#am i reading WAY too much into something so silly as colour matching names? yes absolutely

[byanyan]

WHAT COLORS MAKE UP YOUR NAME?

[heyyyharry]

Happier

(inspired by happier by Olivia Rodrigo)

Word count: 2.4k

I'm selfish, I know, I can't let you go So find someone great, but don't find no one better I hope you're happy, but don't be happier

Part 1: Drivers License

Part 2: Deja Vu

A/N: I edited the original lyrics to match the POV :)

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Harry had come up with a thousand scenarios of how this day would play out. Actually, he’d been thinking of this day since the moment he’d received the news. He didn’t dare to hope that she’d say yes to coming back for a sequel. He’d been sure that they would write her character off, give a lame excuse for how his love interest could not make a return and make his character forget about her completely to move on with a new girl in town. It would have been great if it was that easy in real life. Once someone was written off the script, they were gone for good. Real-life relationships were not that simple. Goodbye didn’t mean ‘never see you again’. You would still share the same friend circle and social bubbles, and it was worse when you two worked in the same industry. Harry didn’t know how he’d lasted a year without running into her, not since the Grammys.

“Didn’t you two date?”

“No.” Harry shook his head, but his eyes stayed glued on Y/N from across the room. She wasn’t looking his way, too busy saying hello to everyone else. “No,” he repeated, more to himself than to his co-star. “We didn’t.”

“But she wrote an entire album about you,” said the other twin. What was her name again? Lulu?

“Luna!” cried her sister, Lex. “You can’t ask him that!”

“No, it’s okay,” Harry said with a tight smile, slightly annoyed by the blonde twins, but he didn’t want to seem like an ass on the first day of filming. “And I don’t know if it was for me. You should ask Y/N.”

“Ask me what?”

Harry flinched when he looked up and saw Y/N padding towards them. She hugged the twins, who seemed way too excited. Harry guessed they were Y/N’s fans. They gave off crazy fangirl vibes, probably just pretending not to know the drama to interrogate him. He couldn’t blame them for assuming he was the villain and definitely could not blame Y/N for portraying him as one. It was more important that he knew who he was and how much he had changed since his last relationship. Maybe they could finally be friends.

“Were they bothering you?” Y/N asked him once the twins had left.

Harry nodded. “They’re your friends?”

“Oh, I met them last year on tour. I’m surprised you don’t know them. They were on Disney.”

“I don’t watch Disney,” Harry admitted with a smile. “Well, not today’s Disney.”

“Understandable.” Y/N nodded and bit her lip. She seemed guarded with her straight back and hands hidden behind her. She eyed him up and down, quite subtle yet noticeable. “How have you been?”

“Pretty good,” he said, nodding slowly. “You?”

“Yeah, but mostly tired because of tour.”

“You’re done?”

“Yup, last night was the last show.”

“Nice.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Nice?”

Harry blinked. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No.” Y/N giggled. “You still sound very...you.”

“Well, shouldn’t I?”

“Yeah, you should. But it’s been a year so…I mean, you haven’t changed much.”

“Right,” he said lowly, his eyes falling to his feet. Harry supposed he should say something else, perhaps bringing up another random topic to discuss, but all he could think about was what had happened between them. Things had been messy, hadn’t they? How could they go back to before that? Before her first song about him. Before he’d chosen someone else over her.

Or he could talk about her new relationship. She’d been in a happy relationship for almost six months, right? No wait, hadn’t they broke up two weeks ago? He wasn’t sure because he hadn’t been catching up. If they’d broken up, he’d sound like an ass to even mention her ex’s name. He should just stay quiet.

“I’ll see you later?” she said, gesturing at her stylist who was waiting by the door.

Harry could ask her right now -- the reason she’d agreed to film the sequel to their first movie together. He’d heard from a very reliable source that she’d specifically asked her agent to decline any project that he was in. So did this mean they were good? That she didn’t hate him anymore? He could have gathered his courage and got the answer right then…

“Yeah, see you.”

...but he didn’t.

And so she gave him a smile and a little wave, then happily returned to her stylist.

.

.

.

“See you tomorrow, Y/N!”

“See you, Annie!” Y/N said as she put the rest of her things into her tote bag. Her new driver had got her schedule mixed up, and so she had to wait here for another half an hour. She was in no rush. It had been a light first day, and she’d had a fun time getting to know the new cast members and catching up with old friends.

She sat on the sofa in the lobby, legs crossed, texting her best friend about her day. She’d purposely left out the short off-screen conversation with Harry, and her best friend didn’t even bother to ask. In their world, he didn’t exist, and his name was censored in every conversation like a curse word that was even worse than ‘cunt’. Nevertheless, she didn’t hate him anymore. She was doing just fine on her own, being busy with her career, and she’d been in a happy relationship after her fall out with him.

She and the guy, a model, had broken up two weeks ago due to long distance and some differences that they could not change. They had ended on good terms and decided to stay friends. They said you could only stay friends with your ex when you still had feelings for each other, or you had never loved each other that much in the first place. For her, it was probably the latter. Her previous relationship had been more platonic than romantic, apparently. So she had nothing but the best to say about him.

As she was going through her camera roll, just reminiscing about the past, she heard footsteps approaching and looked up to find Harry. He offered a smile and gestured to the spot beside her on the sofa. “May I sit here? My ride is late.”

“Yeah, sure.” She hurriedly scooted over.

“Good job today,” he said. “You were great.”

“Thanks, so were you.” She smiled, and they both looked away at the same time. This was so awkward. She hated small talk. She’d never had to have small talk with Harry. Conversations with him used to be so easy and natural and silly. Whatever this was, it wasn’t them.

“Can we just be normal?”

At first, Y/N thought she’d been the one who’d said it, so when she realised it’d been Harry, she was speechless.

He swallowed and sat a bit straighter, still not looking at her. “I don’t want us to be weird and awkward.”

“Okay,” she said.

He cleared his throat. “Wanna try again?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Okay, not to sound like an ass but when Joey kept forgetting his lines, I was so pissed off, I could throw a chair at the wall.”

“Right?!” exclaimed Y/N, feeling free to have finally broken out of her shell. “Like, he doesn’t even have many lines. I know he’s new but damn...you can’t get far if you don’t learn your goddamn lines.”

Harry shook with laughter. “Oh God, we sound like dicks, don’t we?”

“Maybe.” Y/N laughed, covering her mouth. “But you know what? We can’t be nice in this industry. It’s impossible.”

“Shhh, if someone heard this, we would be into big trouble.”

“Oh please, I’ve had worse articles written about me than ‘Y/N speaks facts about her lazy co-star’.”

Harry tossed his head back and cackled. “The worst one I’ve got this week was ‘Harry Styles hates therapists.’”

“What?!” Y/N gasped. “No way! That’s so stupid!”

“Right?” Harry rolled his eyes. “I could get all my therapists to speak up for me but I’m kinda immune to bullshit now.”

“Therapists? Like plural?”

“Yeah, one in every city.”

“Damn.”

“Yeah.”

Y/N rubbed her hands onto her legs. “Rough year?”

Harry’s eyes rolled to the back of his head as he leaned back. “You have no idea.” Then he swept his hair out of his eyes, sucked in a breath, and finally looked at her. “I wish I could have talked to you, though.”

She bit her tongue, knowing what she was about to say next would disappoint her best friend so much, but she had to. “So do I.”

Harry looked taken aback before his lips curled into a smile. “It’s silly, isn’t it? I haven’t talked to you in a year, and I feel like I know everything that’s happened to you except that I don’t.”

What he’d just said might make no sense for most people, but Y/N knew exactly what he meant. She nodded and wetted her lip. “You only know as much as everyone else does.”

“Yeah, I got updates on you from the news and our friends.”

“Same.” Y/N smiled back. “I hate how they write articles about your new haircut but not mine.”

“I like your new hair colour.”

“Thanks. I like your new car.”

Then they both burst out laughing. It was fun and also a little bit strange that Y/N didn’t feel the same anxiety talking to him as she used to. It must be because they had grown and were now meeting again as better people.

“Damn, my ride's here,” Y/N said as she read the text from her driver. “I gotta go now.”

“Oh, okay.” Harry stood up and followed Y/N to the entrance. “Hey, just wondering--”

“Yeah?”

“Am I...am I still blocked?” He looked a bit flustered as she tilted her head and squinted her eyes. “On your phone. Because I remember you having my number blocked--”

“I unblocked you on your birthday.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah.” Y/N shrugged. “I should’ve sent you a happy birthday text but...I didn’t want your girlfriend to get the wrong ideas.”

“My ex.”

“Yeah, I know.”

They smiled at each other one last time before saying goodbye. Y/N knew it was silly, but she was hoping he would go after her.

Ding.

A notification popped up when she was in the car. She was almost home, and it was from Harry’s number. He’d sent her a link with a message that said, “Hope you like it :)”.

Curious, she tapped on it and was directed to an audio file titled ‘Track 5’. The upload date was last year. About two weeks after their short conversation at the Grammys.

Hurriedly, she fumbled inside her bag for her iPods and put it on before she pressed play.

“Hey, Jeff, I couldn’t sleep so I wrote this song. Listen and let me know if it should go on the album.”

Then came the piano intro. It sounded good, so Y/N wondered how it hadn’t ended up on his last album.

But when he started to sing...

We ended a while ago Your friends are mine, you know, I know You've moved on, found someone new One more guy who brings out the better in you

And I thought my heart was detached From all the sunlight of our past But he’s so nice, he’s so funny Does he mean you forgot about me?

Oh, I hope you're happy But not like how you were with me I'm selfish, I know, I can't let you go So find someone great, but don't find no one better I hope you're happy, but don't be happier

And does he tell you you’re the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen? An eternal love bullshit he might not even mean Remember when you were with me I meant it when you heard it first from me

And now I'm pickin' him apart Like cuttin' him down will make you miss my wretched heart But he’s charming, he looks kind He probably gives you butterflies

I hope you're happy But not like how you were with me I'm selfish, I know, I can't let you go So find someone great, but don't find no one better

I hope you're happy I wish you all the best, really Say you love him, baby Just not like you loved me And think of me fondly when your hands are on him I hope you're happy, but don't be happier

The song was for her. He’d written it when her new relationship had gone public. Y/N sat there, staring blankly ahead until the honking of a car tore open her inner peace, and reality came crashing back in. The driver dropped her off at her house. Instead of going inside, she stood on her front steps and replayed the song one more time. When it ended, she decided to text him: Why didn’t this make it to the album?

She didn’t know where he was now, but it showed ‘typing’ in less than a second, as if he’d been waiting in their chat since he’d sent that link.

You would’ve hated me, Y/N.

True, she replied. Still, I would’ve loved the song lowkey. And added, I love it btw.

He took so long to type that it was driving her crazy. She flopped down on the concrete stair with her phone clutched in her hands, her heart thundering against her ribcage. Anxiety popped like a balloon when his message appeared: Were you happier?

She reread it again and again.

No.

I wasn’t either, he responded. I kept getting deja vu.

Ha, nice reference.

That song is my guilty pleasure. Love listening to you roasting me on loop.

That last message made Y/N bury her face into her palm and giggle like a fool. She thought for a second and wrote: I could come roast you in person now if that’s what you prefer. I think we’ve never had a proper roasting.

Can we meet, Y/N? Or are you busy now?

No, not busy.

Great, I’ll pick you up.

Just tell me where, she responded with a smile on her face. I got my drivers license now :)

[hrina]

Something Strange

PAIRING: Harry x Reader RATING: R WORD COUNT: 6.3k+ REQUESTED: no

uhhhh hi. so. this is my (first ever) halloween fic, ft. infuriatingly cocky ghostbuster!harry. i really hope you guys enjoy it, and just like every other writer on this godforsaken site, i’d love to hear any feedback that you might have. ok im done now lol go forth and read :)

warnings: cursing, brief nsfw content, a nasty habit of jumping to conclusions, and harry being an asshole with a secret heart of gold.

~*~

    October 2nd, 2021

Your attention is first caught by the massive, obnoxiously-coloured truck parked in Mindy and Gerald’s driveway. The entire vehicle is a shade of navy blue, though its sophistication is ruined by the neon green bubble lettering streaked across its doors.

Spooked? Call Styles’ Scares!

Beneath that, there’s a promise painted in bright pink:

Lasting results or your money back!

“What the hell?” you mutter.

You unbuckle your seatbelt and exit your car, momentarily forgetting about the groceries sitting in the trunk. Mindy and Gerald are standing on their porch, absorbed in a light-hearted conversation. When they catch sight of you trekking across the lawn, they smile brightly and offer up a pair of welcoming waves.

“Hi, there!” you call, shoving your hands into the back pockets of your jeans. “What’s all this?”

“Good afternoon, dear!” Mindy replies. She quickly descends the front steps, meeting you halfway and enveloping you in a tight hug. “How are you? It’s been a while since we last spoke.”

“You can drop in whenever you want,” you say, chuckling. “It’s not like I live very far away.”

“How have you been?” Gerald follows his wife, steadily making his way off the porch. “How’s school?”

“It’s alright.” You shrug. “Things are picking up, now, but I’m trying my best to stay on top of them.”

You toss your thumb over your shoulder, gesturing to the bright pickup truck parked in their driveway. (It really is ugly, you think. Probably one of the ugliest vehicles that you’ve ever had the displeasure of perceiving.)

“What’s going on?”

“Oh!” Mindy lifts her hands to her mouth, gazing at you with wide, serious eyes. “Our house is haunted.”

You balk. “Pardon me?”

“I know, I know,” she sighs, shaking her head. “It sounds silly. I didn’t believe it at first either, but—something keeps knocking our picture frames off the wall. And the lights! They start flickering at random intervals throughout the day.”

“Are you sure it’s not just rats?” you joke.

Gerald, who has now joined you on the lawn, holds up his hand solemnly. “We tried using traps, but they haven’t been touched at all.”

“Exactly.” Mindy nods, turning back to you. “We’re already worried about Joseph’s wedding next week, so one of the ladies at the community centre recommended Harry. That same day, Gerald gave him a call, and that was the end of it.”

“Who’s Harry?” you ask, brows knitting together in confusion.

“Er—” A deep voice sounds from behind you. “I am.”

When you turn around, you come face-to-face with one of the prettiest men you’ve ever seen. He’s got mossy green eyes, dark pink lips, and brown hair that curls around his temples and behind his ears. Smooth skin stretches out over high, chiseled cheekbones and a sharp jaw. He’s wearing a pair of light-wash jeans and matching white sneakers. A black hoodie covers his broad chest; upon taking a closer look, you note that the two front strings have been tied into a picturesque little bow.

Mindy wastes no time, introducing the two of you immediately. When Harry holds out his hand for you to shake, you don’t hesitate.

“Did you want my card?” he asks, peering at you curiously.

You study his expression. Beneath his seemingly sincere exterior, arrogance runs wild and unchecked. You know this man. You’ve met him a hundred different times under a hundred different circumstances, and you’ve learned to recognize a lost cause when you’re staring it square in the face.

“Not at all.” You shoot him a fake smile. “I’m just the neighbour.”

“Right.” His lips twitch. He steps back, rolling his shoulders and lifting his chin in the direction of the house. “Well, I should probably get to work. It was nice meeting you, babe.”

Your nose wrinkles as the pet name sinks in.

When you turn back around to resume your conversation with Mindy and Gerald, they’re gone. Your eyes bounce to the right, where you find them guiding Harry up the porch steps. Mindy has one hand on his bicep whilst gesturing animatedly with the other. Gerald opens the front door and holds out his arm, welcoming Harry inside.

You scoff, shaking your head in disdain.

“Ghosts aren’t real,” you mumble as you make your way back across the lawn. The trunk of your car squeaks when you pull it open, and plastic bags rustle as you gather your groceries into your arms.

Ghosts aren’t real. And Harry is obviously a scammer, based on…well, based on everything. The tacky design on his truck. The unprofessional wardrobe. The self-assuredness emanating from every cell in his body. Babe.

But Mindy and Gerald truly believe that their home is haunted. Trying to change their minds without a shred of physical proof is pointless. You blow out a soft sigh, accepting the grim reality of your situation.

Your neighbours are gullible, trusting people. And for the next few days—whether you like it or not—Harry is here to stay.

      October 5th, 2021

You’re approximately two seconds away from chucking your textbook against the far wall.

You’ve been trying to finish this chapter for the past hour. And though you pride yourself on being tolerant when it comes to petty annoyances, your patience is wearing thin. A quick glance out of your bedroom window reveals Harry’s hideous pickup truck parked—yet again—in Mindy and Gerald’s driveway.

You roll your eyes. Of course.

The piercing, raucous whirring starts up again; you release a frustrated yell, slamming your book shut and leaping off your bed. You’re muttering obscenities under your breath as you stalk down the hall, stopping briefly to slide on a pair of fuzzy slippers. When you yank your front door open, the chilly autumn air settles into your bones.

The clamour grows louder as you stomp across your shared lawn. When you knock on Mindy and Gerald’s door, the commotion is nearly unbearable. A few seconds go by, during which your presence remains unacknowledged; you rap once again on the wood, hoping that the sound will be conspicuous enough amidst all of the background noise.

Sure enough, everything goes quiet. Your shoulders slump with relief just as the door opens. Mindy greets you with a friendly smile.

“Hi, dear,” she says kindly. “What can I do for you?”

“Hi.” You force yourself to mirror her affable expression, hoping that she can’t see the pained exhaustion brewing in your eyes. “Could I just—could I speak with Harry, please? It won’t take long.”

“Of course.” She nods before peering at you anxiously. “Don’t tell me that you’ve got ghosts, too.”

“No.” You shake your head. Ghosts aren’t real, you want to say, but you hold your tongue. “No, I just—I just need to have a quick word with him, that’s all.”

“Alright. I’ll go fetch him.” She turns around and totters away.

You hear her call his name, followed by the telltale sound of shuffling. After a few long moments, he’s there, leaning against the doorway with a bemused look on his face.

“Evening, babe,” he says coolly. “What’s up?”

“Don’t call me that,” you snap, folding your arms over your chest.

Harry’s eyebrows shoot upward. He hadn’t expected you to greet him with such animosity, you suppose. His outfit is nearly identical to that of the other day, save for the red bandana perched atop his head. He buries his fingers into the pockets of his jeans, shrugging nonchalantly and pinning you with a blasé, unimpressed gaze.

“Noted,” he says. The corners of his lips curl up into a crooked smirk as he repeats, “What’s up?”

“You need to keep it down,” you say flatly. “I don’t know what kind of fake ‘exorcism’ bullshit you’re trying to pull off, but the noise is driving me insane. I need to study.”

“‘Fake’?” Harry parrots. “You don’t believe in spirits?”

“No,” you deadpan. “I don’t.” You narrow your eyes, studying the subtle movements of his face. “And if I had to take a wild guess, neither do you.”

“Really,” he says, chuckling softly. It isn’t a question.

“Really.”

Harry watches you, tickled by your obvious exasperation. “I get the feeling that you don’t like me very much.”

“Look at that,” you say, rolling your eyes. “He does have a brain.”

“You’re so judgmental.” He laughs, shaking his head. “How can you dislike me when you barely even know me?”

“I know enough,” you reply, scowling. “I know that you’re a fraud who takes advantage of people and their fears. And for what? Just so that you can take home a paycheque at the end of the day?”

“Ouch.” Harry feigns injury, placing a large hand over his heart. “That hurts, babe.”

There it is again. Babe.

“You know what?” Your nostrils flare. “Forget this—it’s like trying to explain rocket science to a toddler.”

He grins. “Yeah, I suppose. I’m much cuter, though, don’t you think?”

You scoff, pedalling backward. “In your dreams.”

His delight only seems to grow when your retort sinks in. You whip around, descending the porch steps and storming back toward your house. When you chance a glance over your shoulder, Harry is still standing in the doorway, a shit-eating smile stretched wide across his cheeks.

“Just keep it down, okay?” you call irritably.

He raises two fingers to his temple in a mock-salute, and you march away without another word.

      October 8th, 2021

“You’re sure?”

You laugh. “Yes, Mindy, I’m sure. I promise.”

“Alright,” she assents, blowing out a quiet sigh through the phone. “I went grocery shopping today, so our cupboards are fully stocked—help yourself to anything you’d like. Also, when you flush the downstairs toilet, the water may look like it’s rising, but it goes down after a second or two.”

“Noted.” You snicker. “Anything else?”

“That’s it,” she says. “Thank you so much.”

“No problem,” you reply. “Tell Joseph and Amy that I said congratulations, yeah?”

“We will! See you later, dear.”

“See you later.”

      October 9th, 2021

When Mindy and Gerald get back tomorrow afternoon, you’re going to wring their necks.

Agreeing to housesit whilst they celebrated their son’s wedding a few cities away? Sure. Fine. You had a long night full of nothing planned—sitting in front of the television, munching on some snacks, relaxing for the evening and trying to forget about all of the schoolwork waiting for you at home. You were in the middle of watching a Golden Girls rerun when, suddenly, there was a knock on the door.

“Coming!” You stood, setting your bowl of popcorn aside. The knocking continued as you made your way to the front entrance, wiping your buttery fingers against the dark leggings covering your thighs.

“I’m coming,” you said exasperatedly. You opened the door, ready to shoo away whoever it was—a salesperson, probably.

Instead, you came face-to-face with Harry.

And now, you’re here—slumped on the couch, angrily shovelling popcorn into your mouth. You keep your gaze trained on the television, trying your hardest to avoid the man who is setting up his “equipment” in the middle of the room.

“Can’t you do this in the kitchen?” you deadpan.

He flicks a switch on his machine—it looks an awful lot like a standard centrifuge. What a fraud.

“Spirit energy’s strongest in here,” he grunts. His knees scuff against the carpeted floor.

A derisive laugh falls from your lips. “Mindy and Gerald aren’t here—you can drop the act.”

Harry glances up at you, his pretty green irises glimmering. “What act?”

You roll your eyes and look away, fixing your attention back on the grainy screen.

Neither of you say anything for the next few minutes; tension builds, saturating the air and making it hard for you to breathe. Eventually, Harry breaks through the awkward silence. You want to scream.

“Er—” he starts, expectant. “Do you mind stepping out for a second? I need the room.”

Your nostrils flare. “Excuse me?”

“I need the—”

“I heard you,” you say, sitting up straight. “You don’t need anything. What the hell are you playing at?”

“I’m not quite sure what you mean, babe.” His tone is genuine, but you can sense the mirth simmering just beneath the surface. His lips twitch, and your frustration boils like water over a stove.

“Stop calling me that,” you snap, folding your arms across your chest. “And stop playing dumb. Other people might put up with your pseudo-spooky bullshit, but I won’t. Ghosts aren’t real!”

The lights go out.

You gasp, straining your eyes in an attempt to regain your bearings. Slowly, blurry shapes and shadows materialise in front of you. You fumble around for your phone, picking it up and tapping the screen. A moment later, the device’s flash lights up the room. You shine it from side to side, eventually settling on Harry, who is looking up at the ceiling in complete and utter bewilderment.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath. “Now you’ve done it.”

“Done what?” you squawk, glaring at him. “The power went out. Big deal.”

The lights flicker fleetingly, and then the room is dark again. Your eyes drift over to Harry; he’s smirking.

“This isn’t a ghost,” you say stubbornly, waving your phone around. The bright light bounces across the walls before you steady yourself, positioning the beam back on him. He stands, sinking his hands into the deep pockets of his sweatpants.

“And how would you know?” he teases, cocking one eyebrow challengingly.

“Because,” you scoff. “Ghosts aren’t real.”

Something crashes to the floor. You yelp in surprise, your head snapping to the right. When you shine your light in the direction of the noise, you find a shattered picture frame lying on the ground.

“What the fuck?” Harry murmurs, advancing toward the mess.

“Careful!” you say, holding up your hand. He stops in his tracks, peering over at you in confusion. “There’s glass, idiot,” you explain, climbing to your feet. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”

He shoots you a crooked smile. “You do care.”

“I don’t.” Your response is curt. “I just don’t feel like driving you to the hospital so that they can remove fragments from your foot.”

Harry chuckles.

You sigh, squinting at the fallen frame. “We can clean it up when the lights come back on,” you say, mostly to yourself. “I don’t want to risk anything.”

He nods and yawns, stretching his arms out above his head. “Suit yourself, babe.”

“The next time you call me that, I’m going to—”

“What?” he asks, padding over to the sofa. You watch him approach with a deep scowl on your face. He collapses onto the couch, slouching and spreading his legs obnoxiously wide. “You gonna beat me up or something?”

You shake your head in disbelief, stepping away from him. “You’re a piece of shit.”

“So you say,” he replies, unbothered.

“You’re so—”

You break off, producing an angry noise in the back of your throat. Harry winks at you; in response, you whip around and storm away, carving out a path from the living room to the kitchen.

You shine the light from your phone across the cupboards, making a beeline for the fridge. When you pull it open, the cold compartment is dark. Squinting, you reach for one of the many water bottles stacked on the top shelf.

Stupid Harry, with his stupid smile and his stupid eyes and his stupid attitude and his stupid bogus business. You can’t believe that Mindy and Gerald were naïve enough to fall for his bullshit. You need to have a long talk with them when they get back, you think—to ensure that they never swallow a pill this big ever again.

“Thirsty?”

You nearly jump out of your skin, pointing your phone toward the kitchen’s exit. Harry is standing there, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his broad chest. You bring one hand up to your sternum, trying to calm your racing heart.

“Jesus Christ,” you hiss, shaking your head. “You scared the shit out of me!”

He snickers lowly. You turn your attention back to the fridge, grabbing a water bottle and uncapping it quickly. Through the darkness, Harry watches you gulp down the cool liquid; you pretend not to notice.

“Can I help you?” you finally ask, wiping your mouth with the heel of your palm.

“No.” He shrugs. “Just…looking, I guess.”

“That’s creepy,” you reply flatly. He laughs.

“May I steal a bottle?” he says, padding across the tiles. “I’m parched.”

You chew on the inside of your cheek. “I—sure. Whatever.”

And though you try, you can’t seem to tear your gaze away from him. He hums as he opens up the fridge, leaning forward to get a better look inside. You play with the hem of your sweater, standing behind him awkwardly. When he peers over his shoulder, you quickly look away, feigning interest in the marble countertop next to the sink.

“Er—” he starts. He fixes you with an inquisitive look, glancing down at the device in your hand. “Would you mind? I can’t see anything.”

“Don’t you have your own?” you ask.

“Yeah, but you’re already holding yours. Come on.”

You roll your eyes. “Fine.”

You draw nearer, lifting your phone and shining its flash into the fridge. Harry hums, plucking a water bottle off the top shelf with a satisfied smile. When he turns to face you, a puff of air catches in your throat; he’s awfully close, his torso brushing almost imperceptibly against yours.

You stare up at him, stunned. There’s a small mole beneath the left corner of his mouth. Part of you—an insignificant, microscopic part—fights the urge to reach out and run your thumb over the mark.

“I’m sorry for calling you a piece of shit,” you blurt.

He inhales deeply, chest expanding and fitting a bit more firmly against your own.

The contact snaps you out of your trance. You retreat, backing up against the counter to maintain your balance. Harry clears his throat and glances away.

“Thanks,” he says, his voice hoarse.

Unable to find the right words, you simply nod.

The two of you stand there for a long moment, sinking into a pool of uncomfortable silence. Just when you think that you’re going to choke on the invisible tension, a faint buzz resonates through the air. Less than a second later, the power returns, illuminating the kitchen in a wash of warm, brilliant light.

“Thank God,” you mutter. You shut the flash on your phone, sliding the device beneath the waistband of your leggings.

Harry blinks rapidly, disoriented. “Shit.”

“What’s wrong?” you ask, tilting your head to the side.

He waves your question away. “No, it’s—it’s nothing.”

And you don’t really feel like pressing the subject, so you let it go. A tired sigh falls from your mouth as you scan your surroundings.

“Help me find a broom,” you tell him. “We need to sweep up the glass in the other room.”

His lips twitch. “What’s the magic word?”

There he is. The same insufferable man who has been pushing your buttons all week. You scowl, shooting him a displeased glare.

“Forget it.” You drag your fingers down the left side of your face. “I’ll do it myself.”

~*~

“You sure you don’t want my help?” Harry calls, kicking his feet up onto the sofa.

You grunt, crouching next to the shattered glass on the floor. “Positive.”

The broom and dustpan that you’ve acquired from the laundry room are old and frail, but you suppose that they’ll get the job done. You set the dustpan down on the ground, wrapping your fingers around the broom’s handle and trying to maneuver it in an efficient way. It’s no easy feat, but eventually, you manage to create a small, compact pile of shards. Gingerly, you reach for the picture frame, plucking it up from the ground and setting it off to the side. Next, you take your time sweeping all of the fragments into the dustpan, inspecting the floor for any lingering bits.

“Struggling over there?” Harry asks.

You grit your teeth.

“No,” you counter in a matter-of-fact tone. “I think I got it all, actually. No thanks to you.”

You throw the last part over your shoulder, coupling it with an accusatory frown. Harry holds up his hands in surrender, suppressing his amusement.

“Shouldn’t you be exorcising spirits?” you ask. Sarcasm drips from your words.

He chuckles. The couch squeaks as he shuffles around; a moment later, the sound of approaching footsteps reaches your ears. You stiffen when he stops next to your squatted form.

“To be quite honest,” he begins, and you can practically hear the smirk in his voice, “I’m having a much better time watching you.”

“Creepy,” you say. “Again.”

He laughs, lowering himself to his knees. In the periphery of your vision, you watch him pick up the abandoned picture frame, turning it around and studying the photograph inside. His cheeks lift with the slope of a familiar smile, but somehow, this one is different from the others that you’ve witnessed.

It’s real. Sincere.

“Nice, don’t you think?” Harry asks, pulling you from your thoughts.

He extends his arm, revealing the photograph. Mindy and Gerald’s beaming faces stare up at you, a balance of bright grins and crinkled eyes. Subconsciously, your lips curl upward, and you take the frame from Harry’s hands.

“Yeah,” you murmur, running your fingertips over the photo. “They look happy.”

“How long have you known them?” he asks. There’s no malice behind the question.

“Since I moved in,” you say absentmindedly, admiring the ornate frame around the picture. “A few years, now.”

He hums in response. “They talk about you a lot.”

“All good things, I hope.” You cast a wry look in his direction.

He chuckles and nods. “Yeah. They look out for you, it seems.”

“I try to look out for them, too.” You sit back on your haunches, groaning quietly. “Which is why I was surprised that they didn’t come to me when they first thought their house was ‘haunted’.”

Your intonation changes on the last word; you still don’t believe that your neighbours are being plagued by spirits, despite the plethora of peculiarity that you’ve witnessed tonight.

“Maybe they didn’t want to worry you,” Harry suggests.

You roll your eyes. Even now, he refuses to drop the act.

