter, because as soon as she finished talking, she grabbed hold of our hands and yanked us against the brick wall of the next bar.

“So you wouldn’t mind if, theoretically, Professor Reid saw you in your costume?” she asked.

I like to think that I am a relatively smart girl. After all, I had made my way to graduate school, and Spencer seemed to think that I wasn’t a complete hopeless idiot. But in that moment, I couldn’t understand why on earth she would ever think to ask me that.

Running my hands over the fuzzy pink bodysuit I was wearing, I tried to picture his reaction. As soon as I tried to look down, however, the two floppy bunny ears affixed to the hood dropped over my eyes.

“I-I mean, I guess not…?” I mumbled, my face growing hot from something other than the alcohol, “I’m wearing it in public, so...”

But then she said it — the most terrifying two words I’d ever heard in my life.

“Okay – good.”

My eyes shot up immediately, trying to follow her eyes through the crowd of drunk, costumed people. By the time that I spotted him, somewhat thankfully dressed in normal clothes, I was powerless to stop it.

“Dr. Reid!” My friend’s voice rang out into the night, “Dr. Reid, come over here!”

The moment our eyes met, I knew I was fucked. Totally, completely, and utterly fucked. A clever little grin filled his cheeks as he quickly spotted me trying to hide under my hood.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” I shrieked, but he was already on his way over.

“You said you didn’t mind!”

In a panicked whisper, I bit back, “I didn’t say call him over here!”

When he grew closer, though, I corrected myself. Because it was not just Spencer who was walking over. There was someone else with him. Another man, just as tall and just as beautiful as Spencer, but with a dark complexion and an even more wicked smile.

As for my company, they had already scattered into the bar behind me, leaving me with a wordless, dumbstruck look on my face that was very poorly hidden behind bunny ears.

“H-hey Prof— Dr. Reid,” I managed to get out.

“Hey,” he answered in a tone I’d never heard before. A slightly guarded, very entertained but mostly awkward stretch of the vowel.

The man beside him, however, was quick to question.

“Who’s this?”

As I said before, I like to consider myself a relatively bright person. But the alcohol that night had been both free and strong. So, when I was asked by a handsome man who I was on the Devil’s night, I answered honestly.

“I’m a bunny!” I cried, bringing my hands together over my chest and turning to present the small pink pompom affixed to my lower back.

“I can see that,” the stranger replied through a genuine chuckle. But while the action was amusing to at least two of us in the conversation, Spencer looked mortified. It wasn’t necessarily negative, though.

I couldn’t be sure, of course, considering that I had already consumed more liquor that night than I had in the past month, but something told me that Spencer was less humiliated by me, and more worried about how blatant his response to my answer was. Because when he spoke, he did so through a smile.

“She’s uh... my teaching assistant.”

“Teaching assistant, huh?” his friend repeated, clearly amused.

There was almost a challenge to the title. Something about the way he said it setting my heart into overdrive. Unable to control my own treacherous tongue, I continued to dig myself a wonderfully sized hole to jump in to.

“I’m also very good at hopping,” I said.

Once again, the better company of the two laughed. Spencer, however, covered his smile with a hand that brought attention to just how red his face had grown over the course of a few seconds. I was so distracted by it, lost in the way I could still see upturned lips just from his eye shape alone, that I failed to acknowledge the other man for a suspicious length of time.

“Well hey, don’t let me get in the way of you two catching up. Reid, I’ll go tell the hostess we’re here, so the others know where to go.”

With a firm pat on the shoulder, the man almost turned to walk away. But before he could, I drew him back again.

“Ooh, is there a party?”

Spencer, finally able to speak again, rushed his reply.

“No, it’s nothing.”

It was obviously not nothing, though. Judging by the toothy grin that his friend flashed, it was a very big not-nothing.

“Did he not tell you?” he asked with an incredulous, mischievous tone, “It’s his birthday.”

And it was, by far, the most insulting, scandalous news I’d heard that night. Enough to elicit a sharp gasp and hand reaching out to grab his wrist in a way I knew I shouldn’t have.

“You didn’t tell me it’s your birthday!”

My mind was racing, kicking myself for having not figured it out sooner. I was trying to recall the monthly staff newsletter, but then quickly remembered that I usually relied on Spencer to summarize them for me.

“It’s not my birthday,” he explained with a sigh, “It was a few days ago.”

His friend seemed pleased by my response, although he clearly saw it dwindling. My heels had already dropped back down with my hands that fell away, signaling a very different emotion than the excitement from seconds prior.

“We’re meeting up with some people for drinks and dinner. You want to come?” he asked, trying to convince me before it was too late.

But the moment had passed, replaced by loud, insecure ranting that insisted that Spencer wouldn’t have avoided telling me his birthday unless he didn’t want me to know. That meant he either didn’t enjoy making a fuss out of his birthday, or he didn’t want me to, specifically.

“Uhh...”

“Don’t answer that,” Spencer cut in, swiftly raising a hand to dismiss the other man whose name I finally learned. “Thanks Derek, I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Suit yourself,” he mumbled back. But Derek, in all of his disappointment, didn’t fail to draw out one more flustered laugh from the two of us who remained as he gave a tiny half-wave and sang, “Goodbye, Bunny.”

Spencer’s neck craned back, never once leaving his friend until he had safely entered the restaurant. Once he was sure that he was safe from ridicule, or at least observation, his entire demeanor changed.

“I’m sorry about that,” he offered, but I couldn’t accept. If anyone had been a bother here, it was me (and my friends).

“No, I’m sorry I bothered you!” I rushed.

The silence stretched between us, an unsettling reminder that we rarely interacted outside of work. That he’d never known me to party, and I’d never thought of him doing something as routine and normal as celebrating a birthday. It shouldn’t have been strange, but it was.

Perhaps that feeling was what drove me to continue, proudly stating, “I promise that I will have all your work ready first thing in the morning.”

It wasn’t until Spencer’s eyebrows furrowed and his mouth opened in a strange, lopsided grin that I’d realized I made a mistake.

“Um...” he spoke through laughter, “Tomorrow is Saturday.”

“I’m very motivated?”

Thankfully, he saw the humiliation and was happy to offer me a graceful escape from my humiliation. “How about I give you until Tuesday, instead?”

“Yeah, that’s probably for the best, huh?”

I gladly took it, staring down at my heels as I tried to find anything else to focus on. Anything that wasn’t his eyes that seemed even more powerful after dark. But true to the magnetism I always experienced in his vicinity, I was drawn back into golden irises full of an emotion that made my heart beat twice as hard.

“Where did your friends go?” he asked. I didn’t trust myself to answer, so I just threw my thumb over my shoulder and towards the bar behind me. I didn’t turn away from him then, too scared to acknowledge that I would be leaving him soon. That we would go our separate ways again and I would have to wait until Tuesday to drown in the honey of his eyes again.

Sure enough, Spencer gave a solemn nod and cleared his throat before mumbling, “Right. You should probably go find them, so they don’t get worried.”

But I didn’t want to leave. I wanted to stay with him, the rest of the world be damned. I wanted to feel his eyes on me longer, especially when they started to wander my figure that I’d secretly hoped he would see.

I could pretend to hate my friend for calling him over all I wanted, but when I slipped into the costume hours earlier, I’d wondered what he would do if he saw me like this. And now that the answer was in front of me, torn between the exposed skin of my thighs and chest, I wanted to experience it for as long as possible.

With my fingers on the zipper to try and calm my heart, the inebriation manifested in soft giggles as I replied, “I think I’m pretty safe with you, Professor.”

Spencer didn’t need to vocalize his disagreement. I saw his contention in the form of wayward eyes falling to my hands that fiddled with the tiny piece of plastic keeping me covered. When they trailed back up the zipper teeth to meet my eyes again, they were filled with a hunger that took my breath away.

Unfortunately for us, though, our smitten haze wasn’t shared by anyone else in the vicinity. Especially not the drunk pack of men who passed, completely unaware of the amount of space they took up on the sidewalk. I don’t even remember one of them running into me, but I definitely remembered what followed in extreme, vivid detail.

Spencer caught me, quickly and more gracefully than I thought him capable of moving. His arms were locked around me, not only preventing me from face planting on the concrete but causing me to press my face directly against him.

Before he had a chance to say or do much of anything else, I placed my hands on his chest and tore myself away from the warmth of his embrace. Because I was already drunk enough on the alcohol — I didn’t need to be any more inebriated from him.

“S-See? You caught me!” I squeaked.

I didn’t miss the fact his hands stayed on my waist even with the added distance, his fingers subtly digging into and stroking the plush fabric. I didn’t try to stop them, either.

“Are you going to be okay? Should I take you home?”

I knew it wasn’t how he’d meant it, but my inner voice still pleaded, Yes, God, please, yes! My outer voice, however, clung to reason and respectability.

“No! Don’t miss your birthday dinner!” I insisted, but he didn’t look convinced. “I’m fine, seriously. I just suck at walking in heels.”

Any part of me that would have normally been offended by his insistence that I couldn’t handle myself while drinking was quelled by my desire to keep his hands on me as long as possible. Although there was enough space for my arms between our chests, I swore I felt his fluttering heartbeat against my fingers. I thought of hummingbirds.

Resigned to my stubbornness, Spencer took a moment longer to stroke patterns through the pink fabric wrapped around my waist before he sighed, “If you say so.”

“I do!” I giggled, leaning closer like I might convince him not to leave at all, “So you better listen up, mister Professor man.”

The look he gave me was sweet, honeyed bliss. But even that seemed minuscule in comparison to the way his hands slid over my sides, making their way over my shoulders and gently brushing the errant bunny ears back out of my face. He left them there, too, with a barely-there caress of my face.

“You look cute,” he said, like it wouldn’t break my heart.

Shier than he’d ever seen me before, I somehow managed to still look him in the eye as I answered, “So do you.”

It was a good thing I’d been paying attention, too. If I hadn’t been staring into his eyes, I would have missed the flash of chaotic playfulness that appeared just as he glanced down at the space between our chests.

I wouldn’t have been prepared at all when he dropped one of his hands from my face to the zipper of my costume. Not to say that anything could have prepared me for the way it felt to have his knuckle brush against the skin just below the lace bralette that had been meant to protect my modesty.

Before I could even comprehend the delicious friction of our skin, it was gone. Spencer pulled the zipper up to my chin, releasing the plastic in favor of grabbing hold of my chin once more.

“Be careful with that zipper,” he instructed, “I don’t need you getting hypothermia this early in the semester.”

Unsure of how else to respond, my body responded on instinct as it stammered, “I-I promise.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked again, and my autopilot continued.

“Double promise. Promise squared.”

“Okay. You have my number so... call me if you need anything.”

I absently nodded, but Spencer accurately concluded that I hadn’t actually processed what he’d said. When he let go of me, he took the time to smooth out the bunched up fabric over my shoulders. I tried to convince myself that he was just interested in the soft fluff, but it was hard to ignore the hunger that’d only grown stronger. The darkness that rivaled the moonless hallow’s eve.

