#and i am acutely aware of the fact that with each passing day it comes closer and closer to the possible death of loved ones

[brainfullofbees]

.

[enviedear]

Hi!! Saw you wanted Jace requests, and I absolutely adore him soooo...

Something where Jace and the reader are training together(with war looming over them, the reader asked him to teach her some about sword fighting. She gets hurt somehow and she tries to hide it, but Jace notices obviously. So he's just like "let me see." And he tends to the cut on her hand or whatever wound you decide to give her and they're all sweet with each other.

Ahhh I love this man so much😭 Thank you in advance!💖

i really love hurt/comfort so despite the glaringly obvious fact that i could have combined this req with the other one abt training w/ him… i did not! i like to keep u guys on ur toes. i hope you like it nonnie <3

request (pls) ⊹ send me your thoughts

"you need to keep your stance lower," jace advises, his eyes keen as he watches your every move, “you balance will improve."

you nod, adjusting your position. the weight of the sword feeling foreign in your hand, but the resolve in your heart is unyielding. war is coming, and you refuse to be helpless. you refuse to be unable to protect yourself, or jacaerys.

you’re acutely aware of your betrothed and the kept dragons— fierce creatures. what you’re stranger to, is the looming threat of a war fueled by them.

you must be vigilant if you hope to survive.

"like this?" you ask, lowering yourself into a more stable stance.

jace smiles, a mix of pride and amusement in his eyes, "better. now, try to evade."

you raise your sword just in time to block his strike, the force of the impact reverberating through your arm. despite the intensity of the training, there's a strange sense of peace that comes from being close to him, from shared purpose.

hours pass, and your body begins to protest. muscles ache, sweat trickling down your back, but you push on, determined to keep going. you’re unsure if you’re torturing yourself at this point, head pounding.

finally you misstep, body unable to keep up with jace’s hits. your foot slips on the loose gravel, allowing jace's blade to catch the back of your hand, leaving a shallow but searing cut in its wake.

you bite back a gasp, quickly hiding your hand behind your back. "i'm fine," you insist, hoping he didn't notice.

but jace is not so easily fooled. he lowers his sword, stepping closer with concern etched on his face. "let me see."

you hesitate, but the sincerity in his eyes is impossible to resist. reluctantly, you extend your hand, revealing the bleeding wound. he takes it gently, his touch sending a shiver down your spine.

"it's not deep," he says softly, examining the cut. "but you need to care for it." he leads you to a nearby bench, where he pulls out a cloth and a small flask of water.

as he tends to your wound, the world seems to shrink to just the two of you. the sounds of training fade, leaving only the quiet murmur of his voice and the gentle touch of his hands. he cleans the cut with care, then wraps it with the cloth, his fingers lingering on your skin.

"you didn't have to hide it," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "i want to help you, dōna dāria. always."

your heart swells at his words, the weight of the impending war momentarily lifting. "i know," you reply, your voice equally soft. "i just… didn't want to seem weak."

jace looks at you, his eyes filled with something deeper than mere affection. "you're anything but weak. it takes strength to face what you're afraid of. you do it every day with grace. i am beyond proud of you for that."

the sincerity in his gaze makes your breathing quicken, “thank you, jace."

he smiles, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. "nothing to thank me for." he offers you his hand, “come, it’s growing dark, our chambers await.”

[sasseebeee]

i just posted a fic! it's not the first thing i've written, but it is the first one i published somewhere! there's also a version under the cut for anyone who wants to read it here!

Rana felt as if she was in a fairytale.

Here she was, in the prettiest ball gown she had ever seen in her life, dancing in the arms of the man she held dearest.

“This has to be a dream,” she murmured.

Her partner gazed into her eyes, looking at Rana with a lovestruck expression. “Rana…” Oh, how her name sounded so divine when it passed his lips! Suddenly, he leaned in, his lips ever so close to her ear. She could feel his breath hot on her neck as he whispered…

“Of course it's a dream.”

And then Rana woke up.

She was in her bed, in her room in Revenant’s Toll, and definitely not dancing with G’raha Tia. Of course. Rana buried her head in her hands and groaned. Gods, she was beyond saving.

Rana looked out of her window and slumped as she saw how early it was. The sun hadn't even risen yet! She cursed her hyperactive mind and nestled back into her covers, preparing to drift back into slumber…

…But each time she closed her eyes, Rana found herself plagued by reminders of her dream. Especially the way G’raha had looked at her…with such fervent love in his eyes…and the way her heart had pounded when he’d leaned in…

Nope. Nope. Nope. Absolutely not. Rana was not thinking about that. She threw the covers off of herself and hopped out of her bed. She would just have to start the day early. 

-

Rana stood in front of the stove, watching her food like a hawk. She was acutely aware of the phrase about the watched pot, but whoever came up with that had *clearly* never burned food before. Luckily, Rana's food was not (too) burnt today, a fact that manifested a proud grin on her face as she plated her food. As she moved to one of the tables, she heard the familiar sound of boots approaching.

“Ah, good morning, my fellow early riser.” 

Rana immediately felt heat rise to her face as she heard the voice of the man who had starred in her dreams. Stop. Thinking. About. It. She turned around and prayed that her friend did not notice her reddening cheeks.

“Morning! What’s got you up so early?”

“Ah. Well…I haven't had the best time sleeping after the tower. I imagine all that time sleeping might have impacted my circadian rhythm quite a bit…” G’raha gave a solemn smile. “But what of you, my friend? I know you are often up early, but never before the sun.”

“Oh! Well. Um. I…” 

What was she supposed to say? Oh, I just had a dream that you were madly in love with me, and it's giving me a lot of feelings right now! Gods above, that would be mortifying. Rana would have to throw herself into a bottomless pit.

What if she twisted it a bit and said she had a nightmare? That seemed a little cruel though. It wasn't as if she didn't like it… Her tail was swaying even now as she thought of the scene. 

“I…guess I just woke up. And couldn't go back to sleep. Yeah.”

“...I see.” 

Oh Gods he definitely knew she was lying. Thankfully, G’raha refrained from pushing further and merely gave her a sympathetic smile. “Well, nevertheless, I am glad I get to spend this morning with you.”

“Yeah. Likewise!” Rana tried her best to give the most natural smile she could, but if the flash of worry on her friend’s face gave any indication, she knew she was only raising concern. “Uhhhhh anyways…how are you adjusting to life back on the source?”

“‘Tis…strange. To say the least.” G’raha moved to one of the tables, as Rana trailed behind, carrying her plate of food. “Not unpleasant, mind you. But…I’ve been so used to the conveniences of the tower for so long, that it might take some time for me to…readjust. But…” He slipped a sausage link from Rana’s plate. “I’m certainly looking forward to all the joys that come with it.”

“You could've just asked.” Rana rolled her eyes as G’raha popped the sausage into his mouth. “But it's good to hear you have such a positive outlook on things.” She took a bite of one of her own sausages. “Oh yeah, have you got any plans yet?”

“For where I’ll go once things are settled with the tower?” Rana nodded. “Mmm…I’m not quite sure yet. I could return to Sharlayan, as I was planning to do after our original expedition into the tower, but…”

“You don't want to?”

“Not exactly…well, that's not far off…”

“So join the Scions!”

“I…” G’raha let out a sharp exhale. “...It's complicated.”

“How so?”

G’raha’s ears flattened against his head. “Well, I…I don't exactly feel up to par with the rest of you.”

What. “I’m sorry?”

“I mean, you all have done such amazing things for the sake of the star–Hells, Rana you had a book written about your adventures in Ishgard!--’Tis difficult to not feel inferior to the rest of you.”

He cannot be serious. Rana stood up from the table and looked her friend dead in the eyes. “G’raha Tia, in my opinion, you are the most impressive out of all of us.” G'raha's ears perked up and he looked at Rana with great intrigue. “You created a method of shard travel, you built an entire community during your time in the First, you did and were prepared to make any sacrifice in order to see the Source and the First saved, hells, you can fill more roles in battle than I can! And honestly, I think of you as equal to me in combat. So personally? I think you absolutely deserve to be a Scion.”

G’raha was silent for a moment, and then began to ponder Rana’s words. “I…see. I shall take your words into consideration, my friend. Thank you.” Rana swore she could see his cheeks redden slightly. She suddenly remembered her dream and abruptly rose from the table, swiftly moving to the door.”

“Well, with that being said, I’d better be off! You know, monsters to slay, people to save, stuff like that!”

“You’re leaving already?! Ah, but your breakfast…!” 

“You can have it! I gotta run!” Rana dashed out of the building and stood by the aetheryte a moment, catching her breath. Her breathing had slowed, but her heart still pounded. Could her mind be playing tricks on her? Had he really looked at her like that? Rana buried her head in her hands and silently screamed. 

Because, for a moment, she could’ve sworn she’d seen G’raha Tia wore the exact same expression he’d had in her dream.

[khaleesiofalicante]

hi dani, here for a little rant, guidance and motivation and advice.

so I think something's wrong with me. i just.. it's difficult to describe it so I'm going to borrow words from a post I came across: "Can we agree that the worst feeling is when you're sitting around, consciously procrastinating, acutely aware that each passing second is more time wasted? You watch hours go by, still unable to stop procrastinating, while your panicked brain feels trapped inside a body that refuses to be productive. Inside, you're screaming, but outwardly, you're just eating chips."

im not studying, my academic life is being ruined by my own hands and I'm not stopping it. i don't know what has happened to me, i wasn't like this even until last year, I wasn't a topper student who used to study consistently hours everyday but during exam time I was serious and used to study sincerely. nowadays I've stopped studying even when the exam is the next fucking day. like I'm sitting here, zoning out of maybe scrolling through my phone unable to just stop myself and study. when I sit down to study i usually am able to focus only for a few minutes and then get distracted again and the fact that I'm doing it consciously like i know I have an exam tomorrow I know I have to study or else I'll fail I KNOW all this but I'm just unable to like do it. this applies to a few other things in my life as well. im taking the example of something which regularly happens to me: i know I have to brush my hair, take care of it. I had really thick hair but now because of neglect I'm suffering from really bad hair fall. i know this yet I'm not doing anything about. internally in my mind i scream at myself to stop all this and just do the things I'm supposed to but i simply don't. it's like I've lost ability to card about stuff or something. before my exams it's like I dont give a fuck about it. when we get the results I'm really really upset because I'm better than this, I AM I SWEAR but then that motivation to do better is again short lived. it dies. suddenly in the middle of the day I'll get the urge and motivation that yes I'll work hard, study hard and return to my previous condition of perfect grades. then it dies again.

im ruining my life i feel. i do my exta curricular and EVERYTHING APART FROM ACADEMICS with diligence then why when it comes to the thing that matters the most do i fail? and it's not even like I don't want to study or i don't want to study the particular stream I've chosen. and i know education is so important and i want to accomplish something in life and yet...

I dont know what to do. mindless scrolling, procrastination and everything that comes with it has become my life now. i want to go back to the previous me when I was sincere towards academics.

and the worst part of all? I'm such a fucking disappointment to my parents. imagine having a daughter who went from getting straight As to struggling to pass? and the fact that I'm truly capable of doing well and amazing but I'm just wasting it. and I dont know what I should do to break the cycle and actually stick to it. because it is a truly strong possibility that I'll do it for a day or 2 but stop from the 3rd. i know it. i just do. at this point I'm just wondering what would happen if I just you know...died? like idk what difference would it make.

please I need help. i don't have anyone i could have said this to. my parents won't understand. i don't want to be like this. i just don't 😞

sorry for bothering you with this

Hey, thank you for sharing all of this with me. It's hard to look at yourself, realize something's off, and not know how to fix it. But here's the good thing - there is always something good, I promise - you still want to get back out there. The fact that you're aware and want to do something about this is a great start.

Some thoughts, in case it helps:

You mentioned scrolling a lot and procrastinating, and if both are connected - like you're procrastinating by being on your phone - that's definitely something to address. I'm not saying to get rid of your phone completely but try physically removing it from where you study. I used to give my phone to someone else (my mom, for example) and ask them not to give it back until I was done studying for a couple of hours. It helped because I couldn't reach for it out of habit. Having the phone out of sight, and knowing I'd have to walk a distance to get it back, made it easier to focus.

Treat it like a reward system: study for two hours, then give yourself 15 minutes on social media. That way, you're balancing focus with breaks and not diving headfirst into a distraction.

2. Don’t aim to get back to your A+ self immediately. If you're a C- student now, focus on getting to a C+ or a B. Break it down into smaller, achievable steps. Aiming for the top all at once can feel overwhelming, and when something feels too big, it’s hard to get motivated for it. So take smaller, manageable steps. Each improvement will build momentum.

3. You said it’s not that you don’t like the subject, which is great, but maybe the way you're studying has gotten stale. Try changing things up. You could study with a friend, watch tutorials, or try private tutoring. Even just moving to a different location to study or using a new method (like flashcards or teaching the material to someone else) might help remind you that you are good at this. Sometimes, doing the same thing repeatedly makes it harder to stay engaged, so switch up your approach.

Finally, you mentioned more than just studying - like the hair care thing - and if this lack of motivation is spilling into other areas of your life (hygiene, chores, etc.), it might help to talk to someone. Whether it’s a trusted person or a professional, reaching out is a really smart move. It doesn’t mean anything is “wrong” with you, but sometimes getting help from an outside perspective can make a big difference.

I'm really glad you've recognized that something isn't quite right, and that you're taking steps to fix it. It's a process, but you're already on the way. Just take it day by day, one small step at a time. And remember, the goal isn't just to go back to where you were; it’s to find a version of yourself that makes you happy. Whatever that looks like, I believe you can get there.

Sending motivation and love!

[midnightmah07]

Mademoiselle Beau (A/n: MY HEAD IS FULL WITH THEMMM. :,(((( Also, this is like a second part to that first Anneliese scenario with Daisy- )

Daisy breathed a sigh of relief. Thinking of her conversation with Anneliese, the pieces of the puzzle seemed to fit together with less worry. Anneliese, though inherently kind-hearted, often resorted to sharp words as a manner to cope against circumstances beyond her control, as result her jealously over Daisy's appearance and lovable personality.

Daisy found herself able to appreciate Anneliese for her honesty, even if it sometimes took longer than anticipated for her true feelings to surface. At least now, she found herself grasping a clearer understanding Rook's crush on the girl. And talking about the devil...

"Mademoiselle Trickster!" Rook waved happily as he hoped for Daisy join his conversation with Damali; who smiled to know who was around. "A petit birdie told me, you sorted things with ma chérie, Annelise, is that right?"

Well, it's no surprise he caught wind of things so quickly. His hearing is sharp, and rumors have a way of spreading fast like the wings of a bird.

"Huh? You finally talked with Anneliese, how things went?" Damali tilts her head to the side.

"Actually," Daisy began, her voice gentle yet filled with warmth, "she was the one to come up to me." Her words were accompanied by a soft smile that seemed to light up the room, her gaze inadvertently bypassing the small surprised expression on Damali's face. "Everything went smoothly, I am just glad she felt comfortable enough to talk to me."

Daisy maintained her sweet smile, unaware of the subtle shift in the Scarabia's student; Damali showed a proud demeanor toward her friend overcoming that small fear to talk with Daisy.

"Rook, I have a question." Said Daisy.

It was only after a moment that she realized there was the reason why she had been drawn to that conversation in the first place.

"Hm?" Rook faces goes to a surprise sight, confused situation. "Well, colour me intrigued. Shoot your question, mademoiselle." kjbv

"Although, I do understand why you are friends with Anneliese, " Daisy started. "I don't understand how come you be so persistent over her? I mean, she showed zero interest, from what you said."

Damali hums in agreement, "Actually she is right, I remember that in second year you would follow her every where! All the time I heard her voice it was accompanied by yours, similar of what you do with Vil," Says Damali with a hum. "According to the old Scarabia's housewander, people used to believe you changed dorms because of her."

Rook chuckled, acknowledging that everyone views situations differently. Could he truly blame the rumors for circulating?

"From where moi should start?" A genuine smile slowly spreads across Rook's face. Rook stays quiet for awhile. "Hm, droite." Rook crosses his arms.

"Anneliese... she's captured my heart in a way, I never thought possible," Rook says as he smiles gently. "At first I would believe she has me wrapped around her finger only for her beauty. Oh, how foolish." Rook puts a hand on his chest with a dreamy sigh. "Her kindness, her strength, even. Her very essence fills me with an indescribable joy. Every moment spent with her is like a treasure, and I find myself falling deeper in amour with her with each passing day."

Damali and Daisy both wore shocked expressions upon hearing Rook's confession about his crush.

"She's hard to approach, but, I have not and will not give up." He proudly said. "I love Anneliese, for three years. After all."

The trio heard a faint noise behind them, but when they turned around, there was nothing to be found.

The hunter, in fact, noticed. He was acutely aware that the woman who held his heart in her tender hands was listening in on the conversation. After years of serenades, love letters, and gifts, Anneliese knew she should anticipate Rook speaking of her in such a manner. Yet, hearing him express it to others, her heart raced, her cheeks flushed with a rosy hue, her eyes widened with shock.

Anneliese found herself denying, even in the solitude of her own thoughts; the effect Rook's words had on her... Yet, she stubbornly refused to acknowledge the melting sensation they ignited within her. It was this very resistance that spurred Rook on, for he understood, he knew her well enough to recognize it as Anneliese's defense mechanism. She struggled to comprehend why he persisted, puzzled by his affection for her. Deep down, she sensed that her resistance was born from a fear of the intensity of her own emotions. She feared that if she were to surrender to love, the ensuing descent would be far more painful than she dared to imagine.

Anneliese turned away, hastily making her way to her next class. She couldn't bear to hear another word without either blushing furiously or feeling like she might pass out.

Regardless, Rook continuing to talk about how everything began, recounting his perspective on how things had unfolded since he first met her. He emphasized that it wasn't simply an overnight situation.

After a while, Daisy excused herself, leaving Mademoiselle Scarabée and Le Chasseur d'Amour alone to attend her class.

Damali waved to the short gal with a warm smile, her friend mirroring the gesture with a smile of her own. After a quiet time, Damali says.

"You know Anneliese heard it," She turns to him. "Right?"

"Well, of course, mon ami. A hunter's hearing is very keen." He winked with a chuckle.

I literally just woke up from a nap what the heckkkk this is so cute and sweet😭

Rook knowing she was listening but using it to his advantage to make Anneliese understand he loves her9$83+3(8_+_;

ALSO Damali and Daisy in the same fic⁉️ WHATTT <- I'm literally their creator

I love this sm help😭😭

[bb-8]

Tech Savvy

Pairing: Tech x female reader Summary:  You’re an ex-imperial who has a crush on Tech. He’s awkward about it. Until he’s not. Rating: Explicit (18+, minors DNI) Warnings/tags: crack treated seriously, smut, unprotected PIV, awkward flirting, oral sex, first kisses, accidental exhibitionism, lots of bad jokes, slight angst Word count: 5.4K Notes: It’s smutty crack treated seriously, guys. Read on AO3.

The planet you land on isn’t anything special. It’s a humid swamp world in the Outer Rim that offers enough seclusion for even the Empire’s Most Wanted to pass by unnoticed.

You, being the kind and selfless individual you are, decide to help with repairs while Clone Force 99 are on a supply run. It’s the first time the ship has made planet fall in weeks and everyone is a bit stir-crazy, jumping at the chance to stretch their legs. Prolonged time spent in hyperspace has that effect.

Before he left, you told Hunter that your status as an ex-Imperial put an unnecessary target on their back. You’re still wearing your Imperial uniform, after all, and you know for a fact that the Empire is not exactly merciful to deserters. Especially deserters that committed high treason. Like aiding Clone Force 99’s escape from an Imperial prison.

You definitely didn’t just jump at the chance to stay behind because Tech opted to. That would be ridiculous.

You feel your face heat at the thought.

(What? His goggles are cute.)

The truth is, there’s been something – a tension, as it were – between the two of you since you arrived on board. You know it, he knows it. You’ve been orbiting around each other for some weeks now, and this is the first time you’ve been alone –

“Can you spare a minute?” Tech calls out, pulling you away from your thoughts. You swivel in your chair and shift your attention to him, a bit surprised.

“I was beginning to think you didn’t realise I was on board,” you reply as you make your way to the cockpit where Tech is currently fiddling with some wires.

“You’re...very hard to miss,” Tech replies and your heart skips a beat. “The ship is far too small to miss another sentient being’s presence.”

“Right,” you mutter while taking a seat, trying not to sound too deflated. So maybe he didn’t feel that tension. “What do you need help with?”

“I am taking this opportunity to rewrite the ship’s central comm unit to be more covert when passing through areas with increased Imperial traffic. If I can update the ship’s communication infrastructure to resemble that of a first generation Imperial craft, then we will considerably reduce our chances of being identified. Which is why I am particularly glad you stayed behind today. Considering your, er, history.” He fiddles with a mess of wires in front of him, not once looking up.

“And here I was thinking you wanted me around because you enjoyed my company,” you playfully jab.

“There’s that, too,” Tech replies. “Though it would be advantageous if you could list all of the Imperial access codes you can remember. The computer and I can do some pattern recognition to better–,” he cut himself off and anxiously rubbed the back of his neck. “Apologies, you don’t need a long-winded explanation. If you’re happy to share, you can do so whenever you’re ready.”

You consider protesting and telling him that you find his rambling cute, but you decide not to dwell on it for his sake. You list the codes you remember from the Academy. You keep talking, relaying any tangential intel relating to access codes. If it’s irrelevant, Tech doesn’t stop you.

He is silent for a few moments analysing the data you’ve given him. You watch him closely, admiring the way his brow furrows and his lips purse while he’s concentrating.

“You trust me then?” you venture to say. You play with your hands in your lap. “Even though I was with the Empire?”

“You’re helping us now,” Tech replies, as if it’s obvious. He is still inputting data into the datapad he is holding when he continues, “You trust us, it would seem. And we were soldiers programmed upon our creation to destroy the Republic.”

You fumble over your next words.

“That’s – it’s entirely different.”

“And from my perspective, all that matters is where you are now,” he states with finality.

“Well,” you say shyly, “I like where I am.”

Tech smirks despite himself, briefly glancing up at you from his datapad.

You hold his gaze for a moment, before settling into a comfortable silence. You sit in next to him for several minutes, revelling in his closeness like a brezak basking under the Zygerrian sun. It’s only when you notice yourself blushing like a teenager that you decide to make yourself useful and actually help with repairs like you promised.

++++++++++++++++++++

“Would you mind holding this wire out of the way for me while I solder the capacitors for the localised memory bank?” Tech calls, breaking your concentration. The illumination device you were repairing could wait.

You have no idea what Tech means, if his string of words means anything, and you survey his makeshift workbench for a hint. Several panels are detached, limply dangling from a few brightly coloured wires. Tech is focusing his attention on a large panel that is plugged into a cylindrical storage device.

“Maker, that’s a big data stick,” you can’t help but mutter.

Tech makes an incoherent choking sound.

You do as requested and lean over his shoulder to take hold of the wire he specified between your thumb and forefinger. The fabric of your sleeves brushes against his shoulder armour and it feels as though there is a static shift in the air, like the air around you is alive and humming.

And Tech gulps with the contact. He types a few sets of numbers into his datapad with excess force, seriously testing the build quality of the device. His posture is especially rigid as focuses on testing the wires currently in his lap.

Your pulse is racing. It’s as if each second that passes without a confession threatens to rip apart the very fabric of reality.

“Tech?” He has to feel this too, right? “Why...why did you stay behind today?” you ask, careful to keep your voice even. You need him to say it, admit that he feels it, too. You’re desperate for it.

“You can let go now,” he replied, pointedly ignoring your question.

You let go of the wire, but make no move to step away from him. You’re acutely aware of yourself right now and suddenly self-conscious: about the deep shade of crimson enveloping your face, the way you’re breathing, the clamminess you can feel on your palms. You hope you smell alright and silently pray that any traces of caf on your breath are long gone.

Several seconds pass before Tech looks up, over his shoulder at you. His face briefly flickers with concern.

“Your flushed features and increased heart rate indicates that you are nervous,” he remarks.

Maker, is it that obvious, you cringe.