“Sure,” you say. “So, hiring a spirit exterminator—or whatever you pretend to be—was a better move?” You snort softly, climbing to your feet. “How much are they paying you, anyway?”

He purses his lips. “They’re not.”

You freeze.

A beat of silence drags out, during which you swallow your shock. You clear your throat and lift your chin, staring down at Harry banally.

“You’re lying.”

“Nope.”

“You are!” you insist. A short, incredulous laugh tumbles off your tongue. “You are one hundred percent fucking with me.”

“I’m afraid not,” he says.

“Your truck, though...” you say. “‘Lasting results, or your money back’?”

“I’ve got to make it look legitimate, don’t I?” He smirks. “But it’s cute that you remembered.”

Your eyes lock with his, and suddenly, it’s almost impossible to breathe. His gaze is deep, open, and honest. Your lips part, but no sound comes out. Instinctively, your legs carry you a few paces back, veering toward the sofa. You plop down onto the plush cushions, clutching the picture frame tightly between your fingers.

“Then, why—?” you break off, shaking your head. “Why would you—?”

“Peace of mind,” Harry shrugs, still rooted to his spot on the floor. “Ever heard of the placebo effect?”

“You admit it, then,” you say, sitting up straight. “There’s no such thing as ghosts.”

He nods, blinking languidly. “There’s no such thing as ghosts.”

“So,” you start, trying to make sense of the situation, “you let them believe that you’re actually cleansing the house—for free, too—just to—?” You glance around the room, searching for the right words. “—just to put them at ease?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s…”

Sweet. Thoughtful.

“…ridiculous.”

Harry chuckles. “Thanks.”

“I—” You hesitate, depositing the photograph next to you on the couch. “This whole time, I thought you were just…”

“A con?”

You bring your fingers up to your mouth, nodding silently and studying him with big, rounded eyes.

He shrugs.

“I mean, I never really got the chance to explain myself. You’d already made up your mind about me, hadn’t you? So, I thought I’d just let you stick with your assumptions—it didn’t bother me much.”

“I’m a horrible person,” you say, mostly to yourself.

Harry laughs, shaking his head. “No, you’re not. You’re just a bit judgmental, that’s all.”

“You’re right.” You nod again, bowing your head in shame. “I am. I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright, babe, really.”

You stand abruptly, abandoning your spot on the sofa.

“I should finish up,” you state, embarrassed beyond belief. Harry watches you closely as you approach. You crouch down next to him, reaching for the dustpan with shaky hands. A few small shards of glass are littered at the brink of the collector; you nudge them away from the edge, trying to be as careful as possible.

“Ow!” you suddenly hiss, retracting your arm quickly. You twist your wrist, fixing your attention on a thin cut engraved into the pad of your index finger.

“What happened?” Harry asks, leaning forward.

You shake your head, waving away his worries. “I’m fine, I’m fine. Just got nicked, that’s all.”

“Let me see,” he requests, holding out his own hand.

You pause, taking your bottom lip between your teeth and stealing a quick glance at his face. His expression is concerned, but neutral. Your hesitation is silly, you think—he may be a bit of a jackass, but he’s not going to hurt you. You’ve already condemned him once before, and you were wrong.

You don’t want to make that mistake again.

After a brief moment, you give in, sliding your knuckles into his open palm.

“It’s alright, really,” you say, speaking around the lump in your throat. “The piece was tiny—it hardly broke the surface.”

Harry inspects the laceration closely, and you fight the urge to roll your eyes.

It’s not that serious, you want to tell him, but you refrain from letting the words escape. Part of you is enjoying the way your hands fit together so perfectly. You don’t want it to end—not yet.

“You’re bleeding a bit, babe,” he announces faintly, brows cinched in concentration.

“I am?” You try to tug your arm back, but he keeps a firm grip on your wrist. A low, confused noise echoes in the back of your throat; Harry peers up at you, his features unreadable.

“It’s just a spot,” he murmurs. “Let me.”

And before you can say or do anything else, he’s taking your finger past his lips and giving an easy, gentle suck.

You squeak.

The sound snaps Harry out of his trance; he releases your hand and recoils hastily. You exhale, driving out the stale air gathered in your lungs. When you peek up at him from beneath your lashes, he’s already watching you, shoulders taut with anxiety.

“Sorry,” he stammers. His nostrils flare. “That was weird—sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you say, shaking your head. “Er…thanks.”

“No worries.” He swallows.

“Alright.”

Awkwardly, you wipe your clammy palms against your thighs. Harry seems to be looking at everything except for you; his gaze flits to the ceiling, then to the couch, then to the floor. You gnaw on the inside of your cheek and push yourself up off the ground. The room is painfully quiet as you slowly slink back toward to the sofa.

“I should probably put this somewhere safe,” you mumble, picking up the forgotten picture frame.

Warm air floats over the nape of your neck. You gasp and spin around, nearly toppling over in your haste. Harry’s hands find your shoulders, steadying you and crowding you closer to his chest. You glance up at him; your shallow breaths mingle together in the narrow space, noses only inches apart.

“Is this okay?” he asks, his voice no higher than a gruff whisper. “Tell me. Please.”

In response, you fumble for one of his hands, grappling at his wrist; he loosens his hold on your arms, confused but willing. He’s motionless as you lift his knuckles up to your mouth. You glance down, tilting your head to the side and studying them carefully. Harry says nothing when you press a soft, feathery kiss to the pad of his index finger.

But then you’re dipping the tip of the digit between your lips, and suddenly, he’s undone.

“Fucking—”

He grabs your face in his palms and seals his mouth to yours.

The two of you stagger backward, tumbling onto the couch. Mindy and Gerald’s picture frame slips from your grasp, landing on a neighbouring cushion with a faint thud. Reflexively, your legs part; Harry takes his rightful place between them, slanting his body accordingly. When he applies the faintest hint of pressure, you moan.

“Fuck.” He draws back, his warm breath wafting over your chin. “Don’t.”

“‘Don’t’ what?” you ask, puzzled.

He shakes his head. “Don’t make those noises. It’s—you’re—I’m—”

He curses quietly and reaches for one of your hands. You allow him to guide your palm lower, inhaling sharply when you feel the slight bulge protruding from his trousers. Instinctively, your fingers close over the subtle ridge of his cock. His shoulders stiffen, and his eyes squeeze shut.

“You’re hard,” you murmur, as though it’s the most fascinating thing in the world.

“Not fully.” He swallows. “But I’m getting there.”

“Because of me?” you ask, peering up at him innocently.

“Yeah.” Harry expels a wobbly, disbelieving laugh. “Yeah, babe—because of you.”

Your teeth sink into your bottom lip as the familiar moniker falls from his mouth. He notices your unusual reaction, mouth curling into teasing smirk.

“What?” he says, lifting one eyebrow. “No nagging, this time? I thought you hated that nickname.”

You grip the collar of his sweater and give a gentle tug, guiding him down for another kiss. When the two of you finally break apart, you shrug. “It’s growing on me.”

He smiles.

“Do you—?” you pause, pursing your lips. The question sounds silly—presumptuous, even. Rather than finishing your sentence, you lift your chin, gazing up evenly into Harry’s green eyes and declaring, “I think I want to sleep with you.”

His cheeks dimple with a wide grin. “Is that so?”

You nod.

“Right, then.” He kisses your nose and pulls away. “There’s a condom in my wallet, but…I may or may not have left it in my truck.”

You groan, allowing your head to fall back against the sofa with a heavy thump. Harry chuckles at your theatrics. After a brief moment of contemplation, you compose yourself and sit up quickly.

“That works, actually,” you say, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear. “Grab your wallet, and then we can go to my place. I don’t think my neighbours would be very happy if we fucked on their couch.”

He laughs, climbing eagerly to his feet and shooting you a smug wink. “You got it, babe.”

      October 10th, 2021

It’s nearly half past noon when you step out onto the porch the next day. You yawn, squinting up at the sun shining brightly in the sky. There are no clouds in sight; the slight chill of the autumn air tickles your exposed arms. You tug on the waistband of your sweatpants, keeping the material seated firmly on your hips.

“Good morning, dear!”

You jump, head snapping in the direction of a familiar voice. Mindy and Gerald are sitting on their veranda, nursing twin cups of coffee and looking awfully cozy. Gerald smiles at you, folding up his newspaper and setting it on his lap.

“Good morning!” You wave before re-evaluating your words. “Well, it’s technically past twelve, so good afternoon.”

Mindy laughs.

“How was the wedding?” you ask, approaching the side of your deck. You lean against the thin metal railing, combing your fingers through your messy hair. “I wasn’t expecting you to be back this soon.”

“We woke up early,” Mindy explains. “And the wedding was fabulous. Amy wore the most beautiful dress I’ve ever seen.”

“Really?” You grin. “Do you have any pictures?”

“Of course! Just let me run inside and grab my phone—”

“Mornin’,” a gruff voice says from behind you.

You gasp and spin around, bringing a hand to your chest. The sight laid out before you has your heart speeding up, galloping wildly and battering against the confines of your ribs.

Harry’s wearing that same hoodie from last night. Your gaze trails lower—he’s also sporting a pair of grey boxers and white socks. There’s a mug nestled in each of his large hands, his spindly fingers wrapped around the handles comfortably. Your eyes lock with his sleepy ones, and your breathing hitches in your throat.

“Morning,” you whisper, unable to muster up anything louder.

“I—” Harry clears his throat, stepping closer and extending his left arm. “I, er, took the liberty of making us some tea. Hope you don’t mind.”

“No, it’s—” You swallow as you accept one of the mugs, suppressing a giddy smile. “It’s completely fine. Thank you.”

“Of course.” He leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. “Sleep well?”

“Mhm.” You nod shyly.

He chuckles. “Good.”

His gaze wanders over your shoulder, and it’s then that he notices Mindy and Gerald sat on the neighbouring porch. Without even batting an eye, he lifts his hand in a friendly wave. “Morning, you two. How was the wedding?”

You turn back toward the couple, a sheepish look on your face. Mindy is beaming, and Gerald is trying to hold back a laugh. Heat creeps up your neck; you wish that the ground would just open up and swallow you whole.

“It was wonderful!” Mindy trills. Her enthusiasm has skyrocketed. You pinch the bridge of your nose, utterly mortified.

“Yes.” Gerald finally pipes up, smirking knowingly. “It was great. What about you, though? How was your night?”

“Fine,” you blurt before Harry can respond. “It was fine.”

The duo share a look, and then Mindy giggles girlishly. You bring your mug up to your mouth, taking a long sip and groaning into the cup. Harry’s arm snakes around your waist, making you jump. You steal a glance at him out of the corner of your eye; he’s fighting a smile.

“Well—” Gerald clears his throat, plucking his folded newspaper from his lap and rising to his feet. “I think I’ll be going, now. Need to catch up on those few extra hours of sleep.”

“Me too,” Mindy says, nodding fervently. She directs her next words at you. “If you pop by later, I’ll show you those photos, okay?”

“Okay,” you croak.

She shoots you one last grin before disappearing inside.

“God,” you say immediately, hanging your head. “That was torture.”

Next to you, Harry laughs. You aim a weak swat at his chest. He snickers, catching your palm and ducking down to drop a gentle kiss against your knuckles. You exhale shakily, twisting your body around so that you can face him.

“Your hair’s a mess,” you murmur, running your free hand through his dishevelled curls.

He cocks one eyebrow. “And whose fault is that?”

You scoff. “Shut up.”

He chuckles quietly and steps closer to you, holding out his mug. You smile in assent, mirroring his movements and clinking your cups together.

“So,” Harry starts, sipping his tea casually, “you gonna let me take you out on a proper date, sometime?”

“That depends,” you say, trying to ignore the flurry of butterflies flapping around in your stomach. “I’ll go—but only if we take my car. I refuse to drive around town in your tacky truck.”

“It’s not that bad!” he protests.

“It’s awful,” you tell him, shaking your head. “It looks it was decorated by a preschooler during arts and crafts.”

“Fine.” He rolls his eyes playfully, giving in. “Any other requests?”

You pause, lost in thought.

“One more, actually,” you say, fixing him with a challenging stare. “You need to come clean to Mindy and Gerald.”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “Alright.”

“Really?” You balk, taken aback by his compliance. “That’s it? But I—I had a whole speech prepared.”

Harry laughs softly, cradling your face with his free hand and kissing you slowly. Your fingers tighten around your mug. When the two of you break apart for air, he shrugs.

“I started considering it after everything that happened last night. Keep your speech, though.” His lips twitch. “You’ll be needing to scold me again in no time, I’m sure.”

Your shoulders shake with a silent giggle. “You’re probably right.”

“Also—” Harry clears his throat, soothing the ache with another sip of tea. “You may want to suggest that they hire an exterminator.”

“An exterminator?” you repeat, blinking in surprise. “But…they don’t have rats. Gerald said that the traps hadn’t been touched.”

“Not rats,” he hums. “Squirrels, I believe. Living in the walls.”

“And how did you reach that conclusion?”

“I’ve been doing this for a while, babe—I’ve seen my fair share of pests. Plus,” he clucks his tongue, “they like to chew on wires.”

“Really?” You sigh distantly, pinching your bottom lip. “God, that sucks.”

“It does.” He nods, wrapping his fingers around your forearm. “But you can tell them later.”

“Later?” you say, brows knitting together. “Why not right now?”

“Because,” Harry grunts. You squeal when he crowds you up against your front door. He cups your jaw and tilts your chin up with his thumb, handsome face splitting into an easy, salacious grin.

“Right now, I’m taking you back to bed.”

~*~

thanks for reading! if you enjoyed this piece, please consider donating to my ko-fi! and as always, don’t forget to share your thoughts. thank you bunches <3

[tomtenadia]

Remember us - part 3

Here we are with part 3.

This was a tough chapter to write.

Please do not hate Rowan, he is confused and scared and what is happening to him is scary.

-------

A slow tune played in the distance of the big garden. 

Rowan took Aelin’s hand and walked away from the big crowd and near the bank of the lake where it was just the two of them.

“Did you drag me here to kill me?”

Rowan in response kissed her and Aelin could not read his expression. His arms went around her frame and pulled her closer for a slow dance on the spot.

His hand brushed her back and let her scent envelope him. 

“Lys and Aedion look happy.” He whispered to her, enjoying the feeling of her in his arms. A presence he would never tire of.

“It was about time.” Aelin said kissing his chest.

“It’s our turn to be that happy, what do you think?” Rowan went down on one knee and gently grabbed her hand pulling it to his chest “Fireheart, I love you. You are my best friend, my soulmate and I want to walk the path of life at your side. I want to grow old with you and still watch silly movies on the sofa. Aelin Galathynius, will you do me the honour of marrying me and let me call you my wife?”

The smile on Aelin’s face became radiant “Yes,” a kiss on his lips “yes, buzzard, I will marry you.”

*

Rowan woke up panting hard. The memory had been very vivid and clear in his head. The colours, the smells, he felt as if he had been there. Aelin had told him about that memory, about the day he had proposed to her at a friend’s wedding.

The memory had felt so real and his hands were now shaking.

It had been a week since that conversation. Aelin had started visiting him on her way to work and sometimes during her breaks as well. They had been chatting and she had been telling more about their lives and answered all the questions he had. The topic he hadn’t had yet the courage to cover was the one about her being pregnant. He felt bad for snooping on the phone but that was his anyway and Aelin had given it to him with that exact intention. For him to read and discover more about who he had been and hopefully unlock more moments.

He was busy with his thoughts that he did nor notice a male nurse popping into his room.

“Time to go.”

The doctor had told him that now that he was awake it was time to finally start his rehab and to try have him walking again quite quickly.

The nurse helped him to shift onto the wheelchair and pushed him out.

“Can someone tell Aelin where I am gone? Sometimes she comes and visit on her break.”

“I am sure nurse Ytger will tell your wife that you went for physio.”

He had started to enjoy and wait eagerly for her visits. He wanted to tell her abut the flash of the day he proposed.

They finally arrived at the gym and a man was waiting for him “Hello Rowan and welcome to hell.” Said the man in front of him “You’ll probably will want to kill me after every session but I assure you I will make you walk again. I always do.” The man said quite smugly “my name is Dorian, by the way.”

For a half an hour Dorian massaged and warmed up and loosened his right leg. Every time he bent his knee Rowan was ready to cry. Until the man got him back on the wheelchair and they reached some parallel bars “now, we try walking.”

Rowan looked at him in disbelief. He could not be serious.

“Come on, hold on to the bars with your hands and pull yourself upright.”

He followed the directions and pulled himself up. 

“Good. Now try to move a step.”

Rowan tried but almost fell on his face if it wasn’t that Dorian grabbed him “don’t put weight on the injured leg yet.”

He was about to try again when he spotted Aelin in her blue scrubs entering the gym. Dorian saw her as well “are you going to look good in front of your wife?”

Aelin joined him “Hi devil.” She greeted Dorian.

“Hi my darling. Your hubby and I just started.”

“Just go easy on him. I just got him back.” And Rowan saw Aelin give him a warm smile. He needed to tell her about his dream. He wanted to revive that day with her, to know how she felt. She had looked happy in the memory. Rowan was also curious to know why she called him buzzard.

For another good hour he did all Dorian told him and by the end of the first session he did manage to walk once the length on the walking bars. Aelin had given him the most stunning smile.

They were now back in his room and she was helping him climb back in bed.

“You must be exhausted. Dorian’s sessions are tough, but the man does miracles.”

“My leg hurts…” he said fully leaning back in bed in a seated position.

“I should let you rest.” Aelin made a move to leave but he stopped her, grabbing her hand for a fleeting moment “stay, please.”

Aelin nodded and sat back down on the chair. He noticed her hand gently move to her stomach in a protective gesture.

“I had a dream.” He told her and saw his wife turn her head to him “it was the day I proposed. You had a green dress and we were at Lys and Aedion’s wedding.” He continued and saw her face break and try to hold back the tears “you called me buzzard.”

Aelin started sobbing. It was just one memory. It was not their entire life but it was something. She nodded eagerly and restrained herself from the desire to kiss him. She missed the contact with him.

“It’s my nickname for you. You hover, like a bird of prey. I have been calling you like that since the beginnings.”

He smiled and decided to tackle the more pressing question he had for her, his heart started racing. He had found out from the phone and not from her. He took a deep breath “I know…” he whispered and she looked up at him with curiosity “I was going through the text messages we exchanged and I found the one where you sent me a picture of our baby.”

Aelin gasped “I didn’t tell you because it would have been too much and you already have enough to deal with.” She was trying to protect him. She had been dying to tell him but for a moment she had put her desires aside and thought about him, how he would react at the news.

“How far along are you?”

“12 weeks. I am just at the end of my first trimester.” And he saw her lift her scrub and could see the slight hint of a bump “peanut, this is dad. Dad, this is peanut.”

Rowan sighed heavily “what if…” how could he explain his fears to her without crushing her? “What if the person I become is not the husband you remember? I don’t know when I will get my memories back. And when I do? Will it still be me or a brand new person with some jumbled up memories? What if you realise you can’t live with a version of me that is just a bad copy of the original?” He was terrified at the idea. 

“To whatever end.” She whispered “that’s the promise we shared on our wedding day. We will go through life together no matter what. Together.” Aelin sniffled loudly “we already went through a lot in seven years of marriage. Two miscarriages that shook us to the core. But we survived. Our marriage survived.” She took his hand feeling the need to a contact with him to dispel the fears in her heart “we will survive this as well.” She was now sobbing and Rowan had no idea how to console her. He had grabbed her hand briefly but still did not feel comfortable enough for contact with her.

“Sorry, it’s the hormones.”

“Aelin, you should move on. Find someone—” but Aelin did not let him finish “Rowan Whitethorn, please tell me you have not just suggested me to leave you.” She stood and shouted at him furious that he could even think about something so outrageous.

“I am not leaving you for another man. You are my husband.” She felt anger rising at the idea he might suggest such thing. It broke her heart that he would give up like that. 

“What if I don’t want to be your husband? Have you thought about me? I am trapped in a life I don’t recognise.” His tone matched hers and at his words Aelin felt her heart break. She took a step away from him.

“You come here and tell me all those thing about our life. Am I supposed to accept them without question and jump back in my old life?”

She did not answer him. Aelin just ran out of the room, heavy tears streaming down her cheeks. And when nausea hit she ran for the toilets and emptied her stomach.

She sat on the floor for a time that felt endless until she got paged and had to force herself to go back to work.

***

Rowan closed his eyes and he collapsed back on the pillow. His soul ached at the words he had said to Aelin. Why did he tell her something he did not believe himself? He was confused and utterly overwhelmed. He had so many questions and he had reacted in the worst possible way. But he was scared of not being able to be enough for her, to transform into a copy she might not like. They had kids to think about too. What if he was going to destroy a family? They deserved better than him.

Waking up and not remembering anything of his life had been terrifying. But that woman, his wife, was willing to take him back no matter what. She was ready to show him a way to find himself again. 

He took his mobile and texted her as soon as he figured out how to do it I am sorry for what I said. I am really scared.

Rowan placed the phone on the nightstand and lay down. He felt exhausted and when he closed his eyes, sleep caught him in his arms.

***

Rowan was standing in front of a crowd. He was in what looked like a ballroom inside and old building. The guests were all dressed up nicely and so was he. At his side there was a blonde man grinning happily.

As soon as the music started he turned his head and saw two dark-haired women entering the venue  and slowly proceed along the aisle in his direction. His gazed drifted away from them as soon as he spotted Aelin at the entrance. She was dressed in the most amazing light blue dress and she looked stunning. He felt like the luckiest man alive. Aelin had chosen him.

She stopped in front of him and he mouthed the words I love you to her. The officiant proceeded with the ceremony until it was time to exchange their vows and he went first.

“Aelin, my heart, once we set our hate aside you became my best friend and then my soulmate and soon I will be able to call you my wife as well. I am ready to face this new adventure together and stay at your side, no matter what. To whatever end, fireheart.”

By the time he finished she was in tears and it took her a moment to compose herself.

“Rowan, my buzzard, life can be unpredictable and cruel, but as long as I have you at my side I know I can survive anything. You are my rock. I am looking forward to our new adventure together. I love you, to whatever end.”

Rowan kissed her not even waiting for the right moment.

“Rowan Whitethorn, do you take Aelin Galathynius as you wife. Promise to respect her and cherish the time you will have together? To love her for better for worse, in sickness and in health till death do you part?”

“I do.” Said Rowan never averting his green eyes from her.

“Aelin Galathynius, do you take Rowan Whitethorn as your husband and promise to walk the path of life at his side. To love him for better or for worse, in sickness and in health till death do you part?”

“I do.” Tears of joy streamed down her face.

A moment later the scent of flowers had gone and Rowan awoke abruptly and the smell of disinfectant hit him.

He had been dreaming again. Their wedding apparently. They had been so happy and he could not remove from his mind Aelin’s stunning smile.

Frantically he grabbed his phone and sadness hit him when he noticed there was no answer from Aelin.

What had he done?

***

That night when Aelin got back home she looked for comfort in her mother’s arms first. She had told her all that happened at the hospital and Rowan’s words. Evalin had let her cry until she was spent.

When bed time came she went for her bedroom and found her bed already occupied by her two terrors. She changed in her pyjama and climbed in bed. Gently she pulled Freyja to her chest and inhaled deeply her scent. As if on instinct, just like his father, Thomas adjusted and moved to her snuggling closer. A pair of green eyes set on her “go back to sleep my love.” She kissed his blonde hair.

“I miss dad.” He said moving even closer and Aelin wrapped her arms around her two children “I miss him too, Tom.”

“When is he coming back?”

“Soon.” She brushed his hair “now sleep, okay?”

“I love you, mum.”

Aelin barely stopped the tears “I love you too.”

She closed her eyes and cried herself to sleep.

[teyvattherapist]

Write to Me

eh fuck it here ya'll go. pspspsps dain simps come get your food.

Anyways it features my oc, I'm too lazy to rewrite it, and I think this is cute. Sooo, posting it anyways.

tags: gn!readerxDainsleif, fluff, soulmate au babyyy, it do always be angst when u squint, dain was a ho as a young man as he should be honestly, oc mention? not massive tho just in the bg, kaeya and albedo making bets

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When he was younger he wasn’t exactly monogamous, sleeping with whatever pretty thing piqued his fancy, his status and good looks lending to men and women throwing themselves at him. He didn’t think he had a soulmate, no lovely voice in his head, he could see colour just fine, and whenever he wrote or drew on his arm there was nothing in return. Not a single scratch that wasn’t his own, nothing. So he did whatever he wanted, there wasn’t anybody matching his soul.

But he was older now, much older. Centuries passed since he was a young man at the centre of many people's hearts. Now he was a disgraced knight and a traveler. He was busy tracking down and destroying the Abyss Order, his traveling companion gone, he had nothing but his duty once more. He stayed away from cities as much as he could, only going in to restock his supplies.

Imagine Dainsleif’s surprise when he woke up one day, odd blue squiggles on the tainted skin of his right arm. It wasn’t anything fancy, a small little smiley face with awful handwriting beside it, a tiny ‘hi’. He outstretched his arm, blinking once, twice, he tried to rub it off. But it didn’t come off. Now? Really? NOW?! He didn’t want to write back, he didn’t want to draw anything. They were more than likely a child judging by the writing, he could just pretend he never saw this.

But they didn’t cease. Apparently when he had rubbed the drawing, it had showed up on them. ‘Yuo real?’ Dainsleif groaned, pulling his gloves on instead. He didn’t have time for this. So Dainsleif ignored it, ignored the messages that sometimes showed up on his arms and he ignored the drawings, no matter how good or awful they were. His duty came first, and he was several centuries old. He simply couldn’t pay attention to it.

But as the years went on the messages began to slow. How many years had passed? Ten? Twenty? He wasn’t entirely sure, his memory blending together, fragmenting and hazing over. Bits and pieces here and there. ‘I hope you’re well, you’ve been quiet.’ A message scrawled on his left arm and he stared at it in the dark of the tent.

‘I am well. And you?’

‘And here I thought my soulmate died. I’m fine.’

Dainsleif sighed, blue eyes flicking upwards at the material of the tent. They deserved somebody so much better. The Twilight Sword was not that somebody. He looked back at his arm, a name, he assumed, was scrawled beside the words.

‘Dainsleif.’

‘Like the sword?’

‘Like the sword.’

“Fascinating. I must be going to sleep now, I have work early. Goodnight, Dainsleif.’

Dainsleif dropped his arm beside him, a soft sigh escaping his lips. How ridiculous was this. The Gods truly hated him to gift him a soulmate when he was what, five hundred and twenty five? His poor soulmate, too. He couldn’t stop thinking about what an unfortunate situation it was for them, perhaps it was the way he showed he did care, even if he hadn’t met them or spoken to them beyond reading the occasional message they wrote.

-

You hurried through the hallway, already late for work, the fifth time that month. You spared a wave to Sucrose who was exiting Albedo’s laboratory and she smiled, waving back. You quickly threw open the door to the laboratory across from Albedo’s, entering swiftly. “I’m so sorry Ohm, my alarm didn’t go off again and- Oh!” You stopped, realising there was somebody else in there.

The medical captain looked around the man dressed in interesting garb, smiling when he saw it was you. “Hello, (y/n)! Nothing to worry about. Ahem, where was I? Oh yes! Same rules as before, but try to apply it more sparingly, I don’t want you building up an intolerance until I can find something stronger.” Ohm held out a jar of azure gel but the man was stiff, unmoving. “Teyvat to Dainsleif?”

“Wait- Dainsleif?” You stopped, dropping the papers you had been holding. They scattered everywhere and Ohm tilted his head, periwinkle hair falling into his face, a clear sign of his utter confusion. Dainsleif turned to you, his eyes were stunning, blue and the pupils- he was gorgeous, that was the first thing that came to you and you felt your cheeks warming at his piercing gaze.

“Well would you look at the time, I have to go uhm, annoy Albedo. It's in my schedule. Please lock the lab if you are to leave. Dainsleif heed my orders or I’ll find you.” Ohm stood up, he rounded Dainsleif, grabbing the bough keeper’s hand and placing the jar into it. He then let go and walked away. He put one hand on your shoulder and leaned in close. “Be nice, he’s shy.” The doctor whispered and then he was off, shutting the door behind him with a click.

You bent down to pick up the paperwork now that the initial shock wore off. Dainsleif also seemed to snap back into action, pocketing the jar. He stepped forward, crouching down to help you with the papers. “I apologise, your Gods have chosen an awful soulmate for you.” He was blunt, apparently. His voice deep and soothing nonetheless. He held the papers out in a bandaged hand and you hesitantly took them.

“I don’t know, I think you’re pretty. Even if you ignore me.” Did you really just- You stood quickly, walking by him and to the desk on the other side of the room, the small wooden desk you had claimed as your own. “Ahem, are you injured? I suppose you must be if you’re visiting the medical captain.” You trailed off, sorting the papers neatly on the desk.

“No, yes, technically.” Dainsleif stood, brushing off his dark pants. You turned, quirking an eyebrow at him as he moved back to the captain’s desk to retrieve a glove that matched his other one. Was it worth it? To give up his secrets? To show just why they should stop speaking to him and run far far away? He grabbed his glove and hesitated, looking at the thick material. He shook his head, pulling the glove over his bandages.

“Well, if you’re ever in need of care and you’re in Mondstadt, just write. Ohm has been teaching me how to do what he does. Though I can’t really do it like him yet, I’m still a pretty alright healer.” You offered with a soft smile even though he wasn’t looking at you. Dainsleif hesitated, adjusting his glove. Kind, dedicated to a good cause, funny sometimes. He cursed his feelings.

Dainsleif turned towards you, pressing himself against the desk as if to steady himself. His eyes flicked to the side, he was clearly thinking of something. He closed his eyes for a moment, nodded to himself, and then opened them again. “Ask your mentor about the Twilight Sword. I’m afraid I must take my leave. Write to me.” Dainsleif pushed himself off the desk and with a swiftness you weren’t sure was human, he was gone.

Immediately you brought your nail to your arm, writing gently. ‘I like your cape.’

‘Thank you, I like your cloak.’

Oh he was awkward awkward. Cute. You smiled at the words before getting back to work, these medical reports wouldn’t process themselves, after all. Though his words played through your mind, Twilight Sword.. It was oddly familiar but no amount of examining your brain proved useful, oh well. You’d just have to ask later.

Ohm snickered with Kaeya as they watched Dainsleif breeze by them, practically throwing himself down the staircase and out the door. “I’ll bet you one thousand mora he left the explaining to me.” Ohm spoke when he heard the heavy door to the headquarters slam shut.

“Neither of us are dumb enough to bet that, he absolutely did.” Albedo commented, leaning back against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. “The feared Twilight Sword, Bough Keeper of Khaenri’ah brought down by a soulmate, so silly.”