“I don’t mind giving you a ride home if it means you get back safe,” he said with a deathly seriousness strongly contrasted by the flippancy that followed. “Otherwise I’ll have more work for Tuesday.”

I was grateful for the shift, because it made the loss of his hands hurt less. My chest filled with laughter that quickly burst from me with frantic, messy words.

“Of course! The work. For Tuesday. Okay! Thank you!”

“For what?” he also said through laughter.

“I— don’t know.”

Spencer turned away from me, looking behind him at the obligations that would tear us apart. I wondered if he, too, was busy contemplating how well it suited just how different we were. How two establishments side by side could house such different things. How we were frequenting opposite ends of the spectrum.

Whatever he was thinking about, however, it didn’t break his spirits too badly. Because before he sent me on my merry way, he flashed me the goofiest little bouncing peace sign before he sang, “Hop along, little bunny.”

So I did, turning back to my life and letting him return to his. But I couldn’t shake the feeling of his eyes following me until the darkness of the bar swallowed the space between us.

Still, I didn’t need him to be there to remember how it felt for his hands to roam my body like familiar territory. I saw that look in his eyes every time that I closed my own and remembered how it made my legs shake like weak stems bending to the wind.

I decided then that it wasn’t the worst thing in the world that he’d seen me in my costume. In fact, I think he quite liked it.

——————————————————

There are few things more relentless than Derek Morgan. Death and taxes, perhaps. When it came to mocking me, there wasn’t a single missed opportunity. Even at the darkest hour, I trusted him to be consistent and predictable.

That was precisely why it made no sense that I had made it through an entire dinner and drinks outing with the team without him mentioning what had happened. Not even once. I almost let myself be relieved. Perhaps time spent with a child that can talk back did him some good, I thought. But when the time finally came for us to take our leave, I realized my mistake. He wasn’t holding back out of the kindness of his heart.

No, Derek wanted to wait until there was no escape route. He wanted to have me trapped in a car hurtling down a highway before he spoke the words that he’d been waiting to say all night.

“So... Bunny.”

“Her name is (y/n),” I quickly corrected. Unfortunately, Derek wasn’t in a merciful mood. Although there was a notable smirk on his face, his next words were uttered with a hefty dose of skepticism. A warning that it was a subject that ought to be approached with a critical sincerity.

“Her name is Trouble. That’s what her name is,” he said, shaking his head.

“She’s just my teaching assistant,” I said like I might actually convince myself, though we both knew that I wasn’t going to convince him. “It’s fine.”

“Is that what they’re calling it nowadays?”

But that time, it was me who issued the warning.

“Stop,” I ordered, meeting his eyes to find him hiding his genuine concern under jokes that weren’t really jokes at all. “I respect her. She’s very bright and she earned her position.”

“I never said she didn’t. I know she’s probably smart, but I also saw the way you looked at her.”

The words felt like a blow to the stomach — yet another reminder that my affections for her were so thinly veiled they might as well be scrawled across my skin. He didn’t need to be a profiler to notice that I was fond of the girl, but it certainly made it worse.

Because he knew that I was lying when I muttered, “You don’t need to worry about it.”

He knew that I was lying, but he still asked, “Why’s that?”

“She’s...” I started, pausing while the word tried to form on my tongue. The word that had haunted me ever since those damned girls mentioned it. That short, simple little noun that had taken a cursory affection and turned it into full blown lust.

“She’s a virgin.”

Derek’s brows jumped up his face, his jaw dropping the same way mine had when I first heard the news. Then, just as I had, he put the pieces together and realized that it should have been a foregone conclusion.

“Trouble with a capital everything,” he half laughed.

But this wasn’t a joking matter, and I really wished that I could make him believe that. That definitely wouldn’t happen, though. Not when he looked up to see me hiding behind my hands, sinking into my seat like it would get me out of the conversation.

“Don’t be ridiculous. She’s obviously waiting.”

It was the wrong thing to say. I should have seen his response coming from a mile away. But I didn’t, and so I was forced to listen to his childish giggles that were followed with an even more lighthearted crooning.

“Yeah, waiting for the right professor to come teach her the lesson on the birds and the bees.”

“Cut it out.”

Without even looking, he astutely observed, “Kid, you’re blushing.”

“Yeah, because you’re talking about me fuc–”

The word never made it out, getting caught between my teeth as I bit down on my tongue damn near hard enough to make it bleed. I wished it would. I wanted the iron to drown me and rid me of the sinful things it sought to do, instead. Opting for a more… distinguished explanation, I eventually stammered the rest of the thought.

“You’re talking about me... deflowering my significantly younger employee!”

“You can say fuck, Reid,” he deadpanned, “I think you’re old enough now.”

“I don’t want to. It sounds too... crude.”

I didn’t expect him to understand. How could he? He’d only seen her when she was at her most provocative… by far. Part of me envied him, to be able to sequester her innocence and view her as just another girl.

But she wasn’t like anyone else. She was an untouched bloom, a magnolia of unearthly shades. A beautiful blossom that had broken through the concrete walls I’d maintained for so many years. A tantalizing taste of the life outside that I refused to let in.

A fucking tease.

“Too crude for little miss innocent bunny?” Derek cooed, and it was so uncomfortably close to my thoughts that I couldn’t help the way I snapped back.

“Are you done?”

As we pulled into my parking lot, Derek just waved off my hostility, recognizing it as nothing but misfired shame and anguish at the thing I wanted being out of my reach.

“Yeah, I’m done. I hope you had fun, even with the teasing.”

I chose not to dignify the second half of the statement, climbing out of the car like I couldn’t step away from the conversation fast enough. But of course, I knew that only made my guilt more apparent. My culpability was clear and conclusive. There was no argument to be made.

“You know I’m right!” he shouted just before the door shut. A final reminder, one last cautionary call for the beast inside of me to keep itself hidden lest I allow myself to sink my teeth into something pure.

“Goodnight!”

Few things changed when I reached the confines of my apartment walls. Fantasies had only devolved into a vividness that was borderline frightening. How easily I could get lost in visions of her, only promising my return in exchange for my imagination agreeing to become a reality that I would get a chance to experience.

But that wasn’t fair to her. She was just a girl doing her job with an astounding amount of patience and understanding for her hopeless romantic of a boss. For a moment, the guilt became so overwhelming that I let it win. I managed to swallow my newly acquired memories well enough to navigate my nightly routine without wishing she was there every step of the way.

Wishing that she would call me. That she would grant me the excuse to return to her, to touch her as freely as I had earlier. I imagined a world where, upon arriving to her destination, she invited me in.

As I collapsed on my bed, I wondered if she would have preferred the privacy of my home. A place far enough away from other students and academics to finally see me as something more than a superior. Something attainable in a way she never seemed to be.

Just as I closed my eyes to give in to the dreams, my phone buzzed. The sound set off every nerve in my body, all of them very poorly coordinating to allow me to grab the device and turn it on to reveal her name.

“Hey Professor! I just wanted to let you know that I got home…”

I’d never opened a notification so quickly, but I should have waited. I should have paused and taken the time to notice that what I was opening wasn’t just a collection of letters and symbols.

It was a set of pictures.

Pictures of her.

“Safe and sound and zippered up. No hypothermia for this bunny tonight,” she tagged onto the end, “Sweet dreams!”

How could I ever dream of anything but her? How was I meant to turn off my phone now, knowing that she was there; her drunken, lustful stare on display? I only tore my eyes away from her face long enough to notice her surroundings. I took extensive, painstaking notes on the color of the sheets on her bed and the way the zipper I’d tugged at to control myself from taking her had fallen away again.

I could feel the softness of her skin against my knuckle again. I heard the way her breath nearly broke at the force with which she sucked in air at the feeling of me touching her. How hard she pressed herself against me, how her back arched when I held her and how she never even tried to stop my hands from finding new places to rest.

They worked diligently now, too, trying to keep her awake and with me for as long as I could, but also wanting to free myself of obligations so that she wouldn’t notice how long I’d stared at the pictures she’d sent.

“Goodnight, little bunny,” I sent before adding, “I’ll be counting rabbits instead of sheep tonight.”

As if to reward my efforts, another picture flooded my screen. Her face was scrunched up in an adorable innocence, half covered with her hand but still effortlessly beautiful.

I stopped myself from responding again. I forced myself to stop, to prevent treacherous hands from calling her and begging her to let me come to her. It wasn’t fair — it was manipulative, downright evil, even — to take advantage of her inebriated state to hoard any insight she might provide.

But she’d already sent these… So, would it be so wrong to indulge in her? By touching my own body to the thought of her, would I taint her? Did I care even if it did? Maybe it was for the best to plant the seed of impurity now, to strip her of her power over me.

But deep down, I knew that I would still want her. I would still wish that the hand that sneaked beneath the sheets belonged to her. I could almost feel it as my hand traversed familiar territory. It would be new for her, and it would be new for me to feel the delicate, unmarred skin of her palm slowly sliding down my stomach. Her fingers bashfully brushing through soft curls at the base of me, still too nervous to hold me the way I needed her to.

Her face would be buried in my shoulder, with dew from her breath wetting my neck and raising the hairs on my arms. I would take her hand in mine and guide her to wrap her trembling hand around my cock.

Just like I was doing to myself now, with my other hand still holding the phone displaying the image of innocence. My hand wasn’t as soft or inexperienced as hers would be, but as long as my eyes stayed on her half-lidded gaze staring back at me, I could pretend.

I could hear her panting my name— my real name, Spencer— in my ear, praising the feel of silky skin beneath her fingertips. She would whisper about how she wanted to feel it elsewhere, too. She would beg for me to replace a hand for her most precious place.

That damned angelic girl showing her hand on the zipper would beg me to steal away her innocence. She would unveil herself slowly, knowing that I needed the time to memorize every inch of her skin as it was seen by another for the first time. Seen by me, and only me. The vision would be for my consumption and indulgence.

I wanted it. I wanted her.

My stomach tensed as I pictured the girl staring back at me straddling my hips. I stroked myself harder, faster, letting my thumb trace down her body on my screen.

If I stole it from her, would it be mine?

Would she be trapped as I was, only able to feel anything when I was with her? Would she dream of me? Would she cherish each and every memory of my touch and play it back in her mind? When she felt the urge to break and burn, would she picture my hands lighting the match?

If I ruined her, would she be mine?

I pictured the girl on the screen with tears in her eyes, her mouth stuck open in a silent scream and her hands clutching desperately to mine. I imagined how tightly her body would grip me as I fucked her. How hard it would fight the intrusion of my sinful touch. How I would hold her down despite the resistance until she gave in to me. Until I broke her, thoroughly and irreparably.

She would be mine.

That was the thought that took me over the edge, all energy that was not delegated to my hand feverishly stroking my cock remained with my other hand to hold her picture in front of me. It never even wavered, never once shaking and risking losing any clarity. Even my eyes refused to close all the way.