Your mouth is dry and you contemplate making an excuse, but your brain does not want to cooperate.

“Sometimes I –,” you begin. Void, here I go. “Sometimes I get nervous around you,” you admit, attempting to make your confession sound as casual as possible. You bite your bottom lip in a way that you hope will be interpreted as sensual, or, at the very least, cute.

And Tech? Tech is flustered. Like visibly shaken, blushing furiously, two-steps-away-from-hyperventilating, kind of flustered.

“Please do not be nervous,” he responds tightly. Each word is taking considerable effort to be spoken. “I already told you: we trust you. I am not a threat to you.”

The poor guy. There’s no way he can really be misinterpreting that –.

“No, no, it’s a good kind of nervous,” you attempt to clarify.

“Nervousness is not conducive to high quality work,” Tech chokes out.

“No, I mean like giddy. I feel giddy around you.”

Come on, Tech.

“Would you like a chair–.”

“Stars, Tech, I like you!”

Tech...errors. He attempts to start several sentences with no success before mumbling an excuse that he has to go, “fix the reverse polarity capacitive inductor,” which, to your knowledge, is definitely not a real thing.

So maybe that could have gone better. All things considered, he did seem affected by your admission. On the other hand, he also left the room entirely.

Your face burns with embarrassment and, hey, maybe this backwater planet could make a decent home. Maybe the swamp water would be safe for consumption and you could spend the rest of your days foraging for swamp... berries. Sure, it might be a little uncomfortable, but no less uncomfortable than staying here for one more second.

And this is why you don’t admit your feelings to anyone. Ever.

Ugh. You were so confident, too. You squeeze your eyes shut, willing yourself to transport to another star system.

The door to the ‘fresher shuts, followed by a slight scuffle of feet, and a thunk that sounds decidedly like a head hitting the door.

You briefly consider leaving the ship to attempt to meet up with the rest of the Bad Batch. It’s been far too long since you’ve breathed fresh, clean, air and you feel a second wave of self-pity wash over you as you contemplate the thought of breathing in the smell of Wrecker’s feet for several more weeks in the Marauder’s circulated air. They hadn’t been gone longer than a standard hour and there was a clear path to get into town. You could still salvage the day, you could still stretch your legs–

‘Oh you want to know why I suddenly decided to join you, Hunter, after promising I’d help fix the ship? Funny story, I was trying to seduce your brother and he rejected me!’

You physically cringe at that. On second thought, maybe just pretending this didn’t happen would be the easier option. Lesser of two evils and all that.

Well, you’ve endured worse situations than this. Swamp berries, if they exist, probably won’t offer enough sustenance anyway, you conclude. You turn your attention to fixing several access panels that require little to no attention.

++++++++++++++++++++

It takes a long while for Tech to exit the ‘fresher. The door opens with a hiss and you stiffen, not looking up until he briskly walks past you and resumes his makeshift work station in the cockpit. Once he is seated and his back is facing you and you can hear the rhythmic tapping of his fingers on his datapad, you allow your entire body to relax.

You look back down to your newest project: fixing the swivel action on a chair. You’re not entirely sure if the chair needed to swivel, or whether it was supposed to, but it does now. At least Omega would have fun with that.

“Can you spare another minute?” Tech says after a considerable stretch of silence.

His comment catches you off-guard. It’s fine, it’s fine, you are just going to pretend like nothing happened. You can just carry on helping with actual repairs like you promised.

“I’m coming,” you say, while putting your entire weight into tightening a screw.

Tech coughs slightly.

“The, uh, I need your help with the cum system. The comm system!” he stutters.

Your eyes widen and decide it’s best not to comment, furiously thinking about the fact that Tech rarely makes mistakes. You wipe your hands on your trousers and stride over to the cockpit where Tech is fiddling with some wires on his lap.

“Take these,” he says while coiling a piece of wire to make a conductor. He pushes right through the awkwardness and places a handful of resistors in your outstretched hand.

You stand there in silence for several moments before you drum your fingers on the back of his chair. He makes no move to immediately utilise the resistors, so you resign yourself to stand there and watch him work. (You suppress a sigh – you wish you weren’t attracted to him at this moment, but here you are, drawn in by his confidence and fixated on watching his nimble fingers work their magic.)

Normally, you’d have already lost your patience. But not now, not when you are trying to decipher just what exactly Tech was trying to accomplish by calling you over and ignoring you. And that’s when you realise that Tech either forgot you were there or forgot to give you whichever menial task he originally intended.

But there’s absolutely no chance that Tech makes two mistakes within the same standard year, never mind two mistakes within the same afternoon.

You start to wonder if he even has any use for the resistors. Your knowledge of technology is limited, but you really don’t see how they’d be useful with his current task. Maybe this is Tech’s uncharacteristically inefficient way to try to initiate conversation. You really hope you’re not completely misreading the situation, but it’s not like you have any pride left to lose.

“Why did you stay behind today, Tech?” you ask quietly, voice tinged with apprehension and perhaps an unmistakable eagerness. You phrase it more like a statement than a question this time.

He continues to fidget, his leg bouncing anxiously as he works.

“I did some research,” he blurts. “Regarding intimacy between human males and human females.”

Huh.

“I read the specifics on how to kiss,” he continues, “but I fear that I am a bit out of my depth as to how I am supposed to initiate it.” He is still fussing with the wires in his lap, not quite able to look up at you.

“You...want to kiss?” you surmise, your heart thumping wildly in your chest. “Me?”

“Very much so.”

A grin breaks across your face and the sharp sting of Tech’s previous rejection immediately melts away. You deposit the handful of resistors in a tray containing various tools Tech had been using throughout the day before taking a tentative step forward from behind the chair. He cranes his neck to look at you, an unfamiliar expression that you’re not quite able to decipher written across his face.

You reach your hand out to caress his cheek, and sliding your hand down to his chin to guide it upwards as you bend down to bring your lips to his. The kiss is chaste, at first, but Tech proves himself a quick study as slightly parts his lips to deepen the kiss. His goggles nudge against your face and you’re pretty sure you’re leaving a greasy cheek print on one of them.

You pull away to gauge his reaction.

“Was that... satisfactory?” he asks, seemingly dazed. His eyes are hooded and still focused on your lips.

“It was perfect.” You offer a small smile.

He removes the goggles to clean one side of them with a nearby cloth. So you were leaving a cheek print. Once his goggles are back in place, he’s looking at you like he can’t quite believe you’re real, his golden brown eyes blinking owlishly at you.

“I apologise for leaving you earlier. I did not anticipate you returning my affections – it did not seem probable. And I was, regrettably, not prepared,” he mumbles.

“Probable?” It’s your turn to malfunction. You want to usher a thousand reassurances at once.

“Well, no.” Tech shifts his weight uncomfortably, not quite able to meet your eyes. “Hunter or Crosshair usually are the ones who capture the affections of –,”

“I like your goggles,” you interrupt in a rush before you surge forward to press your lips against his, hoping to convey just how much you return his affections. It’s a messy, urgent kiss that Tech returns with equal fervour. His fingers find their way into your hair, pulling you closer.

When you finally break the kiss, you straighten your back and take both of his hands in yours and take small, hesitant steps backwards, encouraging Tech to stand. As he does, the project he is working on slides off of his lap and clatters to the floor. He pays it no attention as he closes the distance between you, his eyes darkened with lust. He kisses you with renewed purpose as his hands wrap around your waist, roaming across your body, before they settle firmly on your ass.

Your hips grind into his codpiece and Tech lets out a low groan that goes straight to your core. He moves to kiss the curve of your neck, sucking at the delicate skin and making you squirm. The dampness between your legs becomes apparent and you press yourself closer to him, desperate for friction where you need it the most. As if he can read your mind, he trails a hand from your ass and places it between your legs, grazing over your clit before cupping your cunt. You involuntarily rock into his hand and moan into his mouth, hardly recognising the sounds you’re making.

Tech’s hand abruptly stills as he draws back to meet your eyes. His expression mirrors yours: searching wide eyes filled with longing, a silent acknowledgement passes between you as you reach the point of no return.

And in that moment you are struck with the urge to want nothing more than his cock in your mouth.

“Can I?” you blurt, glancing downward, hoping he is able to intuit exactly what you are suggesting in that moment.

“You may.” You allow the grammatical correction to slip by. “But I’ve never–,” he begins.

You don’t break eye contact and you begin to drop to your knees. He’s looking at you with his eyes wide, mouth slack. Tech’s bulged codpiece is mere inches from your face, and it’s in that moment that you realise that you have no idea how to undress this man.

And this, this is when you start to worry.

Does it have a latch? Does it even come off?

Your eyes dart from left to right looking for some sort of hint as to how it could be removed. You’re half tempted to just plant a smooch on the armour or the kiss inside of his thigh and pretend that all of this was intentional.

“I can get that,” Tech helpfully chimes in, blessedly oblivious to your internal struggle. He removes the pelvic plate with ease and, to your relief, you can see the shape of his erection straining under a layer of thick black fabric. Black fabric that conforms to his body shape exceedingly well. You reach out to feel his length, gently cupping his balls through the fabric before applying more pressure as you palm his shaft. He soft groan escapes his lips.

It catches you a little off guard, actually, to see him so hard. Knowing he’s been hard underneath his armour this entire time. Wondering when else he’s been hard and you had been none the wiser.

His cock has an attractive silhouette – it’s thicker than you expected and you can feel the patch of pre-cum that dampens the black fabric near his tip. You reach for his waistband and pull it down before slowly wrapping a hand around his shaft. He hisses with the contact and brings a white-knuckled fist to his lips.

You peer up at him through your lashes and you lick your lips, preparing to tease him a bit before taking him as deep as you can manage.

And that’s when something inside Tech snaps.

He looks down at you with wild eyes and places his hand on the back of your head to guide your mouth to his cock, apparently unable to continue the role of a passive observer for any longer. Clearly intent at putting his newfound research to good use. You lick a wet stripe from the base to the tip, before taking him in your mouth, the pre-cum tangy on your tongue. His grip tightens on your hair the same time he tilts his hips forward to push his cock further and you hollow your cheeks, sucking hard enough to make Tech groan and his knees buckle. He braces himself against the back of the pilot’s chair, captivated at the sight your mouth stretched around his length.

You begin to bob your head in a steady rhythm, taking him as deep as you’re able. You drag your tongue and press it flush on the underside of his cock, looking up at Tech with wide doe eyes, batting your eyelashes prettily as he struggles to maintain composure. You continue your pace until sweat starts to bead at his temple and his breathing becomes less controlled.

Patience isn’t your strong point and you’re too pent up not to touch yourself. You bring your free hand down your trousers, between your thighs, running your fingers through your wet folds and hum at the sensation. Tech’s hips stutter with the vibrations and his face contorts in what looks like a pained grimace. He takes a miniature step back and your lips leave his cock with a pop. He’s breathing heavily now and his weeping cock is painfully hard, his balls tight.

“I don’t want to finish in your mouth, mesh’la,” he pants, voice low.

You nod dumbly, currently unable to form a coherent thought or tear your eyes away from his erect length, only inches away from your face.

Tech takes hold of both of your forearms, helping you get to your feet, before wrapping his hands around your thighs, picking you up with surprising ease. You lock your thighs around his torso as he strides over to press you against one of the auxiliary control panels adjacent to the co-pilot’s chair in the cockpit. The incline on the panel is steep and the pressure of his hips against yours is the only thing keeping you from sliding down.

“Let me taste you,” Tech groans against your ear.

You let out a frustrated whine and desperately move to unclasp your trousers as Tech works to open your shirt. You shudder once the cool air hits your sweat-dampened skin and Tech messily palms your exposed breast while nipping at your neck. He helps you shimmy out of your clothing while holding you in firmly place before discarding them on the floor of he Marauder.

And this is how you find yourself spread eagle on the Marauder's control panel in possibly the most undignified position you’ve ever been in.

He goes to remove his goggles and you stop him.

“If they’re not uncomfortable for you, I’d like for you to leave them on.” He quirks a brow at you, quizzical. “What? I told you that they’re cute.”

His face evolves from sceptical to bashful in a few moments.

“Very well, then. I can leave them on.”

Tech moves his hands under your thighs as he lowers himself, draping your legs across each of his shoulders with surprising gentleness for a man who looks like he is ready to devour you. Once he’s on his knees and comfortably supporting your weight, keeping you pressed against the console, he places an open-mouthed kiss on the inside of your thigh.

“A-are you okay with this?” you manage to stutter out. It’s not like you haven’t pictured his head between your thighs before, but something about his head actually being between your thighs fills you with a nervousness you hadn’t anticipated.

He mumbles his assurances against your clit. He begins with slow, languid licks and you suck in a sharp breath as you feel yourself craving more and have to stop yourself from violently bucking your hips up.

Okay, so he’s actually really good at this. You know you really shouldn’t be that surprised, Tech is nothing if not thorough with his research and it’s, er, practical applications. Any thoughts of humour at Tech’s expense are, however, ripped from your mind when he sinks a single finger inside your cunt. His finger curls with a precision that only Tech could manage and you moan in encouragement as he pumps it in and out.

You squirm when he hits the spot that makes you want to beg for more and you feel your bare ass hit a button on the console. The next thing you hear is a soft swish swish sound of the Marauder's screen wipers that you inadvertently turned on. Mercifully, it doesn’t break Tech’s concentration and his hands continue to grip your hips, holding your cunt to his face.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop, please don’t stop,” you chant. You writhe again and another button sounds its activation. Nothing immediately makes itself known. You hope it’s not something like a proton torpedo firing into the swampy area the Marauder landed in. Not because there’s anything nearby, but because you’ll die if Tech stops here.

He moans into your core as he brings a hand down to grip his leaking cock, desperate for some friction.

“Kriff,” you grunt at the sight of him fucking his fist, only to hear Tech utter the same exclamation at the same time.

“Is there an echo in here or something?” You smile at him, offering a half-laugh before your face contorts with pleasure once again and you hiss through your teeth.

“Yes?” a new, tinny voice chimes in on the overhead speaker system. “This is Echo... You’ve, uh, turned on the short range comm system.”

You knew Tech was a good soldier, but the reflexes in which he slammed the short range comm transmitter with his free hand surprised you. He didn’t move himself from between your thighs and skilfully cut off the transmission while continuing to work your clit with his tongue and your cunt with his finger.

Before you could die from embarrassment and wonder just how much Echo and the rest of the Batch heard, Tech adds another finger and your entire body jerks and tenses.

“I’ve – ah, right there – Maker, that feels good. I’ve never been with anyone who is patient enough to let me come,” you manage to say through gritted teeth.

“My research indicated that it can take around 20 standard minutes for women to orgasm if properly relaxed, why would others stop prematurely?” Tech replies, only briefly removing his mouth from your cunt to reply.

“Selfishness?” you guess.

Tech seemed to take your admission (and ability to form sentences) personally, clearly intent on rendering you incapacitated. He returns to his attention to your clit and maintains his rhythm, teasing a third finger near your entrance. You whine at the sensation and move to hold Tech’s head in place, because if he stops now, there’s no way you’ll ever forgive him. The pressure that’s been mounting in your core finally, finally peaks and your entire body tenses as you surrender to your climax.

“Tech,” you whine, unable to formulate thoughts, let alone words.

He assures you with a soft groan and tightens his grip on your hip. He can feel your walls clenching around his fingers as he guides you through your climax.

As you come down from your orgasm, you feel like you’ve spent a year in bacta. You can’t move. Honestly, your bones are like Andorian jelly. The feeling is only temporary, however, as you’re overcome with the desire – no, need – to be filled.

“In me,” you urge. “Now.”

He adjusts his goggles and looks at you, spread out, completely ready for him.

“Lie back then.”

Tech settles between your thighs and nudges his cock head against your entrance. He takes a breath to steady himself, rubbing his length through your folds, covering it in your arousal.

“So wet and ready for me, mesh’la.”

Your hands wildly grasp at his chest plate, fingernails scratching along the plastoid, desperate to hold onto anything to anchor you. You meet his mouth with a graceless kiss, before he finally sinks into you.

“You’re tight,” he grits out.

He waits a few moments letting you adjust to his size before he begins to move. He restrains himself, slowly rolling his hips as your cunt stretches around his length.

“More,” you plead, breathlessly. “Please.”

Your encouragement is all he needs before he snaps his hips against yours, setting an unrelenting rhythm. He rocks into you harder with each thrust of his hips, his plastoid leg places slapping your skin.

“You feel so good, cyar'ika,” he pants. You surge upwards to greet his lips with a messy kiss, which only spurs him on to fuck you faster. “You’re, ah, taking me so well.”

“Fuck –,” you whine.

His grip tightens and his whole body starts to tense – he’s dangerously close to coming undone. And that’s when you notice his pace start to slow, his movements clearly distracted.

“Tech?” you mumble. You focus your eyes on his face and he looks dazed, you can practically hear him thinking. You’re about to ask him what’s wrong, but he doesn’t give you any time to panic.

“Elevate your hips by seven to ten degrees,” he states through heavy breaths.

“What?” Definitely not what you were expecting him to say.

Tech seems unfazed by your apparent annoyance. He wordlessly repositions himself, grabbing both of your hips and raising them slightly, holding your body up so it’s just the sharp incline of the console and Tech’s hands keeping you in place.

He began thrusting in earnest again, his eyes screwing shut in pleasure. And, Maker, he was right. The new angle hits a spot that makes your toes curl and you lose the ability to speak almost instantly and mewl helplessly as Tech fucks into you.

You made an undignified noise as you gripped his bicep, desperate to hold onto something, feeling the pressure mount in your core. With Tech’s hands busy holding you in place as he maintains a brutal pace, you bring a hand down to your clit, still wet with spit and your own essence. You barely have to touch yourself before you feel your body screaming for release.

“’M coming,” is all the warning you are able to give him before your cunt spasms around his twitching cock as your vision whites out. Tech grunts at the sensation, unable to hold his own climax off any longer.

“Where do you want me to –,” he grates out.

“Anywhere,” you cut him off, still feeling the aftershocks of your orgasm. “Just want to feel you.”

“Fuck, mesh’la, I’m going to come,” Tech groans, desperately chasing his release with harsh thrusts. His hips forcefully buck into you before his cock stiffens and he spills himself inside of you. He buries his face in your neck, slowly pumping you full of his cum, before he slumps against you. “Bid jate par me,” he mumbles into your neck, barely audible. “Gotal par me.”

You don’t know Mando’a, but whatever he is saying, the way he is saying it, sends a pleasant chill over your body.

You’re both still breathing heavily when Tech gingerly places you back down with a surprising gentleness for someone who had just been fucking you within an inch of your life. He’s in no rush to remove himself from you, but when his softened cock does slip out and his cum leaks out of you and onto the console, he helps you slide down. When your feet touch the floor, your legs wobble slightly and Tech has to grasp your forearms to steady you, softly chuckling at the state you’re in.

And when you look at him, he looks positively debauched. Sated, but debauched. You probably look worse.

In one swift motion he bends down, brings an arm down under your knees, and lifts you up. You wrap your arms around your neck while he carries you to his bunk. His cool armour against your overheated skin is a welcome sensation and you press yourself closer.

“Your research paid off,” you mumble into his chest as he sets you down on his bed.

“Please do not act so surprised by that.”

++++++++++++++++++++

You and Tech aren’t quite finished with the repairs by the time the Batch return hours later, long after the moons have risen and the bioluminescent plants surrounding the ship have begun to glow. If the squad notice you’re sitting a bit too close to Tech, your thigh pressing comfortably against his, they don’t say anything.

Neither of you were expecting to defile the Marauder all day and Tech was frantically fixing the lever on a storage hatch access panel, attempting to make up for lost time.

“Wrecker!” Echo shouts. “Clean up after yourself, for kriff’s sake.”

“Why?” Wrecker drawls, stomping towards the cockpit. “What did I do this time?”

“You’ve spilled your juice on the console again, all the keys are stuck in place.”

The access lever snaps clean off in Tech’s hands.

[mintmatcha]

reupload because tumblr decided my readmore link on the original shouldn’t work anymore!!!!

Late Night Chat

MattsunxReader

CW: mentions of depression, established relationship, angst/fluff (happy ending)

You know Mattsun’s awake before he even speaks. The way he’s lying- face up, hands neatly folded in his stomach- is so strangely stiff compared to usual, it makes your skin crawl with worry. It’s cold without Issei wrapped around you, without his soft steady  breathing, without his nose buried into your hair. You can hear the soft sound of fingernail against skin and, even with sheets and night shrouding him, you can tell he’s picking at his hang nails again. Your eyes dart to check the clock. 3:14. Has he slept at all? 

“Can I talk to you about something? It’s important.” the shake in his voice, the unfamiliar tremor that immediately shakes off the cobwebs of sleep, tells you he can’t wait until morning. You turn, admiring how the ambient light peeking through your blinds from the street below catches his profile. His brows are knitted together, lip is caught between his teeth.  Maybe it’s a trick of the light, something about the soft orange glow, but he seems older now, almost worn. 

This is unfamiliar territory. Mattsun is always so nonchalant with his feelings, so dismissive about any sort of concern. It was rare to see him upset about anything; in fact, you could count the number of times he was anything other than pleasant on one hand. If you noticed a distant look and heavy sigh, Mattsun would consistently dismiss your concerns with a peck and a hollow laugh. The laugh. It made your brain buzz with worry whenever he pulled it out. It was high and tinny, obviously practiced. He was a bad liar,  you knew something was weighing him down from the droop of his shoulder, from the scabs on his nail beds, but it seemed wrong to press further. Every time you did, he would retreat further from you, reinforcing his facade, hiding behind a wall impossible to break.

“Of course, Issei.” you murmur, somehow feeling if you raised your voice louder than a whisper, you would break the spell.

“I just.. Sometimes.” His eyes shift to meet yours, then dart back to the ceiling, like he was caught breaking some unspoken rule. “Ah, geez, can you turn around, maybe? I can’t say it when you’re looking at me.”

Your own anxiety is building, fears that you can’t quite form into tangible thoughts squirming around in your head, but you oblige, turning face the wall. He shifts as well, mirroring you. Pressing his back against you, he loops a leg between yours, tangling himself. You turn your head slightly, catching only the outline of his shoulder against the darkness. 

“Hey, no peeking.” With every breath he presses farther into your back, searching for the comfort of your presence. Silence weighs heavy between you and, for a second, you fear that the moment has passed- that Mattsun has retreated back into his shell. “I just wanted to let you know…”

He breathes out slowly as he pulls the blanket closer to him.

“Sometimes, I get sad.” he’s almost swallowing his words, trying his hardest not to be heard, face pressed against the pillow. The soft picking sound of his nails against skin grows faster as he continues. “Like, really sad. So sad my body aches ‘nd my brain feels numb.. And there’s no reason to feel like that, but I do.”

You resist the urge to turn over, instead just tilting your head back into the space between his shoulder blades. He only hums at the contact before continuing.

“It’s just hard.” he continues. His voice is so unusually delicate, teetering on the brink of breaking. “Because sometimes I- I- god, it sounds so stupid,” he hisses out ‘stupid’ like it’s a curse. “but I get so tired. I can’t even bother to do basic shit some days. It’s pathetic. 

“ They said the meds would help, and they do mostly, but sometimes it still feels like there’s this- this- blanket over my head, weighing me down and I just wanna lay down and sleep. But, I’m trying not to be like that, for you, ‘cause-."

“Can I look at you now?” 

Mattsun snaps his jaw shut so hard that the sound makes you jump. “Fuck. Not yet, I just-”  Silence lulls over him before he draws in a shaking breath. Mattsun rolls over carefully, enveloping you in his long limbs. One arm drapes over your chest limply, as if he’s afraid to hold any tighter. You lift your head instinctively to let him prop his arm underneath, but instead his fingers find your hair. He twirls a loose strand between his fingers, inspecting the way it moves with almost too much curiosity. He’s distracting himself, you decide. Even though he’s next to you again, the comforting feeling of warmth against your skin back, he feels so far away. “I just wanna say a little more. I can’t say it if you’re looking at me.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re going to look disappointed.” he breathes, “And that’s gonna hurt me.”