“I don’t know, Albedo, I think it's quite endearing.” Kaeya teased, tapping his chin thoughtfully, but his eye told another story, glinting mischievously. “I’ll take that bet, Ohm. I’ll bet one thousand mora he tells them before he gets back to camp.” He held his hand out and Ohm took his hand, shaking it. Unfortunately, sealing Kaeya’s fate.

“Wait, hold on. I’ll bet one thousand mora he doesn’t do either.”

“That’s the spirit, alchemist.” Ohm shook hands with Albedo who huffed. “We should get back to work.” The medical captain gave a curt nod before he headed further up the stairs and towards the direction of his laboratory.

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Diary found in K---D--- : Part 2

So, here's the next little part of this :D

Imagine by @lathalea is indented!

Enjoy <3

Taglist: @shrimpsthings, @mulasawala (so you see where I'm going with this lol)

(Yes, there will be MORE artwork coming, stay posted...)

Fandom: Hobbit

Characters: Ori x OC

Rating & Warning: Fluff and silliness

His name was Ori and he was a scribe in Erebor. It turned out he visited the forest often to sketch the animals and plants. You spent the rest of the day together. In the evening, you exchanged campfire stories, sharing a meal. At one point, he shyly asked about where you came from. Blushing, he admitted, almost whispering, he never saw a person with such beautiful hair before.

You told him that you came from another world, from a region called East Asia, where many people looked similarly to you. He was very curious about your homeland, your culture and your world. You spent hours telling him everything about it and he listened to you in awe.

“Ori.” He replied, his lips quirking a tiny bit as if he was not used to speaking his own name. “I’m a scribe. In Erebor. The Mountain.” He pointed to a tree beyond the clearing.

Thankfully, I was familiar with the Lonely Mountain and did not think that he didn’t know the difference between a living organism and a pile of minerals.

“I have never seen you, neither here nor in that Mountain.” I replied, for I went into the halls sometimes to translate for travellers, but for the most part, I let the king be his grumpy, glorious self.

“I come here often, to sketch, but I seem to have lost my way.” He admitted with a tiny frown. Ah, a real dwarf. They only knew up and down seemingly and if there was no way into a hill, they’d stubbornly trek up until they tumbled off the other side again.

As if to prove to me that he was not lying – dear reader, he had a face that was utterly devoid of malice or dissimulation – he showed me rather good sketches of the fauna and flora of the dense forest surrounding us. “That is really good, Ori, the scribe, from under the Mountain.” I commented which made him blush with a fierce and, apparently, unexpected pleasure.

In an expression of indescribable cuteness, he literally wiped his face with his sleeve as if he could clean away the rosy hue like a stubborn ink stain from under his skin.

“What are you here for?” He then asked, pushing out his chest heroically. As a reminder, he was the one who had lost his way, but apparently, he wanted to defend either the forest from me or the other way around.

“I am here to think…in silence.” I replied; he retreated a few steps. “Oh? I’ll leave you to it then, I guess. It was great to make your acquaintance…”

I gave him my name, after all, he had given me his, and he chewed on it for a few moments before his face split into a smile that was like the sunlight breaking through the cloudy afternoon sky: tentative, warm, and strikingly beautiful.

“Stay. I like your face.” I heard myself saying. Maybe, it was my teasing, mischievous streak acting up, but I had liked his embarrassment so much that I couldn’t help wanting to coax more of these blushes out of him.

“My…face?” In that weird dance he had been engaged in for the last few minutes, Ori stepped closer again, shuffling his feet in the heavy boots dwarrows insisted on wearing.

No, your ass, I thought, but bit my tongue; Ori the dwarf looked like someone who would die on the spot if I said anything even remotely inappropriate…as I was wont to do when nervous.

My sarcastic thought spurred my own interest though and I examined him a little closer: he was indeed swaddled like a babe, beads of sweat pearling down his temples on account of the steep climb and the stubborn blush powdering his nose and cheeks with pink blotches.

“Sit down, you’ll get a heat stroke.” I invited him and pointed to a patch of moss beside me while rummaging in my pack for the flask of ale I had brought.

“Thank you ever so much.” He plopped down in a cascade of earthen-coloured wool and awkward limbs. He did smell warm, I noticed, a blend of cinnamon and comfort.

Also, he had one of those faces that only became better when seen up-close, I admit freely; there were golden stars dancing in the depth of his dark eyes and he had the most adorable freckles as if some outlandish fairy had sprinkled gold dust over that heart-wrenchingly handsome face.

“Are you thirsty, Mistress?” He asked, nodding at the flask in my hand.

Handing it to him rather abruptly, I realised that I had spent the last moments intently staring at his face as if I had never seen a male dwarf before in my life.

“I have work to do.” I snapped, feeling immediately guilty for taking my own embarrassment out on him, but he merely nodded and pulled his sketching supplies into his lap.

Strangely enough, Ori did not disturb me. If anything, the silence felt fuller, richer, deeper with him by my side. As I translated a letter, as a spinster I had to support my family and my insufferable sisters as best as I could, I felt like the chirping of the birds and the vibrancy of the colours around me were even more enjoyable now that I shared them with someone else.

…

The sun crept along its never-changing arc slowly and yet, much too fast.

As I looked up, I wished I was a better painter myself, for this dwarrow was made for sunsets.

The way the last golden hurrah of a perfect day exploded in a halo of warmth around his figure, the way all the greys and the blues seemed to bleed out of the world to leave nothing but warm tones behind, and the way his smile was the perfect expression of this mellow, unhurried mood…it struck me deeper and more violently than a thunderstorm in all its booming rage would have.

“Will you join me for dinner, Ori?” I asked gently, “I shall escort you back down.”

“It would be my honour.” He nodded, tearing out a page of his notebook and handing it over.

“It was an invitation; I do not demand payment.” I said seriously, for the sketch of the doe was so good, it might have been worth actual money. “Oh…” His nose crinkled at little at that.

“I wanted you to…have something beautiful. I have seen you work very hard.”

Of course, he was a scribe as well, he would consider the scribbling work, I thought and gave him a thankful smile. “You’re beauty enough for one day.” I shrugged.

He gasped, bringing his notebook up to his face as if to shield himself from my words.

“You’re having me on, aren’t you? Dori has warned me that girls do that sometimes.” He sounded utterly dejected. “I am not having you on. Has nobody ever told you that you’re handsome?” It was my turn to be wide-eyed with shock.

“And who is Dori?” I followed-up when he didn’t really reply to my question even though I thought I had seen his braids move like strings of pearls in a draft. The minutest of shakes of the head, a quiet admission of inadequacy that sunk ugly, ragged claws into my soft heart.

“He’s my brother. I have two of them. Dori���and Nori. They’re…” – “Older than you.” I completed. “Protective.” He supplied.

He was still holding his drawing out to me, and, after a moment, I took it gingerly and put it between the pages of my own writing supplies. I would hang it in my room and look at it daily.

Nowadays, there were but very few gifts for me; all the money went to my two younger sisters who were still nubile and would, if Mahal willed it so, be able to make a good match.

Busying my hands with making a fire, I asked him to tell me about his brothers.

“Oh, Nori is…agile. He’s…funny and brave and resourceful.” Ori started, his voice warm with affection and admiration. He sounded like a proper rogue to me, and as it turned out, he was, but he also deserved every single ounce of the deep-felt care Ori held for him.

“Dori is…fussy. He’s polite, he’s very caring, and he’s exceedingly proper.” Ori went on as I waved a hand for him not to stop. I enjoyed hearing about the life of other families than my own.

“So, is he the one who raised you to be this…warmly clad and gentle?” I asked, turning to place the foodstuffs I had brought up and stored in the cool lake water on spits to roast over the fire.

“Warm? Oh yes…I was a sickly pebble and he’s been worried ever since. I hope I have behaved in a way that would not make him disappointed in me.” Again, he worried his lip.

“Let’s see, you’ve startled a bird and an unsuspecting dwarrowdam.” I listed with a wicked gleam in my eyes; his face fell, and he looked properly guilty.

“Then, you’ve kept me company, and the best company I’ve ever had, it has been, on my grandmother’s grave, I swear.” I went on and that treacherous blush was back with a vengeance.

“I didn’t mean to startle you.” He then said in a low voice. “Great beauty is always startling.”

“I am hardly Thorin Oakenshield.” He laughed. Readers, you cannot imagine that sound just by reading my words. If flowers blossoming had melody, if the sun setting on the eternal sea had a song, if autumn leaves dancing on a gale had a tune, they would have sounded like nails on scree, like cats having their tails trampled, and like kettles going unheeded compared to Ori’s laughter.

“There’s beauty in the doe as much as in the wolf.” I replied gently.

“May I…can I ask where you’re from? I don’t seek to be rude, but I’ve never seen anyone quite like you; your hair looks like those fabrics the Elves weave. It…seems so soft, so liquid, so smooth.” He blushed a darker shade yet.

This might well have been the first time that someone had asked me about my origins without making it sound like an accusation; there was honest fascination in his demeanour.

“My family and I have come from the Far East. I have travelled a lot, Ori, I have seen landscapes entirely made up of rock and sand, I have walked forests so stiflingly hot and moist it felt like being underwater, and now, I am here in the land of tall trees and taller mountains.”

I said, surprised by my own frankness.

“That sounds amazing.” He took the food I offered readily enough, and I told him about the people I’ve left behind to be stranded at the other end of the world.

“This is good, is that a recipe of your homeland?” He asked, looking down on the piece of meat I had seasoned with herbs I had grown myself in our small backyard.

“It actually is. I’m glad you like it. I had not planned to have company, otherwise I’d have brought something more palatable to the local tongue.” I apologised quickly.

“No, I like it. You should definitely trade some recipes with Dori…and Bombur…oh, and if any of your delicious herbs are medicinal, Óin.” He laughed again when he saw my dumbfounded expression.

“I make a good honeycake, if I can interest you in that? Maybe…” He fell back into silence.

…

A look at the sky told me that it was too late to go down in the inky darkness.

“We’ll have to stay here for the night.” I mumbled, slightly uncomfortable at the idea of spending the night with a dwarrow who had not lost a single word about a wife.

“Are you married, Mistress? Will that endanger your wedlock?” He asked shyly.

“No, I am not and I have no name to lose…It’s a long story.” I didn’t feel like blurting out my disgrace, lest it give him strange ideas after all, especially as he would easily have been able to overpower me if he so chose.

“Neither am I. I don’t know about my name…Doesn’t look like I’m going to be married either. There’s not enough dwarrowdams as it is, and I think the royal line has a prerogative there.” There was no resentment in his tone; he seemed to accept this as a fact.

How could someone that sweet not be married, I wondered. He was courteous, he was cute, and he would have made the fortune and happiness of someone.

“Well, in that case, I think we can risk our reputation rather than our necks.” I grinned, rolling out a blanket I kept tied to my pack for emergencies and stretched out next to the fire on the moss.

“Erm, yes…Good night…” He mumbled, fidgeting around with his different layers of clothing. Apparently, he was deciding which one he needed least on his body to use it as a bedroll or blanket.

I eyed the proceedings with interest and a good deal of amusement.

“I can offer you my cloak to lie upon…the ground will grow very cold and wet soon.” He said in a low voice, not sure if I had already fallen asleep or not.

“Alright, I can offer you a spot under the blanket then?” I extended my own graciousness.

“With you?” No, with the red bird, I thought, rolling my eyes internally.

“Yes, Ori the scribe, with me. I will not eat you, as you have witnessed, I have had dinner.” Not that he did not look good enough to devour, standing there with his cloak in his hands and his face all crunched up in embarrassment.

“Hmmm…I guess.” He muttered doubtfully, spreading out the cloak and sitting down on it carefully. Impatiently, I scooted over and spread my lousy blanket over the both of us with a flourish.

“Sleep!” I commanded as I turned around only to find him staring wide-eyed at the spot where the back of my head had been only a second ago. Now that he was presented with my face, only inches away from his, his eyes grew even rounder and bigger in wordless distress.

“Friend…Have you never lain with a woman? And I literally mean, lying next to one?” I laughed for there had been friends and cousins aplenty in my own life and the feeling of having another body so close to mine was not a new experience for me.

“Well, I fell down on the battlefield once, next to a foe…I’m pretty sure that was a Lady-Orc. She was dead. There was a…” He gestured, indicating a spear or a lance sticking out of his chest and brushing against my own with the back of his hand. Dear reader, he flinched back as if I was a tiny Durin’s bane wreathed in flames.

“A Lady-Orc, indeed…” I mused; no doubt, he could hear the smile I hid in my voice for his face crunched up in embarrassment.

“I am sorry.” He sighed, rolling his eyes, and thinking – there was not a shadow of a doubt about that much – of his brothers who would have mocked him mercilessly for his stammering.

“There’s no need to be sorry” I tried to reassure him, but I admit now that there were things that I did not tell him right away then. We had only just met, and he was blessedly unaware of my shameful past.

How could I have made him understand – without hurting his feelings – how much I enjoyed that air of purity about him that I had squandered myself on an undeserving fiend? As a daughter amongst others, I had been used to dwarrows coming to court or to seduce, their eyes ablaze with greed and their hands wandering.

He would not have comprehended how much the absence of that voracious hunger that had plagued my youth and had ended up destroying my promising future meant to me.

“Sleep.” I repeated, unable to put into words how miraculous and precious the things he seemed to be most ashamed of were to me.

“Good night, Mistress.” He breathed with a soft smile that was nowhere near the wolfish baring of fangs I was used to and so, it was easy to return it.

You who may or may not have stumbled upon this ludicrous account of the most important story in an otherwise unimportant life, you shall hear another confession I did not make at the time.

I was fiercely aware that – had I but leant forward a little – I might have pressed my lips upon his; I was young still at that time and, despite what had happened, parts of me, that should have withered and died in the aftermath of my botched engagement, were much alive.

He smelled like our dinner and warmth, and the gentle reticence of the curve of his smile was more inviting than any flashing grin I had ever seen before.

Yes, in that very moment, on this very first evening, I had already been conscious of the shrewd attraction this self-effacing dwarrow held for me…and it scared me half to death.

…

Part 3

[alpaca-fanfics]

Can I request an angst to comfort with Sakusa, Atsumu, and Bokuto? Thank you 🥺

A/N: HI BABE!! I hope this is okay! I didn’t know if you wanted a ficlet or headcannons and I wasn’t for sure what to write! I hope you like it. 💛💛

Angst to Comfort

~~~

Sakusa

~~~

The two of you didn’t even know what you were fighting about anymore. What started off as a small disagreement turned into a screaming match. You knew it was silly, throwing insults at each other like it was a game. Both of you were in the wrong, but the adrenaline powered by anger was too blinding. Nothing prepared you for the outcome.

“You know what! Fine, if you want to be a bitch about it, then get the fuck out.” Sakusa seethed, tips of his ears stained red with anger. The guilt of what he had just said weighed heavy in his stomach, but being stubborn, he wasn’t backing down.

“W-what?” You stuttered, shocked. “Excuse me-“

“You fucking heard me. I can’t take your constant bickering.” He snapped, digging his grave deeper.

“Fine.” You muttered, face going neutral. You pulled the cold silver band from your ring finger, stepping in front of the tall man before placing it in his hand. “I hope you eat your words, Kiyoomi.”

Eyes widening, he knew he fucked up. “Wait-“

“No, it’s okay. I know you didn’t mean it. However, I will not stand here and be called a bitch over a small disagreement. Come find me when you’ve matured, Omi.” And with that, you turned on your heels and made way for the door.

Two days passed with Sakusa alone in the apartment, staring at the cold walls. He couldn’t take it anymore. He gripped the wedding ring in his hand as he pushed himself off the couch. He needed to fix this.

He walked down the street, anxiety in his chest, making his way to your friend’s house where he knew you were staying. A deep sigh left his lips as he shakily gripping the ring in his hands. He had forgotten his mask at home, but you were more important than his fear of crowds.

He stole a glance towards a small café across the street before abruptly stopping in his tracks. Your (colour) hair and familiar face stood out to him. He quickly looked both ways before crossing the street. Swallowing his wounded pride, he opened the glass doors.

You looked up from your phone, the light of your eyes gone. It broke Sakusa’s heart. He hurt his wife/husband, and he regretted it.

“Have you realized-“

“I’m sorry.” He gasped, tears beginning to prick at his eyes. “I love you, please don’t leave me.”

“Come here.” You smile slightly, opening your arms. You chuckle gently when your husband throws himself in your arms. “I love you too.”

Maybe everything will be okay.

Atsumu

~~~

You made your way through the crowd, excitedly humming, happy to see your boyfriend after his volleyball match. You had taken off work to surprise him at his away game, proud of the man he’s becoming.

As you begin to call out his name, a young woman grips the back of his head, kissing him passionately. Without thinking, you sling your arm bag at the woman, causing her to stumble in pain. “What the FUCK!?” You screech. Looking at your boyfriend in betrayal.

“Wait, baby! It’s not what it looks like-“

“Save it, Atsumu.” You growl, walking away.

He quickly scrambles to keep up with you. “Baby, please, don’t call me by my full name! C-call me Tsum, please.” He quickly tried to find some damage control, but the damage was already done.

“Fuck off, you cheater. And I thought you were different...” and with that, you were gone.

~~~

“You did what?” Osamu breathed in shock. “And you let ‘er get away? Are you fucking stupid?”

Not having the energy to argue with his twin, Atsumu sighed. “I really am, ‘Samu. I fucked up big time.”

“Hell yeah ya did, and you didn’t even try to explain?”

“She ran off!”

“You should have followed. Ain’t there bystanders? Cameras? Something to prove that you didn’t cheat?”

“...Shoyo was there! He saw it happen!”

“Who was she anyway?” Osamu sighed, chewing his onigiri.

Atsumu rolled his eyes, remembering the night before. “Some crazed fan I reckon. I ain’t never seen her before, don’t even know her name.”

Osamu snorts sarcastically, looking his other half in the eyes. “Go fix your shit. Don’t let a good one get away because of some misunderstanding.”

Nodding, Atsumu made way to find you.

~~~

You sighed, looking at your phone. Atsumu called once again, and with a roll of your eyes, you answer this time. “What the fuc-“

“Y/N! You answered! Please, let me explain. I have proof I didn’t cheat! And- and an eyewitness!” The phone cut out for a moment before you heard a familiar voice of your boyfriend’s teammate.

“Hi Y/N!! It’s Shoyo!! And Atsumu is telling the truth. I even recorded it on Snapchat! I have the proof.”

With a sigh, you agree to meet them.

~~~

The three of you awkwardly sat in the living room of Atsumu’s apartment. “So... care to explain?” You begin, searching your lover’s eyes of any sign of lies.

“I swear I had never met her before, I don’t know who she is! She walked up to me and just kissed me. Please, believe me.” Atsumu begged, reaching to grab your hand. His heart broke when you pulled away.

“Proof?” You asked, turning your gaze to Hinata.

“Here!” He was quick to whip his phone out, opening Snapchat. Your brows furrowed at the shaky camera, focusing on the same woman that had kissed your boyfriend. The caption of the video caught your attention. “Some woman is tryna make out with the team!” You couldn’t help but snort, but quickly feeling the jealousy and anger rise in your chest.

The video starts with the woman getting close to Sakusa, but when he rejected her, she tried to advance on Bokuto. Soon, she walked to Atsumu, and that’s when she kissed him. You hear multiple voices of the team tell her to back off before your purse smacks her in the head, then the video ends.

“Please... Believe me...” Atsumu whispers.

“...okay. I believe you. I see the proof. I’m sorry for jumping to conclusions.” You admit, reaching to grip his hand.

“No, no! You had ever right to doubt. I would’ve reacted to the same way, honestly. But please, don’t leave me. I love you. I would never cheat.”

Burying your face into his chest, you smile. “I love you too, Tsum.”