She would be mine.

The warm, sticky mess of my desire coated my hand and stomach, but all I could think was how it would feel to mark her as mine. To feel the excess drip back down my cock as she collapsed against my body. To know that she would never be the same, never be wholly herself again. That she’d let me inside of her soul and that when I left, I hadn’t left empty handed.

She was already mine.

——————————————————

| Part Four |

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myherowritings · 4 years

Text

PART 3. ACCIDENTAL SUGAR DADDY?

SUMMARY. Todoroki Shouto was a wealthy, young CEO who inherited his father’s enterprise. You were a barista at a local cafe who wouldn’t mind some extra cash. One day, Shouto came in during an early morning shift and tipped you such a large sum of money, you were certain it had to have been an accident. To your surprise and complete pleasure: It was not.

PAIRING. ceo!todoroki shouto x barista!reader

WORD COUNT. 2.4k

GENRE. ceo/barista au, fluff, eventual smut

WARNINGS. none in this chapter

A/N. happy new year y’all! :3 i hope you have a good 2021 and here is some flirty ceo!shouto for u to enjoy as we enter the new year hehe ;) thank you for reading and i hope you enjoy! xx sof

SERIES MASTERLIST

“I heard you dropped by this weekend,” you said as a greeting, a playful smile on your lips. “Looking for me?”

If the tips of his ears didn’t tinge pink, you would have guessed Shouto was completely unaffected by your words.

“Mn.” He drew his attention away from your gaze and pointedly adjusted his cufflinks. “Good morning to you too.”

You laughed, accepting you wouldn’t get anything out of your attempt at teasing. “Morning, Shouto. How was your weekend?”

The cafe was quite busy this hour, but Miyazaki took over the other register to alleviate the stress (though, what she really said was so you and pretty boy—who happened to be rich rich—could talk). Whatever the reason, you were glad for a small break whenever you could get it.

“You could say it was busy,” he replied, sounding a bit tired. For the first time since you met him, you actually noticed how exhausted he looked. You wanted to put cucumbers on his eyes and lay his head down on your lap to coax him to sleep. Nonetheless, he smiled softly at you. “And yours? I hope you were able to have time to rest and relax.”

You nodded. “I just slept a lot and caught up on the shows I missed throughout the week.”

“The real way a weekend should be spent.”

His voice was teasing but he didn’t sound mocking. Just...somewhat playful. There was something about his tone that made you want to hear it again.

“Something tells me you need a weekend away where you could just relax and do nothing,” you commented, tapping the back of your pen to your chin. “Do you not have any days off at work?”

He considered this. “Depends what you mean by day off.”

“If you have to ask that, that probably means you don’t have a day off, huh?” you said with a frown, holding your hand over your chest as you sighed dramatically. “You poor thing. Overworked and tired. Maybe I should steal you away one weekend and get you to just relax.”

You were only half-serious.

“Maybe you should,” agreed Shouto, sounding full-serious.

“Maybe I will,” you blurted before you could stop yourself. Maybe you could if you actually had his number… Then, feeling shameful you said, “But, ah, anyway, what can I get for you today? We actually have cheese danishes again!”

His face brightened. “You do? I’ll take five dozen.”

With a laugh you took down his order. You really weren’t sure where all these pastries were going when he bought it, but judging from his expression, you figured it must be somewhere good.

“And for your drink?”

“This time I’ll have a large green tea with almond milk, please.”

You nodded but tilted your head to the side in question. “No coffee with extra shots of espresso today?”

“I add too much sugar and creamer to my coffee,” he admitted sheepishly. “And with all the baked goods I’ve been eating I realized I may have had an excess amount of sweets lately.”

With an understanding laugh you patted his hand that was resting on the counter woefully. “I can definitely relate to that. If too many sweets are bad for you they shouldn’t have made it taste so good.”

Shouto glanced down at where your hands touched, an expression you couldn’t quite discern on his face. Averting your gaze, you quickly pulled your hand back. Was that inappropriate of you? Did he find it too pushy?

“Oh— Sorry about that,” you said, rubbing your elbow with your opposite hand. “Got a bit ahead of myself there.”

“No, it’s fine.” He blinked once. “I didn’t mind.”

Unsure if he meant anything by that and unsure if you were reading too much into things, you simply brushed the topic off and moved on to getting his order in telling him the price.

“Paying by card again, I’m assuming?” you asked before hitting the appropriate button on the screen.

“Correct.”

By now the sight of the sleek and pretty credit card was one you grew rather fond of as he scanned over the payment terminal and signed his name. Was it weird you wanted to examine his signature more closely? Shouto seemed like the type of person who would have a fancy signature that somehow looked like art.

As per routine, you told him his order would be ready for pick up at his right and, before he left the register, he thanked you and gave you another $100.

Did it feel any less strange than the first time he tipped you? Not really, no. But you still weren’t going to complain about a generous tip from a willing customer.

Before he left with his cheese danishes and cup of tea in hand, he stopped by next to you with a small smile.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Y/N.”

You grinned back. “Can’t wait, Shouto!”

— ✩ —

This went on for a whole other week. By this point, he had given you over $1,000 in tip and you were starting to feel like you should give him something in return despite him assuring you he didn’t expect anything.

When you told your friends about the nice guy you met while you were working and they asked for the details, the first thing they said in response to your situation was, “Sugar daddy?”

Before they planted that thought into your head, you just took it as a rich businessman who hated the rich and believed in redistribution of wealth—you couldn’t complain about that. That made him even more appealing, if you must say. But once Kaminari and Ashido whispered those two words, you couldn’t help but see the comparisons.

You had no issues with sugar daddies or sugar babies; as long as they were two consenting adults, what did it matter to you? It just wasn’t something you were looking for at the time and you didn’t want Shouto to get the wrong impression or involve yourself in something you weren’t ready to.

As you commuted to work for your next morning shift, you told yourself today was the day you’d thank him one final time for the tips, but tell him you couldn’t accept anymore. You were sure he’d be understanding but you also hoped it wouldn’t deter him from coming to see you. That was the last thing you’d want.

“Mrs. Miyazaki,” you said between customers. “When Shouto comes in, do you think I can step away from the register to talk to him for a little? I promise it’ll be brief!”

She waved her hand dismissively. “That’s not a problem. Are you finally going to ask him out or something?”

You scratched the back of your neck. “Or something, yeah.”

Thankfully, by the time Shouto arrived today, it was later than he normally came, meaning rush hour was almost dying down.

“Good morning! Someone’s a little late today,” you teased. “Overslept?”

“I wish,” he sighed wistfully. “I had a meeting early this morning and it just ended. Didn’t have a chance to pick up some coffee or pastries beforehand.”

You frowned. “I’m sorry to hear that. I hope whoever was hosting the meeting at least provided you guys drinks and snacks!”

He paused. “He did, but… I just thought yours were better.”

Smiling at the compliment, you preened. “Well, I can’t say I’m not surprised. And I’m glad you were able to drop by still. Would’ve missed you too much otherwise.”

Again, you were only half-serious.

“Hm. I would’ve missed you too.”

And again, he seemed full-serious. Not that you minded.

After taking his order and watching him pay, you pulled him to the side, looking over at your boss so she knew what was going on. She gave you a brief nod as you turned your attention to Shouto.

A lapse of silence went by and he spoke up, “Did you have something you wanted to say?”

“Yeah, actually.” You wrung your fingers nervously, hoping you wouldn’t say anything to offend him since you knew his actions were coming from a kind place. “I just wanted to say… I’m not really looking for a sugar daddy right now.”

He blinked once. Then twice. “Pardon?”

You stared at him, unsure what to say.

“I— Sorry. I wasn’t… It’s not my intention to be a...sugar daddy either.” Shouto’s face flushed a bright pink that made your own cheeks warm up in response.

“But the—the money? I just… I guess I thought…” You winced.

So he wasn’t trying to pick up a sugar baby… Well, this was awkward. But regardless, you think you’ve gotten close enough to him to the point where it would feel weird accepting money from him.

“I’m sorry if I was unclear. It really is just a tip to show appreciation for your service here.”

You shook your head. “No! Sorry, that makes sense! My friends just said… And then I…” you trailed off, feeling a million times more flustered than when you started. “Sorry about that. The sugar daddy mishap aside, I still wanted to say that I really appreciate the tips you gave, but I don’t think I can accept them anymore.”

Slowly, he nodded, adjusting the collar of his dress shirt. “I understand. Did something happen?”

“No, nothing happened!” you were quick to assure. “I really am thankful, but… I think we’ve gotten too close for me to be comfortable accepting that much money, you know?”

Shouto tilted his head to the side, listening intently.

“Like,” you tried to explain, fiddling with your apron, “over the past few weeks I just think we’ve gotten to know each other more and I think of you as a friend of sorts now.” You peered at him through your lashes, hoping your words were making sense. “I think as a relationship develops—for me, at least—adding money into the mix can cause weird power imbalances if not communicated properly. And I just don’t want that for us.”

He thought through your words for a while before agreeing. “I get what you mean. I wouldn’t want to unintentionally make you feel like you owe me anything, so if you’re not comfortable with it, I can stop.”

“Thanks, Shouto,” you said with a beam, glad he was so receptive. Really though, what else did you expect? From your interactions with him you took him to be kindhearted and open. Of course he wouldn’t be upset over this. “But just to be clear, this doesn’t mean you should stop coming! Right? I don’t want to stop being your friend or anything!”

With a small laugh, he nodded. “Sure. I wouldn’t want to part with my favorite cafe. And I’d like to keep being friends as well.”

Those words warmed your heart. You really were nervous about this confrontation earlier; you didn’t want voicing your opinion to mean ending your friendship. (Although, if you sharing what you were comfortable with was enough to end a relationship, then you supposed it was bound to be a toxic and stifling one in the long run and it was good to know in the beginning to end it before it could grow.) Turns out, however, that you didn’t even need to worry about that. He was understanding and sweet and you were glad to have gotten this out of the way.

“Well, as new friends,” you said, gently nudging his side, “maybe we should get to know each other more? Exchange numbers… Hang out outside of this cafe…” You ran through some suggestions, almost bouncing on your feet in excitement. “I mean, I know you’re always so busy and might not have much free time to hang out. But— If you’re ever free one weekend…”

“I’d enjoy that,” he cut in, saving you from blabbering your mouth off and accidentally embarrassing yourself. “Didn’t you say you’d steal me away from work to relax? I’m still holding you to that.”

The beginnings of a smirk formed on his face as he looked at your flustered expression. Was he teasing you?

You huffed, pretending to be insulted by his playful mocking. “Guess I’ll really have to do it then.”

“Guess so.”

“Maybe you should give me your number first so we could plan it.”

“Okay.”

He handed you his phone and you handed him yours, both of your adding your numbers to the contact list. Smiling, you held the phone in front of the two of you to take a contact picture of yourself for Shouto’s phone. To your complete surprise, he laughed before promptly following suit and taking a selfie for his contact image.