Instinctively, you begin to move again, but the way Mattsun recoils, fingers flexing, shoulders bunching, reminds you of the boundaries. “Issei, why would I ever be-?”

“Because…” he grumbles, trying to gather his words, “I’m going to keep talking and you’re going to realise you’re too good for me. That I’m not as good as you think I am. 

His hand flexes into a fist, resting under the soft dip of your breast, with a heavy sigh.  “I just wanted to let you know now.” he says finally. “Before you, like, plan a future with me or something.”

“Issei, don’t say that.” you whisper, placing a hand over his. He tenses for a moment, before pulling you into him, tucking his knees into the backs of yours. 

“I’m sorry.” he says to the hair in between his fingers as he continues his ministrations. 

“Issei.” strain your neck to see him, searching his surprisingly flat expression for…. Something. Anything. "Can I please turn around now?”

Mattsun answers by relaxing his grip, giving you the freedom to roll into his chest and clutch at the fabric of his shirt. For a split second, you’re acutely aware of how he smells- the lavender body wash you had bought him to replace the 3-in-1 he used to love, the dryer sheets that he always uses too many of, and, underneath it all, the scent of him. Breathing deep, you nestle further into him. Despite how composed he managed to keep himself, his heart betrays him; you can feel the way his heartbeat tattooed across his skin even through his clothing. You open to speak, but words fail you.

Instead, you tug on his shirt and in the dim, you can see his eyes widen ever so slightly as he comes to you. With only the tilt of your head, your lips meet, only slightly off the mark from each other. The kiss is sloppy, disjointed and desperate, barely clinging on to each other. His breath, hot against your face, hitches as he swipes his tongue against your own and you can’t ignore how he tastes like cinnamon and salt. The kiss says nothing, but everything you couldn’t all at once. The kiss dissolves, along with some of the tension in the air, but he doesn’t pull away, instead resting his nose against your cheek bone.

“I’ve already planned a future with you.” you say after a beat, blindly reaching up to wipe his cheeks, the moisture there surprising you. A finger brushes too close to his eye and he flinches with a broken laugh.  “And nothings going to change that.”

Mattsun just nods. He audibly swallows before letting out an airy laugh, cracked slightly from his tears. “Fuck, this is why I asked you to turn around. I didn’t want you to know.”

“Hey, now, don’t cry. I’m here.” he tightens his grip around you, crushing you into his chest. Whether the shake of his limbs is from effort or emotion, you can’t tell.

“I was worried.” he admits, “Fuck, I was so, so worried you’d, you’d-”

His lips find yourself this time. It’s deeper, searching for an intimacy neither of you can vocalize. “I’m right here.” you whisper into him. “I know I can’t take it all away from you Issei, but I hope I can at least make it a little better.”

“You always do.” he presses a kiss against your brow. “You always do.”

[simpingforcadbury]