Bokuto

~~~

The media is cruel. You sat on your bed, tears slipping from your eyes as you read the countless tweets aimed at you.

‘Bokuto deserves so much better!’

‘They probably don’t even satisfy him, he needs a real partner.’

It’s too much to bare. Your sad eyes trail to the mess of tangled limbs that lay next to you. You loved him with all of your being, but the stress of being bullied daily was too much.

You stand, making your way to your closet. You begin to fill a suitcase when you heard Bokuto stretching from the bed.

With a groan, he rubs his eyes before looking at your figure at the closet. “Baby? What are you doing?” He whispers, dread filling his stomach when he sees the suitcase.

“I... I’m sorry, Kō.”

“Wait! What’s going on?” He quickly scrambles to his feet, tripping over the clothes that littered the floor from just a few hours before. “Baby, why are you leaving?” Tears fell from his eyes, his heart shattering into thousands of pieces.

“I can’t do it anymore.”

“Is it me? Please! I’ll-ill change, just please stay.” He begged, his knees giving out as he fell to the floor.

You quickly cupped his cheeks, tears of your own falling down to the floor. “No, baby, it’s not you. It’s the bullies. I know you see the tweets, the comments, the story lines. I... I can’t take it.”

His eyes widened, a sob getting caught in his throat. “Please, I’ll fix it, baby don’t go.” He wraps his arms around your waist, burying his face into your stomach. “I... I can’t do this without you.”

Your heart breaks more, you don’t want to leave. You love him more than anything. You sigh, “Kō... can you please make a public statement to your fans... to please stop bullying me...”

“Yes! Yes I will, I’ll even get on national tel-“

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, placing a soft kiss to his eyebrow. “I can’t leave... I love you.”

That night, many promises was made.

[nonbinaryeye]

Forsaken Scholar and Beholding Sailor

Written for @lonelyeyesweek

Day 6 - Entity Swap

One of them spends most of the year travelling all around the world seeing all its wonders. The other one stays locked in the Institute. It is not that hard to guess which one of them serves to the Eye and which one serves the Lonely…

Read on AO3

…

Peter Lukas loves traveling around the world with his ship. What could be better and more fitting for a servant of the Eye than to sail through the seas as he pleases,  discovering all the hidden secrets of the most forgotten places on the Earth, gaining forgotten Knowledge and Seeing all the wonders the world has to offer with his own Eyes. And the most importantly of course – also feeding his patron with different flavours of the worries, fears and traumas people are experiencing in the different countries.

As amazing as it is to cross over the ocean all the way there and back, one of his favourite places is still the city of London. It is not because the sight of the city would be that amazing or wonderful – far from it. However it is one of the most monitored cities in the world and how could the soul of a Beholder not appreciate that? Knowledge that he cannot even cross a street without dozens of cameras – from ATM, from nearby stores, the traffic ones– turning its Eye on him, it's truly delightful!

It is strange though how he chose from all the places to build his Institute here as well. True, in two hundred years London certainly changed a lot but it was hardly quiet, peaceful or abandoned back then. As always Peter is curious about his intention and as always he sees it as one more reason to not to tell him anything.

Whistling he approaches the Magnus Institute – quite a big building in the middle of the city – which you could somehow still easily miss if you did not know exactly where to look for it. He opens the door with an elbow as both his hands are preoccupied carrying a big box containing few things he picked up on his travels.

Peter never felt the particular need to hoard the artefacts. He is the servant of the Eye. The point is therefore to See to witness everything with his own Eyes. There is no need for that. Though lately he always makes sure to grab a few interesting or possibly cursed objects. It would be rude to show up after such a long time without appropriate gifts.

“Hello, I am here to see my husband!” he announces loudly to the receptionist. She winces and looks around in fear that someone will blame her for such a loud visitor. As always there is still no one around.

“I… uhm… who?” she hesitantly turns back at Peter who is cheerfully smiling.

“You know, James-… no, I think it is Elias now… Elias Butcher? Boucher? Budget? I don’t know why he always has to pick the worst names.”

“Uh… do you mean… Elias Bouchard?”

“Yes! That sounds about right… even though… are you sure it is not Butcher?” Peter grins while the woman on the reception desk continues staring at him in disbelief.

“I didn’t know Mr Bouchard is married.”

“Oh, you didn’t? That is very unfortunate for you then. He hates when people know too much about him.”

“What you mean by it… uh… I- I will announce to you…”

“It is alright! I will find my way. See you around.”

Peter winks at her since his hands are still full and whistling again he turns around leaving a mildly confused, mildly terrified woman behind.

The Institute is a maze. Full of corridors leading in the same direction and full of others leading to dead ends. Full of offices which seemed way too big for just one person but too small to fit there two. Full of empty rooms or doors with no room behind them. One could easily get lost there. Even a basic task might take hours considering how far away all seems all the basic utilities form each other.

What luck that Peter Knows the way very well and in a couple of minutes through a few shortcuts he stands in front of the door leading to the office of the Head of the institute. Or at least he thinks these are the doors… They all look exactly the same and of course that there is no sign, no plate with name trying to give any guest any sense of space.

He kicks in the door a few times and when he hears nothing he tries to open it again with his elbows. To his surprise the door is not even locked!

“Hello Jonah!” Peter cheerfully greets the man who is frowning at some documents on his desk. On the first look he seemed to be the least remarkable person that ever lived – he is of rather small posture, dressed in a boring grey suit matching the colour of his eyes and hair that lost the bright ginger colour quite some time ago. But one cannot always trust the first impression as he also appears to be in his forties and claims to be named Elias Bouchard.

From all the people Peter ever met, Jonah Magnus is the most fascinating and charming one. It has taken Peter a while to get through his dull and cold demeanour but once he has he could no longer unsee his sharp wits and occasionally even a bit nicer and sweeter side.

“You are here already? Haven’t you left like yesterday?” Jonah does not even look up and Peter cannot help himself but smile over the familiarity of his act.

“It has been three whole months! Have you not missed me, oh fog around my lighthouse, cliffs around my port, barnacle-”

“No for a fact I was very happy without you and your ridiculous names of endorsement,” he sighs dramatically but corners of his mouth twitch a bit upwards.

“I did miss you. I was writing you that on the postcards.”

“Yes I know. I could not miss the overflowing mailbox. Once again I beg you not to send me anymore of them. I don’t even know where to put them…”

“Have you not say the last time you are throwing them all away?” It is always cute to see Jonah’s pale skin to colour with blush.

“Yes! Yes I am. That is what I meant. My bin is overflowing with them.”

“Feel free to throw them away, I will send you new ones!”

“That is exactly what I beg you not to do!”

Peter decides not to tease Jonah any longer; he is starting to look a bit exasperated and he knows better than to push his buttons too much. One time when Peter crossed the limit of Jonah’s tolerance, the servant of the Lonely filled the office with fog. It took the servant of the Eye a few minutes to get out and when he did he found himself in front of the Institute with doors locked. He would rather not repeat that. And so to offer peace Peter finally puts the box down on the desk. By the sound it makes it is clear that it is much heavier that one might guess by the ease with which the sailor has carried it.

“I am bringing you gifts!”

Jonah looks unimpressed. “I am not interested. Please could you find some other place to throw all your useless crap in than my institute?”

“I thought your institute is supposed to research the supernatural? I am bringing you cursed and priceless artefacts to study and all I ask in return is your love. Should you not be more grateful?”

“First of all your price is too high. Plus I have plenty of things to study for decades since you must bring me something every time…”

Saying that the institute’s approach to supernatural research is specific or interesting would be an understatement. As far as Peter knows Jonah Magnus started the Institute way back in 1818 shortly after learning about the Fears. Jonah pretended he was only interested in studying the supernatural even though he already had a scheme in mind regarding how to serve his chosen patron. He decided to lure in scholars with the promise of achieving great discoveries. Then he made sure to make their life just a lonely misery with them sacrificing their life in pointless study isolated from society.

Peter also knows Jonah was somehow acquainted with his ancestor Mordechai Lukas, who decided to sponsor his project in exchange of sharing all the knowledge and discoveries the institute will create as a byproduct of making scholars lonely. The deal lasts till now and that is how he and Jonah met at first… But that is all Peter knows about his past as Jonah is not usually very talkative concerning his past.

Forsaken has granted him a long and lonely life to serve its cause. Though lately Peter is doing his best to sometimes interrupt the lonely part of it… He changes name from time to time for legal reasons. Not that it is even necessary as no one ever looks into the institute and its matters way too closely. And if someone really even notices its existence and starts asking way too many questions it usually only leads to their mysterious disappearance.

“You can always hire more people to sort it out? I sometimes doubt you really have any employees at all. I rarely run into anyone…”

“That is exactly the point. I do not really want to risk they could meet. Now regarding your gift…”

“Ah well as much as it pains me if you do not truly want it…” Peter put on a theatrical look of tragedy and grabs the box again. Jonah raises his hand to stop him. Their fingers brush and he is as cold as ever.

“It is fine… since you have already brought it here. Just put it in the artefact storage on your way out. Someone will get to it eventually.”

Peter lets go of the box again rather grabbing Jonah’s hands into his leaning closer over the desk. Jonah is still doing his best to look unbothered but when Peter kisses his hands he cannot help himself but smile over the silly behaviour of his partner.

“We can always get a divorce if you despise my affection so much, my beloved husband.” Peter gently strokes the golden ring on Jonah’s finger.

“No need. Time spent together with you is so short when you live as long as I do that it hardly matters anyway.”

“It hardly matters to you. It still matters to me, my dear Jonah.”

“I could not care less, Peter,” Jonah grabs his collar and finally pulls him into a kiss.

[nashanren]

okay so I don’t think that there’s anything quite as telling about Wei Wuxian’s relationship with the Jiangs as the fact that he named his sword Whatever. like we are supposed to take it for a joke, Lan Wangji is definitely meant to read it as a joke because like, of course that Wei Wuxian is absolutely The Worst and arrogant and of course that he wouldn’t even treat his powerful spiritual weapon seriously and he must a bit ungrateful, isn’t he? because it’s not like Sect Leader Jiang had to make him a courtesy of personally granting him a sword

except we as the audience know that Wei Wuxian is absolutely able to come up with a better name. this guy goes around quoting poetry and making puns and code switching and using his language register to either lower the tension or to piss people off. and it’s not like the reason he gives to Lan Wangji rings true either: WWX is far from indecisive and even if he really had too many ideas and couldn’t decide between them, he admits that the name Whatever is “not that bad” and oh boy, does it have a lot of meaning when you consider it in the context of Wei Wuxian’s relationship with his sect and his internalised conviction that he is simply not worth that much

because answering Whatever to someone’s question (and especially when we’re talking about 随便 ) means basically: as *you* please. it’s not necessarily saying that you don’t care about the choice, as much as giving up on making the choice yourself. and it is so so telling that Wei Wuxian says it when asked about his sword (=his future cultivation aspirations), and even more telling that Jiang Fengmian fucking rolls with it (more under the cut bc uhuh am I passionate about this)

tl;dr: Wei Wuxian named his sword Suibian because it allowed him to project the right image of himself as well as express both his loyalty towards the Jiang Clan and his general attitude in life which allows him to recover after he is brought back to life

so Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian come out of age around the same time and they are asked about their spiritual weapons. now, it is blatantly obvious that Wei Wuxian’s sword is very different from the usual Jiang Sect design and it is definitely less elaborate than it as well, not even mentioning the lack of sect colours. and listen, we all know that Wei Wuxian was reminded for most of his life that he might be the first disciple but he isn’t really a part of the family. he doesn’t have a name or an assured future position within the sect and even as he seems to be very proud of representing the Jiang Sect he constantly tries to distance himself from it: when he tells Jin Zixun that his actions should not be put on the Jiang Clan right at the beginning in ep. 3 or in the way he dresses but also when he repeatedly calls himself Baoshan Sanren’s disciple (even as he knows little to nothing about her)

so with that in mind, I don’t even think that he was surprised to learn that his sword looks very different from Jiang Cheng’s (and I’m pretty sure he had no influence over it) but it would be hard for a better reminder that yes, he is not a Jiang and Jiang Fengmian is not his father as much as his master and sect leader. Jiang Cheng’s sword is meant for the oldest son and future clan leader; Wei Wuxian’s sword is a tool given to a loyal subordinate.

and oh boy, is Wei Wuxian nothing but loyal. he is very aware of his place in the sect and we know that he tries very hard to not seem like a threat to Jiang Cheng’s position and so he knows that naming his sword is not just about what he would like but also about how people will read it. if he picks something heroic, will it upset Madame Yu? what about matching with Sandu? will it be taken as him aiming above his station, naming himself Jiang Cheng’s brother? what about something silly then? will it be taken for disrespectful? will it upset Uncle Jiang? like, no wonder he had trouble choosing the name, because in his case it isn’t about expressing his personal desires (he is not allowed to do that), it’s about how he needs people to see him and there is a bunch of people who’s perception he needs to take under consideration and it must be stressful af

and of course we don’t know how much aware he is of all this at that point. when he says Whatever the first time, is it a joke that his uncle took seriously? or was it a plead for help, a challenge, an unconscious test of how much Uncle Jiang really cares for him? he asks an adult to chose for him because the choice is overwhelming and he is not taught to care for his own feelings or wants

and Jiang Fengmian accepts it for a name and ugh what the fuck was he thinking? does he find it a funny joke? does he consider it fitting to Wei Wuxian’s personality? does he care so little that he doesn’t even think on it? or is he just relived he won’t have to argue about it over dinner tonight? well, either way, he should be the one to question it or propose something less controversial and he doesn’t

and Wei Wuxian doesn’t get upset over it: how could he? he immediately accepts it with good humour and then he thinks about it and decides that it’s “not that bad” actually

because if naming his sword is about the image he wants to project and his self-expression then this is exactly the sentiment he has towards the Jiang Sect. my choices are not relevant because my sword and my life belongs to you; I owe it to the Jiang Clan and so whatever you ask of me, I will do. and to be considered arrogant is better than to be considered a threat too (and he does have his moments of extreme arrogance lol). it fits his position and his aspirations and his projected personality and of course that he is content with it; Wei Wuxian is great at letting things go

which is a second reason why this name is so fucking fitting because in the end it all comes back to the fact that Wei Wuxian is a person who lets things go so easily it is taken for carelessness. he is supposed to live with no envy — it’s in his name — and so: Whatever!

and I also feel like it’s pretty awesome how the presence of Suibian resonates with his personal arc. when he stops carrying his sword it is in the moment when he cannot let go, he cannot go with what others want him to do! he entered a path he cannot return from and he cannot let Jiang Cheng decide because Jiang Cheng cannot know and Wei Wuxian will make the hard choices for him even if it means losing everything. he cannot answer whatever anymore. his possibilities changed, his loyalties expanded and he cannot let go of control because it might get people killed. no wonder he cannot even pretend and carry the sword around anymore: the person who named it is not longer here

but then when Suibian reappears it is in the moment when Wei Wuxian finally starts to let go again. I think that in the show Yi City arc is extremely relevant to Wei Wuxian’s post-resurrection journey because it lets him finally understand what getting a second chance actually means. “fortunately...” Lan Zhan says and he does not have to finish because Wei Wuxian gets it. and even if he cannot fully let go, no yet, then getting Lan Zhan’s unconditional support, getting his love confession, means that he can start healing again and so Suibian unseals for him in the Carp Tower and he fights with it for the first time in years

(also on that note I think that it’s fascinating how Bichen and Suibian are very different names expressing a very similar sentiment: of letting go of daily inconveniences, of letting go of personal desires and grudges; because the core of WangXian relationship in CQL will always be about their shared values and convictions and I might be more than a bit feral about this)

and even as he cannot wield his sword anymore I find it very telling that when Wei Wuxian uses the word Suibian right afterwards, he means it in the context of letting go of the wrong that was done to him, of wondering what he could have done differently, of the blame put on him or that he could put on other people.

(and this is something Lan Wangji understands this time: he smiles a little and he stops insisting because he knows Wei Wuxian now and he knows where this sentiment comes from and I think that when he offers Suibian to Wei Wuxian twice in these two days he actually expresses his absolute support to this attitude. in his wordless way he says: let go of what others want from you; do as you fucking please)

(and then we have Jiang Cheng unsheathing it next, Jiang Cheng who won’t let it go, could not let it go, except when Wei Wuxian asks for it and then he lets his older brother him walk away because Jiang Cheng finally understands what Suibian means: that Wei Wuxian gave himself whole to the Jiang Clan and he shouldn’t be held back in his second life and ugh please use your fucking words the next time you see each other)

so anyway, I have no idea how I got here from rewatching this small exchange from 5th episode when Suibian is introduced but I hate how everything in this show has fucking layers that are there to just hurt you more when you uncover them and oh well. people hating on Wei Wuxian for being disrespectful why his uncle was literally in charge of what is engraved on the actual sword and then Wei Wuxian working so well with what he is given and then the creators working so well with how much can be expressed through that one spiritual weapon like it’s all just — I just fucking love this show okay and if you got so far then hello in this specific level of hell and sorry for the mess

[silverlightqueen]

Tequila Sunrise 

Hoseok x reader - smut, fluff, very slight angst at the beginning

Inspired by Tequila Sunrise - 88rising, Jackson Wang, Higher Brothers, August 08 and GoldLink

Word Count: 7k+

Summary - Hoseok bails on you for work on day one of your holiday, but he soon makes it up to you...

Warnings - there’s a lot !! very brief mention of blood, alcohol consumption, lots of swearing, lots of dirty talk, degradation, possessiveness, dom!hobi x sub!reader, a very brief moment of dom!reader and sub!hobi, fingering, oral sex (m and f receiving), face sitting, edging, lots of breast play and nipple play (Hobi loves boobs lol), overstimulation, multiple orgasms, mildly bratty reader, spanking, praise kink, pain kink, asphyxiation, reader calls Hobi Sir, rough sex, Hobi has a big dick, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it !!) creampie, cum-eating, impregnation kink, reader cries during sex and Hobi loves it, reader holds his hand and he busts a nut lmao, begging, hair pulling, groping, hickeys, gross overuse of ‘baby’ ‘baby girl’ and ‘doll’, I think that’s it but lmk if I missed anything lol

a/n: hey guys !! I’ve been listening to this song on repeat the past couple days bc the weather’s been so nice, and (after that pic of jhope in malta appeared on my tl again) I was inspired to write a little Hobi fic (which then became 7k words long lmao). unedited as usual, but I hope y’all like it. lmk what you think, and make sure you listen to the song when you read it !! x

silverlightqueen masterlist

When his Mercedes pulls up, I’m sat on the front porch – as I have been all day and all night – looking out at the still night sea, the sky above me dark with stars, the air a crisp and cool relief from the humidity of the daytime.

I don’t even look in his direction, trying to supress the anger that’s been building up since I awoke yesterday morning to his side of the bed empty and his car gone from the drive. 

In my peripheral vision, I see him take a black cargo bag out of the boot and head up towards the house, watching me. 

He doesn’t say anything, walking past me and through the front door, and I try not to follow him into the house and scream at him, opting to take a deep breath and look out at the view in front of me instead. 

It’s not every day you get to sit on the porch of your private villa and watch the gentle waves rock up against the shore, the starry sky twinkling overhead. 

He joins me a few minutes later, having changed from his all-black attire into a pair of black slim trousers and a loose white shirt, the neutral colours setting off his golden skin. 

He puts a jug full of my favourite cocktail (therefore the only cocktail he knows how to make) down on the glass coffee table in front of us and pours out two glasses, handing me the one with a straw in it. 

I take it from him wordlessly as he sits next to me, our legs touching, and I sip up a mouthful through the straw, the notes of tart orange flooding my senses, closely followed by the almost sickly-sweet taste of pomegranate. 

He may not be the most… diverse drink-maker, but he makes a beautiful Tequila Sunrise.

He puts his bare feet up on the footstool beside him and rests a hand on my thigh. 

I restrain myself from throwing it off. 

‘I don’t feel like arguing with you, so let’s have a conversation instead. Say what you want to say, y/n,’ he prompts calmly, and I take a deep breath before speaking, knowing he’s right about having a conversation instead of an argument. 

‘We came on this holiday to reconnect and spend uninterrupted time together. I wake up at 3am on our first day to find you gone, and you don’t come back ‘til 4am of day two. Do you understand why I’m annoyed?’

‘Yes, baby, I understand why you’re annoyed. But my staff knew we were coming here, and they sent me the information for a… for some business in the area,’ he says, purposely being vague because he knows I don’t like knowing the details of his dealings. 

‘You didn’t have to go. You’re the boss; you don’t follow orders from your staff,’ I say, knowing I sound a little whiny, and he chuckles. 

‘And I wouldn’t be the boss if I turned down jobs, y/n. I got where I am by taking every possible opportunity to make money. If I turned down jobs, doll, we wouldn’t even be on holiday right now,’ he points out, looking at me with raised eyebrows, and I pout, refusing to look back at him as I take another sip of my drink. 

‘A call. A text. A note. Something to tell me where you were, and a couple updates wouldn’t have killed you, Hoseok. You were gone for over 24 hours,’ I say, and he chuckles. 

‘Don’t go giving me that silly ‘I was worried about you’ routine, because you’ve never worried before. You know there’s nothing to be worried about,’ he says, annoyingly laidback and cocky, but he’s right. 

He’s an expert, and he knows what he’s doing, having never once given me a reason to worry about him.

Whenever he comes home with blood on his clothes, there are no wounds to match.

It may have taken me slightly longer than I’d like to admit to realise that it was because the blood wasn’t his. ‘I wasn’t going to give you that routine. But if you’re planning on disappearing for over a day, at least let me know where you’ve gone,’ I reply sharply, and he’s silent, knowing I’m right. 

‘I’m sorry, y/n. I thought you would’ve enjoyed it. Being alone for over a day in a fully equipped private villa in a foreign country with beautiful weather,’ he says gently, and I let out a laugh. 

‘Hardly alone. I’ve had your staff bringing me food, watching me on the CCTV – don’t even deny it, I know you get them to keep an eye on me – and I spotted more of your staff patrolling around the house during the night,’ I say pointedly, and he lets out a gentle laugh. 

‘You might not worry about me, baby, but you know I worry about you. If anything ever happened to you, I wouldn’t forgive myself. My priority is your safety,’ he says and, despite my annoyance with him, I feel my heart warming. 

‘I understand that, Hoseok, but it’d be nice if it was you making sure I’m safe. By being here. With me,’ I say softly, and he nods, holding my hand up to his mouth and pressing a gentle kiss to my skin.

‘I’m sorry, baby. What do you want me to say?’ he asks, words calm and genuine, never confrontational and defensive. 

‘I want you to say that you’ll stay with me for the rest of the time we’re here. No more business from your staff,’ I say, and he raises an eyebrow, sighing. 

‘y/n, you know I can’t make promises like that. You knew that when you started dating me and you still knew that when you married me. But… I can make you one promise. If I have to go, I’ll tell you when and where I’m going, I’ll keep you updated, and I’ll come back as quickly as I possibly can,’ he says, and I can’t hold back the way my lips curl up at the corners at how he’s trying.

‘Okay. That sounds good,’ I smile, and he lets out a gentle chuckle, no doubt amused at how quickly I’m appeased. 

‘I’m sorry, baby. I wish that my work didn’t mean me having to leave you,’ he begins, putting down his (empty) glass and pulling me onto his lap effortlessly, and I giggle as the cocktail sloshes in my glass at the movement, nearly spilling over the edges. 

He takes the glass from me with a gentle smile and puts it down beside his, before he turns to look back at me, and I notice the way his pupils start to dilate, turning to look out at the sea to hide the blood rushing to my face at his gaze.

‘You know that, if I could, I’d spend every second of every day by your side, doll, but my work comes a close second to you in my life, which means that you also know that I can’t just refuse jobs,’ he says, arms holding me close to him and mouth moving against my bare shoulder. 

‘Not only because of the money and because I need to pay my staff, but because I love my work,’ he says, his relaxed tone contrasting with the way his eager hands wander, one drawing patterns around my collarbones, the other subtly groping my breast. 

He may be a big man with hundreds of staff beneath him and millions to his name, but to me, he’s still the boob-loving boy full of hope that I fell in love with. 

‘Almost as much as I love you, baby,’ he says, and I can hear his smile in his voice, bringing a smile to my face too. 

His fingers gently touch my chin, turning my head to face his, and when our eyes meet, I get that soft, warm feeling in my chest. 

The feeling of falling in love with him all over again. 

My eyes flutter shut and not even a moment later do I feel his hand curl around the back of my neck and pull me down to press our lips together. 

Within seconds, the kiss becomes passionate and fiery, and I can feel that he’s missed me in the way he kisses me. 

Our mouths move in sync, his tongue slipping between my lips and turning my brain into slush, the soft and pleasant pleasure of kissing him making my body numb all over. 

‘Finish your drink,’ he says against my lips, and I ignore it for the moment, so caught up in the feeling of his lips of mine and his hands wandering around my body. 

‘Baby. Finish your drink,’ he repeats, pulling away from me, cheeks glowing with a gentle blush and lips swollen.

‘Why? I’ve got… thirteen days to finish my drink,’ I joke, and he lets out a gentle chuckle. 

‘I think it’d be more fun for us to spend some of those thirteen days in our room. So, maybe, if you finish your drink, we can head upstairs, and I can make my absence yesterday up to you,’ he smirks, and I gulp, my pants suddenly becoming a little… damp.

I reach for my drink, knocking it back as he chuckles, and then I look at the jug, still with four glasses worth in it. 

‘Shall we just finish it off?’ I ask, and he raises an eyebrow at me as he reaches for the jug. 

‘Okay, baby girl wants to get drunk, huh?’ he teases, pouring out another glass for me before he refills his own, both of us knocking back our drinks. 

The more of it I drink, the more I can taste the agave beneath the orange and the pomegranate, and I know that, after having not eaten much today, I’ll be tipsy in no time. 

He watches me amusedly as I hold my glass out to him again, a grin playing at his lips as he refills it, and I start gulping it down before he can even refill his own. 

He knocks his back and practically snatches the glass out of my hand, putting both of our glasses down before he slides his arms under me. 

He stands up, lifting me up bridal-style, and I shriek, giggling as he heads into the house. 

The back of my black floral maxi dress trails along the floor and he’s careful not to step on it as he carries me up the stairs, both of us laughing, high on desire. 

When we reach our bedroom, he kicks open the door and places me carefully on the bed, never throwing me around.

He’s only ever rough with his cock inside me.

The balcony doors are open, the white curtains flowing in the gentle breeze, the sky above still dark with stars, but the sky ahead beginning to lighten to a pale yellow that’s reflected in the sea, signalling the sunrise.

He crawls over me, pressing kisses to my neck as I run my hands through his soft hair, my dress splayed out around us.

‘You’re so beautiful, doll. In this sexy dress. Can see your pretty tits through it,’ he mumbles against my skin as he begins marking me up, fingers toying with my nipples through the material, sending gentle waves of pleasure through me.  

I can feel his hard-on against my thigh, and I reach down to palm him through his trousers, revelling in the way he lets out a choked breath against my collarbones. 

‘Fuck, baby girl, let me….’ he begins, trailing off as I tilt my head to press a kiss to his lips, his tongue instantly delving into my mouth.

The taste of Tequila Sunrise dances across my taste buds as our mouths move together, his hands snaking around my waist as I rest mine on either side of his face.

It’s not long before I start grinding against him, letting out little whimpers, my pants embarrassingly damp at this point. 

‘Let me… let me help you out, baby,’ he says breathlessly, breaking away from me, before moving further down the bed as I move further up. 

He moves my dress so that he has access to the area between my legs through the thigh slit in the material, before reaching up and pulling the neckline down, my breasts spilling out of the material. 

With a smirk, he rips my pants off, throwing the flimsy material over his shoulder, my glistening core on show to him, and he lets out a gentle chuckle. 

‘Oh, baby, you’re soaked. Did you really miss me that much? Did you touch yourself, doll?’ he asks, looking me in the eye, and I shake my head honestly, biting my lip at the feeling of the cool air on my bare heat.

‘God, you’re such a good girl for me, aren’t you, baby girl?’ he asks, eyes now focused between my legs, and I nod with a gentle little whine, wanting him to do something. 

He lets out a gentle chuckle, looking up at me with hooded eyes as his hands start to travel up my legs, moving my dress further out of the way. 

‘What do you want, baby? Use your words,’ he prompts, hands stilling at the tops of my legs, and I shiver when a sudden puff of wind travels through the room, ruffling his hair and hitting my core. 

‘Your fingers, your mouth, your cock, anything, babe, please,’ I whine, hearing the desperation in my own voice, and he laughs, the air he expels hitting the area between my legs, prompting another whimper from me. 

‘How about in that order then? My fingers, then my mouth, and then my cock?’ he asks, and I nod, his words causing another gush of arousal between my legs. ‘

Yes, god, yes. Please, Hobi, just touch me. Need you, need you so bad,’ I beg, and he seems to take pity on me, obviously sensing how desperate I am for him. 

He parts my folds, the ministration making my body jolt, before he gently works one finger into me. 

‘Oh, oh, god, Hobi,’ I moan out at the slight stimulation, clenching around him uncontrollably. 

‘Fuck, baby, stop clenching, you’ll break my finger. Can I add another?’ he asks, and I take a deep breath, nodding fervently. 

‘Please,’ I whine, and he wastes no time pushing another finger into me, the feeling making my back arch off the bed as a gentle whimper escapes from between my lips. 

He gives me a few seconds to adjust before he starts gently rocking his hand, his fingers very slightly moving inside me, and I let out a whisper of his name. 

‘So sensitive, doll. You can’t stop clenching. Fuck, I can’t wait to fill you up with my cock,’ he mumbles, eyes focused on the way his fingers disappear between my folds, and his words cause another moan to escape from my mouth. 

He knows my body so well, knowing when he can increase his pace, gradually doing so until his fingers are pumping in and out of me rapidly, moans frequently falling from between my lips, my fingers gently clutching onto his soft fluffy locks.

When he adds another finger, my breath hitches in my throat, hands tugging on his hair, and he lets out a groan at the feeling, having a very slight pain kink that he (usually) manages to hide quite well. 

He starts to rub at my clit with his thumb as his fingers pump into me, and it’s not long before I’m on the precipice of my climax. 

And he knows that, which is why he removes his fingers, prompting me to let out a frustrated whine. 

‘Don’t be bratty, or I’ll have to punish you, and then you’ll have to wait even longer before I let you cum,’ he warns, and I can’t stop myself from letting out another whine. 

‘But, Hobi, please. I need to cum,’ I breathe out pathetically, and he raises an eyebrow at me, jaw clenched. 

‘Come on, baby, don’t be a brat. You were being so good for me before, don’t spoil it,’ he says, sitting up, and it’s like I want to push him, want him to punish me.

‘But it hurts, Hobi,’ I whisper pitifully, and his eyes darken. 

‘Fine. I gave you two chances, but you still want to be a brat. So now you can choke on my cock instead of having it stuffed into your little pussy. And it’s Sir to you now,’ he spits out, getting up off the bed. 

‘Get up,’ he instructs, and I decide not to push him any further, climbing off the bed and watching as he lies down amongst the messy sheets and cushions, slowly pulling his shirt up slightly and unbuttoning his trousers, pushing them down to the tops of his thighs along with his boxers. 

His rock-hard length springs up to hit his stomach, head swollen, red and leaking with precum. 

‘Come here,’ he says with a tilt of his head, and I climb back onto the bed.

‘Ass up here,’ he instructs, and I throw a leg over him so that my ass, covered by my dress, is in front of his face and my face is centimetres from his dick. 

‘Suck, you dirty little brat,’ he says, and I support myself on my forearms, breasts pressed against his stomach as I spit on my hands and run them up and down his cock, preparing him. 

I take his head into my mouth, swirling my tongue around the tip and tasting his precum, and he pushes my head further down, making me supress a gag as he holds me in place. 

My nose is practically pressed up against his balls, his cock pushing down my throat, and I try to take measured breaths through my nose as he continues to hold me where I am. 