“Cute,” you said when he handed you back your phone.

“You too.”

Placing your device back in your pocket, you looked at him, hand on hip. “Since when did you become such a smooth-talker? Am I going to have to guard my heart now?”

His only response was a shrug, but you could see hints of a smile playing on his face. The two of you seemed to be smiling a lot lately, you couldn’t help but notice.

“I should probably let you go to work now—and I should go back to mine.” You gestured to the growing line at the front of the store. Your manager looked like she had things under control, but you didn’t want to take advantage of her kindness. “You should text me later though. If you want.”

“I’ll do that,” Shouto promised, picking up his drink and pastry boxes from the side counter. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Y/N. And… I’ll message you soon.”

As you watched him leave the store, you were certain you had a silly look on your face as you stared in a trance.

“I’ll turn my phone off silent just for you!” you said to his back, hoping he understood what a momentous occasion this was. Your phone was always on silent (unless you were playing a game, of course). But for Shouto, you could handle hearing the obnoxious ringtone and text tone.

With an amused expression he nodded before waving goodbye.

Later on that day, at the end of your shift, you noticed a new message from a certain someone that made your stomach flutter.

Shouto: Hi there. It’s Shouto :)

You never knew those four simple words would be enough to keep the grin plastered on your face up until the moment your head hit your pillow to fall asleep. But, damn— Were you glad that happened to be the case.

a/n: whY WAS SHOUTO AND Y/N EXCHANGING NUMBERS SO CUTE idk that scene got me all blushy and :DDD HFJDKSF like taking a selfie with shouto and getting his number? only goal in life BFHFGF,, also y/n said no more tips how we feeling? ;o

what to expect in the next part:

an unwanted visitor ಥ_ಥ

shouto has a...proposition for y/n

FLIRTING FLUFF SO MUCH CUTENESS U MIGHT CRY

y/n struggles with their fEeLiNGs~

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whisker-biscuit · 3 years

Text

The Birds, The Bees, and The Bottles

Fandom: Psychonauts

Rating: T for mild language and discussions of underage drinking

Summary: Two teens are caught trying to sneak into a bar. Bob finally has a conversation he’s held off for far too long.

Because herbaphony is not the only thing that runs in the Zanotto family.

-------------------------------------

Bob’s phone rang at two in the morning. Judging by the jolly ringtone of Helmut singing Strawberry Fields Forever, it was his personal phone instead of his work one, and that was the real tip off to things being very, very wrong.

He woke up and groggily pulled out of his still-slumbering-husband’s arms to answer the little thing going off on his nightstand.

“H’lo?”

“Bob!” Truman’s voice came out far too loud for the time of night, and far too stressed. “Bob, I’m so sorry to wake you, but something happened with Lili. I need you to pick her up for me, please.”

The older man sat up, much more awake as worry and fear immediately rolled in his gut. Helmut finally began to stir beside him, sensing his partner’s agitation.

“Truman, what’s going on? Pick Lili up from where?”

“The city’s police precinct on Abbey Avenue. She – she called me, but I’m out of state and I wouldn’t get there for hours at least even if I left this instant. She’s not in danger!” He added hastily, hearing the concern before Bob could even voice it mentally. “She didn’t get hurt! She’s just…”

The way he tapered off, the way he hesitated, said more than words could.

“She just got herself into some trouble, and she needs someone to go get her.”

Helmut was sitting up now, and Bob felt the question cross their mental link.

What happened?

Truman needs me to pick Lili up from the police station.

“I’m up, I’m on my way right now,” He responded to his nephew verbally, heaving himself out of bed. His husband followed suit despite still looking extremely puzzled, bless him.

“Thank you so much, Bob. I’ll make it up to you as soon as I can, I promise.”

“Don’t worry about it.” The older man waved a dismissive hand even though Truman wasn’t there to see it. “Family is s’pposed to do that for each other anyway.”

“Did I hear that right? Our peppy petunia had a run-in with the law?” Helmut asked as soon as his partner hung up. He paused, and in a lower tone – “she didn’t kill anyone, did she?”

“I don’t think it’s that serious,” Bob said, pulling a coat on over his sleep shirt. “But something tells me we still have a few things to worry about. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Ohohoh, no, don’t even think about hoofin’ it without me. We both know I’m the better driver.”

“Neither of us are very good drivers, Helmut.”

“Exactly! That little bit makes all the difference!”

The herbophanist sighed, charmed despite himself and the situation. “Alright, alright. Let’s not keep her waiting.”

The police precinct was nearly dead at this time of night. While it would’ve felt eerie to anyone else, Bob was grateful for the lack of people, and not just because he was still an introvert of the highest degree.

Two teenagers awaited them in the lobby, sitting on a bench together. One was hunched over and burning a hole in the ground with his downcast eyes. The other sat straight up, defiant, holding a glaring contest with the officer standing over them. When Bob entered the room first and met his great-niece’s eyes, her self-assuredness wavered for a brief moment. She hid the slip-up behind a wall of indifference.

“Lili,” he said softly. Then, just as softly but with a gruff tinge of surprise; “Razputin.”

There was no accusation in his voice, but the former scowled harder and the latter looked like he wanted to employ his invisibility. Bob studied them both a moment before his husband appeared and broke the tension with his mere presence.

“We’re here to bust you out, kiddos!” He announced with spread arms, cheerfully ignoring the looks he received from every person in the room.

“Are you Truman Zanotto?” Asked the officer who finally broke his gaze away from Lili to give them a disapproving once-over.

“No, I’m uh, I’m Bob Zanotto, and this is Helmut,” came the awkward reply. “Truman called me to pick Lili up. She’s my great-niece.”

A few seconds of silence passed as the officer made no move to do anything with that information. Bob cleared his throat.

“We’re, uh, listed in her emergency contacts for school?”

“I see. If you can just fill out some paperwork first, we can release her into your custody.”

The herbophanist watched the way Raz seemed to sink further in his seat at the mention of family contacts. The Aquatos were also out of state right now too, if he remembered correctly. Perfect timing for two minors getting up to mischief.

Well, up until they were actually caught.

“And…Razputin, too?” He asked, catching the teen’s startled gaze and giving him the mental equivalent of a thumbs-up.

The officer raised a brow. “Is he related to you, too?”

“Well, uh –”

“Yep!” Helmut interrupted, strolling right up to Raz and giving him a merry clap on the back. The teen had a physique comparable to most adult Olympic athletes, but even he nearly toppled forward from the force of such a big man. “He’s my third cousin, twice removed. Big family. Very close. Holidays are an experience, lemme tell ya!”

“Fine,” the officer pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fine, okay, I’ll make sure he gets cleared for release too. I’ll be right back.”

He stalked off, muttering something about it ‘being too damn early for this’, and the older couple turned to face Raz and Lili. Helmut steepled his fingers together to rest against his mustache.

“So! Now that Officer Spoil-Sport is gone, are we allowed to know what heinous crime has been committed in the night by my favorite pair of mischief-makers?”

The two glanced at each other. Raz was the one to break their silence.

“We, uh…got caught sneaking into a bar.”

Cold heat rushed through Bob’s core. Helmut blinked once, twice, then let out a boisterous chuckle.

“That’s it? Jesus! From the way you two were acting I thought you’d robbed the First National Bank.”

“…Helmut.” His husband murmured. The psi-king lost his mirth as he caught Bob’s eye.

“Ah…w-well, y’know, while I’m certainly glad we won’t hear about a righteous homicide in the news tomorrow, forgery ain’t exactly a humble hobby either.”

“It was just two IDs,” Lili muttered under her breath. “Not a big deal.”

The ice in her great-uncle’s heart turned frigid, but before he or Helmut could say anything to that, the officer was back. He shoved a handful of forms under Bob’s nose and the herbophanist fumbled to grab them before they all tumbled to the floor.

“Uh, uh, thank you.”

“Alright, we’re putting the pause on this conversation to make you free citizens again, but don’t think that means we’re done with it.” The Psi-King gave the teens the sternest look he could manage. “As soon as we get in the car, you two will have a lot of explaining to do.”

“O-Okay.”

“Uh-huh.”

------------------------------------

No one spoke a word as they got in the car and started the drive back.

Raz seemed content to continue his efforts to blend in with the background of his seat, still not meeting anyone’s eyes, and Lili stared out the window with her chin in her hand, leaning against the car’s backdoor and letting the lights of the city bathe her in neon sickness.

Helmut, bless his soul, dutifully kept the radio going while he drove, changing the station to something more mellow whenever a song started getting a little too upbeat for the collective mood of the vehicle. Bob sat in the passenger side with his arms folded awkwardly. His brain was buzzing, dreading the inevitable conversation he needed to have with his great-niece and trying to figure out how he was going to go about it.

It surprised them all when Raz spoke over the music.

“It was my idea.”

The two adults glanced at each other, then through the rearview mirror at the fidgeting teen.

“Your idea to go looking for a drink? Or to sneak into a bar to do it?” Helmut asked, turning off the radio.

“Both.”

He still wasn’t meeting their eyes. Bob sighed through his nose.

“I don’t believe you.”

Razputin’s head finally snapped up to stare at him in shock for the fast call on his bluff. “I’m telling the truth!”

“I think you’re only telling part of it, kid.”

“No! I’m telling all of it.”

“Razpu-”

“Oh, come off it, Raz,” Lili snapped a little too loud, making the whole car jump. “Quit trying to take the fall for me. It was my idea to try the stupid fake ID thing, okay? Happy now?”

“Wh – uh, who said anything about being happy about it?” Helmut asked, legitimately confused.

“Look. Neither of us had anything to do tonight, and we were bored, so Raz suggested getting a drink somewhere, but Adam and Lizzie are out of town so we couldn’t ask them.” She crossed her arms and spoke without any inflection. “So, we went out but no one would let us do anything cause we’re minors. I thought that was stupid, because we’re agents same as any of you, so I came up with the sneaking-in part. We only got caught cause one of the bartenders recognized Raz from a show.”

There were a lot of loaded things to parse through from that explanation, but Bob’s mind stalled on one particular detail.

“Adam and Lizzie give you two alcohol?”

“Not…often,” Raz admitted. “Just once or twice, when we asked.”

“Do you mean like, a literal once or twice, or a…an estimated once or twice?”

“Did Dad put you up to this?” Lili shot back. “It was just a few times, like he said. What’s with the inquisition?”

“…Lili –”

“Raz.”

“Okay!” Helmut proclaimed as he slapped his hand against the steering wheel in boisterous aggression. “Who wants some ice cream?”

Everyone stared at him, dumbfounded.

“Cause I’m really feeling some chocolate-vanilla swirl right now. Basic bitch style. Right? Who’s with me?”

Silence.

“Great! Look at that, open Dairy King right there, better take advantage of this opportunity before it slips through our fingers like the melting ice cream we’re all gonna have in about five minutes!”