Argumentative

A/N: hi there! I wrote this based on an idea @nuttycrunchsurprise had on @nalascat’s catcf discord server! A few of us are writing this with the same prompt of Mike being insensitive.

~~~~~

Some days, Charlie just needed someone to listen. Grandpa Joe’s passing had hit him hard and unexpectedly. It was the first time he realised how fleeting the time was that he had to spend with his grandparents and the first time he had experienced the passing of a loved one in his short 14 and a half years of life.

Home never felt like home again for Charlie. When he came home, he never failed to notice the glaring absence of Grandpa Joe’s janky voice filling their shack.

Charlie was lost.

It was like being underwater, the way the sound of the outside world is muffled around your ears. The way the water blurs your vision and the way in which you feel completely and utterly isolated with just the thoughts in your head to keep you company. That was precisely how Charlie a Bucket felt and he needed an outlet, friends who he could tell.

The Golden Ticket competition hadn’t just brought him the factory, but was also a second blessing in disguise. He gained four new friends, bound together by their solemnity and their trauma at the chocolate factory. The tour was an experience that only they would understand, as surreal it had seemed at the time.

It was only a year after he had won that he decided to reach out and invite them back to the place where it had all begun.

And they had come, moving permanently into the factory, each in their disfigured, broken bodies, scarred from their tour and each instilled with the acute awareness of where they went wrong.

Violet was the first to come, her skin still held on to a faint violet pigment that had never quite gone away. Then came Augustus who had lost a significant amount of weight since Charlie had last seen him, and Veruca who had broken so many bones in her fall that she could no longer dance. Mike, still as tall as a doll was the last of the ticket winners to come to the factory after months of much convincing from the others.

Somehow, the very factory that turned them into what they had become had become a safe space that they reclaimed as their own. There, behind Wonka’s excellent security system and iron wrought gates they had the chance to heal in private, away from prying eyes that poked and mocked them as though they were animals at a zoo.

“Shouldn’t you be over this? He’s been dead for months.”

There was a tensely grim silence that fell over the golden ticket winners. Vaguely, Mike registered the look of shock that was soon replaced by a more hostile glare.

“What do you know? You’re being an arsehole. If you’ve got nothing good to contribute then you can kindly shut up. Or leave. Preferably both.”

Venomous, he noted with slight amusement. Violet never minced her words.

Mike, reclined lazily on the miniature bench hardly batted an eye. “What? It was bound to happen.”

“It’s been yesterday’s news for a long time.” he snorted sarcastically. “What kind of fairytale are you living in?”

“It’s called being a decent human being.”

“I’m just stating the facts, Violet. You can’t cushion him in bubble wrap forever. At least he died in a chocolate paradise.” His hollow laughter echoed across the room. Something was wrong.

“You don’t get to tell people how to feel. He’s grieving, for goodness sake, can’t you see that? Pick on someone your own size.”

“Well, I’m not the one hurling insults am I?” Mike spread his arms wide in a mock bow, eyes searching for any sign of confirmation from the others, but there was none, only the hacking sob of Charlie which interrupted the void he had created.

“Please. Just go.” Charlie, whispered quietly from between his hands.

“I SAID GO.” There was a certain unwavering rage that burned in Charlie’s eyes then. Mike had never seen him angry and the sudden shift in energy scared him.

He knew better than to provoke him further, but the words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. “Well if you’re so sensitive, then why’d you invite me to live with you? You brought this on yourself you know.”

“Come on, let’s go somewhere else. He’s not worth the energy.” Augustus goaded Charlie quietly, not knowing what else to say as he pulled him toward the door.

Veruca, who had lost her dreams in the process of the tour took his hand in her own and said nothing as if she was trying to communicate her mutual understanding his grief in the space between their intertwined fingers.

“How could you ever understand? You don’t even feel anything.” Charlie hissed. “Maybe that’s why your mother liked you better small, because nobody loves you the way you are!”

“You’re always bitter, you’re always cynical and passive aggressive like you’re so high and mighty. I bet that’s why no one wants to be your friend!” Charlie followed up swiftly, not giving him the chance to rebut his arguments. He felt completely and utterly raw and humiliated, not just for the attack on his family but for the attack on his personality that Mike had presented him with.

Mike however, hardly seemed to be listening or so it seemed. He checked his nails meticulously as he waited for Charlie to finish, taunting him with his indifference.

“I’m sorry then! Happy? That’s all you wanted to hear wasn’t it?” Mike spat out with indignation as he rolled his eyes. A small, sadistic part of him wanted to see just how far he could take this, to see how long it would be until Charlie truly snapped. That was the worst part of it; he never knew when to stop once he started.

“You’re not being sincere about it.”

“Since when could you get your cake and eat it too? Ever heard of capitalism?”

“APOLOGISE.” Violet’s loud voice interrupted his tirade.

“No, why should I apologise for stating the facts?” He said smugly, a wide grin on his face.

“Friends don’t treat each other like this.” Augustus said with disgust marring his grimace.

“He’s not a friend. He’s a bad friend.” Veruca confirmed.

Between the three of them they managed to pull Charlie out of the room, letting the door click shut with finality. The sound was somehow worse than hearing it slam. There was no anger, just the clarity of solemnitude that Mike had condemned himself to willingly.

All alone on his little bench, he felt that sudden regret. The type that made him feel as brittle as the glass candies that lined the windows. He filled the silence with his own uncontrolled rage as he took it out on his surroundings, choosing rather the sound of anger over that of understanding.

But what kind of damage can a boy the size of a doll do after all?

[kiyoors]

stoner idiots (affectionate)

modern! AU, college! AU, best friends to lovers, jean kirschtein x reader

this is loosely based on the lovely  @pinkchanelbag 's uquiz, which you can find here!! I absolutely LOVED this quiz and my result inspired me to write a jean fic bc I am an absolute slut for this man. 

word count: 1.9k 

warnings: brief drug use/smoking (oc, jean, and their friends are all stoners), intense AND WHEN I SAY INTENSE. pinning, the kind of fluff that comes with a brush of fingers between two people who haven't realized the other person loves them back.  

You wake up to the sounds of someone typing. You didn’t want to wake up; wherever it was that you were, it was comfortable: the soft flannel of the sheets had enveloped you in warmth, and a familiar, woody scent filled your nostrils. You freeze. You didn’t own flannel sheets, and your shampoo was vanilla coconut scented. The typing continues, it seems to be happening in the same room you’re in. A gentle sigh is heard after a single-double-double taping motion. You’re acutely aware of the familiarity the sigh holds, like you’ve heard it a million times, but your brain is still fuzzy from sleep. 

Slightly more at ease, you crack an eye open. You’re met with the most unexpected yet welcomed sight you have ever woken up to. Jean is silently typing away at his desk next to his bed— one which you’re currently in. The room is dark, save for the blue glow of the computer illuminating his profile. Somewhere in your mind, you remember him telling you he had an important paper due at midnight tonight; this also being the reason as to why he wouldn’t be coming to your weekly smoke session with Sasha, Connie, and Marco.

Oh. 

The events of earlier gently wash over your memory— leaving your shared apartment with Sasha to go pick up Connie, only to then head to Jean and Marco’s apartment. 

Marco had sheepishly opened the door, apologizing for Jean’s absence as Connie elbowed you, “too bad lover boy won’t be here tonight, huh?” You’d rolled your eyes at the boy as you made your way in, “more for us, then!”

It was a common thing by now, to be honest: everyone knew you had a crush on Jean— except for, well, Jean. And although your friends assured you the man felt the same way tenfold towards you, you just couldn’t bring yourself to fully believe it. It was too good to be true. Jean, easily one of your best friends, him, who made you feel like you could accomplish anything, who would provide you with the warmth and comfort you so much needed after a long day, who truly made you feel seen as you basked in his presence, liking you? Impossible. That was simply a fantasy reserved for your nightly fake scenario sessions before going to sleep. 

And, while you were fully capable of function without him by your side, you had recently found yourself not wanting to be without him. He was the warmth that came with holding a cup of freshly brewed coffee or tea, the comfort and reassurance that let you know that you, in fact, could keep going. 

So, naturally, this smoke session, without him, you had been a little quieter, more in your thoughts, thoughts about Jean. It was just as your brain had begun to fuzz over that you felt Marco lean into you. He was already high, and whenever Marco was high, he tended to talk. It wasn’t annoying in any way, the boy usually held good conversation, pensive as ever. This time, though, the subject was Jean. “You know he’s in love with you, right? Ever since the first time he saw you, he’s been over the moon for you.” The freckled boy takes another hit, as if ruminating his next words, “you guys are just too scared; you want each other, but are too afraid of things between you changing, yeah?” he takes one more hit, his final thought, "He likes how you make him feel at ease.” And with that, Marco passed the blunt to you, conversation seemingly over. 

He’s in love with y-

Another, this time slightly heavier, sigh is heard through the room. The source of your thoughts keeps typing away, occasionally stopping to run his hands through his hair, as if to consider his next sentence before constructing it. 

“you're gonna ruin your eyesight like that, y’know.” You rasp. 

Jean turns to face you from his chair, a gentle, tired smile on his lips, “you're awake, sleepyhead.”

You nod as you sit up on his bed at the same time he stands from his chair to hand you the glass of water at his desk for you to drink.

You mouth a ‘thank you’ and he nods, going back to his work. 

You squint to make out the blurry red numbers from his alarm clock; it's 1:17am. 

“Wasn't that paper due like an hour ago?”

You can’t see the blush on Jean’s skin under the blue glow of the computer monitor, a barely audible “you remembered” muttered from his lips, followed by a louder, "it was, but as long as I turn it in before my professor wakes up, I should be good.” 

You nod in understanding. Of course I remembered, silly, I'm in love with you.

Quietly, you lay back down on his soft sheets, too aware of his presence now to go back to sleep, but there’s still a comfortable atmosphere between the two of you. 

You can’t help but let your mind stray at the thought of just how domestic this all feels. You, waiting for Jean to finish his paper, so you can both go to bed together. You smile a little at the prospect of the scenario. 

Carefully, Jean wheels himself over on his chair to his bedside where you’re laying, brushing a couple strands of your hair away from your face, “hey, you can go back to sleep; i’ll be done in like 20 minutes.” 

You think it's your mind playing tricks on you, but you feel his hand linger at your cheek before he retracts it. 

“i should probably head home, Jean, I don’t want to take over your bed.” You internally scream at yourself as you utter those words, everyone and their mom could tell that was an ABSOLUTE lie. Because you did, in fact, want to take over his bed, and stay in it forever: to wake up next to him every morning, in your little cocoon of blankets and warmth. 

Jean scoffs, “you think I care?” His hand is back on your cheek, tracing small patterns of your blushing skin, “you fell asleep on the couch, so Sasha left with Connie after Marco assured them you’d be okay here, and then I got back from the library and saw you there, so I- uh- thought you’d be more comfortable on m-my bed.” 

Truth was, it had been an indulgent decision that Jean had made. He just wanted to see you sleeping on his bed; just for tonight, to be able to entertain the idea of maybe waking up next to you. Ever the gentleman, though, he was gonna take the couch so you could sleep comfortably; he just thought it’d be nice to see you sleep on his bed as he worked; it had ended up being more of a distraction, though, but a welcomed one at that. 

For the couple of hours that he worked, Jean had pretended he wasn’t afraid. That it could work out; you and him, sharing an apartment, basking in the domesticity that came with sleeping in the same bed, cooking meals, and doing each other’s night routine’s side by side. And, that the warmth and comfort that he felt when being with you had only grown, enveloped and consumed him, into the best version of himself, one that’s with you. 

He truly does see you in his future; he just has to take that plunging step that leads you both into free-fall and hope that you both land on your feet, hand in hand. 

“i feel bad, though, you know I move a lot in my sleep, especially if it’s somewhere i’ve never slept at before,” you kept on rambling and Jean just kept stumbling a little bit more and more in love. 

“_____. Please, stay. Im not letting you take an Uber back at this hour, much less walk.” You felt his hands thread your hair again as his tone softened, “please?" How could you say no to that? 

You sighed dramatically, if just to annoy him, “fINE.” 

You stretched a little in your spot as you became aware of what you had been wearing, now remembering the discomfort you had felt during your slumber. You were still fully clothed, this entitled, amongst the garments, your jeans and bra, an offense to any and all sleep Gods known to history.

For the nth time that night you blushed, “Jean?”

The brunette immediately stopped his work to look at you, “yeah?”

“would it be alright if I borrowed some of your stuff to wear? Sleeping in jeans isn’t really my go to, ya feel?”

He let out a small chuckle as he stood up to open one of his drawers, “i feel”

Handing you a pair of his sweat pants and a hoodie, you thanked him, clearing your throat as a sign for him to turn as you changed. 

Not surprisingly, you found the sweatpants to be too big for you, so you opted to leave them at the side of his bed. Meanwhile, his hoodie seemed to engulf you in his scent from head to mid-thigh. You were officially on could nine. 

Climbing up to his bed again, you sighed contently, only to have the man smirk at you, “you comfortable there?”

“absolutely” you smiled. 

He let out a small laugh, absolutely enamored by you, “go to sleep, yeah? Good night.”

You snuggled deeper within his sheets, “G’night, Jean. Finish your essay soon..” He heard you ramble on about how you just knew it would earn him an A as you drifted off to sleep. 

It's about thirty minutes later that Jean finally finishes. Stretching, he makes his way to the side on his bed where you had left his sweatpants, slipping those on and getting rid of his shirt as he prepares himself to spend the night on the couch. He wasn’t complaining about it, though, it was worth it. And, in the morning, his sheets and hoodie would smell like you— huge W on his book, if you asked him. 

He’s unsure of himself when he shuffles to your side, kneeling down to place a gentle kiss to your forehead and muttering a small ‘goodnight, baby’ to your sleeping figure. He’s braver in the dark. 

He strokes your cheek one last time before leaving, but you catch his hand just before it's out of your reach, “stay" you mumble. 

Jean’s brain is short-circuiting and his heart is pounding a million miles a minute. 

You tug a little on his arm again, only half aware of what you are doing and saying, “please? it’s kind of cold, ’n you’re always so warm.” 

Jean knows you probably won’t remember this, he knows you’re just mumbling nonsense in your sleep, but who is he to deny you? 

“Okay, i’ll stay.” 

He feverishly makes his way into the sheets next to you, laying completely still at your side; that is, until you turn to snuggle into him, burrowing your head onto the crook of his neck and your body to his side. One of your hands rests just over his beating heart, your lips pressing a small, chaste kiss to his neck. 

He’s in love with you. 

He presses his lips to your forehead again, arms coming to wrap around your body, and hands tracing soothing patterns onto your skin, 

You’re in love with him. 

____

part two here!

i’d love to hear your thoughts!!

[razorblade180]

A Vengeful Blessing

[Church]

Amber:Hey guys! How’s- woah....

Eula:*exhausted*

Aether:Hey Amber.

Amber:What happened to Eula, putting her through the trial?

Aether:Yep. She’s currently tried teaming up with eight different people, traveled around the more annoying areas, and farmed for artifacts for her own benefit.

Eula:I’m not one to complain about hardwork. Still, this is more trying than I thought. Apparently it’s hard to support me effectively.

Amber:Well...I’ve fought along you before. It can get dicey.

Eula:Nonsense. Perhaps others aren’t as adaptable as they claim to be!

Aether:I watched Barbara panic over how quickly she had to heal you. I haven’t seen her sweat like that since supporting Mona. I mean look at her!

Barbara:*passed out* Uhhhhhhggggg

Aether:Worked to the bone! She looks like Jean! Meanwhile Jean is currently at Windrise contemplating how let you die.

Eula:*red* I find your words worthy of vengeance. You’ll be eating them whenever the time comes where my skills carry you to victory!

Amber:That’s the spirit! Aether, have you tried being her support?

Aether:Yes. The geovishaps were very amused. It’s fine though. I’ve requested a few individuals to train themselves up for- there are leaves in your hair.

Amber:Huh? Oh yeah, recon stuff. Stray breezes and you know...random Eye of the Storm attacks.

Eula:A person doing reconnaissance should be acutely aware of their surroundings.

Amber:I was! *scratches head* It’s just a little tricky to see an anemo attack mid flight. I’m fine though. Nothing a warm bath won’t fix later.

Eula:Sigh, you ought to-

Aether:Please be more careful on routes. *picking leaves* I might have a panic attack if I see you falling out the sky one day. Which reminds me, the Fatui might know the information of the knights’ patrol now, so switching it up might be wise.

Amber:*smiles* Thanks for the intel. Maybe you should be the one patrolling?’

Aether:You got a spare outrider uniform? I bet I’d rock a pair of heels.

Amber:Hehe, I think what you’re wearing is just perfect. Mr. Half shirt.

Eula:.......!?

Eula:What is the meaning of this? I didn’t know you two were this...acquainted.

Aether and Amber: (Crap we were obvious)

Amber:Ummmm great friends, yeah.

Eula:Is that so? I would hate to make baseless assumptions, but I wouldn’t call that interactions one of a great friend.

Amber:Pfft you’re imag-

Eula:You’ve gotten stronger than last time we’ve truly interacted. I don’t remember you having a crown. In fact, you’ve seen to really made a name for yourself as of late. Did he help.

Amber:A bit.

Eula:Hmmm. I hope through legitimate means. I’d have to seek the highest form of revenge if you had be swindled or forced to bargaining in... less than an appropriate manner as some kind of compensation.

Amber:*red* Not you too!? First Rosaria says that and now this!

Eula:Friendship is strong but it is a bit peculiar to see the honorary knight put an emphasis into your bond. I would never listen to such a rumor, but upon watching this...

Aether:What!? I would never. I help out of love! Amber could’ve done it herself if she wanted because she’s great!

Amber:Yeah! You tell her! We do things for each other out of love!

Eula:......

Aether and Amber:........!? WAIT!!!!!

Aether:Did I say love!? I meant-

Eula:Don’t you dare backpedal! My vengeance will be tenfold if you ever betray those words. How could I properly deal with Amber’s misgivings if she’s too busy crying over you; and vice versa!? My arch enemy must be at their best to feel the true sting of defeat by my hand. So the two of better tread carefully and stand by those emotions. Further-

Amber:*hugs her* You’re the best.

Eula:*red*....I always am.

Aether:We won’t let you down!

Eula:For your sake I hope not. I also hope you know the proper boundaries an admired and respectful gentleman should have. I will have no mercy if I catch wind of any other kind of behavior. *squints* You aren’t taking residence in her home are you?

Aether:Of course not! Amber and I are totally just supporting each other from a respectful distance.

Amber:Y-Yeah! Respectful distance.

Kaeya:*walks in with SP* Hey Aether, your feathery assistance is done with your frame for your be-.....

Eula:? What’s with the tea pot?

Kaeya:....It’s for tea, obviously. *slowly walks out*

Eula:That was odd.

Amber:Kaeya is always odd! *hugs tighter* Aether get in on this! Eula loves hugs.

Eula:Lies!

Aether:*hugs her*

Eula:What are- I...*hugs back* more reasons for revenge.

Aether and Amber: (She must never know about the Serenity Pot....)

[pasiveagressive]

Pen Pal // h.s.

Warning: light language, there is a mention of self harm, and some verbal abuse. 

Highschool AU This is really long for me 9.4k words and it’s not really done I am thinking a part 2 and maybe even a 3. Let me know what you think!

When she was five she was given a project from her teacher saying that she had to write to a pen pal. She had no idea what a pen pal was and how she got one, but she had told the class that a pen pal was someone who lived far away and we wrote a letter to them. Their letters were going to England to another class and they had to write them and they had to write back. This sounded fun. Teacher had a hat in her hands and when she passed it around we had to pick out a piece of paper that contained a name and an address. She took her's out and saw the name, it was a boy, she didn't like boys, well that wasn't true, the only boy's she liked were her brother, her best friend and her daddy. The teacher told the class they had to write to their pen pals for the whole school year.

#####

When she was ten, she still wrote to her pen pal, she didn't understand why she had been writing him for the last five years, but she had been. He was funny and easy to talk too, she thought that perhaps this boy was going to be her first crush, something she thought one of her brother's friends would be, but she was pretty sure this boy was. He helped her through a lot, like when Mommy and Daddy argued and doors slammed or when Mommy packed up her suitcases and left or when Daddy didn't come down from his room and her brother had to take care of her or when Daddy changed. He helped her a lot, and she helped him too, they sometimes even helped each other with their homework. She had found a true friend in him, and she hoped he felt the same about her.

#####

When she was twelve her Daddy let her have an E-Mail and she told the boy, he too had an E-mail and they talked on MSN all the time, but they still wrote letters to each other, personally hand written pieces of paper seemed much nicer than typed words on a screen. Her brother was about to be in high school now and she would be starting middle school next year. The boy had started middle school this year and it was the first time, she realized, that she knew how old he was. They would talk about homework; friends and she asked him questions about boys. The boy didn't answer a lot of them but she didn't mind, the only boy she cared about noticing her was him, but then something dawned on her. They may never meet.

When she was fifteen she started High School and the boy was a year ahead of her. Her mother had returned to the city, remarried, and she wanted to see her children, but she refused to go, as far as she was concerned her mother had abandoned her and her brother and her Father had taken care of them, but he had changed even more. Her brother would soon be off to college and she would still be here, her father wasn't so bad, only when he disapproved of something did he get angry, he never struck her, her brother would never allow it, he was protective over his baby sister especially now that boy's had started to notice her. She still wrote to the boy and told him all about her problems, it had been ten years and she could still confide in him and he confided in her and she liked it that way. It meant that somewhere she had someone who cared, someone who listened. Someone who knew her better than anyone.

###

She was sixteen when her world began to change, she still wrote to the boy and now she had a boyfriend, one of her brother's friends, she was a cheerleader and he was a soccer player and was on the swim team. Then she got a letter, it said that he had received a scholarship to her school and he was coming to New York, she was ecstatic and began to write him back when the pen suddenly fell from her hands as she realized something she had been denying. She had feelings for the boy with the elegant handwriting and who always wrote in blue pen. He couldn't come here, not when she had a boyfriend, but who was she kidding, they didn't know what each other looked like, so maybe she could hide who she was from him, the only thing he knew about he was her name and there was more than one Y/N in her school, but he never called her by her real name, when he was ten he gave her a nickname and nobody knew it except for him. She realized how ridiculous she was being, this boy had no romantic interest in her and if he did, what did it matter? She has a boyfriend now.

What she didn't know was when he came to New York her whole life would change and he would be a part of that change.

She had feelings for the boy with the elegant script and blue pen, and they were not going to go away.

"Ugh, how can you eat so much?"

Y/N Y/L/N looked at a friend with thinly veiled disgust, she had no idea where Maya put it all and considering she was eating cafeteria food, it made it just that much worse. Especially because today's menu was all seafood.

"Excuse me for being one of the few girls in the world that acknowledges a love for food." She said and then took a bite out of a fish stick and grinned.

"Hey, I like food just not too much." Y/N said, eyeing what could only be Maya's twentieth piece of fried fish.

"That's because you, my friend, are a cheerleader and must stay in impeccable shape." Maya winked and then went back to eating.

Y/N sighed, it was true, part of the reason as to why she didn't eat a lot was cheerleading, she needed to stay small so she could tumble and be thrown in the air. Maya seemed to resent her for the fact that she was a cheerleader, but Y/N could not help it if Maya did not have great hand eye coordination. She knew Maya didn't really like her, but she put up with having her around because Will and Joel liked her. She didn't know why Maya hated her, she thought it was partly because she was part of the in crowd and Maya thought that they were all snobs.

Y/N was no snob.

Someone patted her head and she turned to look and was looking into the kind eyes of her best friend.

Will Davis.

His brown hair was in his eyes, covering the chocolate orbs. He sat down, his skinny frame folding easily on the chair. He had to push his glasses from the end of his nose back up to where they were supposed to be. Y/N couldn't help but grin at him, he was so normal, that was why she opted to sit with him at lunch and not the—as Maya bluntly puts it—the popular hoes.

Y/N looked over at her other friends, they were crowded around their table near the window, laughing and joking, she saw her best friend Isabella and her brother Jack, they looked annoyingly happy. She was well aware that Jack liked Isabella but his feelings were not reciprocated, but Jack was a star at school, everyone wanted to be with him, especially Kayla.

Y/N hated Kayla.

"Well, I'm done; I'm going to go prepare for class." She smiled at the group and dumped the contents of her tray into the garbage and left her tray on top, leaving the cafeteria, she straightened out her uniform and remembered something.

She had had practice this morning and all of her bag was still in her locker, crammed into the small space. She had gotten a lift with her brother today so she had to put all of her stuff in his car. Huffing, she spun back around and walked over to her brother's table, feeling the eyes of her other friends on her, as if she was betraying them.

She knew that they thought sooner or later she would stop sitting with them and sit with the 'popular' crowd, but she sat with them because they were superficial, they were fun to be around and she liked them, even Maya on her good days.

"Jacky," she said, arriving at the table and stopping in front of her brother. He seemed to be in an overly animated conversation with Liam, her more or less boyfriend.

"Yes?" He looked up at her, sounding bored.

"I need your keys so I can put my stuff in your car." She held her hand out expectantly but Jack made no move to hand over the keys. She was aware that the group was staring and acutely aware that Kayla was practically drooling over her brother, she didn't see the big deal. She could admit that he was nice looking but hot? No way, then again he was her brother it would be weird if she thought he was a god like the rest of the school.

Jack was nearly eighteen and this was his senior year, along with Liam, Kayla and a few others. He received a lot of female attention and people were always asking if they were really related, Y/N could see why, they looked nothing alike.

Jack had silvery blonde hair and dark eyes, he was tall and had a soccer player's build, where Y/N had Y/C/H and Y/C/E, and had a frame that was slightly toned from nearly four years of cheerleading.

Y/N never understood why she was a cheerleader, she wasn't a girly girl and she didn't dress up a lot, she was more into art, but then cheerleading provided her with confidence and made her feel alive like nothing had before, she loved the feeling of being tossed into the air and soaring like a bird. It was freeing.

"How do I know that you aren't going to joy ride and leave me stranded here?" Y/N scoffed at this.

"Honestly, even if I was going to do that, you would never be stranded, I'm sure there are a million people who would give you a ride." She batted her lashes innocently at him.

He could never deny giving his sister anything, he loved her, he had taken care of her when Father had been unfit, he watched over her, he protected her.

"Fine, here, but give them straight back." He said firmly and she rolled her eyes.

"Yeah yeah." She said turning back and going to her locker. Maybe she should joyride, just to teach him a lesson, then again, that would be one time that Jack didn't protect her.

Y/N walked to her locker, putting in the combination and opening it; grabbing her bag she hauled it over her shoulder and was about to head out to the student parking lot when a hand gently grabbed her waist pulling her back. She raised her eyes to see Liam, smiling down at her.

Liam was her boyfriend, she supposed, they had been together for over a month now and Y/N was very happy. He was very good looking with brown hair that had a messy on purpose look, brown eyes, like melting chocolate, a tall stature and the build of a soccer player mixed in with the grace of a swimmer.

"Hey," he said as he moved, causing her to walk back and feel the cool metal of the locker's behind her.

"Hey," she said smiling. Liam's hand snaked out to play with a strand of her hair. He always played with her hair, Y/N didn't understand the fascination, it was a big frizz ball as far as she was concerned.

"Any plans tonight?" He asked while still fiddling with her hair.

"Sure, with the most wonderful man." Liam looked confused and let her hair fall back. "You should meet him, ever heard of Edgar Allen Poe?" She smirked as he shook his head.

"You are a devil woman." He moved so that Y/N could do what she had originally planned and put her bag in her brother's car.

"Walk with me?" She asked and he nodded, taking her bag and holding her hand.

She knew a lot of girls didn't understand why Liam was dating her; she didn't understand it herself, he was popular, the whole female population of Anchor Academy wanted him and threw dagger looks at her in the halls, but she revelled in it, for once she was envied, for once people wanted to be her.

Y/N deposited her bag in the boot of her brother's truck and turned to the back seat where she knew she had left her pencil box, she slid them into her brown leather backpack and locked the car—after closing the door—and spun to Liam. He had his hands on her hips and was staring down at her with a burning intensity.

"Do you want to do something tonight?" He asked in a shaky voice. They had never been this close before, they hadn't even done more than pecks, she didn't know what was stopping her but she knew she was grateful that he was patient, she wondered how long that would last.

"I can't, I'm sorry, but I have to finish this assignment." The bell rang then and Y/N now understood the meaning of the phrase saved by the bell. "I need to go, but I'll see you tomorrow?" She got on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek, waving as she headed to class.