He then grabs a handful of my hair and pulls me off his cock, allowing me to clear my throat before prompting me to take him back in and, when I do, I instantly begin to bob my head up and down. 

‘That’s a good girl. Go as deep as you can, baby,’ he instructs, one hand still holding my hair in a tight grip as he gathers my dress up to reveal my ass and pussy to him. 

‘Look at this pretty ass. Can’t wait to leave hand-shaped bruises on it. Count,’ he commands, before his hand comes down harshly onto my ass. 

‘One,’ I attempt to say with his cock in my mouth, the word coming out garbled and nonsensical. 

He lands slap after slap onto my ass, hand still pulling my hair tightly as I’m trying my hardest to count whilst bobbing up and down his dick, and he stops when I reach ten. 

‘Fuck, you’re such a good girl,’ he breathes out, letting go of my hair as his hands gently rub my ass to soothe my sore cheeks, and I hum against his cock, his hips bucking up at the feeling. 

I cup his balls in my hand, and I can feel him nearing his orgasm, his hips beginning to buck up, causing him to fuck my mouth. 

‘Fuck, love it when you let me fuck your mouth like a good little slut. Love it when you choke on me, doll,’ he grunts out, his thrusting obviously taking a lot of effort.

I stay still, allowing him to do as he pleases as I play with his balls, until he reaches down and puts his hands on my shoulders, pulling me up and off him. 

‘I don’t wanna cum in your mouth, baby, I wanna cum in this tight little pussy. But.. I believe I promised you my mouth,’ he says, and I try not to move, knowing I need to wait for instructions from him. 

‘You wanna sit on my face, doll?’ he asks, and I nod eagerly, looking over my shoulder at him. 

‘Yes, sir, please,’ I reply, and he smirks with an amused chuckle, moving to lie down. 

‘Come on,’ he says, and I move so that I hover above him, hands gripping onto the headboard as he wraps his arms around my thighs, pulling me down so that I’m practically sat on his face.

He doesn’t even give me a moment to prepare before he licks a bold stripe across my slit, making my whole body quiver above him.

‘Fuck, you taste so sweet, baby. So good, could eat your pussy all day,’ he says against my core, the vibrations making me whimper.

He starts relatively slow, tongue circling my clit before lapping up my slick and poking between my folds gently. 

And then it’s not long before he loses his self-control, abusing my heat with his tongue, hands holding me in a bruisingly tight grip as I squirm above him. 

‘Please, please,’ I moan, again and again, and I can see the amusement in his eyes as he breathes against my folds, his tongue circling my clit again and again. 

‘Please, what? Words, baby,’ he says against my folds, making me jolt forwards, my face contorted with pleasure as he continues his attack on my pussy. 

‘More, Sir, more. Need- ah, oh, fuck… need to cum,’ I force out between moans, face contorted in pleasure, and he lets out a gentle chuckle. 

‘My little slut wants to cum?’ he asks, words dripping with amusement, and I nod, mouth open in a silent moan as the waves of pleasure roll over me.

He practically begins to make out with my pussy, lips moving against my folds as his tongue continues to push between my folds. 

And then he decided to torture me further, mouth moving to suck at my clit as he pushes two fingers into me, curling them inside me. 

‘Sir, fuck, feels so good, need… need to c-’ I moan out, my words cut off when his fingers scrape against the spongy spot inside me. 

‘Then cum, doll,’ he prompts, pushing me over the edge when he curls his fingers and gently nips at my bundle of nerves, my orgasm washing over me. 

My body convulses as he holds me in place, a drawn-out moan falling from my lips as he continues sucking at my clit and pumping his fingers into me in order to prolong my high, cumming on his tongue and feeling him lick up my release. 

Once he senses me coming down, he gently flips us over so that I lie among the sheets and he pulls off his shirt, exposing expanses of beautiful golden skin pulled over hard muscle, before moving to hover over me. 

‘You need time, baby?’ he asks, concern mixing with the desire in his eyes, and I nod, taking a deep breath. 

‘Colour?’ he questions. 

‘Green,’ I reply breathlessly, and he chuckles, the concern in his face disappearing.

‘So you don’t need time,’ he smirks, pushing into me with no warning. 

I let out a loud moan at the feeling of him filling me up and he curses under his breath as I clench uncontrollably around him, my walls squeezing against his cock almost uncomfortably. 

He doesn’t bother giving me time to adjust, just pulls all the way out of me, and slams back in, making me moan out, my back arching up from the bed, his face buried between my breasts.

‘As much as I love a face full of tits, I need you to stay still, baby,’ he says, voice strained as he continues slamming into me, our hips meeting every time he fills me up. 

‘Fuck, more, Sir, more, please,’ I beg, and he chuckles as I wrap my legs around his waist, digging my nails into his back. 

‘More? You wanted some time a minute ago, and now you want more?’ he asks, and I nod, leaning up to capture his lips in a kiss, tasting the sweet cocktail mixed with my own arousal on his tongue. 

He moans into my mouth as I clench around him, and he speeds up even more, the headboard beginning to hit the wall as he pounds into me, balls slapping against my ass. 

‘You feel so good around me, god, baby, so good. No one has pussy like yours. I’d fuck you all day if I could,’ he groans against my lips, and I grin at the praise, loving it when he compliments me. 

‘Let me hear your pretty moans, baby,’ he prompts as he bends one of my legs between us, the new angle allowing him to go deeper, hitting the spot inside me that has my eyes rolling back and my back arching up into him. 

‘Love your cock, Sir, love it when you fuck me rough. Just want you filling me up all the time,’ I moan out, the leg that’s still around him pulling him closer to me as I rake my nails down his back at the pleasure, loving the moan of my name that falls from his lips. 

‘You love it rough, huh, doll?’ he growls, one hand coming to rest at the base of my neck, his rings providing some cool relief against my burning skin, and I sigh blissfully at the feeling of his thick cock stretching me out and filling me completely, awaiting his hand tightening around my neck.

And when it does, slightly cutting off my airways, I let out a loud moan, my breathing quickly becoming laboured. 

My head whirls at the pleasure he’s providing me, and I can feel myself slowly nearing the edge.

‘I’m gonna…’ I force out before trailing off, unable to speak as his thrusts become more drawn out and forceful, his tip dragging against the spongy spot inside me. 

‘You gonna cum, baby?’ he asks, and I nod as he smirks before ducking his head to suck one of my nipples, his hand still lightly gripping my neck. 

‘Hold it,’ he says, my nipple still in his mouth, and I let out a loud frustrated moan when his thrusts slow down. 

‘Sir, please,’ I moan, voice hoarse, my eyes beginning to fill with tears as he slowly rocks into me, lips mouthing over my nipple.

‘Beg. I love hearing my dirty little slut beg for me. Love hearing you beg whilst my cock’s buried in this tight little pussy. Who’s pussy is this, baby?’ he asks, mouth moving to the other nipple, and I whimper as my fingers tangle into his hair. 

‘Yours, Sir, only yours,’ I force out as it becomes harder and harder to breathe, the lack of air making my head light and intensifying the pleasure. 

‘It’s mine, is it, doll? If I own this pussy, I own your orgasms. So you better fucking beg me to let you have one,’ he spits out against my breast, hips still slowly rocking back and forth as his hand around my neck loosens slightly to let me speak. 

‘Please, Sir, let me cum. Been so desperate for your cock, can’t hold it. Feels so good, no one can ever fuck me better than you. Only want your cock. Please let me cum, Sir, your cock’s too good, I can’t hold it,’ I moan, the words coming out without thought, and he groans. 

‘Fuck, you’re so hot. Cum then,’ he says teasingly, without increasing his pace at all, and I whine. 

‘Sir, I need… I need more,’ I whimper, and he chuckles. 

‘Be specific, y/n. What do you mean by ‘more’?’ he asks, still with the same teasing tone. 

‘Faster,’ I breathe out, feeling him instantly increase his pace. 

‘H… harder,’ I whisper, and he practically begins pounding into me, the bed creaking embarrassingly loud. 

‘Rub… rub me,’ I plead, and he chuckles, before one of his hands slowly trails down between our bodies, his fingers gently rubbing at my clit. 

‘Ch- fuck, oh god. Choke… choke me,’ I manage to breathe out, and he groans, ‘so sexy,’ under his breath before his hand tightens at my neck again.

‘Talk,’ I mumble, and he chuckles, eyes darkening as he continues to fuck me, harsh and rough. 

‘You want me to talk? What shall I say, baby? You want me to say how good your tight little pussy feels around me, especially when you clench?’ he spits out, making my walls flutter around him frantically, and he grins darkly. 

‘You want to say I love how submissive and good you are for me, how innocent you look with your big eyes when I wrap my hand around your throat?’ he says, tightening his grip on my neck again, the lack of air making me light-headed, my vision blurring with tears. 

‘You want me to say that I love it when your tits bounce against my chest, and that I love sucking on your nipples?’ he grunts, his hand momentarily abandoning my clit to gently slap at my breasts before squeezing them roughly. 

‘You want me to say how much I fucking love it when your eyes roll back into your head and when you look so fucked out because of how good my cock makes you feel?’ he asks, pulling all the way out to slam back into me, and my eyes roll back, a laugh falling from between his lips at how predictable I am. 

‘Or would you rather I beg you to cum all over my cock and soak it like a good little slut for me? How about that?’ he asks softly, before he begins his attack on my body. 

His fingers roughly rub figure-eights on my clit, cock pounding into me almost painfully and hand tightening to almost completely cut off my breathing.

Almost instantly, I feel my orgasm wash over me, and I scream out, tears spilling down my face as overwhelming waves of pleasure flow through me. 

He fucks me through my orgasm, continuing to rub at my clit and grip my throat as my release practically gushes out of me with each thrust, soaking the bed and both of our thighs. 

Once I’m beginning to come down, his hands move to press into the bed on either side of my head, and he begins fucking into me with renewed vigour, the overstimulation making me sob. 

‘Fuck, fuck, so sexy when you cry for me, doll. I don’t know whether it’s because you’re sensitive, or whether you just love my cock that much. Both, right? My baby loves being a little slut, but can’t handle it, huh? I’ll make sure you handle it, baby,’ he grunts, continuing to fuck me, and I know he won’t stop until he cums. 

‘Take my cock, baby, fucking take it,’ he spits out, thrusting so hard I’m worried one of us will get injured. 

The thought soon disappears from my head, the intense and painful pleasure rendering my mind blank.

‘Look at you, doll, such a good fucking slut for me. Letting me overstimulate you without complaining. Fucking love it when you’re like this. All messy and tired and dumb for me,’ he grunts, and I know I need to help him cum, or he’ll probably bruise my cervix.

Despite being so fucked out that I can barely think straight and having eyes streaming with tears, I have enough sense to reach down to cup his balls, and he lets out shaky breaths at the feeling. 

‘Give me your hand, baby,’ I breathe out, and he balances all his weight on one hand, holding his other out to me, continuing to fuck me as I place his hand over my lower stomach. 

‘You feel that? Can you feel your big, thick cock through my stomach? That’s how good you fill me up, baby,’ I say, knowing that his cock is protruding obscenely, and he moans at the fact that he’s managing to do this to me, throwing his head back out of pleasure.

‘Come on, baby, cum for me. Want your cum,’ I whisper into his ear as I wrap an arm around his back to pull him closer down to me. 

‘Where, baby?’ he breathes out as I press kisses to his jaw and cheek, caressing his shoulders and neck and gently scraping my nails on his scalp. 

‘Well, I’d say my tits, but you can’t ruin the pretty dress you bought me. And I’d say my face, but I put on some pretty makeup especially for you – love looking pretty for my baby boy. So how about you just cum inside?’ I ask, taking control, and he’s so desperate to cum that he doesn’t even put me back in my place. 

‘Inside? Are you sure?’ he asks, voice strained, and I nod as his thrusts start to become a little uneven. 

‘Want you to fill me up with your cum, baby boy, love it when you leave me dripping with your cum. Want your baby. Hmm, how does that sound? You wanna fuck a baby into me? Fill me up with you cum, baby boy, so deep that I can’t possibly not be pregnant,’ I whisper into his ear, knowing he loves it when I do so – he called me a sexy little vixen last time, and I can’t say I object to the name. 

‘Fuck, fuck, wanna… wanna fill you up, wanna fuck a baby into you,’ he moans out, my heart fluttering at the momentary break in his dominant disposition.

‘Cum, baby boy, dirty up my pussy with your cum and give me your baby,’ I whisper, completely focused on his pleasure rather than my own. 

His hips stutter, cock twitching inside me, and I take the chance to wrap both of my legs around his waist, digging my heels into his lower back to hold him in place as I play with his balls. 

But the final straw for him is when I slip my hand beneath his on the sheets and intertwine our fingers together, the movement full of my love for him.

‘Fuck, y/n, feels so good,’ he chokes out, head buried in my neck as he reaches his high, thick spurts of his hot cum hitting my walls. 

I continue grinding into him to prolong his orgasm, and his body falls limp after a few moments, his entire body weight resting on mine. I feel my high (that was beginning to approach) diminish rapidly, but I don’t care – as long as he feels good, I’m happy.

‘God, that… was intense,’ he mumbles against my chest, cock still buried inside me, and I smile to myself, playing with his hair. 

‘Just a bit. I can’t believe you let me dom. Even if it was for, like, a minute,’ I say, and he laughs, breath hitting my bare skin. 

‘Pussy so good, it turns me into a sub,’ he jokes, and I laugh, feeling him chuckle.

‘Let me… let me get you off,’ he says, moving off me, and I shudder at the feeling of his cock falling out of me. 

‘No, it’s okay. I don’t know if I can handle it,’ I say jokingly, though I mean it – he’s given me such a good fucking, I don’t know if I’ll even be able to walk straight. 

‘I’m not asking you, baby. I’m not done with you yet,’ he says with a dark grin, and it’s as though he’s regained all of his energy.

‘Hobi, I can’t take any more,’ I sigh, and he ignores my protests as he settles between my legs, moving my dress out of the way.

‘But you’re being so so good for me, doll. You’ve been handling it so well,’ he says, eyes fixed on the way his cum gently drips out of my abused pussy. 

He begins leaving open-mouthed kisses up my thighs before he collects up his cum that’s dripped out of me, rubbing it back into my clit before gently pushing a finger between my folds. 

‘No, Hobi, please, I can’t,’ I whine, the overstimulation too much as pumps in and out of me slowly.

‘Colour?’ he asks, and I sigh, knowing I should answer truthfully, before I say, ‘green.’ 

‘So you can, and you will,’ he says, and I whine again as he adds another long finger, scraping against my walls. 

‘Listen to me, baby. I’m gonna eat your sweet little pussy until I’ve had enough, and you’re going to cum on my tongue as many times as it takes for me to be satisfied. Because I own this pussy, and I will do with it what I please. Understand?’ he asks, voice sounding slightly harsher, and I nod as his eyes meet mine, which are already beginning to fill with tears. 

‘Yes, Hobi,’ I say submissively, and he grins, wasting no time before he licks a bold stripe across my heat, his fingers continuing to pump into me. 

‘Ah, fuck, Hobi,’ I moan as the pain of overstimulation begins to ebb away into pleasure, the feeling of his mouth and fingers quickly bringing me ecstasy. 

And then his fingers disappear, quickly being replaced by his tongue dipping between my folds and licking up his own cum that begins to gush out of me. 

‘God, you taste so fucking good with my cum dripping out of you, baby. Best thing I’ve ever tasted,’ he mumbles against my heat, and I throw my head back in pleasure as my back arches, tears beginning to spill from my eyes. 

He laps at my core like he hasn’t eaten for days, moans and whimpers falling frequently from my lips.

My fingers tangle into his soft, silky locks, pulling him as close as possible, my legs wrapped around his shoulders, heels digging into his upper back. 

I can feel his eyes on me, watching as he works wonders at my core, my orgasm beginning to approach. 

‘Fuck, more, Hobi, please,’ I whine, and I feel his lips curl up into a grin against me. 

‘A few minutes ago, you didn’t want any more, and now you’re moaning for more, begging for more, like a dirty little slut,’ he chuckles, before pushing three fingers into me, making me cry out. 

‘Yes, Hobi, god, yes! Feels so fucking good,’ I cry, tears streaming down my face, and he pumps his fingers into me rapidly before he begins sucking at my clit. 

‘Look at you crying. Do I make you feel that good that you cry, huh, baby? Look so fucking sexy when you cry,’ he says teasingly against my clit, and I let out a loud sob, his ministrations feeling absolutely euphoric. 

‘I’m gon- fuck! Hobi, I’m gonna cum,’ I moan, and he speeds up even more, my head whirling at the blissful feeling. 

‘Come on, baby, fucking cum for me,’ he says, his fingers disappearing and quickly being replaced with his mouth. 

His tongue dips between my folds as his lips furiously tug at my folds, before he begins alternating his tongue and fingers. 

Both his digits and his muscle dip in and out of my folds, my moans getting louder and louder, and when his nose nudges at my clit, my mouth falls open in a silent scream. 

‘Come on, y/n, cum for me, baby girl,’ he prompts against my clit, fingers continuing to abuse my pussy, and I feel myself beginning to come undone. 

I scream out his name as my orgasm washes over me, body convulsing beneath him, and he prolongs my high by continuing to rock his fingers into me and lap at my clit gently, holding me in place. 

Once I begin to come down, he removes his fingers and licks them clean, watching me with an affectionate smile as my thighs twitch with the aftershocks of my orgasm. 

‘You did so well for me, baby, so well,’ he praises, as he climbs off the bed, pulling his boxers and trousers up, buttoning up as he disappears into our bathroom, coming back with a towel. 

He gently cleans me up before helping me to sit up and handing me the bottle of water sat on the bedside table. 

‘Drink it all. I’ll go get more from downstairs,’ he says with a smile, and I chug down the water as he disappears from the room. 

I look out of the balcony doors to see that the sky is streaked with beautiful pastel colours, the sun peeking up from the ocean in an orange half-circle.

When he comes back, I’ve adjusted my dress (so that my tits aren’t out) and am sat against the headboard, and I laugh when I spot to jug of Tequila Sunrise in his hand with two glasses. 

‘I thought we could have some more. Who say we can’t get morning drunk?’ he grins as he pours us out a glass each, handing me mine with a kiss to my lips. 

He comes to sit beside me and puts an arm around me, and I instinctively curl into him, throwing my legs over his. 

‘Did I push you too hard, baby?’ he asks, and I shake my head instantly. 

‘It was great, baby, perfect. But I’ll probably need a nap soon,’ I say, already feeling a little sleepy, and he laughs. 

‘That’s okay. You can nap, because we’ll still have twelve days to do whatever we want,’ he says with a gentle kiss to the top of my head, and I smile contentedly. 

‘As long as you don’t leave me for work,’ I joke, and he chuckles softly. 

‘I’ll try my best, baby,’ he replies, voice gently, and I smile to myself as I take a sip from my glass, both of us falling silent as we watch the sun rise. 

[halo-jpeg]

Bearable | A Reddie Fanfiction

Read it from the beginning

Chapter 8

WARNING. HOMOPHOBIC LANGUAGE. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.

Richie watched as the sun sank steadily towards the horizon, lighting the sky red, orange, yellow, begging the clock to tick just a bit quicker so he could be free from his job. Britney and Mason, douchebag 1 and douchebag 2, were chattering away like hormone-driven starlings right behind him rather than wiping down the counters like they probably should have been. It was 30 minutes until his shift was up and the flow of customers had more than ebbed by now. Normally, Richie wouldn't want his shift to ever end; normally meant he had Bev or Ben at his side to keep him from drowning himself in the backroom sink. Tonight, neither were here, so he was stuck with the two preppy assholes he was so desperately trying to tune out. On any other occasion the music leaking from the tinny speakers would have been enough to get him through the day, but tonight things were different and the radio was instead tuned to bark out the score of some sports game Richie couldn't care less about but had the one or two patrons (who were already served and seated) tilting one ears towards the sound in interest. If given the chance Richie would have been just fine talking with Britney and Mason; he didn't like them, not really, but his big mouth was begging to run after almost a straight 45 minutes of near-silence and professionalism, and the problem was that they didn't seem too fond of talking to him.

And so, Richie simply stood. And waited. And grew more and more bored out of his mind. His fingers began to drum against his chin which was rested on the palm of his left hand which was- in turn- propped up by his elbow on the slightly-sticky surface of the counter. He fought the urge to tap his foot and he fought the urge to hum or dance or bop his head all because he didn't think he could stand knowing the other two would judge him for it. Judgement wasn't often something that bothered him but the memories of last night's talk with Beverly kept trying to pop up into his brain. Yes, that was another reason he was desperate for something to do- Richie just couldn't stop thinking about that talk. The door to the cafe popped open and, golly, it was Richie's lucky day- in stepped one bite-sized brunette with a tentative scowl on his face full of freckles. Just like that, Richie perked up again, his smile splitting his face right in two and his stomach beginning a circus performance consisting of backflips and pirouettes.

"Well, wouldja lookit that!" Snapping his fingers, Richie leaned forwards and across the counter to greet Eddie with his bright eyes, "Spaghetti-man, welcome! Just in time, I was tempted to throw myself into one of the ovens!" Eddie's scowl vanished and instead came a confused little grin that looked pretty goofy and melted away the last of any problems the world had to face.

"Christ, Rich, that's a little dramatic," Eddie pulled up to the counter and began to say something else but, well, Richie was a little distracted taking in the sight of him alone. It had been nearly 24 hours since they'd interacted and, after his little talk with Bev, Richie couldn't really get Eddie out of his mind. Fitted in a fluffy coral-toned knitted sweater and a pair of black jeans, he was looking adorable. Imagining Eddie with some accessory like a bracelet or black nails was even cuter- suddenly, Richie felt very much like Bev said she did whenever she went digging through his wardrobe. Eddie quirked a brow and snapped Richie right out of his thoughts.

"Sorry? What was that? My head's still a lil' out of it tonight," He straightened his back, blinking his scattered thoughts away and cracking his knuckles as if he were being thrown into a cage match, "Can I get you something to drink? To eat? A seat at the bar, maybe? I could use someone to talk to, I feel like I'm going crazy around here," As he said 'crazy' Richie spun a finger around his temple, and Eddie rolled his eyes.

"I actually just came by to say hello, since... y'know. The party and... and all that shit. We had a deal, didn't we?" Eddie took up Richie's offer for a barstool, leaping up onto it and folding his hands on the counter. He glared down at the tabletop as he spoke, bashful. It warmed Richie's heart and he smiled even wider, clasping his hands and holding them up to the side of his face; his eyelashes battered wildly and then he was the Southern Belle.

"Well, my oh my, ain't you a doll? Stoppin' by just to get a glance at lil' ole' me?" With another roll of his eyes (that seemed to be an Eddie Kaspbrak trademark) Eddie finally looked up again and rested his cheek on one hand.

"I regret it now, Trashmouth. You're gonna make my ears bleed." Laughing, Richie spun on his heel, briefly catching Britney and Mason's gazes and then went straight for the cups to whip up a signature drink for his friend, even if it was against company policy both to create anything original and to give out anything without it being paid for. Who gives a shit, Richie thinks to himself, and gets right to it.

"How's a mocha sound, Eddie Spaghetti?"

"It's- It's fine, but how many times do I have to tell you not to call me that? Especially not with, like-" Eddie didn't need to finish his sentence, nor did Richie have to actually see him to know he was passing discreet glances at the two coworkers most likely listening in. Eddie was embarrassed about his silly little nickname. Challenge accepted- Richie had plenty of those. Flipping switches, tapping buttons, spinning around the kitchen with practiced ease, Richie pumped out a perfect dark chocolate mocha with steamed vanilla milk and caramel sauce drizzled artistically across the mountain of whipped cream on the top. It was a masterpiece- no surprise there.

"And here you are, Eduardo." the cup was set down and Eddie gave Richie an awkward, thankful smile. "Enjoy it- and here, dip one of these in it," Sliding open one side of the bakery treats display case Richie pulled out a slice of banana bread, "It's fantastic. Like, seriously, Eds. Ten out of fucking ten."

"When did your shift start today? I didn't know you worked," Eddie's cheeks flushed a soft red thanks to his own curiosity and he hid it with a sip from his drink. Richie shrugged,

"Nine. I was exhausted. Had to steal a coffee or two throughout the course of the day like the rebel I am." Richie reached up, popping the collar of today's brightly coloured shirt (pink, blue, yellow, purple, an amalgamation of triangles and circles and squares) and hunching his shoulders in, grimacing dramatically and sauntering back and forth like a biker dude who smoked a pack of cigarettes a day and loved the road more than anything else, "I run 'gainst the law, dawg," Eddie cracked a toothy smile and let out a dancing chuckle, "I rob gas 'tations and pick pockets for a livin'," Richie reached a hand up and began to fuss with his hair in an attempt to transform it into an impromptu mullet. Bringing the attention towards his curls Eddie's face screwed up but his smile still lingered.

"You need a fuckin' haircut, dude, like- wow. It's like a whole mop, Richie," And then Eddie's eyes grew wide and he recoiled, "Did you make my drink with that mane exposed? What if- what if you got your stupid hair in it? You know you're committing a guideline 37 health code violation? It's literally against the law not to wear a hair net, you know. And did you wash your hands?" Richie flipped his collar back down as Eddie spoke, letting out a huff and stumbling over to the sink to jam his hands under the faucet. "I heard people's hands carry up to almost five million different kinds of bacteria. You'd better not be putting that into people's-" Richie's hands now soaking wet, he lifted them and flicked them violently in Eddie's direction. The shorter boy cut himself off and let out a startled cry as he was assaulted by these droplets of water, half-jumping-half-falling out of his chair to scramble out of range. "You asshole! This sweater is a gift from my mom you know, and it could get damaged or-" Someone in the shop barked out a hissing 'shhh!' and Eddie went silent, his face bright red.

"The patrons request silence, my lo- friend, jeezly-crow," Richie dried his hands on the towel just near the sink, acting like he hadn't almost called Eddie 'my love' (he only didn't say it because of his coworkers and Eddie's pride) and returned to standing across from him. As soon as he was near enough Eddie delivered a half-assed punch to his forearm that was more teasing than actually harmful.

"That was quite the show," Britney, for once in her life, regarded Richie with a glitter of amusement in her eyes, and then glanced over at Eddie who was now smiling sheepishly and clearly dreading meeting a new person. Britney stuck out a hand, "Nice to meet you... Eduardo, was it?"

"Ah- Eddie, actually, my name is Eddie- Richie is just... just stupid sometimes, sorry," Rapidly, Eddie wiped his hands on the front of his shirt and took Britney's hesitantly within his own. Only Richie noticed the way his brows flicked a little closer together- Eddie was uncomfortable. That much was obvious.

"It's part of my charm, isn't-"

"Oh my God, I know, right? He's such a goofball!" With a horribly dopey grin, Britney pushed at Richie's shoulder and let out a high-pitched titter, "Imagine having to work with him every day!" Both boys let out an awkward chuckle, sharing a glance that said a multitude of different things; Who the hell is this chick? and Well she's just a little rude. and Can she maybe leave us alone? and many, many other things as well. "So, Eds- can I call you that?-" Britney didn't give him a chance to protest even though he wanted to, "How long have you and Richard been friends? How'd you meet him?" Britney leaned in just beside Richie, basically elbow to elbow as she crossed her arms and leaned into them to- oh- everything clicks together just like that, just as Britney uses her arms to push her chest higher. She was trying (and, well, failing, frankly) to flirt with Eddie. It seems that the asthmatic has yet to notice.

"Well, I... Not long, we just met a little over a week ago, I guess. It's actually kind of funny we-"

"Only a week?" Britney batted her lashes and Richie debated on telling her that her interrupting was not a good flirting technique, "But you two seem so close already! Gosh, I'd have guessed you two were high school friends at least!"

"Nope," Richie interjected before she could continue, "Just new friends. He's great, I'm great- that makes double great- Anyhow, Britney, we should let him enjoy his drink shouldn't-"

"Quite the mouth on him, huh?" Somehow, impossibly, Richie had failed to get her attention. Demanding all eyes on him was his specialty, but it was as if Britney had garnered some sort of tunnel vision, like a race horse with blinders perched on either side of it's head. Flirt racing. Place your bets. Richie felt a flame of jealousy and immediately squashed it down, feeling like some bitchy schoolgirl. "Chatter chatter chatter, all day long. How do you deal with it?"

"I don't, usually," Eddie was fiddling with the hem of one sleeve, his cheeks puffed out lightly in irritation. Who knew one man could have so much patience. "I... Well, I kind of like the chatter, actually. My own thoughts race so fast, it's cool to finally have someone who can keep up with them." Shrugging, Eddie turns to Richie and opens his mouth to speak, but, what a surprise, Britney beats him to it.

"I'm sure I could keep up with them, hon, if you gave me the chance," Britney let one eye fall down in a wink and Eddie gaped, frozen. His face drained of colour, a ghastly white that highlighted each and every one of his freckles- then it flooded red and he gripped the sides of the counter, looking at Richie again but this time as a silent plea, a save me oh my God- "What's your number?" She smiled, her rose red lips curling up in a way that could only be described as evil, "Or I can give you mine. I'd like to get to know you better." One part of Richie wanted to let this play out just because it was such a wonderful opportunity to watch Eddie flounder. The other part, the moral part, was screaming at him to intervene.

"Oh- I, I uh- I'm so-sorry I don't-" Eddie's tongue was tied. He swallowed hard and shook his head, his breath beginning to come in hitches, "I- I'm not interested I'm s-sorry if you got the- the wrong idea or-"

"Oh, come on, pretty please?" Britney leaned in closer and Eddie leaned away. "With a cherry on top? I promise it'll be fun-"

"Fuck off, Brit, he said no," Richie tried to keep his tone level, knowing that if he didn't his jealousy would show, but it seems he wasn't firm enough and that Britney didn't quite get the message. Eddie was still shaking his head, patting at his pockets as if searching for something, something to get him out of this more than awkward situation and turning up empty handed.

"We can maybe go to dinner tomorrow night or something like that, I'm a pretty fun girl when you get to-"

"Britney, that's enough!" Slamming one hand down on the countertop and raising his voice, all eyes turned to him- even those of the patrons, though this time no one hissed out a shush. After a beat of silence, Richie continued with a calmer tone, "You're clearly making him uncomfortable, I think you should just get to wiping down the counters or something so we can start closing up," Someone behind Richie scoffed; Mason. His other coworker. Rounding on him, Richie crossed his arms, trying to look somewhat intimidating in the face of this super-jock. "What's your problem, huh?"

"Well, I just think your little friend there's really makin' a mistake," Mason shifted his weight onto one foot, peering around Richie and staring the poor flustered Eds straight in the eye, "She really is a great chick, and... Well, you look like you could use a ride like her." Eddie's jaw dropped and his face went redder. He looked as if he were about to pass out, and Richie was stunned all the same.

"Jesus Christ, man, you can't just say that! What the hell's wrong with you?" Richie took a step forwards, glaring even harder but Mason wasn't deterred, wasn't afraid, was still dead set on either picking on Eddie or maybe actually attempting to give some sort of skewed advice.

"She'll do nearly anything you want if you ask nice," Britney was smiling though she looked a little stunned herself by this show of boldness, "And it seems she likes you, too. You're her type- short, thin, kinda... well, kinda girly to be honest," Eddie stared down at the tabletop, fighting to control his erratic breathing and seeming to have given up on patting his pockets for- oh shit, his inhaler. Was Eddie having an asthma attack?

"Mason, you fucking idiot, give it a rest. Eddie isn't interested. Leave him the fuck alone!" Richie was growing irritated- something about Mason felt off today. Usually the boy didn't outright pick on other people, he was always at least subtle about it.

"Oh, shit-" Mason let out a little chuckle, and stepped around Richie to approach the counter, "Unless- wait, unless you're not into her?" Richie was so close to slamming a fist across Mason's stupid face. After years of not understanding why everyone called his own face punchable, Richie finally got it. Some people just looked like good boxing practice.

"No fucking shit Sherlock of course he isn't into-"

"Unless you're some sort of fairy?"

Oh, the silence that followed this statement was suffocating. It was as if a thick blanket of quiet had throttled the room; Eddie's hitching breaths had stopped- in fact, so had his breathing altogether. His eyes had hollowed out, his face had lost all colour for good this time, and his shoulders had jumped up to his ears. Britney's mouth was hanging open, her eyes wide, breath stolen away in a more figurative sense. Richie was entirely and utterly shocked. He had known Mason wasn't the ideal fella. He cheated on girlfriends and drank too much and stole things, but this- this was... more than Richie had expected. It took a lot for Richie to dislike someone and he disliked both him and sort of Britney for quite the big book of reasons; but downright homophobia was not in his book until today.

"What. The fuck." Richie's voice had gone low, dangerously low. Mason turned to face him instead, his eyes dancing with quite the colorful array of emotions yet somehow appearing haunted, dead, all at the same time. If Richie had to get all poetic and describe it he'd say those eyes were reminiscent of an ocean- chaotic in the crashing of the waves, and yet endlessly empty. He was smiling wide. Proud. Like a shark. Eddie was still silent.

"Maybe I've got things wrong, maybe that was wrong," Mason held his hands up defensively, and Richie made the mistake of letting him continue, "Maybe... Well maybe he's not a fairy." A pause, blood thrumming loudly in his ears, "Maybe you are, Tozier. Maybe you're the little fag-"

"Shut up, Mason. Just shut the hell up." Mason leaned in, arms crossed, smile smug,

"You know, as sick as you are, it doesn't even surprise me." From Richie's right there was a gasp, a choked sound reminiscent of some form of words.

"Shut your fucking mouth or I swear to God-"

"I probably should have realized sooner, to be entirely honest. I mean, your hair, your clothes, your stupid nails and your stupider voices-"

"Richie- Richie I-" Richie's head was spinning with red hot rage. His hands were balled into white-knuckled fists, his teeth gritted tightly.

"You don't know a single thing about me you asshole,"