The psi-king swung into the parking lot in a frenzy and herded the car crew inside before any of them could come out of their shock long enough to protest. It was only as Bob was staring up at fifteen flavors of oversaturated sugary goodness that he realized what had just happened.

He couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief over his husband’s diversion. The tension that had been boiling over was cooled significantly by the sudden non-sequitur, and while the teens were rather half-hearted about picking out their sweet treats, there was no longer a risk of an explosion happening.

Metaphorically and literally.

Helmut caught his spouse’s eye with a meaningful look at Lili the moment all of them had their orders in hand, then slung his arm around Razputin’s shoulders and steered him away. “C’mon my lad! Nothing like the cool night air of three in the morning to keep your Hurricane ™ properly chilled!”

The poor boy had no choice but to let himself be pulled outside, leaving the two Zanottos standing awkwardly in the dingy restaurant. Bob gave a nervous scratch at his chin under his beard.

“How about we, uh, find a seat somewhere?”

Lili couldn’t fully cross her arms while holding ice cream, but she did a good job of making it work anyway. “Sure.”

They sat in a booth in the farthest corner from the front counter. Both great-niece and great-uncle stared at their respective sweet treats as if they could teleport them out of this situation. Bob glanced out the window and saw Helmut and Raz standing outside of the car. The former was on one knee with his hand on the teen’s shoulder, speaking earnestly but inaudibly, and the latter was scuffing the toe of his sneaker against the asphalt.

“Are you going to lecture me?” Lili finally cut through the silence.

Bob turned back to her. “No. Not really.”

“No?” She broke her gaze away from her ice cream just a little bit, eyeing him with surprise. “Then why did Helmut take Raz and leave us alone?”

She was so perceptive, so smart. And yet, still so young.

“Well, I… I still want to talk to you about what happened. I’m just not very, good, at this kind of thing.” He took his spoon and absentmindedly began drawing a flower in his soft-serve. “You already know what you did wasn’t a good idea, right? So I don’t think a lecture would help things any on that front.”

She didn’t respond. He continued.

“It’s less about the fake ID and more…the reasons you made the fake ID. Does that make sense?”

“I guess so, but I know what I’m doing, Uncle Bob. I’m not going to drink irresponsibly.”

The herbophanist shook his head. “But you’ll do irresponsible things to be able to drink in the first place.”

“That’s not –” Lili didn’t have a good rebuttal. She folded her arms and grumpily started eating her cherry chocolate delight. “Whatever. It’s two different things, anyway.”

Against his better judgement, Bob began picking at his own food as he thought about how best to bring the subject back up without making the teen defensive again. Spoons clicking against teeth was the only sound between them for a solid minute.

Finally, an epiphany.

“Did Truman ever…tell you anything, about your great-grandma?”

The girl paused with a bite halfway up to her mouth. She frowned, confused. “Grandma Tia? Not much. Just that she died when he was a baby.”

“Yeah. Yeah, she did.” He ran a tired hand over his face. The ache in his heart might have long-since healed into a scar, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt when pressed. “She passed away when I was nineteen. The doctors told me it was liver failure.”

He didn’t have to say anything else. Lili’s mouth thinned and she put her spoon down, uncomfortable.

“When I…found out the reason behind her death, I was horrified by it. It didn’t make sense to me why she would willingly do something that hurt her so badly, especially when I was right there to love her and help her. It felt like a betrayal that she never got help or made herself stop. I was…disgusted by the mere thought of doing anything like that.”

Bob took a moment to breathe and wipe his eyes. He wasn’t crying, but better safe than sorry.

“It sounds pretty hypocritical when I say it now, doesn’t it?”

His great-niece only gave him a hesitant look.

“Anyway, uh, where was I…” He worried his lip. “Oh, right. I told myself that I’d never touch the stuff after that. I was angry at what she’d done, and I was determined not to have the same ‘weakness’, so to speak. As you know, it, uh, it didn’t last long. I was at a college party barely a year later when I was invited by some friends to drink with them. I didn’t make human friends very easily back then – actually, I still don’t – so I was a little desperate to keep them. It turned out to be pretty hard whiskey, so I got hammered.”

The man leaned back in his seat, staring at the patterns in the booth table.

“Back then, no one really knew how alcoholism could run in a family. Everyone thought it was a personal choice to keep drinking. It wasn’t even classified as an addiction yet. So I didn’t know how susceptible I was, or how careful I had to be. I’d spend months not having a single drink, thinking I was fine and could handle myself, and then I’d get plastered for a week at parties and bars and God knows what else, and it would take me even longer to get myself to stop again. It was like that even when I was with Ford and his gang. It wasn’t until I started dating Helmut that I started trying to change those habits. I’d never met anyone who loved me so unconditionally that I wanted to be a better person for them, until him. And it worked for a while.

“Well, barring our wedding, of course. I got shitfaced at the reception. It was embarrassing afterwards, but Helmut told me it made our cake-eating ceremony a hell of a great time.”

Lili snorted, and it was accompanied by a tiny upturn of her lips. Then it dropped as her expression became solemn. “And then…everything with Maligula happened, right?”

“Yeah. I think you know the rest of that story.”

“Uh-huh.”

Great-niece and great-uncle sat together for a while, just thinking about it all.

“I know I have to be more careful drinking than a lot of people, Uncle Bob,” Lili finally said at length. “My dad warned me about it when I was old enough to ask.”

“Truman is a good dad,” he murmured in response.

“The best dad.”

“Definitely the best dad.”

More silence.

“I didn’t mean to worry you and him,” she continued. “Or scare you. I know it was dumb to do what we did tonight.”

Bob looked at her, and she gave a conceding sigh.

“Okay, it was dumb to do a lot of what we’ve been doing with this stuff. That doesn’t mean I’m not being careful.”

“Kid, it’s not always just a matter of being careful. I thought I was being careful. I thought that for years and years, and when I finally realized I wasn’t, I convinced myself I could stop any time I wanted to, and kept up the same patterns anyway. That’s what I’m trying to get you to understand. I just don’t want you to make the same mistakes I did. I’m just worried about you.”

Lili closed her eyes with a grimace. “I know. I’m sorry, Uncle Bob.”

“Hey, kiddo, look at me.” He waited until she did so. “I’m not mad at you. I’m not disappointed, either. That’s your dad’s job. I get it, is what I’m saying. It gives you a buzz, and it’s fun and exciting, and you just wanted to have a good time with your, uh…”

Bob leaned in a bit, and dropped his voice to a stage whisper.

“Is Raz still your boyfriend?”

“Wha –” her cheeks went red. “Yes, he is!”

“Alright, sorry, I’m just always out of the loop. No one ever tells me when these things change or not. Anyway,” he continued before she could get brighter than the cherries in her ice cream. “I’m just saying that you gotta be more than careful with this kind of thing. Everyone should be, really, but especially people like us. Plants aren’t the only thing that runs in the Zanotto family, unfortunately, so we just have to be aware of it and act accordingly.”

The teen turned this over in her mind. He could practically see the gears moving. When she looked at him again, it was with a slow, contemplative nod.

“No more late-night bar-hopping?” Her great-uncle asked.

“No more late-night bar-hopping.” She answered, sincere.

“Good.” He looked outside. Helmut and Raz were both lying on the front of the car, pointing out stars to each other. The sight made him smile. “Come on, we’ll work on that whole thing about Adam and Lizzie giving you alcohol another time, when it’s not three in the morning. For now, let’s rejoin our boys again and go get some rest, okay?”

“Okay.” Lili slid out of the booth and tentatively took her family member’s hand. His fingers squeezed hers in reassurance. “And...thanks, Uncle Bob.”

“Well, what can I say. Us weird Zanotto plant people hafta look out for each other, right?”

“Right.”

They walked out together, hand-in-hand.

------------------------------

A/N: I knew from promotional material that we'd be going into the mind of someone struggling with alcoholism, but Bob's Bottles punched me hard in the gut. It's probably my favorite mind in the game, both because it's visually gorgeous and because it hit a little close to home with some of the themes, like generational alcoholism and how the addiction can make someone a shell of themselves.

I wrote half of this three weeks ago and then found myself really struggling to finish it because it brought up a lot of old feelings I thought I'd sorted through a long time ago.

Psychonauts, man.

#psychonauts 2 #psychonauts 2 spoilers #Bob Zanottto #Helmut Fullbear #Lili Zanotto #Razputin Aquato #Bob Zanotto/Helmut Fullbear #psychonauts

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the-witty-pen-name · 4 years

Text

The Nanny Pt. 1

Lee Bodecker x Nanny!F!Reader

18+

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: mentions of alcohol, implied age gap (reader is in her 20s), cursing, Sandy and Carl being bad parents, 18+ content in later chapters

Summary:

Based on this Request: The reader moves to Meade/Knockemstiff while answering an advertisement for a nanny in the paper. We learn that the ad was posted by Sandy, who has the reader watch her child whenever she and Carl leave to do their secret thing. After one of these trips, Sandy and her husband never return, so the reader is left caring for their baby. With the new investigation into these events, she meets Sandy’s brother Lee, the older, out of shape, alcoholic bachelor, and they are suddenly thrown into each others lives as he begins looking into his sister’s disappearance. Through it all, Lee starts to fall for her, and they slowly become a family.

A/N: Here is the first part of my newest series and I want to thank the anon who reached out to me with this idea!

If I missed anything I should include as a warning that I missed please let me know!

Taglist Form is in my bio and should be updated to now to include this fic! (If for some reason it isn’t working send me a message and I’ll make sure you’re added!!)

“Damn it, Sandy, can’t you handle that?” Carl yells from his dark room as the baby starts crying again.

“Fuck you, Carl,” Sandy shouts back, hurrying to put out her cigarette before heading to the nursery.

Their little girl was just about a year old, and neither one of them knew what they were doing. Carl was incredibly indifferent and despite her honest attempts at motherhood, Sandy’s maternal instincts never kicked in like she thought it would happen. Carl was annoyed that it cut into their time they would be on trips. They weren’t able to photograph models with the baby on the road, so he’d been itching to get back on the road.

“Is she hungry?” he shouts back, not even bothering to take his eyes off of the most recent photographs he had been developing.

“I just fed her!”

“Then why is she crying?”

“Fuck if I know,” Sandy shouts back exasperated. She scooped up the baby from her crib and started to rock her back and forth in her arms. Sandy also tried burping her, humming a little lullaby she made up on the fly… no luck. She walks around the house with the baby on her hip, trying to rock her back to sleep.

“We haven’t able to get back on the road in a year,” Carl says, clearly frustrated.

“That ain’t purely my fault,” she spits back, “Takes two to make a baby, Carl.”

“Fuck I know,” he groans, “But I need new inspiration. If I take one more picture of nature…”

“If she’s such a hindrance, pay for a damn sitter like I suggested months ago,” she counters.