Y/N wasn't exactly lying to Liam, she did need to finish this assignment, but it wasn't due for another two weeks. Y/N knew why she didn't go out a lot on school days, but that was her secret.

#####

Y/N sat at her computer desk, researching for this English paper when her chat window came up.

Hello Y/N

Y/N smiled and typed back. They had been friends for eleven years now, he knew her inside and out as she knew him, except for the fact that they had no idea what the other looked like, she thought and he agreed that it would be better to keep their faces hidden, like real pen pals.

Y/N remembered the day she had been told she had to write to him and the day he walked into her life, never walking out.

Y/N sat at her seat next to her new friend Will. He was funny looking; he had really big glasses and funny hair. They were friends because Y/N saw him reading and she wanted to read too. 

"Okay guy, we are doing a fun new assignment called Pen Pals! This means, each of you will select a name from this hat," She held the hat out for show. "And you will write that person a letter and then they will write you one and you will keep replying until the end of the year. Does that sound like fun?" The teacher was overexcited, Y/N didn't see the big deal, she was writing to a stranger. Her mom always told her never to talk to strangers. 

The hat was passed around and Y/N dipped her hand in and pulled out a piece of paper, handing the hat to Will. She opened the paper and saw the name of her 'Pen Pal'.

Harry Styles

Under his name was what she thought was an address. She pulled out a piece of paper and a pencil and began to write her first letter.

Dear Harry...

You're distracting me from homework, Y/N replied to Harry. When she had started that assignment she had no idea she was going to make a lifelong friend, a best friend and she had, in Harry, he had been her first crush, even if she hadn't officially met him, Y/N had wanted him to be her first kiss too, but that was impossible in case she was able to get a plane to England and the little savings she had in her piggy bank, Father gave her money but she always used that on the weekends, going to movies or restaurants or clubs.

Really, what are you doing? 

She was about to respond when he wrote something else and she giggled.

More importantly, what are you wearing? ;)

Y/N shook her head; Harry was always a cocky smartass.

Edgar Allan Poe

You're wearing Edgar Allan Poe? Lucky guy

Oh haha! I am studying Edgar Allan Poe and wearing nothing

Harry didn't reply, which was uncommon for him, not much rendered him speechless, in the time they had spoken, be it through letter or internet, she had learnt a lot about Harry and his life, what he was like and what he was hiding, she felt as if she was one of the only people who knew the real Harry and somehow that made her feel lucky.

What poem?

He ignored the naked comment. Smooth.

Instead of typing the title, which he would then Google, Y/N wrote the poem to him, perhaps he could shed some light on it for she was having no luck.

Romance, who loves to nod and sing,

With drowsy head and folded wing,

Among the green leaves as they shake

Far down within some shadowy lake,

To me a painted paroquet

Hath been- a most familiar bird-

Taught me my alphabet to say-

To lisp my very earliest word

While in the wild wood I did lie,

A child- with a most knowing eye.

Of late, eternal Condor years

So shake the very Heaven on high

With tumult as they thunder by,

I have no time for idle cares

Through gazing on the unquiet sky.

And when an hour with calmer wings

Its down upon my spirit flings-

That little time with lyre and rhyme

To while away- forbidden things!

My heart would feel to be a crime

Unless it trembled with the strings.

Y/N awaited his response as she read over the lines of the poem herself. The poem was called Romance and Y/N really hoped Harry didn't read something onto the title.

Well Y/N, it seems you have a pickle in your hands here.

Ever the asshole, Harry didn't help her at all. She sighed, deciding he was too distracting for her to actually get work done.

I'm signing off, you really are no help. Talk to you soon. 

Y/N logged off before he could respond. For another hour she pondered what the poem could mean and then gave up and decided to concentrate on her art assignment. She was supposed to draw something that meant a lot to her but she couldn't think of anything except for Harry and she couldn't very well draw him, she had no idea what he looked like.

Then an idea no, more like an image, came to fruition within her thoughts and she began sketching, not knowing where this idea had come from, but she was going with it, it was all the help she was going to get.

Y/N awoke the next morning and sauntered into the kitchen, pouring herself some cereal she went to get milk when she saw the envelope sitting there, with her name written on the front in elegant script and written in blue biro. She knew who it was from immediately and sitting at the table, her breakfast forgotten, she opened the letter and started reading.

She was glad she didn't eat, because she probably would have just thrown it all up with the nausea she felt.

Harry was coming to New York, not only that he was coming to her school.

That was bad, he would see her, who she really was, who her friends were, what her friends were like, her brother and he would see what she looked like. Y/N suddenly felt extremely self conscious and opted not to wear her original outfit and instead wear baggy jeans, a tank top, a giant hoodie and ugly sneakers.

She didn't want Harry to see her because she knew, she knew that he would be beautiful and she was not, he would laugh at her and never speak to her again.

Y/N didn't think she could handle losing her friend, her best friend, her soul mate.

Y/N had never changed outfits so many times in her life.

She had gone from baggy, to slutty, to loose fitting, to tight, to exposing, to completely covered, and finally she decided to go for a mix and ended up in something she would normally wear. Looking at herself in the mirror she realised that being friends with Isabella had influenced her style way too much.

And even scarier, she had never put in this much effort to look nice for Liam.

Y/N was wearing a loose grey shirt with a leather belt that emphasised her small waist, a pair of black skinny jeans covered her legs and her feet were enclosed in ballet flats. Her hair was pinned on one side and her makeup was light, she wore no jewellery and she had her bag slung around her shoulders.

Y/N descended the stairs and grabbed a berry yogurt from the fridge for breakfast and waited for her brother.

Jack came down the stairs a few minutes later and nodded at her, picking up his backpack and an apple, grabbing his keys they were about to leave when their father came out from the study.

He was always in the study.

"Where are you going dressed like that?" He asked Y/N, his breath heavy with the scent of alcohol. Y/N looked down at her attire, not seeing anything wrong with it.

"What's wrong with it?" She asked cautiously, standing closer to Jack.

When her father drank, he drank until he couldn't see anymore and he always asked or commented on Y/N's looks and she knew why. She looked exactly like her mother. Jack always came to her rescue when he started on a tirade, she was grateful to have such a loving brother.

"It looks like you are trying to impress a man. I want to know who?" Y/N cringed back at the look her father gave her. She hated it when he was like this.

Ever since their mother had abandoned them, Y/N's father had indulged in Alcohol and, as a result, had lost his job. They had nearly lost their home until, one day; their father had snapped out of it and got himself together. He got another job and was earning good money, Jack got a part time job for extra money and Y/N also got a summer job to pay for art classes.

He still drank and when he did, Y/N would rather avoid him.

"No one sir, I was just trying out a new style."

"What's it called? Whore?"

"Father." Jack stepped in, standing between Y/N and their father. "Enough. You're drunk."

"Just like your mother, she abandoned you kids, I stayed and this is how you repay me? By looking like something out of a x-rated movie?"

Y/N bit her lip and kept her tears at bay.

He wasn't her daddy right now. He was the thing that their mother had made.

"Y/N," Jack whispered. "Go to the car." Y/N did and waited for Jack.

When he appeared she was fidgeting with her outfit.

"Y/N, you look beautiful. Don't listen to him."

She smiled as he unlocked the car. She put her stuff on the back seat and sat, buckling her seat belt and fiddling with the music as he took off towards school.

"But out of pure curiosity, who are you trying to impress?"

My pen pal from kindergarten who just moved to this school.

"No one, just trying something new."

#####

Harry rolled his eyes, walking along behind the chick giving him the tour of the school.

Isabella? That was her name he thought. She seemed to like to talk and look at herself and look at Harry. Typical Barbie teenager, he could have her in minutes if he wanted, but he was far too anxious about where he was and who he knew was here. He felt oddly nervous, but he didn't know why. He knew that he was good looking—okay, that was an understatement—he could get any girl he wanted with a snap of his fingers, but it was different now.

He knew everything about Y/N—except for what she looked like, which was a big thing for Harry. He could admit that he was shallow, he always went for the easy girls as opposed to any other girl, but he doubted that Y/N was easy.

The fact that she had a boyfriend said so.

Harry clenched his jaw at that thought, it was ridiculous to get annoyed over one word, but Y/N having a boyfriend was not the way he had pictured their first meeting to go. He expected her to fall into his arms or his bed, depending on the location.

He had to stop thinking of Y/N like that. They were friends, best friends, and had been since she was five and he was six, he loved her like a friend and cared about her. He lived for the days they would talk for hours. He loved being able to open up to her.

He loved having a girl as his friend that cared about him even though she had no idea what he looked like.

"And this is the cafeteria. You can sit with me, you said you played soccer right?" Harry nodded at Isabella's question. "Good, I sit with some soccer players." They walked into the room; it was white and blue with long tables and benches. There was a lineup for the food but Harry wrinkled his nose.

He never ate cafeteria food; he always brought his own lunch.

He had told his Grandmother this and she had packed him a lunch. His stomach growled thinking about it.

"Did you want some food?" She asked.

"I have some with me." He responded, giving her his signature smirk. She smiled back at him and batted her eyelashes as she trotted off to a table in the back with a group of boys and girls. Isabella sat and gestured to a spare seat next to her in which Harry took.

"Everyone," She announced, gesturing to the group as a whole. "This is Harry Styles, he's new. He moved here from England and he too plays soccer."

"Interested in trying out? We need a new player." A boy with light silver-white hair asked.

"Sure," Harry responded nonchalantly, when really the prospect of playing the game he loved so much gave him a kick of adrenaline.

"Excellent. Come to practice this afternoon." He reached over offering his hand. "I'm Jack, captain, goalie." Harry shook his hand, recognising the name.

My older brother, Jack, is starting second grade next year.

Jack starts high school soon.

My brother got into the soccer team.

Jack was made captain!

So, this was Y/N's brother. He studied the boy, trying to imagine his features on a girl. An image rose. Dark eyes, contrasting with a pale complexion, tall and stringy, like a beanstalk, with a bit of athleticism due to cheerleading and long silvery hair.

Harry wasn't entirely put off by the image.

"That's Isabella, as you know." Jack continued, pointing to the girl next to him. "Cherr captain. Laney and Kayla are also cheerleaders. Liam, Jared are also on the team. The others are around somewhere, but we all prefer each other's company."

Harry acknowledged everyone with a nod, noting that Liam was a boy with dark hair and eyes and was also, he suspected, Y/N's boyfriend.

This guy, one of my brothers' friends, asked me out so I won't be able to talk tonight.

Liam, the guy I went on a date with, asked me to be his girlfriend. I said yes. 

Harry knew he was much better looking.

Harry looked around the cafeteria, trying to see if he could spot her.

"Ah," Jack said and here comes the most important member of our group.

Harry looked to where Jack was pointing and saw a girl walking towards them, tray in hand. Her eyes met Harry's and everything seemed to go silent. She was beautiful, not a generic beauty, but someone who didn't know how beautiful they were. Hair in a braid at her side, big luminous eyes widened as they looked at Harry. A small frame, with some muscle.

"Who?" Harry asked, not able to tear his eyes from her. His study happened in a split second; no one noticed that they had shared a moment.

A moment he would never forget.

"My sister."

The moment he first saw his Y/N.

#####

"Come on Y/N, you don't want to miss him, he is so hot." Stella, her partner in science, pushed Y/N out of the class.

She was trying to get Y/N to the cafeteria to see the new boy, she had heard about him all day and received an excited message from Isabella saying she was escorting him. She had heard he was hot but she knew something about him that no one else did.

The new boy was Harry Styles, her pen pal for over ten years.

Y/N was nervous as her and Stella approached the cafeteria, Stella scanned the room and her shoulders slumped in disappointment.

"He isn't here yet. Let's line up, by the time we get our food, he should be here."

Y/N waited in line, noting that her brother and boyfriend came through and immediately sat down. They never ate school food. Y/N was envious. She hated the oily, bland food they made. She made a note to go car shopping sooner so that she could leave during lunch and buy something.

Y/N got her tray and on it placed an apple juice, a salad, a chocolate muffin and a small bowl of Mac 'n' Cheese.

Y/N decided to sit at her Brother's table today—well Isabella had decided for her—and as she made her way over, she stopped dead in her tracks as her eyes met with him.

His eyes were bright, emerald green and his hair was shaggy and brunette, falling under his chin and just above his eyes. His skin was sun kissed and he had an athlete's build. He was the most handsome boy Y/N had ever seen. Then it registered.

She had never seen this boy before, he was sitting with her brother, her boyfriend and Isabella and he, too, was staring at her.

She felt a lump build in her throat and she didn't need Stella's input.

"That's him, the new boy."

Y/N gulped and suddenly felt the urge to run and hide.

The new boy.

Her boy.

Her best friend.

Harry Styles, her Harry.

Y/N was able to move from her spot once Stella broke the trance she had been in.

She didn't look at him when she got to the table, taking a seat next to Liam and realising with annoyance that Harry was across from her. She couldn't look at him, then they would all know. They would know she knew Harry, she cared for Harry and she couldn't let that happen.

"Hey baby," Liam said as she settled in her seat. Leaning forward to kiss her on the cheek. Y/N's eyes inadvertently went to Harry as his lips made contact. His eyes blazed and his jaw tightened as Liam kissed her, but Y/N didn't understand why.

"Ow," Liam said as he pulled away, glaring at Jack. "Who just throws bread at someone?"

"That's my sister," Jack said. "Next time, it won't be bread."

"Jack, you are so overprotective. I am not a baby anymore" Y/N said, looking at her brother. It was the first words she had spoken since seeing Harry. She didn't look at him or tried not to anyway.

"Y/N!" Isabella said excitedly, drawing her attention. "This is Harry Styles; new guy from England, your brother is letting him try out for the team!"

Isabella, I know more about him than you, shut up and stop looking at him like that!

Y/N let her gaze go to Harry.

"Really? You must be something special to get that stubborn JACKass to let you try out." She smiled innocently at Jack.

"Oh you have no idea." Harry replied, his voice like heaven.

"We'll see about that." Liam said, slinging his arm around Y/N. "Are you coming to see his tryout babe?"

Y/N looked over at Harry who smirked at her quickly before glancing down at his untouched lunch. He seemed to have packed lunch, Y/N found that cute.

"Wouldn't miss it."

###

Y/N changed into some workout clothes.

"Alright," Isabella said as they stretched on the field. "We are going to practice the cheers for next weeks game, because frankly you suck at it. Let's go!"

Isabella was nothing if not direct.

She looked out at the field and saw Liam; he smiled and waved to her. Jack saw this and whacked him over the head.

Y/N couldn't help but laugh at that.

Then she noticed Harry and all laughter died as they looked at one another from across the field. He was shirtless, and boy did he look good, and he made it no secret to check her out. Y/N turned from him before Liam or Jack saw the look Harry was giving her.

She was distracted all through practice, but luckily, she wasn't the worse one here. A lot of the other girls were distracted by Harry too. Y/N tried not to dwell on that.

As the cheerleaders were packing, Y/N noticed Jack and Harry shaking hands and smiling.

He must have made the team

She saw Liam then and he began to walk over to her, she smiled and walked over to him, after having packed up what she was supposed to, and he wrapped his arms around her, resting his head on top of hers.

"So, Harry is a pretty good player isn't he?" Y/N said as she pulled away from Liam, taking his hand and walking to where she would change.

"Yeah, I guess so, hopefully he will be enough to get us out of this slump."

"I'm sure he will be." They had reached the entrance to the girl's locker room and Y/N looked up at Liam, his brown eyes smiling at her.

"Do you want me to take you home?"

Y/N was about to say no, that Jack gave her a lift to school and would take her home but then she thought about how little time she spent with Liam and nodded, hurrying to get changed and coming back out in record time.

"That was fast." He commented, smirking at her as he took her school bag.

"Well, I wanted to spend time with you." Y/N crinkled her nose. The girl's locker room always smelled like perfume, too much perfume and all of different scents. It got quite difficult to breathe in there.

"Cutie."Liam bent down and brushed his lips over Y/N's. 

Liam pulled back grinned, Y/N stood and stared up at him, unable to form words.

The kiss was small, short and...Nice.

"Why Miss Y/L/N I do believe my kissing has stunned you into silence. I am quite good."

Y/N shook her head and shoved his arm playfully, about to say something smartass back to him when something caught her eyes. A flash, retreating into the boys' locker room.

Harry?

She turned back to Liam and they continued walking, they were nearly at his car when she remembered something. Slapping a hand to her forehead. Liam looked down at her in concern.

"Shoot, I forgot my homework in my locker. I'll be right back." She began to run towards the school.

"Do you want me to come with you?"

"I'll meet you at the car in a couple of minutes." She called back to him, dashing into the doors and running to her locker.

She put in the combination and got the book she needed, shutting her locker door she turned to go and jumped, seeing something she hadn't noticed before.

"Well, alone at last."

Y/N looked up at the person before her, feeling her insides melt.

"Harry," She breathed, unable to say anything but his name.

"Well Y/N, we meet at last."

Y/N looked up at Harry. She wasn't ready for this, no matter how many times she told herself she was, she wasn't and she realised she never would be ready to meet Harry. He was someone that she could turn to when she needed a shoulder to cry on. He was someone she could tell everything to—she had told everything to him and he was her best friend, someone who knew her better than anyone and now that he was here, she regretted telling him all those things. She regretted letting Harry in.

"I should go," she mumbled and started to walk away. Harry grabbed her arm and she spun, nearly head butting his chest. For a moment she stood frozen and, annoyingly, a song started playing through her head, one that she should not be thinking about when she had a boyfriend.

At last, my love has come along, my lonely days are over.

"Y/N" Harry whispered and she saw how close their faces were, his lips mere centimetres from hers. If she leaned forward, just a little, they would kiss and she had thought about kissing Harry plenty. Harry seemed to be thinking the same thing. His eyes travelled down to her lips and then back to her eyes. He was about to say something. Y/N wanted to hear it, she wanted to hear what he had to say to her, but the trance they were in was broken when Harry smirked down at her and spoke.

"I always imagined our meeting to go a little...differently."

Y/N didn't like his tone and managed to step out of his grip on her arm.

"You've imagined our meeting?" She asked, her voice coming out a little breathlessly.

"All the time, Y/N," she tried not to think of how her nickname—the name only he called her—sounded like a caress. "I mean, we've known each other for years and we have never met. I've always wondered what it would be like." He grinned wickedly at her and Y/N felt herself respond with a small, teasing, smile. One Isabella had taught her.

Damn her flirting classes to the pits of hell!

"Well, it's great to, you know, finally meet you. We should definitely hang out some—" Harry placed a hand over her mouth and moved his eyes in the direction of an empty room. Y/N felt her brow furrowed in confusion and then she registered the sound of footsteps. She didn't have time to respond before Harry was walking towards the room, with her in tow, locking the door and pulling the blind down.

"Harry," She hissed. "What are you—?"

"Y/N?"

The voice came from the hallway and Y/N widened her eyes as she recognised it. Harry put a finger to his lips in the international sign for silence.

"Y/N, baby?"

Liam was walking past the door and Y/N had to resist the urge to yell out his name, Harry saw this and leaned into her, whispering in her ear. His breath caused her to shiver.

"Y/N, I just want to talk to you alone."

"Harry, he's my ride home and my boyfriend," she said defensively.

"Text him and tell him you need to do something really quickly and you'll be out soon."

Y/N looked up at Harry, planning on defying him and then she thought about it. She would never be alone with Harry again and she had wanted to meet him—talk to him in person—for years. Perhaps she should listen.

She took her phone out and sent a quick text to Liam.

Hey babe. Running late, meet you out the front in a few? Sorry for taking so long xox

Harry gave her an approving look as they heard Liam's phone go off and he headed back down the hallway, leaving the school.

"Okay, you have five minutes, what?" She asked Harry.

The Harry in her head looked like the Harry before her except for the attitude. Her Harry was sweet, funny and romantic. Harry, though funny, didn't seem to have anything sweet in him.

"Cute," Harry said and she looked up seeing one corner of his mouth was turned up in a smile.

"What is?" She asked.

"You," he grinned and Y/N grinned back. Then her smiled faded as he kept looking her up and down. Y/N squirmed uncomfortably under his scrutiny. He was looking at her like...like a piece of meat, ogling her. This was not how she imagined Harry would look at her; she imagined kindness to shine from his eyes and a feeling of safety to wrap around her.

Right now, all she felt was...uncomfortable.

"Look Harry," Y/N said, raising her eyes to his. "I really need to go," she said firmly, trying to get him to shake off the look of a stranger checking out the best piece of ass. He didn't.

"Oh Y/N, I have been waiting to meet you for over ten years and you're just going to walk away from me?" He shook his head. "I thought we were friends, best friends."

"We were—are—but Harry, I really need to go. I'll—I'll talk to you later, tonight, okay?" He gave her a curious look.

"No girl," he said slowly, "has ever walked away from me. It is unfamiliar and quite disconcerting. I don't like it very much but it seems to make you far more endearing. I enjoy a good chase, Y/N," he raised his eyebrows suggestively. "But be warned, I am quite good at catching what I want."

Y/N looked at him with disgust and shoved past him.

So this was who her best friend really was, an asshat that liked to use girls. Well, she wasn't going to be one of them.

"If I had known this is what you were really like," she said, hand on the door knob, turning to face him, "I never would have kept writing to you."

Harry drummed his fingers in time with the music on the steering wheel of his car.

He was driving to a local corner store, a mini mart of sorts, to get some things for his grandmother. He didn't mind helping her. She was letting him live with her, rent free and even gave him money for doing her favours. Harry didn't want to take it, but she was pushy and would put it in his wallet while he was asleep.

He smiled at the thought.

"I never would have kept writing to you."

His smile fell as that unpleasant thought worked its way into his mind and he slammed his hand, hard, on the steering wheel, berating himself. He couldn't believe how bad his meeting with Y/N went. He was such an ass. He knew he was, he could proudly admit it and also admit to the fact that there was no hidden reason behind his being an ass, no woman who scorned him, no abusive relationship with his parents and no reason at all.

Except that he was an ass and he enjoyed being an ass.

Mostly.

His arrogance only got him so far in life. Sometimes he would have to reel it in and suck up his pride and stop being an ass. Perhaps he should have done that with Y/N.

She had always been there for him, since he was six years old and first received her letter. When he found out she was a girl he was instantly annoyed, girls had cooties, but he wrote back anyway. That stupid egg headed boyfriend of hers had  called her baby and Harry had to suppress a laugh at that, he had had so many babies in his short life and knew that more would come. But there is only one Y/N

It had been a week since Y/N had spoken to him and if she did look at him, she glared. It bothered Harry, more than he was willing to admit, that this girl he had known for so long—and had finally met—may hate him. He had no one but himself to blame, it was easy to act differently when typing on a computer or writing a letter.

Harry only acted that way with family and very close friends. Never had he acted the way he had with Y/N with any other girl. He had never given them special nicknames or blown off parties to 'hang out'. He never stayed up all night talking or anxiously awaiting a reply.

He had never wanted someone like he wanted Y/N.

Not in a physical way, although she was remarkably good looking. He wanted Y/N on an emotional level too. He wanted to kiss her if he wanted and do things to her he had done before with other girls, but he also wanted to be able to talk to her, to tell her how he felt and have her listen and in turn, listen to her.

Was this love he was feeling? Had he fallen in love with the girl who never wrote in cursive and never stuck to one pen colour?

Harry thought about it and a startling revelation came to him.

He was most definitely in love with Y/N.

There was no other way to explain his feelings and even—dear god!—the silly grin that was now on his face as he thought about it. He pulled up to a red light and groaned, hitting the steering wheel.

I'm in love with my best friend and treated her like crap.

God he was stupid.

Y/N had been a constant in his life. He had always been able to turn to her for comfort and she had turned to him. He knew more about her than anyone probably did. He knew that when her mother left, Y/N had cut one line along her wrist and then looked at herself in disgust for doing it because her mother didn't deserve her blood. He knew that she hadn't spoken to her mother—Val—since she walked out, and he knew what her father would call her when he was drunk.

He knew her favourite colours, movies, T.V. shows, books and what she wanted to do. He knew her fears and her dreams. He knew that she loved carrots and detested broccoli. He knew that she would only ever dot her I's with hearts if hell froze over, and she liked to draw smiley faces on the toes of her converse.

He smiled thinking about it all and then he saw her in his memory, the way she had looked when he had first laid eyes on her and his heart sped up.

I am in love, aren't I?

He didn't understand how he was in love. He always thought he would fall in love when he was older. He knew Y/N, inside and out and he realised that he had been falling in love with her, slowly, since that first letter and had been in love with her long before he saw her.

Harry jolted with surprise at that, as the light turned green and he continued to drive, he was shallow. He knew it. He only ever paid attention to a girl if she was good looking and flaunted it; tight tops, pants, short skirts, the lot. If you didn't have any of that, he wasn't interested.

With Y/N it was different, he had never seen her before and yet he always wanted to spend his time with her. Re-reading her letters, seeing if she was online, anything really. He made excuses to stay in and talk to her. He would rush home if he knew he would receive a letter from her and butterflies would go crazy in his stomach as he saw the envelope.

She always wrote on nice stationery and sprayed the letter with perfume.

He loved going on her words, tracing them with his fingers.

God, Harry thought as he pulled into the car park for the store and got out, locking his silver Audi and moving to the entrance of the store.

He froze for a moment, the last thought in his mind, whirring around as he looked at the one person behind the counter and his heart soared. They didn't see him and he ducked into an aisle as he calmed his heart and that thought that was still nagging at him.

God, I'm in love with Y/N.

#####

"Isabella, I only have a short break, what do you want?"

Y/N held the phone against her ear and shoulder as she listened to Isabella babble about the upcoming school dance. She rolled her eyes, her school had too many dances. This one was a welcoming back dance, although it wasn't scheduled for another month or so, but Isabella always had to start preparing early.

"I'm thinking blue, maybe. I think I look good in blue and gold for you. Maybe not blue, that would clash with the gold. I know, red! I'll wear red and gold and you can wear gold and red!" She chirped excitedly.

"What's the difference?" Y/N asked, opening her chocolate bar.

"Red is my feature colour, so it will be the colour of my dress and nails and lip stick and I will have gold shoes and accessories. Gold will be your feature colour and red you sub colour. Duh Y/N, have I taught you nothing?"

She rolled her eyes, thankful that Izzy couldn't see her.

"Alright, but red and gold remind me of curtains."

"Curtains?"

"Yeah, like older mansions always had red curtains and gold ropes and poles," she shrugged. "Reminds me of curtains, plus, red doesn't go with skin tone.”

"So what colour would you suggest for yourself?"

"Black."

There was a pause and then Isabella yelled into the phone.

"Y/N Y/M/N Y/L/N! You are not going to another dance in a black dress! For the love of God! Wear some colour!"

"But black is—"

"Black is a colour you wear once in a while. Not. At. Every. Social. Function," Isabella ground out and Y/N winced. "That's it! I managed to get you to dress like a girl everyday now I have to get you to dress in colours when we go out. I am scheduling a shopping trip...Two weeks before the dance. For now, we will browse online."

"Isabella—"

"What are you wearing right now?"

"A skirt and top."

"Elaborate, Y/N. Shape, colour, design?"

She sighed but continued, knowing Isabella wouldn't stop until she had an answer.

"A green skirt that is longer at the back and zips up the front and a white tank top tucked into the waist band of the skirt. My shoes are white enclosed with a wedge heel design and I am wearing gold bracelets and a silver necklace with a heart on it."

"Good girl, see? If it weren't for me, you'd be dressed like Will." Y/N didn't try to deny it.

"Isabella, I really think—"

"No excuses. It's written. It's done. Get your fabulously dressed butt back to work and call me later."

Isabella hung up and Y/N stared at the phone for a moment before sighing and putting it back in her bra—girl's gotta do what a girl's got to do—and headed back out to the register, where Mr. Stark had been managing the register.

Mr. Stark owned the small convenience store that Y/N worked at and had been good friends with her father—still was apparently, and she got the job with no problems. The pay was good and the hours flexible.

Smiling at the old man, she took her seat behind the register and waited, flipping through a magazine as she did. She heard the bell above the door chime but didn't look up, until she felt a tingle go through her and when she looked, no one was there. She frowned and then shrugged. They probably went down an aisle.

Returning to her magazine, Y/N thought through Isabella's words.

Did she need to wear more colours? Did Isabella have a point in helping her change her wardrobe from drabby to, as she says, fabby?

Looking down at herself, her style had definitely changed and Y/N liked it, maybe she should stop wearing black dresses to every dance.