"I guess it's possible both you and your friend here mingle with that crowd, huh? Maybe the- Oh Jesus, maybe the reason you're so defensive is because the two of you are, like, boning or-" And, that was the final fucking straw. Richie didn't register his hands flying out to shove, hard, at Mason's chest until the boy was stumbling backwards, right over Britney taking them both to the ground. Richie was taller than Mason. Mason was heavier than Richie. With the right momentum, the right force and angle, he could- and did- send Mason almost flying.

"You're a fucking pig, you know that? Jesus- and to think I might actually, one day, maybe be able to tolerate your obnoxious ass here at work?"

"Rich- I c-can't-"

"Wow, I was naïve! Do you have a single scrap of human decency in that tiny frocking brain of yours or are you only powered by fucking and alcohol?"

"R-Richie! I-"

"Well guess fucking what, you dog? I've got quite the gift for-"

"Richie!!" Just as Richie was about to spit right onto Mason's stupid face Eddie dragged him out of his furious haze with a choking wheeze. His head snapped right, gluing onto Eddie's trembling form; one hand was grasping at his throat, the other supporting him on the countertop, shaky, pale. His face was as white as a sheet and he looked positively awful with his mouth open wide and his chest heaving painfully up and down. "Rich- I- I-I-I c-ca-can't breathe I-"

"Shit, Eds, I'm so sorry," Richie didn't waste a second in hopping over the counter, tearing off his work apron and tossing it to the floor, discarding his anger with it, "Come on, let's go, let's get you some fresh air okay? We can hurry to your place and get your inhaler, yeah?" Despite the hate, the disgust, Richie couldn't care less about how he must have looked as he took Eddie's hand and began to drag him to the door, half-drunken mocha and quarter of banana bread left for the other two to clean up. On their way out Richie was almost certain he heard one last snide comment, some slur, but his only focus right now was Eddie and the way he was sucking in rasping breaths like a drowning man. Rich shoved the door open with one shoulder, holding it ajar and letting Eddie pass by, resting a hand on his back as he did so and beginning to steer him down the sidewalk in no particular direction. "Where's your house? What's your address? Should I call Bill or Stan or- We have to get you to your inhaler, don't we?" Cowering like a hurt puppy, Eddie shrunk into Richie's side, still gripping and clawing and gasping. "W-What do I do where do I go what-"

"No-" Eddie forced the words out through gritted teeth, shaking his head and holding up a single finger- just give me a minute. The two came to a halt underneath the golden glow of a streetlamp just recently lit. The sky was a dark purple now, growing into blue.

"Eddie, don't you need you inhaler?" He shook his head again, and Richie screwed his brows together, "But your asthma, we can't risk it we should just-"

"NO, Rich- Just-" Eddie gasped, his eyes squeezing shut, "Just give me a- a fucking minute!" Richie shrunk away, pulling his arms to his chest and taking a tentative step back. Eddie turned, hiding his face, and continued to sputter, refusing Richie's help and planting one hand over his eyes and forehead. A minute passed- Richie tried to suggest once more that the inhaler was the safest option. Eddie denied it with another string of breaths and curses. At last, an agonizing three minutes later, the rise and fall of Eddie's chest grew steadier.

"Are... Are you sure you're alright? I... I don't know how asthma works but I don't think ignoring it is healthy." Risking being yelled at again Richie stepped forwards and placed a soft hand on Eddie's frail shoulder. For one quick moment those big brown eyes stared up at him and then they flicked away, down to their shoes instead. The smaller boy's ears burned red with shame.

"I don't-" Eddie scoffed, "I don't fucking- I don't fucking have asthma okay? I'm fine. I just- need to- calm the hell down."

"You- what? You don't have asthma? Then what was all that stuff at the party-"

"It was nothing, okay? It was just my stupid brain being all messed up! It's not asthma, jackass, so just- let it go, please. Jesus," Eddie shook off Richie's hand and took a few steps back, one hand rising to pinch at the bridge of his nose. He started to pace. "I can't believe that guy, what an asshole! And that girl, I just-" He cried out incoherently, too frustrated to piece together another phrase, and shook his head.

"I'm sorry, Eddie, I really am. I don't know what got into them- Mason especially, he isn't usually that bad and I... Well, that wasn't cool. Something was wrong about him tonight and- fuck," Richie brought his hands up to his face, underneath his glasses to scrub it vigorously, "I don't know, man, I'm so sorry." When Richie's hands fell again Eddie was looking at him, one hand on his hip, the other pressed against his chest, concerned. A pause.

"Are you okay?"

"What...? Of course I am, I'm not the one who almost choked on-"

"Then what the fuck did you think you were doing in there?" Eddie surged forwards and, this time, pushed Richie with both hands, though the outcome was very different and Richie hardly budged.

"Woah woah Eds what-"

"He could have hit you! Are you stupid or something? That guy would have had your fucking neck snapped before you could even do anything about it and you were just going to let it happen because he said some nasty shit to me?" Again, Eddie thumped a fist into Richie's chest, and then another.

"Of course Eddie he can't just-"

"People have said that shit to me all my life, Richie, you don't have to go risking your stupid neck because of it!" This time Richie caught Eddie by the wrist before his shove could connect, and then caught the other hand right after, holding them tight, "Let me go, Richie I can't deal with you being like this right now it's like you're not even listening to me and-"

"Eddie, calm down you're gonna throw yourself into another fit!"

"I'm okay, asshole, I'm not gonna break down and die right here and now because I'm angry at you! I-I get angry all the time I'm not some child- I-" Eddie squeezed his eyes shut, gritting his teeth, and then he spat out the words coated in acid, "You don't get to act all 'night in shining armor' just because some airheaded asshole wants to tell me what's good for me! I can take care of myself and I fucking hate it when people treat me like some stupid kid!" Eddie was gasping again, though this time he kept his mouth shut tight, trying to hide that he was struggling. He looked furious and terrified and hurt, a trio of emotion that Richie never wanted to see on his face again. Richie let out a sigh, closing his eyes and letting go of Eddie's wrists. As soon as he did Eddie crossed his arms and took a step back, averting his gaze. The tips of his ears were burning brighter.

"I... Eddie, I'm sorry, I... I didn't mean to- to belittle you or talk down to you or anything like that. I just saw that you were getting badmouthed and I acted before I could really think."

"That doesn't surprise me, Trashmouth, you seem to be a little fucking impulsive." His voice strained, it was evident that Eddie was trying to reign in his temper, his 'asthma' already calming down once more. "Just... just please let me handle myself in the future. I can do it, I swear,"

"Yeah, I... I know you can. You're," Richie chuckled, and punched Eddie weakly, tentatively in the shoulder, "You're all sorts of spunk in one tiny package," Allowing himself to grin just for a split second Eddie slapped offense onto his face and wore a pout that would better fit a toddler.

"Are you calling me short? That's real low, Rich, that's just-"

"Low, is it? Yeah, I guess it is, huh?"

"Oh- fuck you!" Eddie rolled his eyes and turned away to conceal his smile as Richie let out his bright cackling, ripping through the silence of the night in a way that was more pleasant than Eddie thought possible. "God, you're just such an asshole, I hope you know that," He jabbed out an accusatory finger and Richie shot up his hands in mock surrender as if that finger were a gun.

"Don't shoot!" He hollered, stumbling a step back, "I have a wife and kids to get back to!" Eddie laughed, dropping his hand, and just barely stopped himself from asking if Richie had a husband to get back to instead. That was a can of worms for another day.

"I'm exhausted now thanks to you. You're like a baby, always whining and shit. Come on, Stan works and Bill's probably asleep by now. Wanna come watch a movie or something? I think we have a copy of Die Hard lying around." Eddie began to walk back in the direction of the cafe- Richie had taken the complete wrong path in their hasty escape- waving one hand for him to follow. Richie was now beaming, knowing just what to say to (hopefully) piss off Eddie even more.

"Oh, awesome! My favourite Christmas movie!" Eddie spun on him. Mission accomplished.

"What the fuck did you just say? Christmas movie?!"

[dearchikkie]

Truth or Dare

MARICHAT MAY 2020

Day 5: Dare

A/N: I.LOVE.TENSE.TRUTH.OR.DARE. The drama, the divide, just everything!! jskhdakjhd I had fun writing this one, you can probably tell by now but I really love when Chat and Mari are just chilling together as friends and being dorks. You'll probably see them geeking out on my day 7 fic, so watch out for that ;) Anyway: hope you enjoy this one!

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Marinette was bad- no, scratch that- terrible at sleepovers. From the age of nine, she could barely sleep in her own room without crying out for her mother or father in the night. Tom and Sabine had tried everything ranging from nightlights to singing toys, but none comforted her fears. When she finally made a friend at school to have sleepovers with, she ended up vomiting in their sink after drinking too much soda and begging her mom to come pick her up.

She had been apprehensive to try again, but after being begged to attend a classmates slumber party, she dedicated herself to getting over her fears and having a fun time. Unfortunately, she hadn't trained hard enough. A few hours into when she should have been sleeping, she thought she had heard a ghost. Young Marinette had tiptoed down the stairs to investigate, and saw standing in the kitchen a deathly zombie.

In her defence, she didn't know the birthday girl had an older brother, so seeing a mysterious boy lit only by the fluorescent lights of their fridge, it seemed perfectly acceptable to scream as loud as she could.

In the end, her father came and picked her up. Marinette would have preferred to stay, but after awaking the entire house at 3am, she decided it was best if she just went home.

After that, there wasn't really a strong desire to embarrass herself anymore, so she avoided sleepovers entirely. She didn't go camping with Mylene, she didn't jam out with Juleka, she couldn't even braid her hair with Rose! By the time Alya transferred, everyone knew Marinette just didn't do sleepovers, so when Alya invited her to one it came as a shock to the young teen. Although anxious, Marinette gave sleepovers one last chance.

She didn't cry. She didn't vomit. She had fun.

Alya introduced her to all the iconic sleepover traditions: gossip, movies, snacks, skincare, more gossip and [most importantly] sleepover games. Marinette fell in love with them instantly. Of course, she had played these before, but never in her pajamas at 1 AM loaded on sugar.

So with her parents out of town and Alya stuck at a convention in the states, it seemed only fair she throw a slumber party with her second best friend.

✧✬✧

"What brand did you buy? This is taking forever!" Marinette glared at the sizzling pan. She had trusted Chat to bring the popcorn since bulk-buying packets would have been suspicious to her parents [the same parents she promised could rest easy knowing she wouldn't have people over] but he had shown up wielding a fancy looking packet of kernels. Marinette frowned at the pan's foil; it should be rising, but instead stayed pathetically flat no matter how high she raised the heat.

Chat snatched the packet off Marinette's kitchen counter, "Some brand called 'Papa's Organic Snacks', the store clerk said it was the best!"

"Let me see that," the noirette left the stove, the popcorn wasn't going to pop any time soon so she felt safe leaving it unsupervised, "Chat! This was 70 euros! You shouldn't waste money just on some popcorn,"

"It's not wasting money, this is our first super fun sleepover and I didn't want to just get some cheap popcorn!"

"You sound spoiled."

"Maybe I am." not maybe. He was. He didn't want to admit it, but Adrien knew he was spoilt. He had all the video games he wanted, all the clothing he tried, all the books he read, he got them no questions asked. Hell, look at his room! Flatscreen TV's, a rock-climbing wall and a personal library, no one even cared when he suddenly required masses of expensive cheese.

As Adrien, he was spoilt with material objects. Unlimited amounts of money and recognition, celebrities knowing him by name and fangirls flocking him as he walked down the street.

"Yes! It's popping! After I butter these up we'll finally get this sleepover started!"

As Chat Noir, he was spoiled like this.

✧✬✧

"Chat, truth or dare?" the leather-clad hero pondered for a moment, before replying,

"Truth!"

"What? Boring," Marinette threw a handful of popcorn at Chat. She laughed as he tried swatting it away, "aren't you supposed to be brave or something?"

"Who says I'm not being brave? Who knows what dastardly questions you'll ask," the cat feigned a horrified gasp and fell back onto Marinette's chaise.

The noirette grinned at him, tugging back on his tail, "I'm sure you can handle an innocent teen girls question. Sit back down, I'm gonna get serious."

Slowly, Chat slid off the chaise and regained his place besides Marinette, munching on another large chunk of caramel popcorn. The teenage girl slowly gestured for Chat to lean in closer. Then closer. The closer, eventually, he was so close he could feel her warm breath on his ear, the hairs on his neck sticking on end.

"Chat Noir..." she whispered, Who's your civilian identity?"

"WHAT?" in a rush, Chat fell back. Popcorn spilt all over the ground as Chat stared wide-eyed at the giggling girl in front of him. "P-Princess, I c-care about you and you a-are one of my closest f-friends, b-but I- I can't just- my i-identity has t-to be, Ladybug would kill me!" Chat stumbled over his words, eyes sporadically moving back and forth. 

His rambling stopped when he heard a quiet laugh. When he looked up, he saw Marinette barely able to contain her amusement, but a single look at Chat's flustered face broke her control as she burst out laughing.

"Oh, Chaton- I'm kidding! There's no way you'd just be able to reveal yourself to a civilian," before Chat could object Marinette spoke again, "My REAL question is this: Why do you keep coming over?"

Chat frowned, "And here I thought you enjoyed my company." he huffed. Marinette set a hand tentatively on his shoulder,

"Silly cat. I do now! But even back when we barely knew each other, you still showed up to chat; why?"

"Nice pun,"

"Not the point." Marinette scoffed, but Chat now grinned eagerly as he sidled up beside her.

"Well, It's kinda complicated," Chat shoved another handful on popcorn down his throat, causing Marinette to have to wait another minute before he could start speaking again. After taking a long sip of soda, Chat continued,

"I don't really know why I kept visiting you. I just, I didn't feel like being my civilian self and talking to people as myself. But the only person I could talk to as Chat Noir was Ladybug, and you know she's never out late unless there's an akuma. Then I remembered the Evillustrator and Wereded akuma's."

"When we first met,"

Chat nodded, "You didn't put me on a pedestal and suck up to me, nor did you completely ignore me and just ask about Ladybug. You were just... yourself. Now that I look back at it all, I have no idea why I chose you. I just saw you gardening, munching on a cinnamon roll and decided to talk to you. While I severely regret being so weird at first, that was probably one of the best decisions I've ever made."

The room became eerily silent. Chat could feel his face redden, desperately avoiding eye contact with the girl beside him. "...And, I'm probably the biggest sweet tooth in Paris; befriending the Bakers daughter was bound to happen at some point!" he chuckled nervously. When Chat finally got the nerve to look Marinette in the eye, he saw just how badly her flushed face matched his.

"Ah! I forgot! Papa made some snacks earlier and I snuck some away- let me go get them!" Marinette bundled down the stairs, slamming her hatch behind her. Chat exhaled after he heard Marinette's footsteps fade into the background. Good job Chat! Go ahead and gush all about how 'amazing' she is and make things awkward! He gulped down a full glass of soda, chugging it all in one go.

After a few minutes, the bedroom hatch burst open, startling Chat. Marinette reappeared at the top holding a tray filled with sugary macarons. Chat drooled at the sight of them, pupils dilating as he gazed over the pink and green desserts, "They're raspberry and green tea, I hope you like them,"

"They're incredible, Mari! Thank you so much, thank your père for me." Marinette smiled as Chat grabbed a pink macaron.

"You haven't even tried them yet,"

"I have trust in your father." hesitantly, Chat took a small bite. After chewing for only a few seconds he shoved the rest of it into his mouth, eyes shut with pleasure. "These are incredible, Princess," Chat moaned.

Marinette's cheeks glowed a similar colour to the macaron Chat was so affectionate of. She pulled him back to their seating arrangements, "C'mon, It's my turn to be asked,"

After licking the tips of his fingers, Chat turned his attention back to Marinette, "Fine, follow up question then, mademoiselle. Why did you keep letting me in?"

Marinette froze, "What?"

"Back then, I know why I kept showing up, but you also kept letting me into your room. Sharing sweets, showing me designs..."

"I, uh..."

"Hmm?"

"Maybe I just felt bad for the stray cat that kept appearing on my rooftop."

"What's wrong Marinette, afraid to tell me just how enamored you truly were by me?"

Chat laid his head down on Marinette's lap, ignoring the evil gaze that followed him down, "I wasn't 'enamored' by you. I just," she set a hand on Chat's hair, slowly petting it as if a blonde cat laid in her lap. Technically, one did.

"I don't know why I let you in those first few times, I guess it just seemed polite? But then after a few times of you visiting me, I got to know you. I liked hanging out with you, and I still do. You're one of my closest friends, Chaton. Truly."

Marinette stared back down at Chat. His eyes were trained solely on her, his cheeks tinged red. "You really think that?"

Marinette laughed, "Of course I do, Kitty. Why do you think you're here right now?"

Slowly, Chat sat up. He angled his face just in front of Marinettes, his eyelids drooping ever so slightly, "Truth or Dare?"

"Well, we've already had two truths in a row so I kinda have to choose dare," laughed Marinette. Her laughter ceased when she noticed how serious Chat's face had turned.

"I dare you to kiss me."

Her breath hitched in her throat. Marinette could hear her heart beating louder and louder as Chat inched closer to her face. His hot breath spread over her face as her skin tingled at the feel of it.

Suddenly, Chat's eyes widened and pushed himself away from her. His face now more red than ever, he stood up and turned around, "Sorry! Sorry, I shouldn't have said that. I probably just ruined everything- I should go." Chat ran to the rooftop, but Marinette grabbed his tail and pulled him back. Gradually rising to stand in front of him.

Wordlessly, Marinette forced herself forward, embracing Chat as she closed the distance between them. Their hearts burned. Chat wrapped his arms around Marinettes waist and pulled her closer, heat staining both their faces.

They never started the next round.

[paradise-creator]

OwO when u have time,, can I have a haven box for BNHA?? But just when you’re free and not working on prior works!! >:( I’m watching u bish

You can use my name in the result if you want to lol I already know it anyway!!

She/her, Taurus, INTJ, slytherin (pretty freakin’ queer but I usually lean towards boys/enbies more)

Personality: the first thing people notice about me is that I am less of a feeler and more of a thinker. I do have an IQ of 125, but my emotional intelligence is quite low, so I have trouble sympathizing with others. But I learned through experience, so I don’t SEEM emotionless. I can (and will) help my friends through tough times if they need me. I’m pragmatic, so I always go for the facts instead of the feelings during decision making or tough situations. I hold a lot of perfectionist traits that make it really hard for me to be satisfied with my results if they aren’t higher than the norm. I also have a slight issue with saying no, so sometimes I’ll offer my help or enrol myself in long-term projects while knowing I legit do not have time for more stuff on my schedule. Being a bit smarter than average, I sometimes feel like I’m obligated to help others so that they can do good too (however, I do like helping people with their hw to a certain extent). I’m working on those issues though!! I’m also an introvert, and I can get rlly tired if I have to be interacting for more than four hours straight with people, especially if their persona isn’t rlly compatible with mine.

However, when I’m surrounded by friends (or generally people who aren’t my superiors), I’m very energetic, loud, silly and I have a sharp tongue. I’m also insanely competitive, like someone please stop me?? My sense of humour goes from absolute nonsense to almost mean spirited sarcasm, but it all depends on who I’m talking to. I’m a MAJOR memer, I have a bunch of files filled with them, and I couldn’t bear be with people who didn’t understand my meme references. When I start liking something, I can get easily obsessed. I’m stubborn, therefore very passionate about the things I care about. I also have a slight case of the Endorphin Junkie, meaning that I really, really like the high you get after sports so I do crossfit training like five to six times a week. I’m unapologetically myself, and I will not ever change who I am to fit within the norm. I’m sometimes told that (that I’m odd, I mean), but I usually thank the people who tell me. I have a really, really big love for music and I have a tendency to break into song sometimes when people say a line from a song I know. I also cry sometimes when music gets really good ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ whoops

Appearance: I’m around 5’6”, with hazel eyes and brown hair that goes around to my shoulders. It gets curly out of nowhere. I can either wake up with straight hair or wake up with a freakin perm, it’s funny. My body isn’t exactly the lean type, I’m somewhere around the buff area of the scale instead, but as long as I seem visibly strong, I’m satisfied. When I’m not going anywhere significant, I usually just wear sport shirts and sweats, but I have a penchant for Dark Academia so I like /looking/ like I’m smart sometimes. And I have glasses bc apparently my eyes are assholes and they work too hard and it hurts my brain all the time

Likes: music (DavidBowieDavidBowieDavidBow-); I have a really wide range of music that goes from early 2000’s pop to 1700’s requiems(my faves are Bowie, Queen and Pink Floyd). I enjoy studying theoretical fields, reading, and I like talking about Absurd Theories About Reality That Make Little To No Sense. I like sports, and I love joking around with friends in the most exaggerated ways. I also love the colour green and I’m more of a cat person

Dislikes: dogs (they’re cute but keep them away pls), ignorant people, irresponsible people, spiders, things I’m not good at from the beginning, having to deal with strangers being upset, crying (me. I don’t like crying; I mean me, I’m fine if my friends cry)

Other fun facts!!

- my goals for the future are all over the place; I want to work for Disney, I want to get a musical composition degree, I want a biomedical engineering bachelors degree, I want an astrophysics doctorate, I want to study languages, I want to be a foreign English teacher... I can’t ever decide.

- I have a long history with getting crushes on guys who turned out to be gay. It happens so often and I HATE IT, it makes me feel terrible.

- I!!love!!70’s!!music!!so!!much!! I was raised on that stuff, my dad wouldn’t let us listen to anything else

- Lol my favourite playlist name is Drugs Playlist But I Don’t Even Do Drugs it’s just a bunch of Pink Floyd and David Bowie songs

- My favourite movies are 80’s or 90’s comedy classics!! Like Wayne’s World, or Airplane!, or Night at the Roxbury. I keep quoting Wayne’s World and no one understands :(

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Hello and Welcome my Starlight!

The Haven box includes:

- Match up

- Sun drop

- Flashes of memory

- Truth or dare gone wrong

───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰*.:｡✧*.｡:｡*.｡✱ ───

I'd match you up with

Sero Hanata, Cellophane

───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰*.:｡✧*.｡:｡*.｡✱ ───

Sun drops

The reasons I paired you

- It me awhile to think about who to match you up with

- I was thinking of either Bakugou or Denki

- BUT THEN I REMEMBERED SERO

- Sero is such an underrated character smh

- BUT THIS DYNAMIC IS WHAT I LIVE FOR

-At first, you might be annoyed at his lack of knowledge but you over past that

- His EQ can help you grow as a person as well

- You have the IQ he has the EQ, BALANCE!

- You two would often have laughing sessions at class

- No cap tho, you two would be the most interesting couple

- You guys would have a matching necklace or a Keychain (IDK why but I feel like it-)

- You get along well with Denki, (IT TOOK A LONG TIME)

- But you would rather hang out with Bakugou (He tolerates you more than the others).

- BRO, please give him love. He craves your attention

───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰*.:｡✧*.｡:｡*.｡✱ ───

Flashes of memories

Sero: Hello there hot stuff!

Eve: Hello there Soy sauce

Sero: NOT YOU TOO

Eve: Just kidding, Hello babe

Sero: ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL ME?

Eve: Yes, killing you with love

Sero: Dang that's smooth

-------------------------

Sero: He-

Eve: I didn't take your Pocky, Denki did

Sero: How-

Eve: You've been yelling about it for the past few minutes

Sero: Oh-

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Sero: Can you help me with studying?

Eve: Struggling again?

Sero: Yes...

Eve: Why did I date you again?

Sero: Please?

Eve: ...

Also Eve: Fine

───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰*.:｡✧*.｡:｡*.｡✱ ───

Truth or dare gone wrong

The class 1-A were all gathered in their common room, even Bakugou was present. The class was having a truth or dare session, it seemed interesting. “Sero, my man! Truth or dare?” Denki asked as he looked at Sero. “Truth! I choose truth,” Sero said. “Who have you been talking on the phone to this past weeks? The one I keep hearing is my pumpkin?” Denki asked. Sero’s face then turned a light shade of pink. “O-Oh- ummm,” He started as he looked away. “Does our Cellophane have a girlfriend?” Mina teased as she poked Sero. “Y-Yeah,” He stuttered. “OI THAT’S NOT FAIR?!? WHY CAN YOU HAVE A GIRL BUT I CAN’T,” Denki sulked as he placed his head on the table. “If you weren’t such a perv then maybe you can get one!” Hakagure responded.

“Don’t be shy. Tell us more,” Mina said. Sero’s blush darkened and he looked away. “We are playing truth or dare! It’s my turn to ask,” Sero then said. “Actually, I am quite curious as well. We can always continue later,” Momo said as she smiled. Everyone agreed and they then looked at the nervous male. “C’mon now guys, this is unfair,” Sero said as he looked at everyone. “But you have a girl and we want tea,” Mina then said as she sat in front of him. “I- um, you guys really want to know about her, huh?” Sero said as he chuckled. Everyone nodded and stared at Sero intently. “Just tell us already, Soy sauce,” Bakugou growled as he glared at Sero. “Don’t listen to him, bro. He is just jealous,” Kirishima said. “WHAT-“ Bakugou was about to counter but was silenced. “Fine! Fine! You got me in a corner,” Sero then said as he chuckled. “She should be coming here,” He added as he looked at the door. “Three, two, one,” He then said as he pointed to the door.

“Hello, is Sero Hanta here?”A feminine voice said. “ARE YOU A PSYCHIC?” Denki said as he looked surprised. “I’m right here pumpkin!” Sero then said as he smirked. His nervousness melted away as he saw the 5’6ft girl. It was his girlfriend, Eve, and he was overjoyed. “Hey there babe!” She then said as she smiled. “DANG YOU GOT A FINE LADY!” Denki then yelled as he checked her out. “Keep your eyes above for I’ll gorge them out,” Eve then said as she glared at Denki. Soon enough, Mineta tried to touch her as well but his efforts were at vain. Sero used his tape as to stop Mineta from getting closer. And Eve kicked him away, far away from her. “Get your filthy hands away from her,” Sero said as he stood up. He then wrapped his arms around her and kissed her forehead. “Woah, that was so manly!” Kirishima said as he smiled.

“GIRLS! GET HER-“ Mina said as she tackled the girl. They didn’t fall down but Mina was laughing and hugging her. “Girl! How long have you been together?” Mina asked as she pulled away. Eve was a bit uncomfortable but she merely had a stoic face. “A few weeks,” She responded bluntly. And soon enough, the truth or dare session was forgotten. It was replace with the class 1-A trying to pry out the tea from the couple. Did they succeed? No, not really. Though the class seemed to love Eve and her antics. The class even tried to make them forget about the date they have planned. But either way, Sero and Eve got manage to get away to have their small movie date at his room.

───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰*.:｡✧*.｡:｡*.｡✱ ───

Author's note

Hai bb! I'm sorry it took so long. But thanks for requesting again~

[geckolady]

Skulduggery Pleasant: Raising Cain - Chapter 1

Chapter 1 - Meeting the gang

Stephanie is eight years old

Stephanie ran into her Uncle Gordon’s arms for a hug.

“Oof,” he groaned. “You’re getting big Steph.”

“I’m just so awesome,” she said, backing up. “Need more space for it all.”

He laughed as he led her into the house, waving Melissa off. Uncle Gordon looked after Stephanie every weekend and most days after school, and had done since he broke his arm a year ago and found he enjoyed the routine. It was a joke in their family now that Gordon was a second father, especially since her real father, Desmond, passed away when she was little. They got on extremely well, so much so that Melissa couldn’t deny her only child time with the man even though she was unsure of his books and some of his friends. She loved Gordon as a brother, so after a few weeks of begging, she allowed it, even letting her have a week with Gordon while she went on a holiday to Spain with her friends – and Stephanie was happy for her Mum. She deserved time away to be happy. She worked extremely hard. Gordon told her so.

“What are we doing this weekend?” She asked.

“Oh, I have a few ideas. But remember I have to finish my book soon so I’ll have to work too,” he reminded her. That was okay, she had brought her homework and a book with her. For an eight year old, she was bright and unusually quick to answer back – though a lot of her humour went unappreciated by her family and teachers. It was probably also why she didn’t keep friends long, but with Gordon, she could embrace her full self and trade witty remarks without fear of being told off. He even let her swearonce.

They started the morning by taking a drive up to the supermarket and ran around the shop getting everything they wanted. That was followed by ice cream and they returned to Gordon’s house to eat lunch and put away the food. Gordon liked to get work done in the afternoons so they had evenings to have fun again. She was sent to her room to do homework, read or play. She wasn’t allowed to leave the room.

“This house is so big,” he’d say when she asked. “You’ll get lost, I’ll never find you and your mum will have my head.”

So, she never left. It was an amazing room to be fair, and she even had a computer and all the new games and toys she could ever want, and Gordon’s friends would bring little things for her walls and all imaginable surfaces. The newest thing, which she found as soon as she ran in, was sitting on her bed waiting for her. A tiny, tiny charm for her bracelet, made of some smooth stone, in the shape of a heart. She knew who this was from.

There were six of them, she was certain. She kept their things separated so she knew who got her what. She didn’t know their names though, so she gave them some herself.

This person always got her jewellery and pretty things that were every colour but pink. She called him Bear. It was rare to get something from him, but she always felt he really thought about what he got her.

Another person usually got her clothes, shoes, bags, little purses or little toys. Everything always had animals on it and she adored it all. He was called Panda because of her favourite toy, the only gift she had taken home from Gordon’s.

Crow always got her silly things like sticks, rubber bugs, random objects or books that she was confused by. He seemed a little strange, but it was always funny to her when she found his gifts.

Snakie got her pink everything, usually clothes, but they were always cool, like pink camo jackets, pink combat boots, a pink nerf gun with glittery bullets that exploded in gold when she shot them. Though they were pink, and she didn’t like to be a girly girl, she couldn’t help but embrace them with a big grin. She especially liked shooting Gordon with glitter bullets. Sometimes he’d put the nerf gun up high on a shelf so she couldn’t get to it, but she knew she could get it down by standing on the chest of drawers below.

Weasel got her food most of the time, though he did occasionally send her tickets to an event of some type which she went to with Gordon.

Lastly was Wolf, whose gifts she would always take to Gordon to explain and show off. They were always exotic and fun, sometimes an instrument, or a toy, or jewellery. It seemed random, but it was always different and intrigued her. Wolf had inspired her to learn dance, to her mother’s joy, and to find her talent in singing. She hated singing in front of people because they would immediately want her to sing. Still, she enjoyed it, and liked to sing songs with her Mum.

Stephanie did her homework quickly with the stone heart charm in her little fist, and when it was stuffed back into its folder, she attached the charm to her bracelet, putting it on. It was a perfect size and very pretty. Gordon said he’d get her a new bracelet one day, when she was older and bigger. They’d put the charms on that one so she’d get to keep wearing the gifts.

She played with the doll’s house for a while and tried to compete in a chess match against herself. She turned the board for every go but she found herself being biased towards one colour when they started winning. Quickly, she gave up on the others and set them up for death just so she could win. Looking around the crowded room of stuff, she wished she had someone to play with. So, she played her favourite game – imagining she was on an adventure with her friends, with Crow, Bear, Panda, Wolf, Weasel and Snake.

She wasn’t sure why, but soon into the game, she heard a noise from outside the room. It had been a sharp BANG. She went quiet and listened carefully.

Nothing.

If it had been another day, she would have kept playing her game. But Stephanie and her imaginary friends had been playing ‘saviours’, where Stephanie would valiantly save all her friends from certain death, and now she was certain that Gordon needed saving.

She opened the door very, very quietly.

“Gordon?” She whispered. Nothing. “Gordon?” She shouted. Nothing. “GOOORRRDOOOON!” She screamed. Nothing.

It was serious then.

Stephanie bit her lip and left the room, something she had never done in the afternoons before. She knew where the office was, which was where Gordon was, a floor above her. She snuck up the stairs and down the long hallway. She could see from a distance that his door was slightly open and light from the spring sun was filtering through into the hallway. There were murmurs of voices, but she wasn’t sure if they were Gordon’s.

She snuck closer, stepping around the noisy floorboards until she was beside the door. She held her breath and investigated the crack.

She could see Gordon’s desk and there were three chairs in front of it, each of them filled although she couldn’t see their faces. One of them was sitting in front of Gordon, blocking her uncle’s view of her.

“How was your time in India?” Gordon asked suddenly, she could tell he was changing the topic. “Find anything exciting? Any fun stories?”

One of the men snorted. “Nothing at all. I went for a month and I didn’t find a single mercenary matching their description. I just sort of wandered around.”

“You never were the best at finding people though,” another man with a velvety voice said. She’d heard that voice before but had never seen him. “You probably had drinks with them and didn’t realise.”

Gordon and the third man laughed. The first man looked at the second with a scowl and Stephanie got a look at his profile before he turned back to Gordon. He had dark blonde hair and a scruffy beard that wasn’t very long. “How is your book coming along? Am I going to be a hero?”

Suddenly, Stephanie realised Gordon’s new book was about herfriends. Because these men had to be her friends. She started to jig excitedly in place. She really, really wanted to meet them. Who would they be? What did they get her? What other stories did they have? What were their real names?

“It’s going well, thank you,” Gordon said. “And you hardly think I’m going to tell you that, do you?”

One of them barked a laugh. “You’d tell China.”

“Well, that's neither here nor there,” Gordon claimed. “Did you get that information from her by the way? You never said.”

“Yes, I cracked that case a long while ago,” the velvety voice said.