“We can’t have no stranger walking around the house Sandy,” he points out.

“Just keep your damn room locked, it’s not a huge deal,” Sandy sighs. “Besides, no one is gonna snoop around if you pay ‘em enough. You damn well produce your own incriminating evidence; you should always have that room locked anyways.”

“We only have to worry about your damn brother,” Carl points out, “We hire a fucking sitter that’s two people we need to worry about.”

“You’re just to goddamn cheap to hire somebody,” Sandy states, moving back towards the nursery, the baby now snoring softly.

“You know what? Fine,” Carl says defeated. “But you’re in charge of putting the ad out and hiring somebody.”

“Thank you,” she says in a sing song tone, happy she got her way. But the moment of quiet that follows is short lived as they baby starts crying again.

“Please for the love of God can you just take care of that?” Carl yells, and the argument circles back to the beginning.

You had sat in the small dinner in the corner booth hunched over the newspaper and nursing your now cold cup of coffee. You had just arrived in Knockemstiff and were looking for work. “Any leads?” Julie asked as she topped off your coffee. Julie was your roommate. You had found her the same way you were currently looking for a job. You must have answered at least ten terrible Roommate Wanted ads until you had found Julie. The two of you now share an apartment- the top floor of a three-family owned by a sweet older couple.

“Thank you,” you say without looking up from scanning the ads. “Maybe this one?” You say pointing to one of the ads. She looks to see her manager stepped out for his smoke break before sliding in the booth across from you. You slide the paper over to her and she reads the ad out loud.

NANNY NEEDED Knockemstiff, Ohio

Couple that travels for work in need of a nanny for one-year-old daughter.

Temporary live-in position for several weeks at a time. Pay negotiable.

Call Sandy Henderson at the below number.

“I can sublet the room temporarily while you stay there,” Julie offers. “It’s a pretty vague offer,” she continues. “I wouldn’t commit until you call and speak to that Sandy woman.”

“Oh, I’m sure I’ll need to be interviewed,” you agree. “What kind of people are comfortable just leaving their baby for weeks at a time with a perfect stranger?”

“Paul is still out back I think,” she chuckles, “I’ll let you use the wall phone.”

You take a seat at one of the stools at the counter, and she dials the number for you and then passes you the receiver. You mouth a thank you and she waves her hand in dismissal as she heads over to take someone’s order.

“Whaddya want?” the woman on the other end answers abruptly.

“Oh, I’m calling about the ad in the paper regarding the nanny position. Is it still available?”

“Oh, shit. I’m so sorry, hun,” the woman says, now in a much nicer tone. “Thought it was my brother calling. Yes, it is, and we need it filled as soon as possible. When are you available?”

“For an interview?” You ask.

“Yeah,” she says mumbled, like she is dangling a cigarette from her mouth. “Can you come today?”

“Oh, wow. Yes, I can,” you reply.

“Great, um, you got a pen? Take down this address.”

About two hours, a change of clothes and a cab ride later, you were standing outside a house towards the end of town. It was a little run down, but what building in this town wasn’t? You were a little nervous of course, but it was also the most unconventional way you have gotten an interview. Part of you was relieved, because the woman on the phone sounded real, not phony, but the circumstances still made you uneasy. Julie had the address and said you’d call when you got back to the taxi dispatch.

“Welcome, welcome,” Sandy smiled, opening up the door for you. She had one hand on the doorknob and one of the cutest babies you’d ever seen in the other. “Come on in, make yourself comfortable.”

“Who is this?” you coo, leaning down to the baby’s eye level. “She’s darling.”

“This little sweetheart is Valerie,” Sandy smiles, passing the baby to you. “She’s so well-behaved. Hardly ever cries.”

“She’s adorable,” you smile, as the baby cuddles up close, resting her head on your shoulder. “I didn’t properly introduce myself on the phone. (Y/N) (Y/L/N).”

“I’m Sandy,” she introduces herself. “Please take a seat on the couch, get comfortable. I hate things that are so formal. Bleh.”

You take a seat on the couch, and readjust the little girl in your arms so she’s sitting on your lap and her back is resting against you so she is supported.

“So, my husband and I are on the road a lot, usually,” she begins, “We took some time off when we had Valerie, but we really need to start working again, you understand.”

“Of course, what do you both do?” you ask politely.

“We’re photographers,” she beams, “Mostly nature and landmarks- which reminds me! We have a darkroom in the house, but that door will be locked when you’re staying here. We don’t want any damage to any of the negatives we have stored in there you understand. Everywhere else in the house is yours to explore! And of course we gotta spare bedroom you can call your own.”

“Fair enough,” you joke.

“So, tell me about yourself, honey,” she smiles, crossing her legs in the armchair where she sat.

“Well, I just moved here a few weeks ago actually,” you begin, “I just recently finished school, and now I’m looking for work. I just got my degree in early childcare from the state college.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful,” she says with a clap of her hands. “So, you’re local?”

“Yes, I live in town.”

“Excellent! We’d also love for this to be like an on-call thing as well, you know for date nights and things like that for times when we’re home. Like for a few hours here and there. And of course, we’ll always live money for groceries or whatever you need on top of your pay for emergencies incase Valerie needs formula or diapers or anything.”

“Perfect,” you smile, surprised how well the conversation was going. Sandy was easy-going and nice to talk to. The two of you sat and talked for a little under an hour, her asking all the standard questions you anticipated. You also were able to ask her some more of your own questions as well. It was the most effortless interview you had been on easily.

“I’m sorry you weren’t able to meet Carl today,” she says when she is showing you out. “But hun, I feel confident to offer you the job. We haven’t had many applicants and you’re the most qualified one I’ve spoken to. The job is yours if you want it?”

“When can I start?” you smile, making her laugh.

“Your number is on the resume, right?” she says, scooping up the baby. You nod, waving goodbye to the baby and then saying goodbye to Sandy.

“I’ll call you when I speak to Carl, but I think once he knows he’ll want to head out as soon as we can. Plan for Sunday,” she says as you get into the cab.

Just like she had promised, you get a call from Sandy on Saturday afternoon asking you to show up the next morning at 9. You spend the day packing up your clothes and anything else you’d need for a few weeks. Sandy said they’d be back in two weeks but you pack for three just in case. Julie was also nice enough to help you. You didn’t need to do much. Ever since you had settled in Knockemstiff, you had been pretty lazy with unpacking and for once procrastination played out in your favor.

Julie insisted on taking you out to celebrate that night before starting your job tomorrow. There was a small little bar, a little shack of a place just on the outside of town you went to. Julie had a car and you drove, anticipating she’d have a lot more to drink than you. It was a hotter summer night, so you drove with the windows down and the radio playing a little louder than you normally would.

The outside was decorated with string lights of primary colors and the wooden awning looked like it was one more storm away from collapsing. But the atmosphere inside was to die for. The jukebox was playing loud dance music, and the place was crowded. Empty recycled glasses lined the walls on a high shelf as decoration along with weathered posters of anything Americana. A row of motorcycles and trucks were parked outside the little place and it looked like a pileup from how crowded the lot was. People lingered outside as well, and you both hoped you’d find seats inside.

The two of you found a high-top table and Julie made her way up to the bar, skillfully maneuvering through the crowd to grab you both some drinks. You let your eyes wandering, surveying the room and just people watching. Couples were dancing closely to the music that was rattling the jukebox, and a group of people were sitting at the bar huddles in to watch the little black and white portable television. You also noticed a group of men in uniform several tables down, local police. They weren’t paying any attention to anyone but their own conversation, except one.

He just so happened to have looked up just as your eyes landed on their table. Steel blue eyes cutting across everything and just staring right back into yours. It was a fraction of a second and his gaze was broken by Julie taking her seat across from you. You cleared your throat, and finally allowed yourself to exhale. You felt her raise an eyebrow at you but she didn’t press, just gave you a knowing smirk you brushed off. You still felt his gaze on you even if your view was now obstructed.

Sandy and Carl were in a rush when you arrived in the morning. Sandy ran you through the details of where everything was kept and told you that she would call to check in when she could when they made stopped. She helped you carry your bags in from the trunk of the taxi while Carl packed their bags in their car. He was polite enough, but you felt in your gut to just keep your distance. Sandy led you upstairs to the guest room she told you she worked to clean out for you. It was simple, a bed and a dresser with a small closet. She said it mostly had been storage and her weekend project had been clearing it out for you. It was simple, but good enough for you for sure. You thanked her and she dismissed it saying you were the one doing her a favor, making you laugh.

The whole ordeal was very hurried. Carl was rushing to get on the road as soon as possible and you could tell he was clearly irritated at how long Sandy was taking showing you around and explaining things about Valerie. Carrying the baby in your arms, you finally were settled in to your new role and Sandy gave one more big hug and a kiss on Valerie’s head before rushing down to the car. You waved to the pair of them from the small front porch, Sandy looking back and waving to the baby from the passenger seat until they were out of your line of vision.

The first day was a little daunting. New space, living in a house that isn’t yours and a baby babbling in your arms. She was a sweet thing, and she already had taken a liking to you. Heading over to her nursery, you saw that she had a little play pen folded up in the corner of the nursery and you quickly set it up in your room so you could unpack while keeping an eye on her. She babbled just happy utter nonsense to you while you navigated around the space and her big eyes just followed you, just watching you was entertaining for her for now. You were a new face and she was entertained just by that for now.

A few hours later, Valerie had settled down for a nap in the early afternoon. She was sleeping soundly in her crib and you were getting formula ready for when she woke up. It was quiet, the only noise in the house was the small sounds of your own rustling in the kitchen. You wondered when you would hear from Sandy, if it would be later tonight or in a couple of days. You just were lost in your own thoughts when you were startled by a loud knocking on the door. Instantly, Valerie began to cry. You wiped your hands quickly on the skirt of your dress before grabbing her. You rested her on your hip and rocked her gently, shushing her to calm down while you went to grab the door.

The first thing your eyes saw were the same blue eyes who was looking at you at the bar last night. The man’s eyebrows furrowed and he looked really confused. He had one hand rested on his hip and the other against the doorframe, but he stood up straight when he saw it wasn’t who he expected. Your eyes then went down to the shiny Sheriff’s Badge fixed in place on his uniform.

“Who are you?” he asks abruptly. “Where’s Sandy?”

“Sandy and Carl left this morning,” you explain, not sure if he recognizes you. “I’m their nanny.”

He laughs and shakes his head as he looks down, almost like he doesn’t believe you, or he just doesn’t believe the situation. “Carl? Carl Henderson hired a nanny?” he scoffs and you nod, holding Valerie a little closer. The little girl rubs her eyes and yawns, when her eyes flutter open, she looks at the stranger in the doorway and immediately reaches out to signal she wants to be held by him. You ignore her resistance to wanting to be in your arms until you get more information about why the Sheriff is at their doorstep, though she obviously knows him.