Y/N saw in her peripheral a customer approach and stowed her magazine away, scanner in hand. Looking up she saw, to her dismay, who it was that was placing the items down. Locking her jaw, she decided not to acknowledge him and started scanning and placing in the paper bags that Mr. Stark used, insisting it was better than plastic. When she finished scanning, she was annoyed to find that she had to acknowledge his presence.

"Will that be all?" She asked, not quite meeting Harry's eyes. The green seemed to blaze into her.

"I think so, Y/N." The name was like a caress and Y/N had to suppress a shiver of delight. "Actually," Harry amended and Y/N looked up from typing in the total. "One more thing, when do you get off?"

"Do you use that line on every girl?" She asked, typing in the total as Harry fished bills from his wallet and handed them to her.

"Only girls I like." Y/N didn't pause in counting his change, but his words caused a thrill to go through her. "So, when do you get off?"

"Why?" She asked, handing him back his change.

"Because I want to talk, don't friends usually talk?"

"Friends yes, I wasn't aware we were friends Harry," she responded, still refusing to meet his gaze.

"Y/N," He sighed. "What I said, it was completely out of line. I—I'm sorry. I was so nervous meeting you. I mean, you imagine something for so long you want it to go perfectly and then you lose all sense and start blabbering." He ran a hand through his hair and Y/N finally met his gaze.

She could see that he was sorry, in the depths of green there was regret.

"I get off at 4," she said, which was an hour away.

"Would you mind—would you mind if I took you home?"

Y/N looked up at him and saw that he was nervous. Harry had always seemed so confident in his letters and typing that she hadn't thought he could get nervous and with his looks, she thought there was no need. Although what he had said to her still hurt, she had known Harry was a player, he had told her as much, but she had never thought—never imagined—that he would treat her like one of those countless other girls, and that hurt more than words could describe.

Her decision was made as she quickly mulled that over and she told him her answer.

[yournameyn]

Feeling Deeply Chapter 5

Genre: Arranged Marriage Fic. Fluff turning into angst?

Pairing: Namjoon x OC

Summary: The story of two deeply feeling nerds who find themselves in an arranged marriage. (Details here). Our OC is called Brishti. It’s a Bengali name meaning rain. Namjoon calls her Rim (short for her pet name, RimJhim which means the pitter-patter of rain). She calls him Joon.

Warnings: NOT THE NAMJOON OF OUR DREAMS. Argument. Fight over tiny discrepancies that turn out to be a huge problem. Domestic violence. Not a happy chapter.

A/N: Have you ever felt this, reader? When you watch something and realise exactly what you need to realise in that moment? I’ve had that so many times - seeing my feelings mirrored in a show. That’s something that I’ve tried to have Brishti feel here. Also, this is how I see the natural progression of this Namjoon, the one who obliged to duty rather than his dreams. It took me a long time to write this but I love what’s come out. Let me know what you think!

Current Chapter: London, late 1963. Love fully blooms between Namjoon and Brishti. And yet, something’s not right. A visit to the ballet and a conversation brings forth realisations. The inklings that Brishti was trying to avoid transform into writing on the wall.

Previously in Feeling Deeply: Preface Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4

Chapter 5

The magic about new love isn’t really in romance or even in true intimacy. It’s in how violent new love is… and just how much time it takes us to feel it’s impact.

In the new love between Namjoon and Brishti, everything had been roses and honey, overflowing, swaying in a gentle breeze. They spent every second possible in each other’s arms. They had to tear themselves away from each other when they had to leave home. And even then, it hurt as though they were part of the same cloth.

Brishti had thought about how they had become woven, their souls an ornate tapestry. Namjoon had told her then about a Japanese tradition of weaving that was a sort of meditation and a kind of worship to a god called ‘Musubi’. The disciples say it is like being part of the cosmic tapestry. Being tied to each other.

“Just like we are… I felt a pull toward you and I followed it. I was scared… so full of doubts about who you were and how this was all going to go… I had promised myself that I would fulfil my duty… whatever happened ” Namjoon had said, petting Brishti’s hand gently, “And I… I still can’t believe it… It… you make me feel like I can… trust myself.” Brishti had looked at her genius then and wondered what a strange world it must be that made a man like Namjoon doubt himself, “Always, always trust yourself, Namjoon-ah.” and settled into the crook of his neck.

It was indeed a strange world that caused Namjoon to build an armour around himself. Because ‘London’ and ‘Lonely’ sounded just the same to him. His years alone in this strange place had been unkind, unrelenting. Brishti had been the only softness he had felt in a long long time. Armours built over years can break in an instant, though. For him, it was the moment when he and his wife had crossed the threshold to becoming lovers. High on the magic of new love, he had not realised it.

Sitting across from each other after that fateful evening, Namjoon and Brishti were both wide awake in the early hours of the next morning. Brishti buttoned up the shirt they never fully took off. Namjoon had tickled her with his toes. They propped their feet against the other’s to see just how vast the difference was (he melted seeing how small her feet were and hadn’t stopped playing with them since). Caressing each toe, he remembered something he wanted to ask -

“How did you know what Saranghae is?”

“Mm…” she stretched her arms, “I know what it means…” Brishti said.

“I know you know… from the way you… after I said it… You asked Yoongi about it?” Namjoon cautiously asked about the only other Korean Brishti knew. To his surprise, she nodded no, still denying him any information. Namjoon had to tickle her foot for the answer.

“Okay! Okay! Wait! Pleeeease!” Namjoon stopped and Brishti bent down to the bureau next to her bed and pulled out a textbook - LEARN HANGUL THROUGH ENGLISH. Namjoon looked more shocked than she had expected. “I asked Yoongi about the book-”

“You don’t need to Rim… I’m not learning Bangla, am I?” Namjoon said. He was touched but he didn’t want his love to do anything he couldn’t reciprocate.

“I would have asked you to learn it… if I wrote poetry in my mothertongue...” Brishti said. Namjoon was shocked. She went on, “You really think I didn’t know?”

Namjoon blushed and smiled and flopped over in Brishti’s lap. She brushed his hair as she explained, “You light up at the mention of lyrics and poetry, you keep a notebook by your side at all times, you’re moved by the things that people usually don’t pay attention to… I know you’re a poet, Joonie.”

Namjoon looked up at her and said, “No one has ever called me that…”

Brishti leaned down and kissed her gorgeous husband. “You are... From what I know, I bet all my books that you are a great one... And… I… I would love nothing more than to be part of your world of words, Joonie… It must be strange… to be understood but in a foreign language. If you would let me, I want to understand you in your language… Do you think that’s something maybe--”

He got up and all but jumped on Brishti, pinning her down to the bed with the cutest puppy-yell she had ever heard. “Yes! Of course, yes!”

They both understood that this was a proposal. The truest kind - a gentle request to explore Namjoon’s universe. They would later joke about how she proposed to him after a month of being married. Namjoon was completely delighted by this person with him, his person… one who really saw him.

He pulled her to him saying, “You’re the best part of my world, Rim...” and kissed her.

Each moment of love flowed through the next. When they had to be separated, they couldn’t wait for the next one, their moment again. On weekends they would visit museums and find their favourite paintings and sculpture or their favourite prehistoric relic and animal. Brishti hated the fact that Namjoon had to work overtime to compensate for these weekends and she often voiced how unfair it was.

In response Namjoon would just give her a peck and say, “As long as I have you, I’m happy.” This pricked her but she was too taken by the man before her to pay heed to it.

Namjoon was just about able to keep a straight face at work but everyone around Brishti was acutely aware of how much she loved Namjoon.

At one point, her colleague and best friend, Min Yoongi had yelled at her, “Yhaaaaa! Stop blushing?! It’s just a clock… what could be romantic about a clock?!” Sayuri-san, and she were hanging around Yoongi’s table when Brishti looked at his new flip clock and started blushing.

Brishti laughed along with everyone else but explained, “It’s involuntary… that’s what happens when you’re married to a poet.”

Sayuri-san corrected, “I know too many wives of poets to know that’s not necessarily true… It is true though, when you’re in love with a poet… Go on… tell us how exactly poet Namjoon makes you blush about a clock...”

Brishti blushed even more at that. Yoongi rubbed his arms and demanded, “Tell us because there’s some really weird things coming to my mind… like you guys have an exact time when...”

Brishti stopped his imagination, “No no no… it’s nothing like that… he loves digital clocks... because he loves to watch the time turn to 00:00… zero o’clock he calls it… and on days he feels sad, it’s like zero o’clock is always there to comfort him… like it’s a point when the whole world holds its breath and he can feel happy again… but these days… with me… he said he wants the clock to keep going after 23:59… he wishes time would stretch on… beyond 24:01…”

Yoongi sighed and sat back down, “You’re making me fall in love with Namjoon… ahhh that is beautiful. He should be published...”

“Imagine him saying this directly to you and you might know how I feel… I can’t stop talking about him...”

“Oh, we know. But honestly none of us care… your poet-librarian romance is getting us through our single-ness.” Yoongi reassured her.

The three of them continued to talk about the ways in which Brishti could repay Namjoon’s wordsmithing in graphic ways.

It was that evening, wasn’t it, when Namjoon had enveloped her back in the warmest hug as soon as he’d entered their flat. Brishti was in the kitchen when she heard him enter but hadn’t expected this. He kissed her neck while telling her the good news, “We got our first Korean client today… because of me… Mmmm… Why do you always smell so amazing?”

Brishti turned around and hugged him again, “That’s amazing! Namjoon-ssi! I’m so proud of you!”

“He’s from a wealthy family… so he can actually afford our firm… its not exactly the work I wanted to do--”

“It is a step toward that idea, right? It’s still good work, fighting for justice?” Brishti asked, stopping him from undermining his own work.

Namjoon nodded, “Yeah… He’s a dancer… Park Jimin. All the posh types know him as one of the best dancers in the Royal Ballet. They call him Jim… as if it’s too difficult to say Jimin?” Namjoon shook his head in disapproval. He began helping Brishti with the chopping and continued, “He was born in the UK and trained since he was 5... He got into the Royal Ballet but he’s been passed up to be a principal over and over even though everyone who has seen him dance apparently knows that he’s far far better… So recently he spoke to the director there... and of course the director made a racist slur and asked not to bother him with this again. He can’t even quit and work at another company because of the contract they have him on. There’s a non compete clause… meaning he won’t be able to dance with any other company. That’s all he wants… to be able to get out of that contract… I’m hoping to convince him to press charges on racial discrimination too. We’re not in the 20s anymore.”

When Brishti didn’t respond, Namjoon looked up at her. “That’s horrible… I’m so so glad you’re taking up the case. But please tell me what you ate when you were alone?” He looked down at the carrot he’d been failing to cut.

Namjoon scrunched his nose and admitted, “Canned food mostly.”

Brishti said, “I’m really really glad you’re getting to do work that you are passionate about, Joonie, you deserve it. Now, you should know how to cut a carrot.”

Namjoon pressed up against Brishti’s back. She reached back up to the nape of his neck and made him moan into her. Then… then Namjoon made her forget how to cut carrots.

He had these ways… Namjoon, with his touch, his voice, his languages both spoken and soundless. He was lighting new paths into her self. She loved learning him. Paths she didn’t know existed, that she’d been longing for.

The scars of the loneliness, emptiness that Namjoon had experienced had turned his longings into a kind of starvation. He needed to be nourished and also devoured. Brishti was just the creature to do it. He could feel her warm fingers trace rows of pleasure onto his skin. He felt them bear down and singe when the two of them had to move away from each other. He felt those ropes tug at him as the end of his workday neared. Namjoon closed his eyes each night at her touch, the feeling and fragrance of her body. He felt blooms of intimacy spring up like seedlings out of the soil of his skin. And deeper. In the earth of his soul. So he did the only thing he could. Reciprocate. Namjoon sowed his love, his desire, his need onto her, into her every night.

There were times, though, when she would feel his absence in the middle of the night and see him working in the dim light of a lamp. She knew he had to work hard to do what he wanted but she also saw he had to continually prove himself to people who weren’t even paying attention. The reason they weren’t paying attention was painfully clear to Brishti but she was yet to experience it’s full stab.

Namjoon wanted to shield her from it. He was counting on an armour that didn’t exist anymore to protect himself and his wife… the reason he liked his life again. Whenever she came out and switched on a brighter light, reprimanding him for straining his gorgeous eyes, he saw that it did prick her - this world and the unfairness he had to endure. She would say something small, an almost-complaint that alerted him… against her for some strange reason. She would say something that would be easy to ignore and yet would prick him, like - “I don’t know why they haven’t promoted you yet.” or “Why haven’t they taken up Jimin’s case yet? You’ve worked so hard on it.” Everytime she did that, he would have to pacify himself.

‘I’ve told her so much about the Jimin case… she’s just really invested’ Namjoon thought to himself. Just so he would avoid thinking, ‘I shouldn’t have told her.’

He would have to calm himself, give her a peck and try to convince her to stop worrying. “As long as I have you, I’m happy.” Namjoon would always say.

Then, Brishti smiled as she always did. While trying to understand why that sentence bothered her so much. After almost five months of exploring this wonderful man, some part of him still felt unfamiliar… like it didn’t fit in with the rest. Still, these things take time, she had heard from so many women over the years. Besides, she was blessed with a man far far above the norms. So, how could she prod? These are things Brishti had told herself - until the night she couldn’t stay silent.

The couple was coming up on their fifth month together and Park Jimin had gifted Namjoon a ticket to the final show of the season as a token of gratitude, for having heard his story.

Brishti was nervous about going to this kind of a gathering and had told her husband to meet her there.

She had enlisted the help of Sayuri-san to look appropriate for the event. Her slightly longer hair was clipped and her eyes were kohled. She wore a burgundy knee length fringe-ended dress that she had received from her gracious host, stylist and make-up artist - an inheritance of her brilliant life tucked into the black pearl beading and deco design. It was a big departure from the usual tie-die or band tees and jeans with her baggy coat. She had carried the coat but felt this strange sort of compulsion to stand in the cold air in the noodle strap dress, for him to see her.

She felt butterflies in her stomach and kept fiddling with the coat she had draped over her arm. It was electric when she saw him.

Namjoon looked gorgeous in a tux. All of Brishti’s nerves were soothed just by looking at him. He had brushed his hair back. Tall and dashing - better than any heathcliffe could ever be. And with his reading glasses, he looked like the lead of a romance novella that would make all the women swoon. Indeed she was swooning. Brishti was suddenly warm in the chilly, windy night. And when Namjoon saw her, blood rushed to her cheeks. Everything inside her was running helter skelter in a panic. Brishti felt everything drop in the few moments it took for Namjoon to reach the top of the stairs. Dolled up like this, outside of her element, she felt like an imposter. Some angel needed to be standing in her place. For the first time, feigning beauty, Brishti felt like she wasn’t worthy of her husband.

She was finally able to keep her feelings aside when he reached her.

Namjoon kissed her palm like a gentleman and whispered in her ear, “Let’s go home… I need a private kind of dance…” Brishti blushed. Namjoon put his arm around her and felt the chill that had settled on her skin. “Aren’t you cold? Why didn’t you wear the coat?” Namjoon asked. Brishti just shook her head no and the two of them walked in.

Brishti assumed that the ballet would be a welcome distraction from the storm that brewed within her. She had read up about the show, the piece they were going to perform -

Tchaikovsky’s venerated Swan Lake. The story of a young girl who falls in love with a prince who promises to save her but fails. Ofcourse there were finer nuances to the story but this was the basic plot. As the lights dimmed, Brishti felt pulled in by the music, the eerie beauty of it’s melody played in perfectly with the questions that were swirling around in Brishti’s mind -

Why do I feel wrong?

Is this what Yoongi was talking about? Anxiety…?

Why does Namjoon look so... different?

Why is he so quiet, so… distant…It’s like he’s keeping himself away from me despite being right next to me, arm in arm, like the true Namjoon is somewhere in a glass case? Deep deep beneath whatever this creature is who is next to me?

I’m thinking too much. No. What is this? Why am I feeling this way?

It’s the music… no its not just the music… something is fucking wrong because all I feel like doing is breaking that glass case that’s locked away My Namjoon and presented this fucking imposter. What the hell is going on?!

Brishti barely managed to keep it together. She kept her eyes on stage…

It was like seeing a moving painting being created by invisible hands and the music was the sound of the brushstrokes, amplified. Park Jimin was playing Rothbart, the owl-like magician who curses Odette into a swan until she finds someone who would promise to love her forever. The questions in her mind and the power of the spectacle before her forced her tears to keep flowing.

Namjoon saw Brishti cry and held on to her. But the more he tried to comfort her, the more uneasy she became, the more she coudln’t contain the tears in her eyes.

The curtain fell at the end of Act three when the prince realises he has been tricked. Brishti, somehow, mirrored his grief. The prince was cheated by Rothbart into believing that his daughter, Odile, was Odette. Rothbart relished his plan so despicably it made Brishti’s stomach turn. The prince had already declared to the ballroom full of people his vow to love and marry the maiden by his side - Odile, not Odette. Park Jimin played Rothbart so skillfully, so beautifully that despite being the villain, despite being covered from head to toe, he was the star. Rothbart giggled delightfully as he revealed to the prince that the girl in his arms wasn’t Odette at all. That Odette was waiting for her prince by the lake. The curtain fell as the prince felt the stab of betrayal and rushed to Odette.

Brishti rushed to where she did not know. She wanted to get away from Namjoon, from this feeling that she couldn’t understand, couldn’t explain. She was angry. She wanted to break something. Tears still flowing down her face, she found a corner that was hidden away in darkness. She went in. Brishti sat on the couch there, for what seemed like eternity, breathing heavily. Nothing made sense. It felt like her insides were twisting into each other. Suddenly, though, a door creaked open and out came an angel. A man, glowing, having just freshened up. He saw her, saw her fear and instead of pulling back in shock, approached with a strange kindness. He held her wrist and stayed silent for a moment.

His beauty was also a kindness to her. In that moment, Brishti could breathe a little bit better. He sat down by her knees, on the floor and when he spoke, his voice flowed like a tonic, “First time at the ballet? It’s overwhelming… I know. You’re okay. You are safe. Rothbart is not here. Talk to me… what are you feeling?”

The tears kept flowing. This man was different, she knew he understood what she was feeling like. She felt safe, but not as if she was with a saviour, rather as though she was with another victim.

“What are you feeling…” Park Jimin repeated. The pieces were falling into place in her head. This is Park Jimin, the man who danced as Rothbart. The man who should have danced the Prince. Who should have played Odette and Odile.

“I feel… rage.” Brishti trembled as she spoke. She could breathe again.

“Yes… Rothbart is… evil… I’m sorry-”

Brishti nodded her head no. “At the prince.”

Jimin was surprised. “Let it out. You can scream in here and no one would know.”

Brishti didn’t need another invitation, but her rage wasn’t a scream, it was a whisper - “I want to hit the prince. How could he not now? He couldn’t see that that girl was not Odette? Is he blind? The way she moved, the way she danced… which only means… it means that the prince knew… somewhere he felt doubt but he… He couldn’t fucking trust himself enough?! I don’t know why this is breaking my heart… Why can’t people trust in themselves?! It’s a pathetic fucking excuse and I can’t buy it… I just can’t. Why did the prince...” Her hands covered her face as she wiped her tears. She composed herself.

Jimin pulled out a kerchief. “May I?” Brishti nodded and he dabbed her face with care.

“The prince trusted his sight more than his soul. And now, Odette will die because of it. As always, the woman pays the price.”

“He dies too, you know.”

“What a waste…”

Jimin smiled, “Thank you… for watching the show, for feeling it so much.”

Brishti managed a weak smile, “Thank you.” Jimin stepped away and sat next to her, at a respectable distance. “I’m being lied to.”

Jimin nodded, “I know what that’s like. I feel that rage against the prince too. And still, we must be kind to our liars.”

Brishti clenched her teeth, “Why? Where’s the fairness in that?”

Jimin moves away, in a dejected kind of daze and pours himself a drink, “That’s the biggest lie, fairness. Cruel joke.”

Brishti walked toward the door. “I should go… Thank you.”

Jimin raised his glass to her.

Brishti wore her coat and walked toward the exit. She found Namjoon in a panic and suddenly felt like she could reach him. He looked so relieved to see her. She couldn’t help but feel awash with love as he crashed into her in the warmest hug. It was as if he was the one who was lost.

“Are you okay? Why were you crying?” Namjoon asked her as he stroked her head and held her in the hug for as long as she needed.

“I need to ask you something.” Brishti whispered as she pulled away. They began walking down the stairs of the theatre.

“Änything.” Namjoon replied.

“Your firm… they refused the Jimin case, right?”

Namjoon froze. His jaw locked up. “Let’s go home.”

The rest of the way, neither of them spoke a word. They entered their home in a cold silence. They washed the night off themselves and entered their bedroom, which was completely devoid of the heat and desire that usually filled it right up to the ceiling. What used to feel like an ocean, now felt like a vacuum.

When Namjoon walked in, Brishti reminded him, as kindly as she could,“I said I need to ask you something. You said, ‘anything’.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t want to talk about it.” Namjoon was cold again. Unfeeling. Unreachable.

Brishti tried her best to be calm… “When would you want to talk about it?”

Namjoon breathed in - “Why? Am I answerable to you?”

“Yes.”

“Well, we disagree. I don’t think I am answerable to you. What would you have done if I wouldn’t have told you about it in the first place?”

“I would still be feeling what I’m feeling… I would be even more furious though.”

“Fu- why would you be furious? I have to work there, I lost the account. I’m feeling hurt and disappointed in myself and instead of helping me, you’re angry?! What the hell could you be angry at?!”

“I’m being lied to. I’m being tricked.”

“What?!” the contempt on Namjoon’s face made her head throb. He was angry now.

“There are two Namjoons here. I’m being told there’s only one and--”

“That is some philosophical trash that you learned from one of your books. Real life doesn’t work that way. But how would you know?! You don’t have a real job. You have a hobby. A hobby of stacking books in order. You’re just plain lucky that someone is paying you for your hobby. That’s not a job. You of all people cannot tell me about the things I have to do to keep my job. I have tried my best to be as honest as I can be--”

“As honest as you can --”

“Listen to me!” Namjoon thundered. His loud voice might as well have been a punch. It rang through her body and rattled her bones. She had tears in her eyes but clenched them down as Namjoon continued yelling, “Enough… enough with the fucking tears. What the fuck are you so sad about?! I don’t need you to pity me. I don’t need anyone to feel sad for me. I have tried to be a good man - do you even know how much other men don’t even mention to their wives?! I told you everything. EVERYTHING. And now I’m being punished for it. Time and time again I tried to console you… even though I was the one hurting… I tried to be there for you and tell you… as long as I have --”

Brishti couldn’t take it anymore “Don’t. Say that.” She didn’t yell. Her voice was just above a whisper and yet it sent a chill down Namjoon’s spine. She wiped her tears. “I didn’t ask to be consoled. I was just… curious. If a few questions from me hurt so much maybe you should ask yourself why. I’m not lucky that someone decided to pay me for my hobby. It’s nice to know what you really think of my job. But whatever you think, I created my job. I created my life. I fought to come to london. I fought for the right to earn--”

“Oh please... spare me the feminist lecture...” scoffed Namjoon.

“Sure. Take up Jimin’s case.”

Namjoon felt the burn of white hot rage. He wanted to strangle her. He was so used to touching her… and she was his… in this bedroom, he had made her his. He wasn’t thinking. Namjoon strode toward her and held one massive palm over her mouth and the other on her neck and pinned her to the wall. “YOU WOULDN’T HAVE KNOWN ABOUT THAT IF I DIDN’T TELL YOU.”

It took him a few moments to realise what he was doing. Brishti was shocked and tried to scream but no voice came out. She was trying to get him out of his daze when he finally saw her, saw his Rim, horrified… by him. Namjoon pulled his hands back instantly. He saw a red bruise bloom where his hands were - on her face and on her neck.

“This is how you make your conscience shut up?” Brishti’s voice was hoarse. “You think this has nothing to do with your conscience? With the best part of you? The part that you made me fall in love with? Are you really telling me you don’t know that this is why you can’t write the way you used to… You’re killing my Joon and asking me to stay silent. I can’t.”

The searing anger still hadn’t died and it burst out of him, “Why are we fighting like this… over Jimin… why don’t you take up his case if you fucking love him so much?”

“What do you think I’m doing right now?”

“You… Why are you fighting for him against me?!” It was here that Namjoon realised his armour was gone. The idea of who he is... suddenly vanished. And the one thing that had made him feel safe, like his true self, was slipping away. “You’re saying… just tell me… you’re saying what I think you’re saying.”

Brishti did him the only kindness she had left in her, she explained, “Jimin wants to leave but can’t. He stays because he needs to dance. He stays because he cannot get out of his contract. You say you want to help people like Jimin, you roll your eyes at white people who can’t pronounce our names, you feel guilty for asians who have much less than we do… but then you also don’t raise an issue when your boss holds meetings in clubs where people of other races and dogs and women are not allowed. You work overtime for the privilege of weekends… You say you are trying but… as far as I know… you don’t have a non-compete clause in your contract, Namjoon.”

That hit him like an iceberg. Namjoon’s legs gave way and he just sat on the bed.

He watched as Brishti put on her coat and left, covering her bruises with a scarf.

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Chapter 6 - to be posted.

[neutron-stars-collision]

The Art of Inversion

Neil x Reader

Chapter 24 - If You Want Me... 

Masterlist; Chapter 23

Summary: Tension reaches its boiling point when you overhear an unfortunate conversation. With unexpected allies, you attempt to break the impasse once and for all.

Warnings: ANGST (still but... well you’ll see ;)); at few points R! is being a little dramatic which can be triggering if you’ve been dealing with intrusive thoughts (nothing too bad though); swearing.

Author’s Notes: Finally! It’s been a wild ride... and god am I happy i’ve managed. This part took a lot of effort but I quite like what I came up with... even if sometimes it gets too angsty. Can’t wait for what’s coming next, however... :)))) Hope you enjoy and all feedback is always appreciated! <3 

The shooting range on the icebreaker was a strange place. It occupied a large proportion of the deck floor in the accommodation part of the ship, next to the turnstile and sparring grounds. With darkness swallowing every corner that was not lit up by the blinking fluorescents, it was a perfect place to hide. Soon it became your go-to solace when things got difficult, and the only other idea you could come up with involved going outside without the oxygen mask attached. You did not want to go that far. Yet. Target practice became your favourite occupation. It was simple and did not involve talking to people that could give you worrying looks or comment on the dark circles underneath your eyes. Sleep was no longer a thing, with you catching three-hour-long naps at best, in between never-ending worrying and staring at the ceiling, reminiscing the past. The constant headaches were something you soldiered through, accepting them as a part of reality. The worst part of that new life was the fact that you and Neil stopped talking to each other altogether. Not even empty pleasantries could get through the stone-cold awkwardness and tension capable of killing you before the heartache would. After a day of near-misses and horrifying mistakes that culminated with you accidentally spilling boiling water all over the sweater when Neil entered the galley, you both mastered the art of hiding. You only saw him once afterwards, sitting at the table in the corner of the canteen. That was almost two days ago, and you were thankful.

Once you went through the assigned daily rounds, you moved onto the task of cleaning the guns and rifles. Polishing the metal cases and arranging the bullets was as close to therapy as it could get. With the repetitive action occupying your brain, there was no time to get emotional over things you could not change. Only at the shooting range, you did not feel so utterly hopeless. So terribly unloved. A sudden noise by the airlock made you look up. Conveniently the air in the range was sealed so that you need not to worry about oxygen masks during the target practice. It also meant you got approximately five seconds warning to check the identity of the intruder. This time you were surprised.

“Hi, Y/N. Thought I’d find you here” TP’s dark gaze slid over you cautiously.

Taking off the mask, he joined you at the makeshift table, looking at the arsenal you have spread over the surface. You eyed him with curiosity. That was unexpected. So far, he has never interacted with you outside of the meetings. And every time he did, you could not stop thinking about how much he knew. Who did he see when he looked at you?

“Afternoon” shaking off the reverie, you offered him a tight smile, “Is it afternoon?” glancing at the watch, you grimaced, “Oh,”

The last time you checked, it was 3 pm. The blue numbers on your wrist were mercilessly ticking away. 8:30 pm. How the fuck. TP caught your silent crisis as he asked:

“How long have you been down here?” looking up, you encountered a glimmer of worry in his eyes.

Interesting.

“Umm, five hours?” it felt like the best estimate.

It was probably longer. But he need not know that.

“Jesus,” wincing, he directed his taxing gaze back onto you, “When was the last time you had food?” tone strictly business.

The truth was that you did not remember. With everything falling apart and losing meaning, food became an afterthought. Half the time you would realise you only had one meal around 1 am, forcing you to tiptoe to the kitchen and grab something from the cupboard. A hungry stomach was nothing compared to all the other issues. It could be ignored.

“Breakfast. I’m not hungry though,” brushing off the concern you chose defiance, “Is this an interrogation?” you arched one eyebrow and cocked the gun you have wiped clean.

TP snorted at your comedic timing.