“We spoke about it this morning.”

“Really, the difference between a few hours and a few years is nothing.”

They all laughed at the man and Stephanie giggled accidently. They went quiet and she held her breath. She was going to be caught. Oh no, where could she hide? Think, think…

Gordon opened his study door and Stephanie shut her eyes, so she’d be more hidden. She heard his steps going up and down the hall, looking for her. “Stephanie, where are you? You’re not in trouble.”

Stephanie opened her eyes. Wasn’t she in trouble? She wasn’t sure she believed him, but he couldn’t go back on it now he said it.

Gordon was further up the hall where it split into different halls going to other places. She carefully crawled out from behind the counter-thing she’d squeezed into a moment before and tiptoed into the study.

There, three men looked at her. She grinned and ran behind the desk and sat in Gordon’s big leather chair.

“Good day,” she giggled.

They grinned back. One had his face covered with glasses, scarf and hat, another was the dark blonde man with stubble, and the last was a man with a lot of scars. Stephanie was a little shocked at his appearance but next to the man covering his face she could only assume he was getting off lightly and gave him a bigger smile. Her mum always said to be nice to people no matter what they looked like, and she didn’t want to seem rude.

“You’re my friends,” she whispered. “The ones who keep bringing me things.”

The one with scars laughed deeply. “Yes, I suppose we are.”

“You’re little Stephanie,” the dark blonde one grinned.

“Of course,” she rolled her eyes. She turned to the covered man. “Why are you hidden?”

“I’m sorry?” He questioned.

“Why are you hiding?”

“I’m not. I’m right here.”

“Your face,” she specified, giving him a look of attitude her mother wouldn’t like.

“Well, I have a hideous face,” he said.

“Oh. You’re the one who brings weird things, aren’t you? Why do you do that?” She questioned.

He tilted his head. “I do not. I bring things that will aid your development.”

She frowned at him. “Like plastic bugs?”

He hesitated. “Yes.”

She shook her head. “Who are you?” She asked the other two.

“My name is Ghastly,” the scared one said. “I’m a tailor.”

“I’m Dexter. I’m awesome.”

“So am I,” she grinned. “Do you bring all the different things from everywhere?”

“I suppose so. Do you like them?” He asked.

“I love them! I have everything in my room, you should come see!”

Gordon came into the office then. “Stephanie!”

He looked mad.

“Oh, sorry Uncle Gordon,” she apologised, trying to look sorry. “I forgot you were going to get lost.”

The others tried to smother their laughs.

“I didn’t know where you were. Why did you leave your room?” He asked in a kinder tone.

She shrugged. “You walked right past me, so I came and met my friends. I was going to show Mr Dexter my room. I haven’t even told them my nicknames for them!”

“What’s my nickname?” Wolf – Dexter – asked quickly.

“Wolf,” she grinned excitedly.

Dexter grinned but Gordon shook his head. “Come on, back to your room.”

“What?” She asked, really upset. “But I only just got to meet them! I want to play a game. I want to know where all those things came from, I want Panda to teach me how he makes stuff! I don’t know what being a tailor is yet!”

“No,” Gordon said, picking her up. She was about to start squirming but didn’t want to have a tantrum in front of her friends. That was just embarrassing. “I told you to stay put.”

“I heard a bang. I thought you were alone and hurt. I wanted to help.”

“You don’t have to worry about me,” he said. “Now say goodbye.”

She looked at her three friends with big, tear-filled eyes. When would she see them again? “I want a hug.”

She was let down and she hugged Crow first because he was nearest before hugging Panda in a tight grip, and finally Wolf. “Be good,” he told her, “and we can talk another day.”

She squeezed him tighter. “I’m not leaving He laughed and squeezed her tighter too and started a squeezing competition. “I’ll squish you!” She shouted. “No Gordon! I have to squeeze his butt off!”

Wolf roared in laughter and Gordon finally pried her away. “I love you,” she said, and she was forced from the room trying to see them again.

Gordon shut the door softly and took her back to her room. He sat on her bed and she looked at him from the middle of the room for a moment before sitting beside him.

“Are you upset?” She whispered. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

He sighed. “It’s alright.” He looked at her with a smile, but she could see he was upset. “I was just worried when I couldn’t find you.”

Stephanie gave him a hug. “I love you.”

“I love you too Steph.”

[dhwty-writes]

Gods

Part 5 of my gift for @heyabooboo for @thewitchersecretsanta.

Alright, I lied. I like this chapter just as much as the last. There's a lot of poetry in here, I hope that's your thing! 

Summary: Jaskier has finally reached the garden, but so many questions still remain: Where is Geralt? How will he get them both home? And who the hell is Wade?

Moodboard by the amazing @petrificustotaluss

Warnings: very minor references to depression and truly copious amounts of poetry. You have been warned!

Read on AO3

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7

Jaskier froze mid-movement. “Oh,” he said quietly, relishing in the sound of the familiar voice. ‘Is this a dream?’ he wondered. Well, of course it was, but that was beside the point. Slowly, he turned around. "There you are," he breathed, "Geralt."

The witcher stood before him in all his glory. Or something like that. He looked… weird. Healthy enough for sure, no bandaged broken bones, no bruises, no nothing. But still, his appearance was worrying to say the least. He did not wear any shoes for starters, despite the feet-thick layer of snow in the garden. Somehow, that was the least concerning aspect of his state. No, Jaskier was much more preoccupied with the fact that Geralt's hair was not only loose, but also soft and clean. And the fact that he didn't wear any black. No, he was wearing white of all colours. Long, white robes, and golden jewellery; bracelets and anklets and delicate chains around his neck. It was... pretty, he supposed. Pretty and oh-so-very-wrong.

"I found you," Jaskier whispered, barely believing his eyes. "I actually found you. Oh, Geralt!" He ran and launched himself at his witcher. A delighted little noise escaped him when Geralt actually indulged him for a moment, holding him close, before pushing him away again.

"Jaskier," he said sternly, "what the fuck are you doing here?"

"Looking for you, obviously," he replied, mechanically checking his witcher for injuries. "You didn't think I was going to let you hide here until millennia after my death, did you— Geralt, what are you even wearing?"

"They gave them to me," Geralt grumbled. "They said they wouldn't have me wear anything but the finest silks during my... stay here. They don't want their... priest dressed in rags, they said."

"Their priest?" Jaskier laughed nervously. "Geralt, whatever are you talking about?"

"The deity that governs this realm and keeps me here," he explained and frowned deeply. "Apparently, I am their priest now. They didn't tell me their name, they just said I had to figure it out myself."

Jaskier had to bite his lip to keep from chuckling. Geralt's signature scowl looked a lot more like a positively adorable pout in white robes and silky curling hair. 'Oh, he's cute,' he realised, not for the first time.

"Well, worry not, dear witcher," he tried to reassure him, "for I will get you out of here in no time. I brought some frie-uh." He turned around to where the door had been with the flowers right above it. Nothing. Not even the lark was anywhere to be seen. "They were right here. Where are they?"

The chuckle that crept up to them seemed to come from all sides at once. Jaskier twirled around, in hopes of locating the speaker. "They cannot enter," a velvety voice purred into his ear, "into the centre," a ghostly hand caressed his cheek, "of my domain. Outside they will remain."

The creature rose from the fog curling around their legs a few feet away from them; a slender figure thrice as large as any man made of mist, snow, dim light, and shadows intertwining. An agonised groan spilt from Geralt's mouth as he slowly dropped to his knees, his legs trembling as if he was trying to fight the motion but couldn't help but comply.

"Wade?" Jaskier asked sceptically and ignored Geralt's splutter. Because if that was Wade, the flowers definitely could've warned him; he was not prepared for... that. Jaskier did his best to focus his vision on them—stubborn as always. But it was difficult, to say the least, akin to staring directly at the sun. As if he wasn't supposed to perceive them with his own eyes—which, of course, he wasn't. What mortal can hope to gaze at a god?

None, is the easy answer, obviously. They go mad if they do so too long. But this bard had to be half-mad already, for he couldn’t bring himself to look away. The robes they wore were quite similar to Geralt's, long and white and flowing. Their hair was unbound as well, though much longer than his witcher's, tumbling down to their feet in raven curls and barely concealing the grey mass of their chest; the only part of their body that did not seem to shift, shimmer, shine. In a way they resembled Yennefer with their fine chiselled features and their olive skin. The eyes were different, though, the piercing black of their irises was in no way less frightening.

“Wade, my old pal,” a gruff voice grumbled as the lark sat down on their shoulder. “How’s it hanging?”

They smiled benevolently albeit a bit confused. “It’s… hanging just fine, little friend of mine. How have you been? You’re cheerful, it seems.”

“Cheerful,” they parroted. “Yeah, that’s one way to put it. You see that buffoon there?” All three of them turned to look at him. “A right pain in the arse, he was. Took him ages to figure out your poem.”

"Oh...," he managed, barely keeping his shaking knees in check. He had absolutely no desire to kneel before his best friend's jailer. "You're.... beautiful," he stammered and while that was no ideal response either, he preferred it to the humiliation of kneeling.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Geralt cursed. "Now's not the time, bard."

Jaskier scoffed. As if he didn't know that himself. He had a witty remark ready on the tip of his tongue, but Wade was faster than him: "Be still, my dear, I'm greeting here a friend, it seems, who himself a flower deems."

"I do not deem, I named myself!" Jaskier replied, outraged. "Besides, would I be here if I were a flower? I've heard they are not welcome."

"Oh, and clever he is, too." A smile curled around their lips as they crouched down to get to Jaskier's eye level. "Who knew? It seems you have brought me quite a treat, priest. You should have told me, at least."

"Ngh," Geralt said, a pleading look in his eyes, looking back and forth between Jaskier and Wade. He could see the muscles of his jaw working, just like with Stregobor earlier. As if someone had willed him to shut up.

Rage boiled in Jaskier's stomach. "He did not bring me, for I belong to myself. As he does, for the record. He’s a person, and my friend, and I do not appreciate how you treat him."

"Silly mortal," Wade laughed and stood up straight, "he does not. He is mine to pay for the agony he brought."

"Pain? What pain? Stop speaking in riddles."

"Start listening instead, the answer's clear," Wade contested and straightened themself again. "There's a lovely home I had, but along came our witcher here. I did neither bad nor good, just dreams, not that he understood. He drew his sword and it brought war. So now he has to pay. He will stay."

"A drawn blade is hardly a war," Jaskier disagreed. "A lost home is hardly agony."

"Of course, you're too blind to see. It's not just a home I lost; there was a much higher cost."

He gnawed on his lip, waiting for Wade to elaborate. They didn't. The denizens of this strange world were not exactly forthcoming with information, much to Jaskier's chagrin. Well, in that case he had to be the direct one. Fancy that. "I have come to bring him home. Name the cost, I'll pay it in full."

Wade laughed, again, and for the first time Geralt spoke, too. "No!" he roared, " attempting to rise from his knees, but evidently held back by some invisible restraints. "No, Jaskier, you mustn't. I chose this fate for mys-"

"Then you chose wrong!" Jaskier howled, seething with anger. "How could you?” he accused him. “There are people waiting for you. People who need you." The witcher kept infuriatingly silent. "Why?" he asked, his lower lip quivering dangerously. He was not about to cry, definitely not, but it was a close call. "Why on earth would you do this to us? To yourself?"

"They wanted an immortal priest," Geralt said simply.

The deity hummed at that, combing their fingers through Geralt's hair. "It's true. I keep him here for his immortality. A priest who won't leave my side."

"You're immortal?"

He shrugged. "Immortal enough. Still have a couple of centuries to go, a couple of millennia with their help. I had no choice. It was me or..."

Ciri. Yennefer. Yes, Jaskier could see how a Child of Elder Blood or a sorceress might be a fitting replacement for someone as long-lived as Geralt. And of course, he hadn't wanted to jeopardise their safety. Of course, he'd preferred to stay himself. He loved them after all.

His eyelids fluttered shut. 'And I love Geralt.' He couldn't leave him to this fate. He couldn't— He couldn't. He had to get him out of there. 'Whatever the cost.'

"I see," he whispered and turned to Wade. "I suppose my soul would be no fitting— Hang on a moment." This whole looking up to the deity thing wasn't really doing it for him. That caused horrible cricks in the neck; netherworld or not, he sure as hell didn't want to deal with that. Once he had grown in size to match the god, he continued: "I suppose my soul would be no fitting recompense?"

The deity blinked at him in surprise but nothing beat Geralt's look on his face: "Did you- did you just grow yourself?" the witcher spluttered.

"Of course, I did," Jaskier replied, just as confused as the other two. "Didn't you know that anything is possible here?" Those were the rules of the netherworld, right? He could do whatever he could imagine. Right?

After a beat of silence, Wade laughed. "I see you are divine, too," they said delightedly. "Lucky me, that makes us two!"

"What?" Jaskier spluttered. "That's nonsense! I am no god, just a man."

"Just a man? I know none of my children's blood flows through your veins, but you're a poet, it's the same. Still, there must be more to you."

"There is not," he insisted.

"No elf, no fae?"

"No."

"No treachery at play?"

"If I say so."

"And what, man, is it that you brought here?"

"A lute."

"Why? Is it for me to hear?"

"It's for me to play."

"You say there's no fae blood in you; with my eyes I see it's true. And yet, you speak as they do."

Jaskier scoffed. He had quite enough of that Wade's antics already. "I speak as I see fit. And I would appreciate it, for you to let us go."

They tilted their head to their side. "Interesting."

They blinked. 

The world shifted around him and Jaskier felt the sudden urge to puke.

He had regained his composure just fast enough to see Wade take a seat on a towering stone throne, Geralt kneeling at his side. Another blink and a similar, though much smaller chair appeared right beneath Jaskier's behind. "You're not afraid of me," Wade noted.

"Why should I be?"

"Because I am a god. Because you're a coward and a fool. Because I made your friend my tool." They smiled viciously. "In case you forgot."

"I did not. But if I'm a coward and a fool, so are you. You imagined this garden, too. I cannot be found."

"I grew this garden from barren ground, do not teach me about its laws," they snarled. "You're bathetic, flower, more than I ever was."

"Are we here to talk or to insult each other?" Jaskier laughed. "I'm Oxenfurt studied and trained, prat, why do you even bother? Smear poems are my bread and butter."

"A brat is what you are, the worst I've met so far. So, here's a tip for you: do not bite off more than you can chew."

He crossed his arms defiantly and risked a glance down at Geralt. The witcher was following their conversation with a deep frown, his eyes flicking back and forth between them. For just a moment he wondered how many quick-witted rhymes ago they had lost him. Still, he had a mission: "I did not come here to trade puny slander, let us not meander. I want a bargain. And I will not ask again."

Wade looked at him bemusedly for a moment, then they threw their head back and roared with laughter. "You've got guts, I'd hate to see them spilt. I like your little threats. You want to bargain before you wilt? Let's."

With a flick of their wrist, the air around Geralt flickered as he was pushed further away. Jaskier could see the invisible walls rising around him, could see the horror on Geralt's face, see him scrambling to his feet, banging on the barriers with both his fists and inaudible shouts. "I'm sorry," Jaskier whispered. 'I'm not,' he knew.

A sly smile spread on the deity's face as they leaned on the armrest and rested their chin in their palm. "Go on," they invited him with a grand gesture. "Talk."

"I already told you," Jaskier sighed, exhaustion showing plain on his face. "I ask you to let him go."

"And why should I do so?"

"Please," he begged, "name a cost. I'll replace what you have lost."

"Hm," they said contemplatively, thrumming their fingers against their cheek as they stared off into the distance. Suddenly, their gaze focused on him again, the expression on their face softening. "You love him," they said gently. Still, it felt like a slap in the face.

Jaskier nodded shakily.

"You might be a coward and a fool, yet you achieved what few can do. You prevailed where many fell, shouldering your burden, and his as well. Aren't you exhausted, dear? You could stay here, the both of you. I'd take good care of you."

He shook his head defiantly. "I'd rather have you take care of me alone and let him return to those he loves."

The deity laughed. "How do you wield words so prettily if you are too blind to see what's right in front of your nose? I can do only one of those."

Jaskier frowned, not understanding. "What—"

The deity paid him no heed and kept on talking: "From god to god, I have a bargain for you, man, listen closely to what I say: win my game, and you both walk free. Lose, and you belong to me." They spread their arms wide. "What's your answer, then? Aye or nay?"

Jaskier looked at them, studying their face as closely as he could. 'That sounds almost too good to be true.' Still, there was no trace of betrayal or deceit. "If I lose, only I belong to you?" he made sure.

"That is true."

"You're asking what I choose, at a game I cannot lose?" He laughed hoarsely. "I say deal."

"A handshake's the seal." Jaskier grabbed the offered hand and they grinned widely, dangerously. "May the better dreamer win."

Jaskier returned the grin that was almost a snarl. "Let's begin."

"He should listen, too, I think," the deity said and Jaskier nodded. 

With a flick of their wrist, the walls around Geralt shattered and a roaring scream rolled over them: "Let him go! No, Jaskier, this is madness."

He stood and turned to him with a bow and a sad smile. "I have won your freedom already," he explained quietly, "that is all I came here to do. Now, please, dear, be quiet, so I can barter for mine."

"Aren't you two divine?" the deity cooed.

"Do not worry about our divinity," Jaskier told them sharply. "Worry about me."

They snorted disbelievingly and crossed their arms in front of their chest.

Jaskier imitated him. "So," he challenged, "what are we playing?"

"Ah, my dear flower, you're in for a treat," they purred and rose to their feet, still looming over Jaskier, "for you've met your rival you cannot beat. Welcome!" They bowed down to him. "To the Game of Fools. Here are the rules: One!"

A giant engraved stone slab slammed into the ground a few feet from the ground. "I start with a song. And you respond. It has to be your own, one that is just yours alone. Two!"

A second slab joined the first. "You must not speak out of turn. The speaking time is earned. Three!"

A third slab. "You cannot utter a single word that's already been heard. A song already sung does not belong." They whirled around to him. "Understood?"

"Yes."

"Good." They bowed with a deep flourish. "With these rules, I'm sure you'll complete your goal."

Wait, what? Jaskier's head snapped up. "Goal?!" his voice was shriller than he had intended to. "What goal?"

"Listen closely and you'll see. Tell me, where else the fun would be." They flashed him a bright smile and said jovially: "I start. Take a seat and listen close. And if you're not quite as verbose, well," they chuckled, "don't take it too hard."

Jaskier scoffed, unable to resist the sudden urge to kneel in the snow next to Geralt. He was about to tell them that they obviously had no idea who they were dealing with. Not quite as verbose? 'I am Jaskier of Oxenfurt, Viscount to Lettenhove. I have written more songs and poems in thirty years than most poets do in their whole life. Not quite as verbose my ass.' But something told him that breaking the second rule already would end badly for him.

"Jaskier," Geralt hissed leaning over to him. Had he grown too? Or had they shrunken? A quick glance around told him that the latter was the case, the thrones looming up over the three of them impossibly tall. "Jaskier!" he hissed again.

"Shush," he answered. The deity was about to begin with their song, Jaskier couldn't risk missing it.

Still, the witcher was persistent. "Do you really think this is a good idea? Didn't you hear them? You cannot beat them."

He closed his eyes praying for patience. 'I know all of that,' he thought bitterly, 'and this is not really confidence-instilling.'

Thankfully, Wade began their performance, thus keeping Geralt from any other stupid comments:

"Men die, it’s true, but so do Sounds.

And when they do, there’s no

Formality, no-one around.

No-one will watch them go."

They had already reached the end of the first stanza when Jaskier realised belatedly that he probably should be counting syllables and lines and rhymes. 'Shit,' he cursed silently. 'So much for a good start.'

"A Sound, it dies with no last song,

No elegy or chant.

A final sigh and then it’s gone.

With efforts Men are scant.

 A Sound dies with reminiscence,

Remembrance dies with God,

A God’s death is with reverence,

A Prayer’s death’s in naught.

 In Nothingness all endings lie

When no-one’s left to dream

With the Last Poet Earth will die

The Last to write its theme.

 Men die, it’s true, but so do Gods.

From mortals they all stem.

Finds one a Priest against all odds,

It’s a new life for them."

Wade finished with a flourish and looked at him expectantly. "Well?" they asked, entirely too smug and self-satisfied for Jaskier's liking. "What do you say, flower, poet, bard? I hope this first challenge isn't too hard?"

"Too hard?" Jaskier scoffed. "What do you take me for, an amateur?"

They hummed with a smirk that betrayed that, yes, that was exactly what they took him for. 'The audacity!' Jaskier would teach them— He wanted to get up, but Geralt caught him by the wrist. "Jaskier, are you sure?"

He snorted. "Please, Geralt, apparently we're doing elegies!" Of all poetic forms to choose from, they had elected the most dull, uninspired, and ordinary of them all. With a common metre at that! He hadn't done that since his pre-Oxenfurt days! "It's as if they're trying to bore me."

"Or bait you," he warned. "Don't fall for it, bard. You're too smart for that."

"Why, Geralt, is that a compliment?" he trilled. "I never thought I'd see the day."

He huffed with feigned annoyance that hadn't fooled Jaskier for decades. 

"Don't worry about it, I know just the one. And rest assured that it is a greater work of art than that." He gestured vaguely into the deity's general direction.

"Silly mortal," Wade chided. "The true dreamer is not who crafts art of the dramatic but of the mundane. It's your turn."

He rolled his eyes. "Yes, yes, alright. You want to hear an elegy, too?"

"Are you trying to tell me you don't have one prepared?" They leaned forward with a sly smile. "Do not insult me, Jaskier."

"I wouldn't dream of it," he ribbed, and walked over to take their place.

He took a deep breath. They were right, of course, he had an elegy prepared. It hadn't started out like that; the first stanza had come to him many years ago. But then it had just kept growing. The thing was— He glanced over to Geralt, who looked at him intently. The thing was, that his witcher was not meant to ever hear it.

He wet his lips with his tongue. Nothing to be done about that now; so, he started reciting:

"In my time I have known a host of men;

Great kings and knights who met a tragic end.

And yet not one of them was greater than

Geralt of Rivia, my beloved friend."

He kept his eyes trained firmly on the ground; he couldn't bear to face Geralt now. Still, he felt his eyes burning on his skin. Jaskier felt naked all over again, even though he was still wearing clothes. It was almost worse.

"The core of men is shift and change.

He faced and braved the Trials and Trail.

For that men called him monster, mutant, strange,

A butcher, a witcher, a hero to hail."

He could hear the nigh silent gasp that escaped Geralt and his eyes snapped up involuntarily. He expected to see Geralt offended, outraged even. Instead, he just looked confused.

"For two decades I journeyed at his side,

A fragment of the century he’s seen.

No words can illustrate this witcher’s might;

He’s the most noble knight there’s ever been.

 He was not known to be a man of words,

His Path, it was a lonely road to walk.

And yet he did speak, even jest of sorts,

'twas his hands, his deeds, his eyes that did the talk."

Jaskier closed his eyes and allowed himself to get lost in the words he spoke into existence. It felt like flying. It felt like floating.

"His pride’s his unrelenting amity,

His light a guiding star to follow

For us, his pack, his friends, his family;

Alone without him we are left hollow."

He ended his poem with a tiny gasp, just as it was meant to be. He gnawed on his lip. It felt... wrong. Unfinished.

He did not know what it was that kept him talking, nor did he know where the words came from. Suddenly, they were there as if he'd always known them. Maybe he had.

"Was it just him who fell? Or did we both

That morn find our demise in that chateau?" he whispered, his words scarcely more than a breath. As if he wasn't quite sure if they were meant to be heard.

"For, though by chance, our strings of fate were tied

He's gone, and I am dead with all my woe."

When Jaskier looked up again, all he saw were two wide golden eyes, staring at him in shock. He suddenly felt the need to throw up. "I'm sorry," he wailed. "I'm sorry, Geralt, I shouldn't have—"

"No," the witcher interrupted him and evaded his gaze. "'S good." Jaskier scowled. Was he... blushing? That couldn't be, surely. Witchers couldn't blush, Geralt had told him so himself. Surely, he had seen wrong. Surely, a quirk of the netherworld.

"You have done well," the deity decreed. "You truly are a poet, I can tell. There were worse foes I have faced. Yet, such a simple deed shan't be overly praised. Another test is due. A sonnet, is that something you can do?"

Jaskier scoffed and crossed his arms. "Honestly, Wade, do you even know what Oxenfurt is? I have read and interpreted sonnets until my eyes bled. I could write one in my sleep."

They raised their eyebrows. "Then what are you waiting for?"

"I thought you would go first," he said warily. He might not understand much about this world, but he was an expert on tales and fables, and if there was one thing, they all agreed upon, it was that you did not, under any circumstances, break the rules of a contract with a supernatural being. Circumvent them via rather liberal interpretations? Sure. Break them? Not in a thousand years. "You said so yourself."

"I said it before, I'll say it once more: you're a clever one." They snapped their fingers and Jaskier watched the rule rearrange themselves on the stone slab. "There, it's gone. Now let's continue with the fun," they clapped their hands excitedly. "Carry on."

"Alright, alright," he muttered and tugged at the collar of his doublet. A sonnet they had said? That was not an easy choice. Not for lack of suitable poems, of course. Rather the opposite was the case.

As much as he hated the rigid rules Oxenfurt had—quite literally—beaten into him, he had to admit that he had a... certain fondness for the sonnet. Alright, that was an understatement. He loved sonnets, loved the challenge to tell a story in fourteen short verses. He had written dozens, hundreds, myriads, only a fragment of which had even seen the light of day.

While he rejected Valdo Marx' notion that he was "pandering to the tastes of the masses" and thus produced inferior lyrics, there was at least some truth to it. Even he couldn't deny that his jaunty jigs and breezy ballads were much better received than poems that relied on finer nuances than raucous bawling. Such as sonnets, for example.

And while he had a travel companion for most of the time, Geralt had no sense for literature either. To him, a ballad sounded just like any other, and after one pitiful attempt from his part to try and introduce his witcher to lyrics without any music that had ended in Geralt rolling around on the floor howling with laughter, Jaskier had decided to postpone the re-introduction. Into the far, far future. 

But all of that still didn’t keep him from writing his poems. Nothing in this world or any other could. That was precisely why he wrote them at all, because he was so full of words that threatened to spill over and ruin everything. They had to go somewhere.

Long story short, there were about two dozen notebooks collecting dust in some Oxenfurt archive filled with sonnets about a certain witcher, that would never be read by anyone but a sentimental, foolish bard who had tried and failed to process his desperate yearning in poetry. But which should he choose?

"What is it, flower?" Wade asked, their hand in Geralt's hair again. He wished it would fall off. The deity just laughed. "That's beyond your power. You are just here to recite a poem. Go on."

Jaskier bared his teeth at him and launched into the first sonnet that came to his mind:

"A witcher is most valiant a knight

He’s armed with silver, magic, and with steel.

He faces any monster without fright

For conscience’s sake and not just for the deal."

It wasn't his best, probably, but it had to do. With every unbidden touch, every condescending word, his anger grew more. His anger and his determination to get Geralt out of there as soon as possible.

"A witcher is a gruesome fiend and vile;

No mercy left in his mutated heart.

He bathes in virgin blood and monster bile,

Nothing that sets his kind and prey apart.

 So, now you ask which of my tales is true.

The answer’s plain, my friend, they all are lies.

With words and tales bards build the world anew,

But life’s no simple sketch in blacks and whites.

 A witcher is the commonest of men;

We all are beasts and saints in fortune’s plan."

Wade only nodded thoughtfully. "A beautiful work," they decreed, "and seldom have I heard one that held more truth. You're wise, despite your youth."

"I am not so youthful for a man," he admitted sheepishly. "Nor am I wise. I have just seen much of the world."

"Do not sell yourself short," they chided and strode over to take his place, "we all know you're not the humble sort. With your tongue as sharp as a dagger you like to brag and swagger. Let's see if it serves you well. I've got my own poem to tell."

Jaskier ducked his head to hide his smile as he sat down next to Geralt. 'Pity,' he thought. 'Had we met under another circumstance I might've even liked them.' Alas, they had not, and so Jaskier was morally obligated to despise every word that spilt from their mouth. 'Just like the good old Oxenfurt days.'

If only it were a task as easily completed now as back then. The problem was, however, that Wade was good. They were a good performer, for a start, one who you couldn't help but follow with your eyes. Their voice was loud and clear, rising and falling at just the right parts. And the poetry. Gods, the poetry. It was just out of this realm.

"Illusion, vision, vagary; the style

Is not what makes the dream a lovely thing.

Instead, it’s joy, it’s freedom, it’s a smile.

But still does reverie deep sorrow bring."

Jaskier wanted to hate the poem. He really did. But how could he when his heart ached with every word, when his eyes filled with tears, when he found himself mouthing along to the words to remember them, recite them himself in the future? He just couldn't.

"The terrors of the night most humans fear;

They pray, they beg, they curse to no avail,

They toss, they turn, they scream for all to hear,

They try to fight and cannot help but fail.

 What makes a dream celestial and sweet?

What makes a nightmare grievous, ghastly, grim?

All fantasy grows from the unchanged seed,

Each one alike, the former’s perfect twin.

 Are all the dreamers blind? It is a shame,

Not one sees that both are one and the same."

Jaskier was clapping before he knew what was happening and Wade bowed graciously. "Jaskier," Geralt hissed sharply.

"What?" he replied innocently. "It was a good performance," he insisted. "I won't forget my manners just because I am fighting for my life."

"Thank you kindly," they said with a smile. "I truly am glad that it is to your liking. It's been a long time since I had not only an audience, but found myself among friends."

"We are not friends," Geralt growled. "Neither he nor I want to be here."

Their face fell. "And yet you both sought me out. That can't be my fault, no doubt."

"Just get on with the song!" the witcher grumbled.

"Oh, Geralt, I'm so proud of you," they purred, "you're already rhyming, too!"

He huffed an annoyed breath and scooted closer to Jaskier, leaning against his side. "You know," he whispered, "they've got a point."

"Shut up," he grunted, his pout appearing again. After a moment the witcher groped around on the floor until he found Jaskier's hand. He held on tight and Jaskier almost didn't hear his confession: "I missed you. And I'm glad you're here."

Jaskier's throat tightened, and, oh, apparently the clear skies rained salt water in the netherworld. "You're—" He cleared his throat. "You're welcome," he managed without sounding too much like he was crying. Which he wasn't, for the record. Crying, that was. Nope, definitely not, not him.

Geralt squeezed his hand, and Jaskier really would have loved to continue this conversation, but Wade was talking again: "One last round, bard, one last chance to complete your task. I hope that's not too much to ask?"

"Some task that is," he huffed. "I don't even know what I have to do!" They didn't even dignify that with an answer and he sighed. "I do not have a choice, do I?"

"Do you still insist to leave with him?"

"I do."

"Then you have to win."

"I will. Name your challenge, Wade, I will meet it."

"So be it," they bowed their head. "For the last round let us compete with poetry at its most complete, most accomplished form: a ballad."

"Of course," he muttered. After a short moment he added, because he couldn't resist: "And what might satisfy your noble palate?"

"A ballad, bard, and both of you can go. A ballad to—" They faltered. "A ballad. One that comes from you."

Jaskier eyed them warily, but nothing in their face betrayed that they had just stumbled over their words. Well, it could happen to the best of them. Carefully weighing his words, he said: "That I can do." He made an inviting gesture. "After you."

"If you wish so," they extended their arms and a lute appeared out of thin air. For a few moments, the garden was completely silent, both him and Geralt waiting with bated breath. Then, they began to sing: 

"There once was a maid as fair as summer sun

She loved to dance to the bards’ songs.

She loved to laugh, play, ride, and over hills run.

Her kindness’s famed in all kingdoms."

Jaskier gulped. The verses were joyful enough, but he knew enough about the art of ballads that he realised with the first string being plucked that this song would make him cry again. It was a heart-wrenchingly beautiful melody that made pure adoration mingle with bitter jealousy in his mouth. He knew whatever he wrote in the future, it could never be as good as what he was just listening to.

"Though her laugh was bright there was something she missed.

A part of her heart beyond gates.

So, one day she ran away into the wilderness.

Her fortune, a gift to the fates.

 This is the poor dreamer’s lament

A story of freedom, found fortune, and woe.

This is how the maid’s fable went:

She got what she craved, but was sad even so."

He gnawed on his lower lip, not daring to even glance sideways at Geralt. This was a sentiment he understood only too well. 'And yet,' he thought, 'here we are.'

"The maid wandered aimlessly through the lands,

Wherever her heart’s wish led her.

She was free though many knights asked for her hand

She said: “Thank you, but no, my good Sir.”

 In the end the maid’s heart led her to a garden

Filled with daisies, roses, and more.

The Gods told her: “You’re now its patron and warden.”

She dreamt it more grand than before.

 This is the poor dreamer’s lament

A story of freedom, found fortune, and woe.

This is how the maid’s fable went:

She got what she craved, but was sad even so.

 Though beauty surrounds her, no flower’ll replace

The joy that comes with humankind.

In her lonely garden she longs for an embrace

And all that she left behind.

 She is forced to wait until the end of time,

Alone she grows still on her throne.

All the while waiting for the gentlest rhyme,

The dream to melt a heart of stone.

 This is the poor dreamer’s lament

A story of freedom, found fortune, and woe.

This is how the maid’s fable went:

She got what she craved, but was sad even so."

Jaskier's breath hitched as the last note faded out, only for the deity to pluck at the strings again:

"This is my pathetic lament;