“I’m Sandy’s brother,” he explains, “Did she say when they were coming back?” He doesn’t try to hold the baby yet, just holds out one of his fingers and her little hand holds onto it tightly.

“Two weeks.”

“They hire a complete stranger to watch my niece and live in their house unsupervised while they drive around?” he scoffs, shaking his head again in disbelief.

“I’m more than qualified…”

“It’s not a jab at you, sweetheart,” the man tries to explain, “More so a reflection on my sister and her husband is all. They are… fairly selfish people and I wished this situation surprises me more than it does.”

“Should I tell her you came by when she calls?” you ask.

“If she calls,” the man chuckles, “Sure, let her know Lee stopped by to visit.”

“You don’t think she will?” you ask, tilting your head.

“We’ll see,” Lee shrugs, “Do I know you from somewhere?” He rests his arm back up on the doorframe and looks down to the baby again, extending out his free hand to her again and scrunching her cheeks.

“I don’t know,” you shrug, not wanting to admit you remembered seeing him last night. He purses his lips together and nods, not pressing further. He pushes off from the doorframe and puts his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket.

“Must’ve been in a dream then,” he smirks, and you feel your cheeks flush. He walks down the steps and back towards his cop car. “What did you say your name was?” he asks, turning back around.

“I didn’t,” you chuckle.

“Hmm,” he nods, and raises his eyebrows, waiting for you to fill in the blank. You tell him your name and he repeats it back to you like he’s thinking about it, trying it out to see how it sounds.

“Well,” he says, standing behind the open driver’s door, “Good luck, and I hope Sandy proves me wrong. Let me know if she calls.”

Taglist:

@adelaide-walker @thedepressolit @samanthadegaro

#lee bodecker #lee bodecker imagine #lee bodecker x reader #lee bodecker x you #lee bodecker x y/n #the devil all the time #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan characters #lee bodecker smut #lee bodecker fluff #sebastian stan one shot #sebastian stan imagine #x reader #fluff #smut #nanny!reader #x f!reader #found family

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aminiatureworld · 3 years

Text

Careless Words

Characters: Albedo, Childe, Xiao, gn!reader

Word Count: 4,114

Warnings: Brief depiction of drunken character, swearing

Premise: Words are thrown around so carelessly, phrases, endearments, accusations. But when all is gone and only the words remain it can be difficult to pick up the pieces.

In which the reader and their s/o argue and make up.

Author’s Note: Ended up spending a good two hours on Albedo’s bit alone, wow I got carried away with this. Also I feel so bad for Childe, I’m sorry!

Not proofread cause I ran out of time, will do so tomorrow.

Albedo

“Do you even respect what I do?” Those words kept ringing through your ears, a bitter litany that fueled your anger just as it began to fade. Do you even respect what I do?

Of course you did, you respected him and his work very much, it was one of the first things that had drawn you to him, his inquisitiveness, his eternal questions, his determination to unlock the secrets of the world.

But really could he not do all that in his lab where all of his experiments and equipment belonged?

At first you hadn’t really paid attention, it was just a few plants after all. When you’d asked what they were for Albedo had smiled eagerly, replying that he wanted to see how different plants, especially those infused with elements, reacted to sunlight. You had just smiled then, although you were slightly worried about the mist flower freezing the ground around it. Still, it was a mundane enough experiment, and the plants looked very pretty on the windowsill. Nothing to worry about.

Well evidently that wasn’t quite the case because one experiment morphed into two morphed into five morphed into ten, until there seemed barely enough room to live among the beakers and graduated cylinders, the odd smells emanating from the various petri dishes which now scattered the coffee tables and the dressers.

It was becoming a nuisance, plain and simple. More than a few times you’d managed to almost tip something over, trying to grab a book off a shelf that was crammed with small boxes of various specimen, or almost putting a pot down on a counter covered with vials of whooper-flower nectars. You couldn’t live like this, and though you wanted to let Albedo carry on as uninhibited as possible, it couldn’t go on any longer. You were going to scream.

“Albedo, can we talk?”

“Of course.” Albedo looked up from the microscope he’d managed to cram on the coffee table. You let out a smile that quickly morphed into a grimace, making your way to the couch, careful not to bump into the table.

“Albedo, I love your passion in all that you do, but you really do have to tidy up a bit. I’m sorry I know it’s a bit of an inconvenience, but it’s just becoming a little difficult, you understand?”

“It’s only a few experiments.” Albedo replied, gaze still fixated on whatever he was observing. You felt a twinge of frustration, had he even heard you?

“This is serious Albedo. I don’t want to ruin any of your experiments, but it’s really becoming an impossible situation. We can barely cook for fear of crashing into something, and I’ve started waking up to the smell of fire flowers burning. Can’t you move one or two things into your laboratory?” You tried to keep your tone light, hoping that this time would be more successful. It was very irritating to feel like you weren’t being heard.

“I have an important experiment going on at the lab. It needs space and air. So I’m just moving everything here for the time being.”

“How long is that going to take?” You asked, once again feeling frustration rising up. He couldn’t even look up at you.

“Three weeks or so.”

“Three weeks?” You couldn’t help but let out a cry. “Albedo I’m sorry I cannot live like this for three weeks.”

“Why not.” It wasn’t even a question.

“Please look at me.” You finally said, tone dropping to one that made no attempt to hide your growing irritation. Albedo let out a curt sigh, glancing over at you with a disinterested sort of gaze. “You have to move some of this stuff out Albedo. It would be one thing if it was a week, but three? We can barely live right now, what are we supposed to do for the next three weeks?”

“I don’t know.” Albedo scowled in a dismissive tone. “I think you’re making too much of it.”

“And I think you aren’t listening. Are you even hearing what I’m saying? Even processing the situation? Or are you so focused on that microscope that you can’t see that your partner is besides themselves.”

“You seem fine to me,” Albedo’s tone continued its aloof cadence, “I don’t see why you can’t just wait three weeks. You’re being awfully demanding.”

“I…” for a moment you were speechless, feeling as if you were fighting a losing battle, why was it so much easier for Albedo so say words that meant nothing at all while you were quickly finding yourself losing your cool? “You aren’t listening to me!” You finally managed to get out, knowing by this time you were awfully close to shouting but too frustrated to care.

“And you aren’t listening to me,” Albedo’s tone finally began to inch into something a little more emotional, you weren’t sure why but it gave you a hint of satisfaction, “do you even respect what I do? Or are you too wrapped up in yourself.”

It was like getting punched in the gut.

“Fine.” You stepped away almost knocking into a dresser crammed with empty equipment. For a moment you wondered what you could say that would hurt him so much but quickly gave it up. You were too angry to think straight anyways; right now you just wanted to get out.

“Where are you going?” Albedo’s tone seemed to have shrunk back to its previous range.

You didn’t even respond, not bothering to gather anything up as you made your way to the door. Albedo called out your name once. You responded by slamming the door as hard as you could on your way out.

•

At first Albedo simply went back to his observations, trying to ignore the negative feelings that churned inside him. How dare you, he thought, how dare you take him and his work so lightly. Maybe it was good that you were getting out of the house, Albedo wasn’t sure how long he could’ve lasted until he lapsed into that horrible shrieking as well. “How embarrassing.” He murmured to himself, as if that would drown the unease. Still the fight was new and the emotions were raw. He wasn’t about to ponder the matter anytime soon.

This carefree attitude slipped a bit when you didn’t come home for dinner. Still he simply sighed and went to cook for himself. By now his anger had cooled extensively and he was beginning to feel a bitter sort of regret. Maybe he had been to harsh, though he still wasn’t ready to admit he was wrong. No, you were just being dramatic, and though he should’ve been kinder with you, backing down was absolutely not on the table for him. He cared about his work after all, cared deeply; he couldn’t just stop because it was inconvenient to you. Moving a few vials out of the way Albedo laid out the chopping block. The amount of pasta he’d bought looked comical against the knowledge that he was going to be eating alone tonight.

Dinner was a sad affair. Somehow Albedo had gotten used to cooking with you, your proximity, your easy conversation, the way the one who finished their food first always pushed their chair next to the slower party, usually to lean their head on the other ones shoulder which while not necessarily comfortable was certainly relaxing. It was lonely now, and the loneliness only grew as Albedo lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. Tomorrow would be better. Still he lay there, thoughts scattered and hazy. Was he in the wrong? He couldn’t tell. But certainly he was in the wrong now, in the wrong for not being with you like usual, for not reacting when you left, for still being unable to react now.

It was that thought that eventually lulled him to sleep.

Albedo woke up to the most horrible smell. Squinting he sat up, trying to figure out what in the world was going on. The smell was vaguely akin to burning flesh, but it that flesh was also experiencing a bad case of freezer burn. Fighting the urge to gag Albedo stumbled around. Once he got to the living room he groaned. Some ammonia had managed to fall of the shelf and spill onto all the flowers he’d propped on the roof. Crinkling his nose he went to clean it up, but found it took about twenty minutes just to find where he’d put the tools for properly disposing equipment and bio-experiments.

By the time he was done the final shreds of his resolve had utterly dissipated. You were right. You were absolutely right and he absolutely needed to tell you. Barely stopping by the lab to throw the bags of ruined equipment in the trash he sprinted down the streets of Mondstadt. He hoped that he arrived at the Guild in time.

Albedo spied you just as your were getting your commissions handed to you. Calling out he stopped slightly as you turned to look at him with a weary gaze. Clearly you were still upset about the matter, and for a moment Albedo wondered whether or not he should just turn and leave. But he knew that wouldn’t help either. Nothing would help until he apologized, and that was exactly what he was going to you.

“Albedo I-”

“I’m so sorry,” Albedo blurted out, not wanting to give you a chance to misconstrue his actions, “I am truly so sorry my darling. You were absolutely right, and I shouldn’t have dismissed you like that. I am so deeply sorry.”

“Albedo,” you replied, voice sort of quiet in a way that worried him, “I’m very glad to accept your apology for that, I’m sorry for snapping at you, only…”

“Only?”

“Only did you mean what you said when you asked if I even cared? Do you think I am so selfish or so careless. I understand of course that words said in arguments are ones no one really thinks of, but I still want to know.” You glanced away, trailing off and Albedo felt his heart seize and a wave of guilt poured over him.

“Of course not!” Albedo stepped closer to you. “May I?” He opened his arms and you nodded briefly before closing the room between you two.

You buried your face in his shoulder, not wanting to look up. “I’m so sorry my darling,” Albedo whispered, running circles along your back. “I’m so sorry for making you question you and how I saw you like that. You’re right, I wasn’t thinking. I was the one too wrapped up in myself, in my work, and for that I am so deeply sorry.”

“It’s alright,” you mumbled, just happy to be as you’d been before. Arguments were always unpleasant, no matter what, but now it was all said and done and you could be yourselves again.

“Would you like to eat lunch together?” Albedo ventured, smiling when you looked up and gave a soft “yes”. The relief he felt was overwhelming and he vowed next time to be more careful.