“No, I come here in peace” he raised his hands in defeat and added, “To see if you’re… alright” the hesitation made you scoff.

“You know that I’m not. Because things are generally far from alright,” letting annoyance slip into the sentence, you let go of the tools and met his gaze with coldness.

The deepening frown was concerning. You were being unfair. After all, it was not him who has caused all this pain. Remorse nipped at your heart as you sighed heavily.

“Sorry, that was unnecessary,” he accepted your apologetic smile with a nod, giving the courage to continue, “And I’m also sorry that you all have to witness that mess in the meetings. I’d rather it stayed between him and me... but he seems to disagree” you shrugged.

Sometimes you did wonder why Neil seemed so intent on making your arguments a public spectacle. Whether that was a part of the intricate plan to make you look like an idiot or a result of his emotions boiling over. Not that it mattered. Everyone on the team knew what the deal was anyway. A poor, naïve you, desperately in love with someone who could not care less. Nothing out of the ordinary. Judging by TP’s passing frown, for him too the topic was rather uncomfortable. He took a long moment to respond, looking for answers in the rows of bullets you have arranged on the table.

“Not going to lie, it’s awkward, but at least I know what’s going on, and I can offer to listen” he met your gaze with newly found determination.

Okay… Confiding in TP was quite low on the list of things you expected to have the opportunity of doing. But then so was having to convince Neil not to get himself killed for the sake of the operation. Anything goes.

“Aren’t you taking a side?” that suspicious voice in your head was difficult to get rid of, “Agreeing with him that I’m stupid, emotional, and overall a burden?” you recited the memorized litany of epithets with a stone-cold expression.

The words have lost their meanings after you have put them apart in the quiet of your mind. Now they were just sounds, incapable of inflicting pain. It was the least that could be done.

“He went too far with that” TP winced, his eyes expressing traces of disapproval, “I might not know you well, but you’re none of these things,” a sympathetic smile softening the tone.

An open hand. An olive branch. Why not? Taking a deep breath, you got ready to open up before the most unexpecting of allies.

“In a way, he was right though…” you looked down, trying to find the needed strength, “I am stupid because I have allowed myself to care too much for him” there it is, “And now I’m paying for it” when you met his eyes again, you found nothing but thoughtfulness.

It was something you thought about often as well. The fact that Neil was right, you did care, and that it was perhaps the reason for your demise. But who could blame you for falling for the bastard looking like the devil? And equally charming too.

“Maybe it’s a little too forward, but-” TP’s tentative tone made you grin.

In moments like this, you acutely remembered that he was still a rookie. Not used to the half-truths and strange tenets you accepted as your credo. His innocence was adorable even.

“In this profession, a it’s sometimes nice to say the truth. Shoot away” you waved your hand dismissively, anticipating the question.

There is a first time for everything.

“Fair point” he mirrored your smile before asking, “Do you love him?”

Plain and simple. Ignoring the panic, you took a moment to ponder the answer. It was… obvious. You told Neil as much twice before, and no amount of pretending and lies could ever undo it. The words were his. Just as you were. Unfortunately.

“I’d want to say no, that I got over it, but… Yes, I do,” you offered the answer with a helpless frown, “Think any idiot can see it” noticing a hint of embarrassment briefly you patted TP’s shoulder, “No matter how much he hurts me, I always find myself wishing things could be… like they once were”

Whatever that meant. In truth, you wanted more. You wanted to wake up next to him every morning. You wanted affirmations of love every day as you tasted his coffee-stained lips. You wanted to lie in his embrace, feeling desired and loved. But most of all, you wanted to be able to lace up your fingers with his, following the instincts that became your second nature. To card your fingers through his silky golden strands and to give him everything he would desire. You wanted to be his. He was supposed to be yours. Or was the universe wrong?

Thoughts of that kind could be lethal. Shaking yourself awake, you met TP’s eyes. Apart from the lack of surprise at your admission, you noticed something strange. A passing realization. As though he has heard something similar before but was afraid to speak up. Once again, you found yourself wondering what Neil told him. What did he mean by ‘things you and I should explain to each other’? For a moment, you wanted to jump head in and ask. But what good would knowing the truth be when you could not act on it? As though aware of your increasing dilemma, the man spoke up again.

“I’m sorry for Oslo” your eyes widened at the reminder.

“Why?” blurting out the question, you eyed him cautiously.

The deepening discomfort radiating off him confirmed your assumptions. That was it. He knew what nearly happened that night. And he was flustered about his role in it. That was not the conversation you ever expected to have.

“I can’t help but think that maybe if I hadn’t… interrupted you, it would’ve-” he stumbled over the sentence somewhat endearingly.

Perhaps it was the lack of care that made you say the next words. Or maybe just the fact that nothing mattered anymore, and so who could judge you for the purest form of honesty.

“Doubt it,” interrupting him with a sour smile, you added, “Maybe it’s good you knocked then… Least he doesn’t have absolutely everything” noticing the alarm painted on TP’s face, you blushed.

Yep, too far. Still true, however.

“I’m sorry, you didn’t have to know that much” you brushed off the sudden awkwardness with a sincere apology.

“I can pretend I’ve never heard it” it was his turn to give a reassuring shoulder squeeze.

You could feel the strange companionship forming. Sure you did not mind. Relaxing back in the chair, you spoke up:

“Thanks,” as TP also visibly reclined, you brought up the thought that was not letting go of your mind, “I don’t know how much he has told you about… this,” gesturing vaguely, you bit your lip.

Somehow you knew that he would not betray Neil by sharing with you everything that has been said. But even crumbs would do…

“Quite a bit,” you watched him closely, intrigued by the hesitation, “Enough for me to know that you’re someone I can trust and that he had reasons to be acting that happy in Tallinn before the action” oh.

That painful pang in your heart was heart to ignore. You winced, feeling the steady gaze fixed on your face. The analysis was mutual. Neil, happy, back in Tallinn. Because of you. You have lost too much.

“What do you mean?” treading carefully, you asked the safest of questions.

A small smile on his face showed you just how obvious you were. Lovesick idiot.

“Hours he has spent texting someone, phone calls he would pick up instantly and then come back grinning like a madman” TP offered you examples with a glimmer in his eyes “It only clicked when we were inverting, and I asked him about you” the blush on your cheeks deepened under his taxing gaze “Suddenly all of that made sense if you were in Estonia with us” he shrugged, finishing the thought.

Oh my god. While you experienced it all firsthand during those chaotic yet hopeful days in the safehouse when everything seemed to have infinite potential, hearing about it from someone else’s perspective felt strange. Almost like a slap in the face. Because it only confirmed what you knew – he once loved you. Once.

“Well, it seems like he has changed his mind…” you muttered, feeling the resentment settle in.

You wondered whether one day it would stop hurting. If you could ever get over this and find someone else. That darkest part of your brain knew the answer well enough. Nothing could come close. And nothing ever would.

“Or he’s just an idiot” the cheeriness felt forced.

But judging by the way TP was staring at you, you could tell it was his attempt at dispersing the sudden melancholy. It was strange to see him worried about you of all people. Perhaps your shit attempts at diverting everyone’s attention from your declining mentality were failing. And that was a reason to be concerned.

“That too,” plastering on an unconvincing smile, you stifled a yawn.

That caught his attention.

“You should get some rest” upon further thought, he added, “And food,”

The intensity of his look was stifling. You hated being the centre of attention. Especially in moments like this when you felt vulnerable, an object of pity and unease. Stupid, weak, and useless. The sabotaging voice came out in full force, making you want nothing but to curl up in bed and disappear. Not yet, however.

“Yes, sir” you raised your hand in mock salute.

Your face fell when instead of a laugh, you got a frown in response. Oopsie.

“I’m serious” TP seemed to consider something quickly before placing his hand on your forearm, “I’m… I’ve been a little worried about you” he met your eyes with a clear purpose.

Shit. That is exactly what you wanted to avoid. Being seen as pathetic and a burden. Internally, you cursed yourself for not being strong enough. For letting anyone see the cracks. You would not let them see you shatter into pieces.

“I’m doing fine,” mustering the happiest of grins, you tried to mask the urgency.

Please buy the bullshit.

“Are you?” he didn’t. Before your brain could fully arrive at the panic station, his inquisitive expression softened. You held his gaze for a beat, hoping to convey everything. Hoping to convince him to let the conversation go. It worked for TP gave a final taxing look before backing off. You exhaled slowly, relaxing a little. Maybe the worst was over…

“Before we go… there’s one more thing I wanted to talk to you about…” TP changed the subject, looking down at the table “The lock. You want to go with him”

It was not exactly a question, yet you knew he expected an answer. That one you could easily give him. It was obvious, even if you have never said it out loud. Up till now.

“Yes... Maybe it is an impulsive and stupid thing to do, but I can’t let him do it alone. I can’t let him get killed” the word felt foreign in your mouth.

As though ‘Neil’ and ‘death’ were two irrelevant concepts that did not fit together even in theory. They could not. You would not allow it. And you were willing to accept the worst of risks to make sure it would not happen. Hell, you would even fight against fate and time to assure that.

“I’d rather avoid that too” TP’s quiet comment made you look up, “He deserves so much more than…” there was something startling in his gaze.

As though he has stopped himself before saying too much. Much more than what? And why was he looking at you like that? Like you were missing something tragic, and his heart was breaking for your loss. You felt like going insane. TP cleared his throat awkwardly, resuming the conversation, not at all fluently:

“I don’t buy the whole ‘what’s happened, happened’. What does that even mean?” the irritation shining through his strange tone was distracting.

“Don’t ask me,” you shrugged, “I like to think there’s a different solution to this. One that doesn’t involve Neil sacrificing himself. And I need to be there with him because if it comes to it… I’d take that bullet for him” you did not know where the honesty came from.

Or why you would admit something that fundamental to TP. His response was just as anticipated – a gasp and widened eyes. Nibbling on your lower lip, you broke the eye contact and chose to stare at the forgotten gun lying on the table. It was the truth, so why did admitting it feel so… radical?

“Are you sure?” when he found his voice again, it was hoarse.

“It’s that kind of love,” you replied, still unable to meet his gaze.

You never expected to reveal yourself like that to TP. Wheeler? Maybe. Even Kat seemed like a probable option, but not the boss himself. And especially not at this stage of his story. Yet he was there, willing to listen, and that was enough. You would deal with the consequences later, in your mind that would undoubtedly rebel against such a display of fragility.

“I don’t want it to sound patronizing… but you’re still young. There might be someone else for you along the line if Neil-” his voice broke through your reverie as you interrupted him with a start.

“I know” finally, you raised your head again, showing the sincerity of expression, “But something tells me it’s him or nothing. Call it fate or insanity” biting back a dry chuckle, you felt a single tear form in the corner of your eye.

That was something you have spent most of the time thinking about. At the start, you desperately wanted to believe that you would get over this. That it was just another disappointment, and like before, eventually you would forget about those blue eyes and maniacal grin. But your heart knew better, constantly reminding you that it was not that simple. That Neil was not someone you just forget. Because how could you?

“Reality?” TP’s eyes were filled with thoughtfulness.

“Perhaps,” you cracked a smile, feeling heaviness in your heart lift by an inch.

Always something. Another yawn ended the delicate moment seconds later, making you scowl in annoyance. What was the point of tiredness when you could not even rest properly? TP laughed at your pained expression and got up:

“Now, you into the kitchen. And try to get some sleep” he offered you a hand which you took and stood up.

“I’ll try” a lie, “Thank you… for checking in and listening” sheepishly, you tried to find any words of gratitude.

“I owed you that after those hours in Oslo, filled with plans, coffees, and awful songs you’d sing to entertain us” the knowing smirk suggested that he did remember what you hoped would be forever forgotten.

MTV in Norwegian. Your knackered brain deciding that singing along to ‘Like a Virgin’ and ABBA was what had to be done to make everyone smile. Mistakes have been made.

“Don’t remind me,” TP laughed as you smacked him on the shoulder.

*** You did not sleep after you bid goodbye to TP. That night too was spent tossing and turning in bed, thinking about how everything could have crumbled so quickly. It has only been weeks since Tallinn. In fact, looking from the linear point of view, it has not even happened yet. The normal you have been enjoying the confusion of those days before Oslo when everything was difficult yet hopeful. Too good to be true, at times. Well, now you knew that those moments never lasted too long.

The next morning you quickly grabbed breakfast and sneaked into the sparring area, hoping to catch a few minutes with the punching bag before the troops would take over space. However, that day it was not meant to be.

You heard the voices as soon as you opened the airlock and entered the large room. It was divided into a few sections, each devoted to a different training exercise. To your advantage, each was also separated with a thin plastic screen. Cautiously, you approached the nearest divider, trying to determine whether your mind was not playing any tricks. After one second, you knew. TP and Neil were having a rather heated conversation on the other side of the screen. A sparring ground was the place you least expected to encounter them. And yet… You wanted to turn away and leave before more damage could be done, but the moment you heard the boss’s voice, you froze on the spot:

“Why are you so hard on her?” TP’s question rung out clear in the highly domed room “The only crime she has committed was falling in love with you. I don’t think that’s worth all that pain you’re inflicting”

There was no doubt as to who he meant. Your heart sank. Oh my god. On one hand, it was encouraging to know someone was fighting for your side and pointing out the unnecessary torture Neil was so keen on. But the fact that they were discussing the nature of your feelings was terrifying. Listening on felt wrong, yet you could not move away.

“It would be better for her if she hadn’t” Neil’s cold tone made your blood turn to ice.

There was something frightening in how distant he sounded. As though he was nothing like the man you fell in love with, only a cold impostor that borrowed his face and voice. He was right.

“Why? You told me that you love-” TP’s voice rose, incredulity tinging every single word.

Neil told him his feelings. You expected that, and it still felt like a punch. You leaned on the wall for support.

“It doesn’t matter what I said” the biting edge to Neil’s voice was new, “Or how I feel. The sooner she gets over it, the better for all of us” he threw it without caution, as though he was done with your bullshit.

With the fact that you were stupid enough to love him. He did not want your love. Never did. The crushing weight on your chest would not give way.

“You’re cruel” TP was surprised, as though he could not believe what he was hearing.

“That’s mercy” Neil was begging for the conversation to be over, “Cruelty would be letting her entertain the idea that we can...” he trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

Christ. All those nights spent wishing for answers, and when they came you wanted to forget you ever heard it. It was foolish to believe anything could ever happen between you.

“But why? Neil, you are in love with her” TP raised his voice yet again, utterly done with whatever the blonde bastard was doing.

You could not care less. Nothing mattered anymore. But you did not expect the very next punch. Or the pain you would feel.

“I’m not” clear-cut rejection; nothing to interpret “I don’t love her. There’s no need to look at me like I’m a monster”

Enough. You heard enough. The pain was as bad as ever as you walked away. Your mind set on one simple thing - tea. Yes, that would solve it.

*** Going to the galley felt as though you were stuck within a dream you could not shake off. Half-aware of your surroundings, you nearly walked into Dominic, whose survival instincts kept him off your path. Muttering apologies, you undid the zip lock and sauntered into the kitchen without a care in the world. With a start, you noticed Kat sat at the table. She gave you a welcoming half-smile as she sipped the tea from the metal cup. Your autopilot stuttered, overwhelmed by the company. Blocking off any attempts at thinking, you followed the muscle memory. Setting the kettle on. Putting teabag into the mug. Earl Grey because it reminded you of those morning kisses in London. No. Wrong memory. You shook your head, waiting for the water to boil. The fridge was too loud, the buzz making thoughts appear. Sighing, you leaned on the counter. Your eyes were burning, the sensation increasing with every single blink. It was alright. So why did it feel like the world was ending?

The kettle switched off. Without sparing a single thought to the reality, you poured the water in, watching with fascination as the teabag floated up. Kat’s spoon let out a clink as she placed it on the edge of the plate. You jumped up, startled. That was enough to break through your carefully woven barrier. The thoughts came rushing in. Neil didn’t love you. Your chest tightened as the next breath came out strained. The air was gone. Your hands shook as you tried to take out the teabag. Fuck. Everything was over. A single gasp was all you could manage before you shattered. The tears fell down your cheeks in a steady stream, blurring everything with tragedy. Choked sobs shook your frame as you desperately tried to hold on. To sanity. To reality. Anything to make the pain go away. But it would not disappear, only getting stronger. As though through the glass, you could hear someone say your name. Voice tinted with worry and urgency. But you did not care. The sobs turned into a howl as you slid down to the floor. The sounds coming from your throat sounded foreign and harsh, tearing at your vocal cords mercilessly. Oh my god. That was the break you always feared. There was no end to tears falling down your cheeks onto the floor and beneath your shirt. Slowly breathing became almost impossible, forcing out those pathetic half sniffles that only made everything worse. You wanted to do something. Anything. To make it stop. To forget. To lose the ability to feel things. Your fingers clawed at nothingness, barely losing against the desire to make all that internal pain physical. By any means necessary. Because then at least you could blame it on something concrete. And not just heartbreak. A word you despised because it sounded weak. Stupid. Easily avoidable for everyone but not you. A lost cause. A failure.

“Hey…” warm fingers gently touched your shoulder.

You raised your head. The pounding headache and lack of oxygen, making everything seem twice as difficult. Kat’s blue eyes bore into yours with concern. You have made quite the show. Self-preservation told you to get up and leave, save yourself some shame. But you would not even know where to go. Or what to do. You did not trust yourself to make reasonable choices.

“Are you alright?” Kat’s voice brought you back to the present moment.

An anchor. Maybe this could work… She was still eyeing you closely, unsure about how to act but wanting to be helpful.

“Mmmm no,” you sent her a broken smile, grateful for the handkerchief she handed, “But it’s okay. Sorry about this. I didn’t mean to-” you gestured vaguely, knowing she would catch on.

Tears were still flowing steady, threatening with dehydration should this continue. But at least the wailing subsided to quiet sobs interrupting your sentence every few words.

“Don’t apologise, we all break sometimes,” Kat squeezed your shoulder, joining you on the floor, “Do you want to talk about it?”

It was tempting. Even if terrifying. But you felt like maybe she could be the listener you needed. Someone objective enough, without any ties to Neil or you. Someone safe to confide in that would keep your secrets in safekeeping. But…

“What if someone comes in?” grasping the most idiotic of excuses, you glanced at the airlock with apprehension.

You could just about imagine what would have happened should Neil walk in during your conversation. Your heart would not take it.

“We’ll just tell them to leave,” Kat’s cheeky tone made you turn to her, “I think they’re all a little afraid of me for some reason,” she added, with a small smirk.

She crossed her long legs and sat next to you with both your backs supported by the cupboard doors.

“As they should be,” you replied, feeling strangely at ease, considering everything.

That spark in her eyes was worth the stress over being too forward for someone you barely knew.

“So…” she nudged you with her shoulder as further encouragement.

There was no more escaping it. You took a deep breath, urging your heart to stay strong. Words started spilling out without sense or order.

“Is just... the world is potentially ending in a few days, and here I am crying over the fact that someone doesn’t love me” your throat contracted upon the word as though it was forbidden “I should’ve known better. He never could want someone like me because why would he” more tears as you realised the ultimate truth “I’m not extraordinary. It all feels so stupid, pathetic. But I can’t get over it because I still love him. And I don’t know how to stop” you finished the rant on a sob that forced you to cover your face with your hands.

There it was. Out in the open. You wondered how you could have ever been naïve enough to think your feelings could be reciprocated. For him, it was just a crush. Amplified by the troubles you had to face and the recent difficulties. Nothing more. You were conveniently there when he needed someone to lean on. But if it came to it, he would never choose you.

“It’s about Neil, isn’t it?” something in her voice made you meet her gaze.

You were that obvious, huh? A panicked thought convinced you that everyone on the bloody ship knew about your weakness for the blonde bastard. Yes, even that mess sergeant that always gave you a sorry smile when you approached the counter at mealtimes. Before you could spiral down another wretched rabbit hole, you asked the most innocent of questions:

“How do you know?”

There was no point in trying to convince Kat she got it wrong. She seemed to consider something for a moment before she looked at you with newly found resilience:

“Let me tell you a story,”

You quirked your eyebrow, confused and intrigued. Might as well… Nodding at her silent question, you rested your head against the cupboard. Dried tears tinged your chapped lips with salt.

“When we were in Oslo, staying in a hotel for two nights, TP went out, and Neil stayed with me” she set up the scene with a neutral tone, “We talked a lot about everything really. He asked me about Andrei...” you glanced at Kat, noticing a passing grimace, “Normally I would shut off, but there was that calm curiosity about him, and I didn’t mind saying too much” she admitted with a sheepish smile.

You knew the feeling well, always telling Neil too much because he was such an excellent listener. Confiding even the darkest of secrets and thoughts never felt like anything significant when he reacted with that same confidence and acceptance. That was one of the reasons why the fall was unavoidable.

“Neil has that sort of effect on people,” you returned her smile, shrugging slightly.

Kat patted your hand gently, noting the look on your face. The infatuation and yearning you could not get rid of whenever you did as much as spare a thought towards him.

“I can tell... the point is that he mentioned you, as well” your eyes widened as she paused, “His friend, as he referred to you but not without stumbling over the word a little” she grinned upon your struck expression, “He told me about your role in this. That you’re an asset, excellent sharpshooter, brave as hell and equally reckless at times” my god

You blushed, feeling Kat’s taxing gaze. Friend? Suppose that’s one way of introducing you to people. It was fascinating to know that even after the mess of Tallinn, Neil valued your contributions to the mission. That he would mention you to anyone. Favourably, at that.

“Sounds about right,” frowning, you pondered the implications of her words, “So you knew who I was that morning on the bridge?” the sudden realisation felt refreshing.

That explained her looks directed at you and Neil back then. The visible consternation about the matter of your relationship.

“Yes, it clicked pretty quickly” upon your perplexed gaze, she picked up the story, “I could tell that there was more underneath all the praise. There was that longing in his eyes and a spark that lit up only for you,” Kat added, smiling as you gasped, “I asked whether love was allowed in your line of business” there was boldness in her eyes that made your heart clench. Something important was coming, “He said yes, but it’s dangerous and best avoided. Only that’s not always possible. Sometimes it gets you, and before you realise you can’t breathe another word without missing that one essential person. Your heart doesn’t belong to you anymore, and nothing can be done” oh my god.

You stared at the floor as her words sunk in. It felt surreal, as though you have wandered into a dream. A good one. But dreams could only last so long… Shaking off the haze, you glanced at the woman sat next to you. She was observing you with an enigmatic smirk gracing her features.

“He said that?” your voice came out raspy.

Just a clarification. In case you have misunderstood. But Kat was not surprised.

“Yes,” she nodded, that same sympathetic expression on her face, “Considering what I’ve seen with you and him... there’s only one person he could’ve meant” your heart dropped, as though unused to the idea “I understood it that morning on the bridge when despite the awkwardness, he was willing to defy everyone else for your sake”

Your mind wandered back. Neil’s constant presence by your side, his hand touching the small of your back and then staying there for longer than necessary. His support and trust placed in your hands without hesitation. Right now, even something that insignificant felt unattainable. But it did happen. Could it be that he meant you? Unable to withstand the whirlwind of emotions, you stood up. Pacing in the tiny room, a protest came up, spilling out of your mouth:

“But I just heard him tell TP that he doesn’t love me” you swallowed hard as the reminder of the reality hit.

It was one thing to know it. Another to put it into words once again. You felt like screaming, demanding answers from the main culprit of this whole mess. But it was too dangerous. Another heartbreak could be lethal in its consequences.

“Sometimes we lie to ourselves to save the pain” the quiet certainty of Kat’s voice kept you grounded.

It felt risky to believe that he was pushing you away out of fear. But what if… No. You met her inquisitive gaze, hoping to convey the confusion and desperation. She must have understood for she added:

“He’s still coming to check up on me every evening, and the last two days he’s been a little… strange” the meaningful pause felt like bait.

One that you did not hesitate to take.

“How do you mean?” stopping mindless trotting, you sat down on the stool.

“Quiet, wistful, as though something was troubling him, threatening to spill out if he wasn’t too careful” a long taxing look; it sounded familiar, “Trust me, I don’t mean to give you false hope, I just thought you should know that before deciding on any further action” Kat got up and approached you.

Placing a hand on your shoulder, she squeezed it. You felt immensely grateful. Even if a little speechless… Because all of that was a lot to take in. You desperately needed a long afternoon spent in bed, staring at the ceiling and processing the eventful morning. Was it still morning?

“It means a lot, I’m not sure how I could repay you” finding the words again, you gave her a helpless smile.

“Just try to be happy. And don’t give up on things that seem too good to be true. Sometimes those are most worth keeping around” the depth of melancholy in her eyes was startling, “What will you do now?” the tentative tone assured you of the intent behind the question.

It was Kat’s way of saying: don’t do anything stupid. You could not promise that to anyone. The wounds were too fresh; emotions barely kept under control. Anything could happen. But you did not want to alarm her.

“I’m not sure. Think, probably” an unconvincing nonchalance had to do, as unprecedented honesty took voice “But I’m beginning to realise that if I won’t be able to… have him… I’ll just let him be. He deserves the best more than anybody else” you finished the thought and met her eyes.

A passing shock you found there was intriguing. As though your words reminded her of something, and she needed an additional moment to recover. God knows what sort of secrets everybody held on this god-forsaken ship… If the weight of the past and the unsaid could sink boats, it would have been long over. For everyone.

*** You thanked the gods (and Ives) for letting the topic of the lock wait out a little longer. Instead, the next morning’s meeting concerned the splinter unit, the who, and the how. As a result for once, no voice has been raised throughout the two hours spent on the bridge. Nothing much has been decided, but you did not mind. The burden of the last few days rested on your shoulders, preventing sleep or any form of relaxation. The word ‘tired’ did not even begin to describe it. But duties had to be put ahead of any personal issues and so you took part in the confab as usual. Seeing Neil after everything felt like a stab straight in the heart. His silence and the complete lack of acknowledgment of your existence were the added twist of the hilt.

The moment the meeting was over, you bolted out of the door in desperate need of fresh air. It was bound to rain later as the entire deck was covered in strange puddles that formed out of nothing. Perks of inversion and all that. Lost in thoughts concerning the locks, blonde bastards, and the torture of love as a concept and a feeling, you forgot about the golden rule of inverted rainfalls in the making – caution upon stepping on the wet surfaces. Turning around the corner, your foot slipped. Fuck. All you could do was flail your hands helplessly while praying that the fall will not be painful and that it will not detach the oxygen tank. Suffocation was not the death of your choice.

Suddenly the fall was interrupted with a strong grip on your waist. Hands pulling you upright, back to standing. The hold felt familiar. And forbidden. Turning to face the saviour, you were struck by the sight of the blue eyes that haunted your every waking hour. Every dream too. He was close, with hands wrapped around your waist securely. Somehow this felt worse than the fall. You half expected Neil to let go any second now, step away and yell at you for being clumsy. Or maybe just for existing. But he was still there. One of his hands slipped down onto your hip. Speechless, you kept on gazing into his eyes, trying to understand what was going on. All you could see was increasing the confusion. Desire. The boundless depths were drawing you in. Neil pulled you closer. Something in his face made you believe that if it was not for the oxygen masks, he would have kissed you. His gaze roamed across your features, intense, relentless, as though he could never have enough of you. It felt like being stripped bare, left exposed and vulnerable. Despite trying, you were unable to put up a guard, showing him all that he was not supposed to know instead. Everything you tried to hide and deny, bury deep inside so it could be forgotten. Well not anymore… Whatever Neil saw in your eyes woke him up. You noticed a passing frown, replaced with increasing shock. And then horror. What the hell. Before you could even process what happened, he let go and took a hasty step back. He looked sick, pale with fear and panic. Then, just as you tried to find any relevant words, Neil spoke:

“Be more careful next time,” cold and curt as though nothing happened.