I got what I craved, but am sad even so."

His mouth formed a silent 'O' as he saw that the deity's cheeks were just as glistening with tears as his own had to be. Before his mind could even follow up, he was already on his feet, only held back by Geralt's iron grip on his wrist.

"Jaskier," he said, softer than he ever had, softer than he had any right to.

"Yes?" he breathed.

"I believe in you." And with that the anchor tethering him to his witcher's side was gone and he stood in front of the deity.

"Did you like my song?" they asked, almost hopefully.

Jaskier envied them for their dry-dreamt cheeks. "I did. I—" Slowly, he extended his hand and put it on their arm. It hurt. It hurt so much, so much worse than the trials, so much— 'This is it,' he thought, 'This is how I die.' Still, he didn't let go. "I'm sorry," he gritted out, "no-one deserves to be lonely."

They stared at him with wide eyes and jerked back suddenly. "Sing your song," they commanded.

He blinked.

There was a lute in his hands and the pressing urge to sing building in his gut. This time, Jaskier didn't really have a choice. He could count the number of his ballads that no-one had ever heard on one hand, and, well, there was a reason why they only existed in the privacy of his head. Either they weren't finished yet, or— Or.

Truly, he had no choice at all. A work in progress had to do, then. He took a deep breath and started to sing:

“Peace in our lands is of short-lived supply,

Soldiers and monsters both make children cry.

That’s why the gods let the witchers be born;

Demons they slay in foul and human form.

 Geralt of Rivia, the noblest of all

Will slay the basilisk haunting your hall.

Good folk of Aedirn, you asked for his aid,

Lo and behold, the White Wolf brought his blade.

 Armed with a mirror he evaded the the glare,

The fangs and the maw, he would not die.

Although the witcher did not need to beware.

He’s sculpted like granite, he cannot petrify. ”

Jaskier faltered. ‘Ah,’ he thought as he blushed furiously. ‘Right, I hadn’t edited that yet.’ He winced, expanding his interlude. Well, the child had fallen into the well already, he could also follow through now: 

“The White Wolf did not wait, he took the risk,

He set out to slay the vile basilisk.

Quickly, the White Wolf put an end to this farce

With his swords, signs, and his great muscled... arms.”

 Jaskier winced. Not what he had scribbled down drunkenly during the victory celebrations afterwards, but he sure as hell wouldn’t praise his best friend’s behind in front of some deity and Geralt himself. Contrary to popular belief, he did have some dignity.

His silver blade slashed through the vicious beast,

His silver hair’s just as glorious at least.

The basilisk knew its demise was nigh.

Both of us vanquished with the flex of a thigh.

 Armed with a mirror he evaded the the glare,

The fangs and the maw, he would not die.

Although the witcher did not need to beware.

He’s sculpted like granite, he cannot petrify. 

 Armed with a mirror he evaded the the glare,

The fangs and the maw, he would not die.

Although the witcher did not need to beware.

He’s sculpted like granite, he cannot petrify. ”

 The last notes of his ballad faded away. He already dreaded the conversation with Geralt to come, barely raising his gaze when he turned to him. 

He blinked.

The deity loomed over him thrice as tall as any man, shadows, mist and snow swirling. "You cheated," they growled like roaring thunder.

This time, Jaskier couldn't resist the need to drop to his knees. "No," he whimpered. "No, please, I didn't!"

That, however, didn't satisfy them. "That was not your ballad," they growled. Blinding white lightning flared right around the still unmoving grey area of their chest.

He whimpered and ducked his head. "Yes, it was," he tried to defend himself. "I wrote every note and line myself."

"It was not your right ballad," they insisted. "You cheated. You lost."

Thunder roared. Lightning flared.

He blinked.

[everythingoesnk]

Once in Rockfield Farm (1/5)

summary; you own Rockfield Farm and your bf Mary Austin asks you if you can help her friends with an enormous favour that will lead to a much bigger unprecedented change into your life. Thanks to a cute guy specifically.

word count; 6 126

disclaimers, PLEASE read them; don’t forget this is fiction. i’m using queen‘s 70s era as a base for the story but it won’t be historically accurate. the song mentioned towards the end of the chapter is from Taylor Swift, i don’t claim those lyrics as mine. sorry in advance if u find a f*cked up grammar mistake or whatever. feedback would mean everything, it’s the first time i’m posting something i’ve written it feels like i’m giving birth looool

warnings; minor violence at some point and mention of abuse

********

Mary didn’t stop until she convinced you to give green light to her proposal.

She called it like that, but it seemed more like an order. Both of you knew she wouldn’t let it pass until you agreed to.

Taken aback, you refused at first.

The idea of four strangers living in your house, coexisting with you in the only safe space you knew, wasn’t appealing whatsoever.

Even though all they needed was a studio to record, they’d have to stay until the album was finished. They could afford to rent a proper one, but Mary made it quite clear that getting out of town was crucial to avoid possible distractions.

You’d been fired from your job because the restaurant bankrupted, so the money they were going to pay for rent was welcomed.

Your grandfather passed Rockfield Farm on to you when he died.

It was a lovely place full of good memories, mainly concerning hours on end together in the studio he built in the attic throughout the years. The relationship you had with him had always been special, but ever since your nana passed away at the age of 70, your bond became stronger.

He also wasn’t there anymore, and you tried not to think too much about it, just were glad that you met someone like him. He was the main reason you loved making music so much.

Sadly, as you grew up, although your talent for writing songs and producing music was undeniable, you realized you needed to be realistic and pursue a more down-to-earth career.

Medicine was another thing you were slightly attracted to, it wasn’t your passion but it would have to do.

The music business was too complex and difficult to get in, and wasting your time wasn’t on your plans. It’s not like you were a prodigy or a diamond in the rough, anyway. That was your honest opinion.

But now and then you’d succumb and compose. It was an effective way to forget about the rest of the world and vent whenever something would make you sad, grumpy, anxious, angry… Rarely did you write about happy feelings.

What’s the fun in claiming how fulfilled you are with your life? Which you weren’t, but still.

Ballads and songs that’d leave you with your heart aching on the floor were your daily bread.

Mary was the only one allowed to hear your little creations. She’d try to get you to show them to the world, to step out of the comfort zone and perform them in public, to rush out of those same four walls.

You were quick to brush her comments off every time, content with her and your dog being the only ones to get to listen to your babies.

“How long they’re going to take?” you asked using a fake uninterested tone, pretending not to care whether they needed weeks, months or a year.

The truth was that you wished for the album to be done quite fast.

“Who knows,” Mary said. “When the album’s finished I’m the first to know, but in the meantime Freddie won’t give me any clues”

You nodded, unsatisfied with the answer.

“Thanks for agreeing to this. I owe you big” her eyes found yours and yours softened.

“If anything it’s them who do, don’t you think?”

Mary grinned and offered to cook something for tonight’s dinner.

She left you alone with your molecular pathology notes resting on your lap.

It was your last year in University, thank the Lord. One last effort and you would be a doctor.

After memorizing various concepts you found yourself staring at the horizon wondering how was Freddie Mercury like.

Obviously because of Mary you sort of formed this idea of him, but hadn’t had a face to face yet. About the other Queen members… yeah, Mary mentioned them sometimes, vaguely: she described John as a nice fella to have around, Brian as the only one with common sense, and last but not least, when it came to Roger’s personality, she told you hesitantly to judge him yourself.

You thanked her when she handed you the pen you forgot inside.

Mary gave you an encouraging smile, placing her hand on your shoulder and squeezing it.

As soon as she turned around to go back inside, you called her name, squinting your eyes to try and get a better sight of the vehicle that kept getting closer to your property.

“What?”

When she spotted the van she sighed happily.

“Finally”

Mary ran to wait for them in the parking area. She was over the moon, clapping and waving effusively to welcome them.

“Are you coming or not?” Mary shouted, gesturing you to go and stand next to her.

You took your time to get up from sitting upon the grass and do just that.

Not a single second since they pulled over went by and Mary was already imprisoning Freddie in her arms.

You chuckled, completely sure he would be dead in a matter of seconds if she wouldn’t loose her grip.

He lovingly wrapped her in his and stroked her hair.

All of a sudden, running from the backyard where he usually played in the mud (this time was no different), your dog appeared on scene. You asked him to remain quiet and by your side, which to your dismay he did not obey.

He went and greeted Queen, who pushed him away with no bad intentions, they just didn’t want to get dirt on their trousers.

John, nevertheless, got on his knees and began patting him. It did not take long for him to regret it when Sherlock seemed to be captivated by his face, licking it non-stop.

You cleared your throat. It would be nice of Mary to introduce you, being the one who organized this whole of a mess in the first place.

Apparently she read your mind. The next thing she did was link arms with you.

“This is (Y/N)” she spoke. “Freddie, come here”

“You have no idea how happy I am to finally meet you”

Freddie gave you two sweet kisses, one on each cheek.

“Same here” you nodded and mirrored his smile when you saw it reached his eyes.

In a heartbeat you were fascinated by him.

There was this intriguing strong aura he projected that made you feel like you were in the presence of someone from the royalty, someone important.

Freddie examined you from head to toe and fell in love immediately with your outfit, a pastel blue dress with tiny sunflowers printed all over it. He did spot your exposed feet and smiled pleasedly at your choice of painting your toenails with the colours of the rainbow.

“Boys, don’t be rude and come say hi” he gestured his bandmates, who were taking a rapid glimpse of their new temporary home, and stepped aside.

“Nice to meet you, I’m Brian”

“Nice to meet you too” you kindly responded, shaking his hand.

“Thank you very much for allowing us to record our album here. If we win a Grammy expect you to be the first one we address in the speech” he joked, face beaming with a heavenly smile.

Damn, you were so soft for him already. And you wanted to touch his curls.

“You’re welcome, Brian”

“Yes, we’re endlessly grateful” another gentle voice joined the conversation.

John stood now in front of you.

“Hi, I’m John Deacon”

“I know” you laughed, tilting your head to the side. “I hope your stay here is… productive”

“I hope so too” he smiled big, and it made your heart melt. He was so cute.

Roger was next.

He was wearing a black leather jacket that fit him like a glove. One silver bracelet hugging his right wrist, matching the necklace around the neck. What caught your attention the most was the glittery rosy shoes, though. He had long blond messy hair (like the others, except the colour part), and prominent sideburns.

They looked ridiculous, you thought, although every second you spent contemplating his face the less they bothered you.

He was gorgeous, what the hell?

You got somehow a little nervous.

“Productive it shall be. I’m Roger” he spoke, referring your words from before. He took your hand and held it to his lips. “We’ve come to the right place, guys. With such a pretty face like hers we’ll never run out of inspiration” he snorted when he heard John face-palming himself.

You raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.

Sure Roger didn’t mean that at all, it was just his constant flirty mood Mary warned you about taking over him, you reasoned.

“Don’t get it started, Rog. We don’t want her to kick us out the very first day” Brian scolded him like a father would his children.

Roger laughed, his silly expression never fading away, and soon he was again observing you.

“I was joking, I’m sorry if it made you uncomfortable,” he said, taking some of the heat out.

“It didn’t,” you said back, confident.

You followed the others when they headed to the house carrying their respective suitcases with Mary as the leader.

Roger was fast to grab his and catch up with you.

“You live alone?”

“I have Sherlock”

He was still in ecstasy, trying to get everyone’s attention.

“That’s it?”

“That’s it” you shrugged. “It’s not as tragic as it sounds. I enjoy my own company”

“Oh. Anyway. This is a farm, right? You do all the, huh… you know, farm work on your own?” he looked around, scanning a bit the surroundings. He pointed with his chin at one big rooster. “The guardian of the house, eh?”

You let out a vague chuckle that made Roger proud, already eager to make you like him.

The reason was obvious: you were so eyecatching he almost tripped when he missed one of Sherlock’s toys on one of the porch steps, too engrossed in how the sun made the freckles in your face stand out.

“My grandfather baptized this piece of land as Rockfield Farm, but it hasn’t been a proper farm for years. Now it’s just… my house”

“You know,” he began, digging deep around his mind to come up with something so the conversation wouldn’t end, “years ago I had this summer job in a much more immense place than this. I had to watch over 200 sheep every day”

“Was it as entertaining as it sounds?”

“Clearly not”

Roger extended his hand to stop the door from closing after John came in. He motioned you to go first and winked, but you didn’t notice the last part, which slightly bothered him.

“(Y/N), this place is precious!” you heard Freddie praise.

Mary interrupted you before you could thank him.

“Then you sure are going to love the studio even more! C’mon”

//

“How did your grandfather manage to get this studio together? It’s pretty impressive” Brian enthusiastically asked, taking a small sip of tea.

The six of you were now chilling in the living room. It was the perfect time for them to rest since the road trip had been long.

Moments before they finished unpacking and settling down, Mary and you gossiped in the kitchen. She remarked how attentive Roger acted towards you, and asked if you were into him.

“Are you stupid?” you couldn’t believe her. “We’ve known each other for what, ten minutes?”

“I was just wondering whether there was desire at first sight or something”

“Desire at first sight?” you repeated slowly, taking in every word.

“It was a softer way to ask if you’d give him a ride or not” she laughed watching you gesture her to lower it down. “I’m just asking because I can tell he would”

Before answering Brian, you looked over at Roger.

He’d taken off his jacket and was rolling up the sleeves of the white tee he wore underneath.

Your lips parted, finding that mundane action quite amusing and sexy on him.

You looked away, guilt taking over you for having stared too keenly. There was nothing wrong about it, and you couldn’t explain why you felt agitated. Maybe you were self-conscious about whether the others noticed.

Forcing yourself to remember Brian’s words and with a sense of pride, you smirked behind your cup, gazing at the wooden floor.

Your grandfather poured his soul into this studio, which he also referred to as a sanctuary. It made you happy to hear Brian acknowledging its value.

There were several electric and acoustic guitars, a generous collection of microphones your grandmother enjoyed saving, two trumpets, a synthesizer -to which Freddie and Roger scoffed loudly at-, a drumkit, one saxophone, and a bass.

Not to mention the tape machine that still worked perfectly plus the recording booth.

Mary told you that John Reid, who was looking after Queen at the moment, managed to convince the label to provide them with a significant amount of money. You assumed they’d brought enough tapes to record on, therefore yours would remain intact.

“He bought half of the instruments”

“The other half?” John inquired.

“He stole them” you answered, not much of a fan about it.

“Whew!” Roger whistled.

You took a short sip of the tea and turned slightly towards the window, presencing a flash of light.

“A piano?”

Freddie dropped the question with no high hopes.

“Pardon?” you turned your head and looked at him over your shoulder with your body still facing towards the window.

The head movement was so fast that a clip you wore to hold a fraction of hair in place loosened a bit, letting the lock to fell down your face.

Roger stared at you in awe.

The light illuminating the room had a warm cosy tone, which surely helped to make your skin look softer and smooth. He wasn’t aware of the heart eyes he was giving you, but Brian, John and Mary were.

When you batted your lashes, he looked away and saw Brian try and fail to hide a smile when they locked eyes. He’d been caught.

“Do you have a piano?” Freddie questioned again, eyebrows raised a little.

A tiny playful smile made its way to your lips.

“Of course I have a piano” you cockily answered.

When you saw Fred’s satisfied grin appear you instantly knew he liked you as much as you liked him. It wasn’t in the attic; you’d show it to him later.

To be honest, the piano was your favourite instrument to play. So delicate, so powerful and majestic.

“Excuse me for a second” you got up from your seat, everyone confused by your sudden urge to leave, but not alarmed.

That light from before wasn’t a bolt of lightning, you came to realize, it was a car that parked outside.

A little voice popped in your head guessing it could be him, but it couldn’t… right? There were approximately two hours from Cardiff to get there.

It sure was someone lost, or maybe they were stopping by to beg to use your bathroom because they couldn’t hold it in anymore. It wouldn’t be the first time.

“How about we start dinner? I’m starving” Mary added.

Their voices kept getting lower and lower as you crossed the corridor, oblivious to Roger’s eyes following your every move.

You stepped outside and closed the heavy door behind you, but not completely.

The silhouette of the last person you’d want to see in the entire world was leaning against a red car, one you did know very well because you lost your virginity in the backseat. He was humming to a tune you didn’t recognize, head facing downwards.

Picking at the fabric of the sweater you put on to forbid the cool air of the night from touching your skin, you opened your mouth.

“Leonardo!” you whisper shouted.

He definitely heard you, although he turned a deaf ear.

“Leo, what the fuck!”

“You’re a stupid whore”

Shit. He’s drunk? You prayed he wouldn’t make a scene, not now, with Mary and the guys around. The shame to have them complicit of whatever could possibly happen would be unbearable.

“You’re miserable” he went on with his speech, voice thick, which made it difficult for you to understand him.

You called it quits three months ago. Apparently he wasn’t any close to getting over the fact you ended it.

“Leave”

After what felt forever, he abruptly raised his head.

“What?” the expression on his face revealed he wasn’t happy.

What his eyes showed freaked the hell out of you: they revealed an intense desire, either with words or physically, to hurt you. He wasn’t sober, and you were aware that he had struggled with alcoholism when he was a teenager. It was fair to say Leonardo never put a finger on you in that way before, but alcohol was the push he needed to do it and his body was full of it now.

A lump formed in your throat.

“Get out of here”

“I just want to talk” lifting his hands up in an attempt to seem harmless, losing balance doing so, he took a few steps forward trying his best to sound convincing so you wouldn’t move and listen to him.

“I don’t want to hear what you have to say”

“How do you think I felt? Huh? When I saw you making out with that moron? You’re so selfish. A fucking slut, (Y/N). You disgust me”

That was the final straw. You promised you wouldn’t give in and start an argument, but he fucking did have to bring that up. He had the nerve to blame you for moving on and having some fun with a guy a few days ago at a party.

“Are you serious right now, Leo? How dare you?! We’re not together!” funny enough, this time it was you walking up to him not giving a damn anymore about the consequences.

When you raised your fist to punch him, even in his state, he managed to catch your wrist on time.

“How wrong you’ve done me” he hissed, tightening the grip. That’d leave marks for sure.

He pushed you against the car, causing your back to crack roughly. The situation was so tense not even the tears were brave to roll down your face, your vision blurry and unclear.

“Please, Leo!”

Mary’s voice never felt so good in your ears.

You totally forgot about them, that you could’ve screamed for help instead of dealing with Leo on your own, too absorbed in rage to be able to think things through.

“Do something, help her!” she pleaded the boys.

Four arms were fast to catch him and throw him to the ground.

Everything was happening so fast, almost as fast as your crazy heartbeats.

Brian came to you and held you by the shoulders, checking you out entirely, looking for bruises. He was asking repeatedly if you were alright, if that man dared to touch you. You could hear him, but it felt like he were miles away from you, his words echoing in the back of your mind.

Mary grabbed your arm and the two guided you, treating you like you had some kind of disability.

Before letting them drag you inside, you quickly turned your head to see what was going on, and saw a fuming Roger threatening Leo to disappear and never come back.

Freddie and John remained behind him in case he’d lose his temper. They looked at each other in astonishment; it was the first time they saw Roger like that.

“(Y/N)” Mary called you, once in the common room. “Fancy a glass of water?”

“I’ll be right back with it,” Brian said, his long legs taking him to the kitchen.

“Sit down, babe”

“I don’t want to. I’m fine”

She could perfectly see the tension in your shoulders.

“You’re not. But it’s fine, it’ll be fine” she sympathized, caressing your hair.

At this point you were lost for words. You were confused, angry, stunned.

“Here, take it. It’ll do you good, (Y/N). Is there anything else you n—” Brian began, offering you freshwater to maybe comfort you and make the knot you felt in your throat go away.

“For fuck’s sake!” you felt choleric. Maybe you were about to pass out.

Freddie, John and Roger came in and stopped dead in their tracks when they heard you complain.

Brian blinked a few times.

You were desperate for some time alone to process the last couple of minutes, but that wasn’t any excuse for you to take it out on Brian when all he wanted was for you to get better.

“I’m sorry” you lamented, ashamed at your behaviour, and took the glass not looking at anyone in the eye. That’s when you saw you were indeed shaking a little bit.

He smiled comprehensively, not giving too much attention to your outburst.

“Who the fuck was that?” Freddie wondered.

John elbowed him and mouthed “not now”.

“I’m so embarrassed. I’m sorry you had to witness that” you sighed, choking back the agony.

“Don’t apologize. That piece of shit shouldn’t have treated you like that. He looked mad” Freddie condemned.

Another heavy sigh escaped your mouth when you saw everyone staring intently at you, hating the feeling of their unasked pity.

Roger hadn’t said a word. His muscles were tense, mind way too far from the scene recalling something from the past.

//

It’d been several weeks since Queen came to stay.

To your surprise you had no complaints. They helped you without hesitation with the housework and kept their rooms tidy. More or less. The only thing you could protest about was that after the sessions it seemed like the studio had been the target of a fateful hurricane.

However, they were too cute to stay mad at for more than ten seconds.

Coming out of your shell was easy because of them. It didn’t take you long to feel comfortable enough to show your true self instead of hiding in your room like you did the first three days.

Reading a book easily kept your mind busy, except now; it was unbearably hot outdoors and indoors. Without taking your eyes off the page, you held the Coca-Cola can against your neck seeking a refreshing sensation.

“Mind if I join?”

You lowered the sunglasses until they were fitted a little bit below the bridge of your nose. The sun was hiding behind a cloud now, making it easier to adjust your vision and get it focused on whoever that was.

A shirtless Roger stood before you, with a towel around his neck that he rushed to spread on the hammock next to yours.

His skin glowing due to the sweat made him look rather tempting.

Your brain lent a helping hand forcing you to smile and nod because you wouldn’t, couldn’t do that yourself.

A small grin tugged at his lips when he noticed your eyes on him longer than usual.

“You’re always studying, angel” he pointed out, lying down and crossing his arms above his head.

You let out a loud sigh you’d been holding in, cheeks red at the pet name he chose. Anytime he’d call you something sweet rather than by your name, it was always how you tended to react.

There was no denying that you’d sort of developed a small crush on him.

Nobody could blame you, though; the same thing would happen to any human being with feelings.

He always treated you as one of them, making sure you didn’t feel left out. His sense of humour was similar to yours, and you appreciated it when he included you in their plans even if he knew you were occupied with Uni and probably wouldn’t be able to join.

Also, he was hot as fuck. You swore you’d never seen a man so beautiful in your life so far.

“I have to if I want to pass my exams”

“Sure, but you’re always studying” he emphasized. “It cannot be healthy”

It couldn’t, but everything was so difficult and you were so lost at some points you thought the world as you knew it could end if you took the smallest break.

“(Y/N)”

“Tell me”

“Seeing you stressed out stresses me” he sat straight, took the book from you and shoved it away. “Fuck this. I suggest you have some fun before the pressure ages you”

“And what do you recommend, ay?” you questioned, crossing your arms across your chest.

“We could play Frisbee”

“Frisbee? Really?”

“Why not? I’m sure you’re not that bad” he teased, getting to his feet.

You faked a laugh and stood up.

“Don’t underestimate my skills”

He used his hand to mimic a mouth talking nonsense, and approached the pool since the frisbee was floating in the water. But he stopped when he felt he stepped on something, proceeding to lift his foot to see what it was.

Roger knelt down and picked a piece of paper up, which said in messy handwriting together with scribbles here and there: You tell me ‘bout your past, thinking your future was me.

His brows cocked in surprise and your eyes widened. You grabbed it out of his hand and held it close to your heart reflexively, as if protecting it. It must have flown out from within the pages of the book when he first threw it away.

Roger watched you curiously, crouched down still, as you breathed slow and deep avoiding eye contact. You could feel your face getting hotter.

He got up with an unnoticeable smile.

“That’s yours? It’s decent”

You waited for something to get out of your mouth, but this time your brain didn’t find a way to help you out, speechless at the fact that he liked it.

“Do you have more? I’d love to hear” he continued, glancing at you.

“Oh, n-no” you forced a laughter. “I don’t”

“I’m glad you’re not as bad as a lyricist as you are as a liar”

You gave him a dirty look and the corners of his eyes crinkled at that. He puppy-eyed you.

“Please?”

“No, Roger”

“We don’t protest when you’re in our recording sessions, you could return the favour”

“Excuse me? You’re in my goddamn house. Watch your tone”

He giggled, fascinated by how cute you turned out to be when poked at.

“What do I have to do for you to say yes?”

“Nothing. It’s not happening”

“(Y/N)!” he pleaded. “I want to hear you sing”

You shook your head.

“And I want to own all the dogs on the planet. Guess we’re both stuck”

Roger groaned in defeat and turned around to get his hands on the frisbee.

For some odd reason, it made your heart dance in your chest knowing he was willing to sit down with you and listen.

A sense of enthusiasm and confidence moved you and shockingly enough you found yourself considering the idea.

Roger gave you a quick head nod.

“Ready?”

You didn’t know what the hell you were doing but you whispered a small “okay”. It couldn’t be that bad, right?

“Take a few steps back first, you’re too close”

You pulled a face at him but quickly shook your head.

“I said I’ll do it”

Roger wasn’t getting it.

“Do w—“ he stopped mid-sentence, his sapphire eyes widening in understanding this wasn’t about playing Frisbee anymore. “Yes!” he took you in his arms and spun you around.

Since he was shirtless you could feel how well built he was. Although he wasn’t the most athletic man out there, apparently drumming on and on was enough to keep him fit.

“Rog, Rog! Enough! I’m feeling dizzy”

You were wearing a mini skirt that had a tiny slit on one of the sides. Seeing it rolled itself up a little you adjusted its length, avoiding any extra space to anyone’s imagination. Too late for Roger though.

When satisfied with how your skirt fitted, you looked up and saw a subtle wink roaming his lips.

“I’m ready when you are” he announced, bending over to grab his shirt and put it on.

At first your legs wouldn’t cooperate.

Roger followed you closely.

He saw you toy with your hair, questioning yourself why you agreed to do this when you weren’t a hundred per cent sure about it. He placed his hands on your shoulders and slowly massaged the back of your neck with his thumbs, relieving some of the pressure.

Every single hair of your body stood on ends.

“Don’t be nervous, love. We can drop it whenever you want” he conceded, tossing an arm around your shoulders.

Opening the door to the studio you felt sick, already regretting your decision.

Roger took a sit on the couch, watching you like you were about to do a mind-blowing performance that’d change the meaning of his life forever.

Feeling like a rat in a laboratory with the doctors waiting to see if the experiment was successful or not, you shifted weight from one foot to the other, discomfort intensifying.

The piercing electric blue of his eyes triggered something in you when they met yours. You didn’t know how but it seemed like he was speaking to you through them, encouraging and imploring you to open up to him.

“Take it easy, (Y/N). It’s not a big deal”

“It is for me”

You sank down on one of the chairs next to the control room, poorly trying to hide how intimidated you were.

“You’re singing, then? Or reading the lyrics out loud?”

“Singing” you muttered. God knows if you went downstairs to pick up your notebook you wouldn’t come back.

A very cheeky expression overtook his face.

“Okay, go ahead” he gestured, rubbing his chin.

You clenched your jaw and snapped your eyes shut. It was easier to do it if you weren’t looking. You’d just imagine it was your grandfather in the room with you instead.

“Time won’t fly, it’s like I’m paralyzed by it I’d like to be my old self again But I’m still trying to find it

After plaid shirt days and nights when you made me your own Now you mail back my things and I walk home alone”

Roger’s fingers fidgeted at the sight of you tucking a piece of hair behind your ear, silently wishing it was him doing it.

He saw how your angelic features relaxed along to every word you sang. When it comes to your voice... He had to remind himself he didn’t die nor was leaving a dream, because it felt like he were in the very gates of heaven.

His breathing quickened, well aware he was witnessing something intimate.

Leaning closer, elbows resting on his knees, he allowed your voice to transport him to the place and time you were describing.

“But you keep my old scarf From that very first week 'Cause it reminds you of innocence And it smells like me You can’t get rid of it

'Cause you remember it all too well”

You swallowed before opening your eyes and speaking.

“There’s more but that’s the part I’m most proud of”

Roger’d fallen silent, his brain on fire.

He seemed to be absent, daydreaming probably.

Your heartbeat could make you go deaf any second, partly because you allowed him to have a peek at your heart partly because you were dying to know if he was any positive about it.

“You sounded like an angel” he stated in the softest voice, working on coming back to his senses.

There was nothing you could do apart from blushing and awkwardly shaking your head, yet on the inside you were saturated with a strong feeling that filled you completely: his opinion was relevant to you and the reaction he had was more than enough.

“You’re exaggerating. Thank you though, for your words. You’re very kind” you said, entwining ankles.

“Is it…” Roger was afraid this would ruin the mood. He decided to give it a shot and solve any doubt. More importantly, he wanted to make sure you were alright.

You weren’t stupid and knew where he was going.

“About Leonardo? Yes. Next question” you explained bitterly cutting him off, and pressed your lips together making an effort to not roll your eyes and appear rude.

He did ruin the mood.

Roger felt bad now.

“I’m sorry. Forget it”

“It’s fine” the flat tone you used before switched to a more delicate one.

It was overwhelming that he cared. He didn’t have to but he cared.

“I experienced something similar. I know how fucked up domestic abuse is” Roger confessed, bowing his head.

Wait, what? He what?

“Rog…” you got up and carefully sat next to him.

It shocked you how quick the atmosphere changed.

“It’s nothing, dear, it was a long time ago. She was… she was crazy” he laughed drily and cleared his throat. “You know what I mean”

“I do not. What you saw when Leonardo showed up was a one-time thing. He was drunk and barely himself, but I’m so terribly sorry you had to go through that”

“Ah, good for you then” he tapped you on the knee with a small smile on his face.

It broke your heart. How could anyone be so goddamn evil? You just couldn’t understand why they were people like that out there, willing to harm others deliberately.

Your mind drifted to Leonardo, did he become one of them?

Glancing at Roger, you hesitantly got closer to rest your cheek against his shoulder, letting him know mutely you were there in case he needed to vent more often. You intended to cuddle for just a few seconds before it turned out weird. That was until he wrapped an arm around you to keep you in position.

“Thank you” he whispered.

It sent shivers down your spine hearing for the first time his voice discreetly cracking up. You weren’t entirely sure about what he was thanking you for, though.

Roger didn’t quite understand why such information slipped out his mouth. Maybe he thought it was appropriate to share it since he contemplated you went through the same thing after what he saw. He just wanted to make sure you knew you could count on him as well.

The boys knew about the matter, obviously, but there was this thing about you he hadn’t figured out just yet that pushed him to speak to you about it.

That’s what his mind was saying, his heart on the other hand defended the idea that he felt comfortable with you and that since he presenced the incident with Leonardo he remembered his experience. Hence the fit of anger he had.

The thought alone of that scumbag hurting you made his head collapse. He was very sensitive about the subject.

“Better?” you wondered out loud after a while of snuggling, yet you didn’t move, finding the proximity significantly pleasant.

“Yeah, uh, sorry” he cleared his throat and released you.

“It’s more than okay”

He nodded, not really looking at you yet.

You tried to think of something that could distract him from those undeserved and heartrending memories.

There was no point of comparison to what Roger had struggled with, but every time you argued with Leo during the year your relationship lasted, you were grateful that your friends organized sporadic plans to help you forget about the fights.

You had to do that for Roger. You had to entertain him. To keep his mind occupied.

“Freddie explained to me drums are much more complicated than what they seem”

Roger glanced over the drumkit.

He was suspicious at first about the topic change, and looked at you from the corner of his eye.

“It can be very ambitious if you don’t do try for real, instead of goofing around. There’s too much going on. People believe it’s just hitting the drums and you’re good. Wankers”

It was unmissable how his face lit up, talking about his passion.

Crossing an ankle over your knee, you bent forward to get a better sight of his much more eased features.

“I’m sure it requires a lot of hard work, the coordination on hands and feet and all that stuff. Singing along as well must be tiring”

Roger’s eyes bored into yours, as if studying and reflecting upon your words. A corner of his mouth lifted.

“Yeah,” he replied amused, “physically it can be tough”

He knew what you were doing.

Just when he was about to ask you if you wanted him to teach you some basics, John came flying through the door.

“For God’s sake, there you are. Roger, I need you. Freddie and Brian are arguing again. Help me out spreading some peace before Freddie slaps him”

****

end of part one, lemme know what you think ! ♡