One can get over arguments, but words are difficult to take back.

Childe

Although you disliked the Fatui in a vague, formal sort of way, that hatred had never truly been honed until you’d met Dottore.

At first you weren’t able to pinpoint what it was. Perhaps it was his erratic gaze, his odd smile, the way that he seemed to look at everything as if it was something to dissect – something which made you extremely uncomfortable. But then your dislike was given a proper motive when he and Childe went out one evening and your partner came back so plastered he didn’t seem to know who you were.

“Sorry about that dear.” Childe has laughed the day after, honestly how this man never seemed to have a proper hangover you didn’t know, not that he was drunk around you very often, something you appreciated greatly.

“Just don’t do it again.” You’d replied, frowning slightly. “That Dottore is a bad influence.”

“Awh, he’s not that bad,” Childe grinned, carelessly tossing about a book he had been reading, “not as bad as half the others anyways.”

“Still, be careful,” you commented, “you don’t want this to be a regular thing do you?”

“Aren’t I always careful?” Childe shook off your worry with his characteristic charm. “Besides Dottore’s going to be called back for a report to the Tsaritsa in about two weeks. Might as well make what you can out of his company while it lasts.”

“Perhaps.” You commented, secretly thinking that day couldn’t come close enough. Still it was only once, and you trusted Childe. He didn’t seem to like any of the Fatui anyways. Hopefully that would keep him from the fiasco of knocking down your door at 3:00.

But that didn’t stop him from doing it the next night, or the night after, or the night after. By night five you were absolutely done.

“Childe you have to stop this, you’re going to kill yourself the way you’re drinking.”

“You’re making too much of a fuss my dear,” Childe flitted his hand in the air as if batting away your concern, “if you think this is a lot you should see the sprees people go on in Snezhnaya. Honestly it’s only a little bit of fun, you know how hard it is to relax as a member of the Fatui in Liyue. Drinking buddies are hard to find, especially those who share my skill.”

“It’s more than a little bit of fun. Honestly Childe if I took this week by itself I’d think you were halfway to alcoholism! And I don’t appreciate you dragging me out of bed in the middle of the night, for fear you’d fall down the stairs if I left you and hurt yourself. It’s uncomfortable, seeing you so drunk.”

“Why?” Childe’s tone was still playful, but his eyes were narrowed slightly. Good. At least then he was listening to you.

“Have you ever interacted with a drunk person? Especially a drunk person on their fifth bender that week? It’s uncomfortable whether or not you know them and if you do it’s downright terrifying. Childe, I care about you and your health. And I’m begging you please stop these nights.”

“It’s fine.” Childe’s voice was growing harder by the moment. “I told you I can handle it, why do you have to pester so much?”

“Because I care about you!”

“Well maybe you should care a bit less.”

Childe stood up, making his way to the door. You knew that he was going to the Bank, knew that he was going to be out that night, but you said nothing. For now Childe’s sentence rang through your head. How could something so short be so painful. Shaking your head you moved to get your own equipment. Today was going to be a painful day.

You’d half expected the knock not to come, but sure enough it did. Turning to the clock you groaned inwardly. 3:45. Getting up you made your way to the door. Opening it you nearly slipped as your partner leaned on you. There was vodka on his breath and it made you feel as if you had no air. His words rattled through your head, refusing to leave since you’d first heard them. Maybe you should care a bit less. Fine, you would.

“Comrade?” Childe let out weakly. That was a new one. You made your way to the elevator and shoved him in there, making sure to angle it so he wouldn’t concuss himself.

“Get sober somewhere else.” And with that you slammed the button for the lobby floor, running out as the doors closed behind you. Childe made a strangled cry of protest but you didn’t care. You just wanted to sleep, and to forget. Maybe you should care less. Well why did it hurt to do so?

•

Childe squinted as a few rays of sun hit him square in the face. What was going on? Groaning he moved to reach for some blanket before realizing there was none. Shaking his head and ignoring the pounding headache that glanced right behind his eyelids he looked around. His mind was running as slow as it seemed possible to run but the minute it registered Childe felt himself flooded with embarrassment. A bench.

He was on a bench. Childe, Tartaglia, the Harbinger who had almost sunk Liyue. Said Harbinger was now sleeping on a bench, not because he’d fallen on hard times, not because of any reason that was understandable, but because he’d gotten too drunk to make it home.

No, not quite. Childe reached back into his memory, trying to piece together the night before. He had made it home, to your home, but you’d kicked him out. At first Childe felt a swell of irritation, but slowly but surely his memory caught up and he recalled the argument the morning before. He’d said something, hadn’t he. What was it?

Oh. Oh fuck.

Running back to your apartment he tried to straighten himself up, as if it wasn’t painfully obvious that he wasn’t nursing the worse sort of hangover. Damn he really relied on you. He relied on you and now he’d fucked up and now he needed to apologize.

Unfortunately his brain had only gotten that far so when you opened the door there was a bit of a pause, as he tried to think of what to say, words being drowned out by the pounding in his head.

“What do you want Childe?” You sighed, looking more depressed than anything. Childe felt a twinge of regret, but still the words wouldn’t come, not properly anyways, he must’ve still been a little drunk.

“I’m sorry.” Childe began, figuring that was the best way to go. “I’m sorry. Thank you and I’m sorry.”

“Thank you?” You tilted your head. “Are you sure you aren’t still drunk? I told you to sober up somewhere else.”

“Yes, I know, and I don’t know. But thank you for caring. And for looking after me. And I’m sorry.”

There was another pause, before you sighed.

“Come in.” You gestured, opening the door wider. Childe smiled weakly.

“Thank you.”

“Thank me later. I want to see you straightened up. And I want you to stop drinking like that.”

“I will.” Childe promised, making his way to the bedroom, wanting nothing more than to smash his face into a pillow. “Dottore was bad company anyways. Dear?”

“Yes?” You asked, still feeling a little shy. Perhaps you should’ve been more angry, but arguing always sat with you wrong. As did throwing Childe out.

“Thank you for caring.”

“You already said that.” You pointed out, finally cracking a smile, something that Childe mirrored, seeming somehow relieved.

“I know. But thank you.”

“Thank you for listening then.” You replied closing the blinds as Childe flopped onto the bed, sighing happily. “And thank you for forgiving me for kicking you out.”

“So callous.” Childe muttered, barely hearing your slight laugh as he drifted off to sleep.

Xiao

You hadn’t wanted to fight, not at all. Your relationship was still so young after all, so raw, but you couldn’t help it. And now, as you watched Xiao disappear into thin air, you felt the sour taste of fear mixed with anger and regret. You’d almost forgotten really, how quickly an adeptus can vanish.

The point of contention had been your commissions. While Xiao said nothing against them verbally, you could tell that your newfound partner was dissatisfied by your constant comings and goings, something made worse by your recent string of long trips. And it had all come to a head when you announced you’d be gone a month, traveling into Inazuma via a covert nautical route – thank you Beidou – before delivering a few papers to the Monstadt embassy, most being passports and travel papers for diplomats who let theirs expire. Xiao had listened to the scheme, glared becoming more and more pronounced as you went on. And when you were done he just shook his head and crossed his arms.

“You aren’t going.”

“What do you mean I’m not going?” You asked, confused.

“You aren’t going. For the love of the Seven, what kind of partner let’s their loved one smuggle themselves into a country with no chance of reprieve if something goes wrong and with no contact for a month? You aren’t going.”

“I’m going whether you like it or not,” you replied, irritation quickly running through your voice, “it’s fine Xiao, many people have done this before. And we need to get those Liyue diplomats home. Honestly, I’m not sure why you aren’t proud of me, proud of what I’m doing.”

“Because you’re putting yourself in needless danger and breaking the law for a few people who I’m sure could do just fine themselves.”

“You can’t just keep me from being an Adventurer Xiao. You can’t keep me from doing my job.”

“I told you it’s because I care about you.”

“No, it’s because you’re putting yourself above the needs of both myself and your own land. Xiao, don’t you care about Liyue?”

“I care about the land,” his voice was like stone, and when you glanced into his eyes for a moment they seemed truly without empathy or care, the gaze of an adeptus who understood nothing of the human world, “humanity can rot.”

“I’m a human,” you pointed out, voice soft. “Don’t you care about me.”

For a moment recognition flitted through Xiao’s expression and he seemed almost regretful. Then his gaze hardened over once more.

“You aren’t going.” And with that he disappeared.

•

It took Xiao approximately ten minutes to regret the entire situation. Being angry for long periods of time wasn’t necessarily an alien emotion to Xiao – sometimes he felt as if he carried anger everywhere he went – but anger at you certainly was, and no sooner had it arrived then it was fading away, replaced instead with a deep sense of shame and guilt.

Why was he so upset? Was it really out of care for you? Yes, he decided, there was that aspect to it. But there was something more, something less noble. He was afraid, he was afraid for you. He was afraid you’d be arrested, or your ship would succumb to the open ocean, or you’d be betrayed, or…

Thoughts fluttered in and out of Xiao’s mind, each one more outlandish than the rest. Behind them said the same thing. He was afraid. You were right, he was afraid.

Did he care about humans? No, Xiao could say that with certainty. Not the way humans cared about each other, the way the humans cared about the adepti, when they thought about them. Xiao hadn’t cared for humans for a very long time. Even the karma that he kept from wreaking the land was exorcised, not because of humans, but because it was his duty. He didn’t care about humans, not really.

But he did care about you. He cared about you and he didn’t want to keep you from what you loved in return. Not like he didn’t know you would go do your mission anyways. You would do your mission and if Xiao wasn’t careful the weeks of cultivating an acquaintanceship, and friendship, and then more would be ruined. And he’d just be left, watching and waiting, wondering if you’d be alright.

Xiao was thankful that you hadn’t left the balcony of the Inn. Appearing before you he reached out to hug you before hesitating.

“You can go.” He murmured, knowing that wasn’t ever a question.

“I’m going.”

“And I’m sorry.”

“I wish you hadn’t disappeared like that.” You frowned, but Xiao shook his head. Was that the worst he’d done?

“No, I’m sorry for saying you couldn’t go. I’m sorry for not caring. I’m sorry.”

You furrowed your brow in a familiar expression and Xiao nodded slightly. Hurrying to embrace him you shook your head, still not over what had just transpired so quickly.

“Your eyes were so cold.” You murmured.

“I’m sorry.” Xiao murmured again, hugging you tightly.

“Don’t be.” You replied. “Just, stay like this a little longer.” Xiao was all to happy to comply.

It was easy to forget Xiao was an adeptus sometimes, that he still had that side of him, those cold eyes, that brusque demeanor. But even if that sometimes threw you off, even if you argued and worried and regretted, it would all be fine in the end.

Because you’d always return to a familiar embrace, and a shared love.

#so long I am SORRY #requested #albedo #childe #xiao #albedo x reader #childe x reader #xiao x reader #genshin impact #genshin impact fanfiction #my writing #scenarios

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