He walked off briskly, disappearing into the darkness of the training grounds. What the fuck? A single drop flew up from the deck, splashing onto your chin. The rain has begun. You felt strange. Suddenly mourning the fact that you have been saved from suffocation. It would have been simpler. Less painful. Less terrifying.

*** No matter the hours passing by, or the thousands of different grounding techniques you have attempted, nothing was helping. Lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling, you wanted a multitude of things. To get blackout drunk in the hope of forgetting this morning ever happened. (You checked the galley, utterly disappointed to have found nothing with the necessary voltage). You wanted to talk to someone, briefly considering visiting Kat further down the corridor. But that would have meant being even more vulnerable. And a burden. So nope. At one point, you once again considered marching outside without the mask, letting the inverted lung membranes and fucked up rain do the rest. But you did not want to end the life itself. That was not all that bad. You liked your job, the various people you have met along the way. It was only that the current predicament was… unbearable. There had to be a different option.

Then mindless pacing replaced the stillness of lying down. Window, door, and back again. To be repeated for at least an hour. Your thoughts swirling around everything that has been said. Everything that happened. Kat’s story. The look in Neil’s eyes. What if… what if? The unknowns kept multiplying in your head, driving you insane with the extent of what you did not understand. You always hated those moments of suspense. Unsure whether to give up, let go and try to move on, or to keep trying, hoping. Your heart could never process them well without breaking and shattering into millions of pieces. Fuck.

There was one way out of it. One that you tried to push to the back of your head for the few past hours because it was too terrifying. But you were slowly running out of alternatives. One look out of the window told you that you had spent at least six hours like this. It would not do. It was either him or nothing. But you could not survive the insufferable without knowing which one it was. Taking a deep breath, you stopped in the middle of the cabin. This is it. You knew what had to be done. You put on the sweater as though in a trance, making sure to repeat silly affirmations in the quiet of your mind. It had to be alright. If it wasn’t, there were always the seals left…

The walk down the short corridor felt like ascending the steps to the guillotine. Only whatever might happen could be worse than beheading. Your hand shook as you rapped on the door to Neil’s cabin. The sound felt like the worst mistake you ever made. It was too late to turn back. After a very long moment, you heard shuffling inside. When the door opened, you were shocked by a few observations all at once. Neil’s eyes were reddened, hair in absolute disarray. When he realised that you were the intruder, his hands automatically went to smooth the strands in some way. Making even more mess in the process. In any different situation, you would have found that endearing. But your heart was too heavy. You eyed him instantaneously, gaze slipping over the fitting black thermal shirt and the joggers with narrowed cuffs. Not helpful. As you glanced back at his face, you noticed the intensifying confusion. That was the chance to speak…

“Can I come in?” a tentative start to make him more likely to agree.

The shock in his blue eyes slowly changed into careful curiosity. Neil gave you a once-over before opening the door wider and stepping back.

“Of course. Friends are allowed to visit each other” a hint of impatience as though he already had enough.

But that was not the most infuriating bit…

“Friends?” you crossed the threshold and met his eyes with the face of stone, “Sure, that’s one way of looking at what we are” the lack of reaction was inspiring, “Or were” you took a look around his room.

Equally small cabin, littered with a few personal objects. His was phone abandoned on the bedside table, a change of clothes on the floor. A naïve idiot would have taken a moment to consider the fact that maybe he was not as well as you thought. But you were past that, desperate to get answers. A reaction. An end to this madness. With resolve ever-increasing, you sat down on the edge of Neil’s bed, ready for the battle ahead. Meeting his perplexed gaze, you let the penny drop:

“I wonder with how many friends have you been kissing on the bed for two hours” a flash of recognition and then a frown.

As expected. But it still hurt.

That moment from the afternoon before the morning plane to Tallinn was one you often replayed in those desperate hours when nothing seemed to help. You were lying in bed in your room back in London, enjoying each other’s company, exchanging kisses like compliments every few minutes. Sometimes Neil would let his hands become more daring in their caress, causing goosebumps all over your skin. Bringing out sighs and making your heart overflow with love and hope that you finally found what you have been looking for. You felt wanted. You talked a lot about the future, sharing different ridiculous plans for how it could play out. Neil promised to visit your prospective farm with the sheep and dogs. Back then, judging by the look in his eyes, you dared dream that perhaps he would want to be a part of those days still to come. Now, looking at the blonde man awkwardly perching on the chair in front of you, nothing made sense. He stayed for the night then, allowing you to hug him close until the morning. You woke up first, watching him for a few minutes. The steady rise and fall of his chest. Relaxed face with hair sticking up. Calm and content. The warmth spreading from your heart inspired you to press a kiss to his lips as a means of wake up. The sight of Neil sleepy-eyed, peering up at you with a fond smile gracing his features was worth much. Maybe even the current tortures…

Facing him now, you could see the frown deepen.

“Painful memory?” you countered, watching him closely for any hints.

A mask was put on well. But there were flashes of something there. A potential… A possibility of getting burned too.

“In a way,” Neil grimaced, avoiding your piercing gaze.

He was uncomfortable, mindlessly picking on the skin around his nails and tapping his foot. That was the signal to keep on pushing. Until he would be forced to be honest.

“That’s a shame. It’s one of my favourite ones” as he looked up, you offered a deadpan smile, “Just like Oslo,” a shrug complemented with a quick scan of his body, “Though I’m not sure about that… ending,” feigning thoughtfulness you ended the harsh scrutiny.

The point was to back him up against the wall without making him throw you out. That tiny voice at the back of your head told you that he would have done that already if you were not in any way important. That voice was too confident.

“What is your point?” Neil bit back, betraying the level of annoyance you have brought with the innocent reminder.

You knew there was no more skirting around the issue. Now or never.

“Why did you do that earlier? Why did you hold me like...” you trailed off, unable to put into words what it felt like.

Like what? Like a lover. Like someone you actually cared about and not just an irritation. Like someone you could want in your life. But you could never say that to him.

“I was being a gentleman” Neil glanced at you with painfully fake indifference, “Women tend to appreciate that,” a shrug that could not fool you.

Women. The spark of jealousy burned bright. Because what if you were just another distraction. Nothing special. But then the things he said to Kat suggested otherwise. You held onto that thought and squared your shoulders. The game was on.

“...Right,” a sceptical glance in his direction before you continued, “Was that look gentlemanly too? Because last time I checked, gentlemen didn’t tend to look at women as though they wanted to…” trailing off, you awaited the response.

That would mean he took the bait. And the case was not yet lost.

“What?” the lazy tone made you meet Neil’s gaze.

He looked… off. As though before you knocked, he was not exactly fine. It was that nervousness and unkempt appearance that betrayed him. On its own accord, your heart gave out a painful thump, anticipating the fact that Neil too might have been hurting. But why? Ignoring the distraction, you found the needed words and dropped them carelessly.

“Devour them” you held his gaze confidently.

The verb felt right. As though Neil was not trusting his instincts, he looked down, breaking the contact. Putting up further guards. Bingo. He scoffed, throwing in cruelty to the mix:

“And here I was thinking you’re over… this” a vague hand gesture to show what this meant.  

You. And him. That something that both was there and was not. Or rather, he wanted it to cease to exist. Only it was not that easy.

“I never said that” putting on the necessary emphasis, you kept on staring at him until he looked up.

Mouth open for another quip. That same steel-blue eyes and clenched jaw. Whatever you have been doing was working. Slowly aggravating him to the point of discomfort. You had to keep the upper hand. Neil seemed to consider something, restlessly fiddling with a pen he picked up from the bedside table. After a beat, he spoke up:

“Why are you here?” weariness in his eyes as he gave out a long exhale.

Easy question… right?

“Because I want answers” it could not be any simpler.

He flinched, letting you see the extent of panic hidden underneath the annoyance and casualness.

“What makes you think I’ve got them?” an arched eyebrow adding the mocking intonation.

The meter of space between you felt like an ocean. He was close enough for you to brush away the strand that has fallen into his eye if you only leaned in. And yet so far that you felt alone, alienated by the cold scrutiny. You had to keep going, tearing at the carefully build up armour hiding him away from you.

“Because you always have words. An abundance of them” you waited till he looked at you again before pressing on “Be it things you probably wish I have forgotten that you have once whispered between kisses” a pause, noticing the boundless unease in the blue eyes “Or all those lovely adjectives you have given me the last couple of days” using the moment of hesitation, you added, “But maybe you were right, and I am stupid, emotional-”

You could give him the whole litany. Your legacy. Exactly how much you were worth in Neil’s eyes. Unless it was a lie…? Before you could begin, Neil raised his hand, interrupting sharply:

“Okay, I get your point” no pride in that frown, almost as though he regretted it, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that” the apology took you by surprise.

As did the sudden change in his face. Neil held your gaze with unusual sheepishness. As if even the act of looking at you was dangerous. Tearing the skin from his lower lip, he was the epitome of insecurity. There was no time to falter.

“Everything?” you prodded, mindful of the poker face you had to maintain.

You could not lose him now. Neil hesitated for a short moment before responding:

“Yes,” another second of eye contact, and he got up, impatiently touching the doorknob “If this is all you wanted, then I’d rather be alone-”

No. You leaped up, reaching out before he could finish the sentence. As your hand landed on his forearm, his eyes snapped to you in shock. He was not expecting you to breach the touch barrier. But there was no other choice. With heart hammering in your chest, you felt your throat tighten. Please not now…

“No,” emotions exposed in the tiny voice crack, “Neil, I’m tired of this, of you not making any fucking sense and expecting me to accept it” pleading, you let your fingers wrap around his wrist.

That had to do. Judging by the terror in his eyes, it was already too much. You could feel your resolve waning. Terrified of the consequences if this backfired. Of what you would have to do if he rejected you once and for good. Of the pain you would have to face then. But you had to be brave. He swallowed hard. You wondered what caused the goosebumps on his skin.

“If this is about earlier, then you’re blowing it out of proportion. Be more reasonable” there was a raw edge to his voice that was new.

You were close now. Enough to force Neil to stare at the ground to avoid looking at you. You noticed those dark circles under his eyes. And the tension spilling out in waves. He was scared of you. And that was a horrifying discovery. Your eyes were burning as you begged your heart to hold on. You had to survive this.

“It’s not just that” betraying the nerves, you took a greedy inhale, “It’s what you told Kat in Oslo. It’s how you look at me” following potentially disastrous instincts, you tipped his chin to meet his eye, “It’s all those sudden switches when you seem so cold and calculating and yet so separated from the real you” running out of breath, you could only stare at Neil.

The widened eyes and parted lips told you exactly how shocked he was. You did feel bad for bringing Kat into it. The argument was too strong to let it go. And it worked if his silent panic was anything to go by. He was desperately searching for words, unable to tear his eyes away from yours as though what you said was a binding charm.

“Why do you think you know the real me?” finally, Neil settled upon the question.

One last attempt at making you forgo this madness. Only there was nothing convincing in his delivery. Eyes hazed, showing you fear and uncertainty. A blood droplet on the lower lip where he tore through the skin. Ignoring the most innate of desires to wipe it off, you cupped his cheek. Neil gasped, frozen in the spot. Could it be working? Sliding your hand down, you interlocked your fingers with his. Everything felt surreal. As if you were not a part of the scene. But you had to persist. To finish what you started.

“Because you once told me that you’ve never lied to me. That I’m very important. Your everything, even” your voice broke again on the last sentence as you tightened your hold over Neil’s hand, “And I understand that you could have changed your mind, but…” you hesitated, feeling him shudder.

Oh my god. Your heart broke for the umpteenth time as the fact dawned on you. Neil was shivering slightly as though he was cold. But there was no draft. Nothing to cause it apart from your presence, words, and the physical touch. A choked sob built up in your throat.

“…why are you trembling when all I’m doing is holding your hand? Am I that revolting?” the questions were interrupted by a sniff you could not hold back any longer; there was time for honesty, “The last few days have been awful, making me want to stupid things just to feel something different than heartbreak. I’m not saying that to get your pity, but if I got it all so wrong then tell me now. Because I’m not sure I can survive much longer like this” after finishing the speech, the tears trailed down your cheeks uninvited.

It was all there for him. Nothing to add. Your heart was beating fast, blood pounding in your ears. For a second, you felt suspended in time, unable to do anything but stare at Neil, who seemed utterly speechless. And then his face fell. Eyes fell shut as he let out a heart-shattering whimper. Tears started falling down his face as you tried to brush them away. You have not seen him that broken since the aftermath of TP’s death. He tugged his hand out of your hold to cover his face, turning away. Christ… The searing pain was back, this time making your heart bleed for Neil. You did not know what to do, powerless and paralyzed with a multitude of thoughts and feelings. After a minute which felt like an eternity, Neil faced you again with red-rimmed eyes and tragedy in his gaze. That was the needed wake-up. Stepping back into action, you placed your hand on his chest. Just over the beating heart. A gentle encouragement.

“I can’t… I can’t tell you that it’s over because I still…” the breathless words tinged with panic and struggle as he fought for every gust of air, “I can’t keep on…” another sob, shaking his whole body “You’re…” a sharp intake followed by instant defeat.

Immeasurable anguish in Neil’s eyes was another reason to find the strength you did not know you had. Maybe it was worth it.

“What? I’m here with you and willing to listen. To do anything but please just make me understand” holding back more tears, you made sure he saw the determination painted on your face.

Slowly you were coming to terms with the reality. You would do anything for him. Anything he asked.

“I don’t know how to…” Neil trailed off, looking for answers all over the floor and ceiling, “I’m tired of having to pretend when you’re all I…” a moment of hesitation as his eyes widened.

He did not intend to say that much. You’re all I… what? Before you could find ways of pressing on, he turned away again and sat down on the bed. A frown etched deep into his forehead. Eyebrows furrowed. Eyes glistening with unshed tears. This was bad. Awkwardly, you shifted from one foot to another. Words were escaping you both.

“Then don’t. I won’t bite” your useless quip was received with an ill-disguised dry chuckle, “Call it naïve, but I don’t think it’s anything we can’t fix if we…” shit.

You knew what was there on the tip of your tongue. It was too early. Fuck knows if he even… But he had to. There was no other force in the universe that could cause this much pain.

“If what?” Neil caught your mistake with strange emotion in his eyes.

As though he wanted you to spell it out. You could not give in. Some words had the potential to destroy, and it was too fragile. A freshly opened wound you still had to mend somehow.

“Don’t make me say it again” a whisper to make him understand your actions.

After a beat, Neil nodded. He seemed exhausted, slouching and staring at the floor unseeingly. That feeling of helplessness threatened to come back with force as you were running out of ideas to make it work. To get him back somehow. Then his voice broke the tense silence:

“Christ…” a long exhale before he looked at you again, “I don’t even know where to begin, but…” resignation passed through his face.

You felt a strange spark of hope flicker in the depths of your heart. It did not look like rejection. It did not look like anything you have ever experienced, and yet it made so much sense. Because after everything you have been through, there was no way this could be easy. Kindling that building fire, you cautiously took a step forward, maintaining the eye contact:

“Yes?” the most neutral of tones, holding the emotions at bay.

Everything not to scare him off. You made it so close. You could give up now. A hint of a sad smile upon Neil’s lips was encouraging…

“Come closer. I want to…” he reached out a hand you gladly took, letting him pull you nearer.

It did not matter what he wanted. Only that you could give it to him. Anything. Everything. Upon the sudden surge of courage, you covered the remaining inches of space and straddled his lap in one smooth movement. Another gasp as Neil glanced at you with obvious amazement. Then, as though he worried that even this was too much, he looked down at where his hands tentatively settled on your hips. This position was familiar. And yet, you felt different, unable to make sense of the myriad of emotions and thoughts occupying your mind. All that mattered was Neil. His hesitant but intimate hold. The hair falling into his eyes. Shallow breaths escaping through the parted lips.

“It’s alright, look at me,” gently you lifted his chin so that you could meet his gaze.

Blue eyes full of longing. For you. Exhaling sharply, you knew well enough what to do. You wound your hands around his waist, drawing him into a tight embrace. That too felt natural. After a second, Neil relaxed, melting into your hug as if that was exactly what was missing. At that moment, with head resting in the crook of his neck, at last feeling as though there was a point in all this, your eyes welled up. No matter the suffering, this had to be it. Your everything. Neil breathed you in, warm puffs of air causing shivers all over your body. There was no point in pretending.

“Please come back to me,” you whispered against his skin, letting tears trail onto his shirt.

Neil tightened his hold, hands roaming over your back, pulling you even closer. All it took was a kiss he pressed onto the exposed skin of your collarbone to make you tremble.

“I never left,” the hesitancy told you he did not believe it either.

“You did. But maybe… I’ll do anything to have you back” the urgency in your voice causing Neil to lean back.

He wiped the stray tears from your cheeks, taking an additional moment to caress your neck with tenderness. You could only lean into his touch, feeling as though whatever might happen has already been decided. There was no way you could let this go. Neil seemed to consider something quickly before he spoke:

“All those words… they fail me when I’m trying to explain what I was doing” his voice was raspy with the weight of emotions, “Or why. Because I’m scared of making it come true. It’s as if once I say it… it might…” he paused, searching for words in your eyes.

“Become real?” you offered, running your fingers through his unruly hair.

You were right. It was all an act. The elation was restrained by worry and love. It didn’t matter.

“Yeah…” Neil swallowed hard, “And then there’s all this mess in my head… The thoughts that just won’t shut up. I’m so fucking tired of… of-” the familiarity of his words causing another flash of pain within your heart “I can’t ask you to-” he cut himself off as though the idea was unspeakable.

You caught a sight of something darker within his gaze. They always said that actions speak louder than words…

“Neil, I said I’ll do anything. I mean it. What do you need?” you met his panicked eyes with resilience.

It took him a longer minute to stop staring at you. To wake up. And then, as simple as it can be:

“You. I need you,” touching his forehead to yours his breath ghosted your lips, “But after everything I did, I wouldn’t expect you to want me… like that” the depth of remorse was heart-breaking.

You already knew what the answer would be. Nothing else mattered. Regrets, worries, and fears had to be abandoned for the sake of this.

“The trouble with the heart is that it doesn’t care what you’ve done. Only that this is you,” smiling lightly, you cupped his cheek, “Just… kiss me. Like you mean it. Like you could love me. And then we’ll see if we can make it work,” unsure where the words came from, you faltered.

But before any vicious doubts could step in, Neil closed the gap. His lips slowly glided over yours, reminding you what it felt like. It did not take much persuading for you to open your mouth, deepening the kiss. It felt like coming home after a long time away. Like that first step over the threshold when one is unsure what they will find. Only to realise that everything is in the right place. That they should have never left. You tangled your fingers in his hair, bringing him even closer. He groaned upon the sensation, teeth grazing over your bottom lip. A sigh escaped your throat as Neil’s hands ventured underneath the sweater. For the first time in a while, everything made sense. You tugged at his shirt just for the sake of it as a means of showing him how wrong he was. You wanted him more than before if that was possible. The kiss consuming you both with its intensity and force. Your tongues participating in their dance, brushing against each other, increasing the intimacy of the moment. It finally felt right. Slow, unhurried, but desperate. Unforgettable.

You did not even know when it ended. One moment you were willing to give up breath if only to make it last longer. The next Neil had you pinned to the bed, breathless and shocked. When you met his gaze, the depth of expression told you what it meant. Finally.

[barbasbodaciousbeard]

I can see us Lost in the Memory

Summary: Caring is not an advantage. To Mycroft, this was a belief he found through the calculated logic that ruled his life. If was analytical and detached and certainly had nothing to do with Sherlock or the childhood neighbor.

Love You to the Moon and to Saturn

A/N: In a break from my regularly scheduled SVU writing, here’s a four part Folklore inspired Mycroft Holmes thing.

Salt air, and the rust on your door I never needed anything more Whispers of "Are you sure?" "Never have I ever before"

When the Holmes parents invited Ruth on their vacation to start the summer, she couldn’t resist the chance. Her mom would be busy, and the family would be staying on a beach in a little house for a week. You’re just so good with both my boys Mrs. Holmes had said with a soft smile as she pressed a kiss to the top of her head. Since Christmas, she’d had late night phone calls with Mycroft regularly, sneaking the handset for the phone to her room and staying up to happily listen to the minutiae of his day and tell him about her own. To help calm his worries, she took to dropping by to visit Sherlock. But this trip in May would be their first time together save a stolen weekend after midterms where she’d made it to Oxford.

When she arrived at their usual home, not the country house she was so used to, Sherlock darted out, wrapping around her as she laughed. He was almost not a little boy anymore, though she was certain he’d find something broken that they’d try to rebuild together.  She could see Mycroft’s frame in the doorway, and her breath caught. He’d only gotten stuffier since going to Oxford, always in a suit. It worked for him or she’d have teased him mercilessly for it. There was also the fact that she was simply overjoyed to see him. 

“Missed you,” she said softly, looking up at him as Sherlock watched them suspiciously before going back into the house.

“And I missed you, Ruth.”

“Mummy, I think Mycroft and Ruth are going to start snogging.” The youngest Holmes ran to the kitchen, and Ruth flushed a deep pink and giggled as the very tips of Mycroft’s ears changed color.

“Do you care if she knows?” Ruth asked, and Mycroft was acutely aware of the power he had to hurt Ruth in that moment. He would never dream of it, but this would potentially be over in three years, at which point hurting her would be inevitable. But still he held out hope he could balance both.

“Not at all,” he said softly, the same dignified air he always carried. But instead of staying away as he led her in, he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to her lips before placing a hand on the small of her back and leading her into the house. His mother and father had the kindness to leave them be, and the drive went smoothly. When Sherlock became antsy, Ruth watched as Mycroft told him about people he’d encountered at university, problems in the dorms. It was a game the pair had always played when Sherlock had to be kept still too long. The younger Holmes would tell Mycroft how obvious it was his roommate's girlfriend had been eating all the food from the common area, and Mycroft would pretend he hadn’t figured it out with the same reasoning.

“Ruth, come here,” Mrs. Holmes had said, calling her to the kitchen as she left the boys to unload bags from the car. “Are you dating my son?”

“I love him very much.”

“The boys are in the last room on the left. You’ll be the first on the right. Behave yourselves, allright?”

“Yes ma’am.”

The evening found them watching Sherlock as Mr. and Mrs. Holmes went to dinner, and since Christmas, he’d discovered documentaries again, sprawling on the couch to watch one on pirates. It was good to see some things didn’t change. What had changed was that Mycroft was willing to give him a little more space. They cooked dinner together, and Ruth was rewarded with soft brushes of his hand over her back as he passed. She suspected he’d always be himself, not one for casual affection when someone could see. But when his brother was tucked into bed, there were soft kisses that grew more desperate and whispered confirmation they were both sure. She stole the Oxford sweatshirt from his bag after, determined not to let his mother find them anything but decent but wanting to keep everything on her as some extension of him.

“I don’t know why they got you a sweatshirt anyway,” she teased lightly, watching him smoke in the dark. “I’ve never seen you in a shirt without a collar.”

“I suppose mummy thought I might wear it to sleep. I don’t think she expected it to be worn by someone else during a post-coital cigarette.” He wore cotton pajama pants and a plain t-shirt, though she expected he had sets with collared shirts for when he was at school. The wind blew in from the water, and she wished she’d grabbed pants instead of letting the crewneck serve as a dress. He noticed her shiver, holding out an arm as he exhaled smoke. She pressed against his side and his arm wrapped around her. 

“Just someone?” she teased. “You know, I think I might be your girlfriend.”

“How is that any different than we’ve always been?”

“It means we build a future together. Don’t date other people. Communicate regularly.”

“I suppose you are my girlfriend,” he said, though she could tell he didn’t particularly care for the word. 

“So you think about a future with me?”

“Constantly,” he admitted, choosing to omit how much of that was grappling with the danger Rudy’s position could put her in when he took over. That he’d have to eventually tell her about Eurus. But he was young and selfish and certain he could separate it.

Your back beneath the sun Wishin' I could write my name on it Will you call when you're back at school? I remember thinkin' I had you

Ruth had never been able to get Mycroft to the beach in anything but a polo shirt, but it seemed the way the last of his baby fat had melted off at university meant he was willing to join his brother and Ruth in the water. He still wore a polo shirt and boat shoes with his swim shorts, but he slipped both off and followed when Sherlock beckoned he and Ruth to join him in finding the sandbar. He almost said no until he saw how giddy Ruth looked as she peeled the other unworn bit of Oxford merchandise he’d acquired: a t-shirt that would have fit had he not lost weight. He liked seeing it on Ruth; it made him realize he was getting territorial.

“C’mon,” Sherlock called to them from the water’s edge. 

“We’re coming, Sherlock,” Mycroft scolded gently. “You must wait so we can be sure the tide doesn’t whisk you away.”

“Don’t scare him,” Ruth said, swatting his arm before she hurried and ruffled his brother’s hair. “We’ll find the sandbar, but then Mycroft and I are going to come back to land. I think you ought to see how big of a sandcastle you can make. Maybe even big enough you can hide in it.”

“Do you think there are artifacts in the sand, Ruth?”

“Probably not ones we’ll want to keep. But maybe bottles or keys.” The tide was low enough when they waded to the sandbar that Ruth and Mycroft could sit on it and watch as Sherlock ran along. He could dig as well, finding shells and loading them into the pockets of his swim shorts.

“Why must we be in this wet sand instead of on the towels on land?” Mycroft huffed, and Ruth poked his side.

“Your brother missed you. He likes you being close, even if you aren’t a part of his excavation. He’ll want to build soon, and since shells aren’t restorable like a trowel, he’ll go back to land for a sandcastle.”

“He only yells when I call him.”

“And what does he yell about?” Ruth had heard Sherlock during one of these calls. One of the calls where Sherlock yelled at Mycroft for leaving. But this would pass. She always promised Mycroft that it would pass, and Sherlock would understand his big brother would always come home. 

“Don’t look so proud,” Mycroft huffed.

“It’s not often I’m the one who’s right.”

“You’re often right when it comes to feelings.”

“I love you. My big brained robot.”

“I love you, my darling.”

“That sounds way more romantic than big brained robot. But god, I like hearing you say it. I know it isn’t easy for you.”

“If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more.” He had a glint in his eye as he looked down at her, and she smiled broadly up at him, delight apparent.

“You read Jane Austen?”

“Everyone does.”

“You only store things you want, Mycroft.”

“When I read it, I thought of you. I was fifteen. I was a fool and didn’t process what that meant for another year. But whenever I read a poem or a novel and they talk about ardent love, your face is my first thought. I wish I were someone who spoke so eloquently of his own feelings. But I do not understand why I love you. It honestly perplexes me. You are wild and hard headed and love the most mindless things. But I would gladly listen to you describe popular music or the intricacies of a flower crown for hours because of the way your smile and laugh sound more melodic than any symphony. What is unbearable in others only serves to make affection blossom when it is in you. Perhaps it’s because I feel I understand you like I can’t understand most, and I feel that you see me not just as some big brained robot but as who I am. And I am grateful for that, even if it perplexes me to no end.”

 “God, you really can be sappy,” she said, tearing up as she wrapped around his middle. Without his parents or peers there, he was more comfortable to stay sitting as perfectly upright as ever, but slip an arm around Ruth and press a lingering kiss to the top of her head. “You’ll keep calling when you go back to school, right?”

“I will. And we’ll figure how to see each other. I know it hasn’t been easy. Uncle Rudy has so much for me to do on top of my course work.”

“You don’t have to apologize to me, Mycroft. It’s four to six years we have to get through. We can do that.”

“Have you thought about university?”

“Cambridge or Oxford. The latter, while a delightful institution, is due to a bias for a certain student.”

“What do you want to study?”

“I think I’d be a good teacher. Kids Sherlock’s age.”

“You’ve always done well keeping him engaged. That’s a feat in and of itself. But, I always expected that you’d pursue English. Write.”

“I need a job.”

“Writing is a job. You could work in editing too. But, you write so beautifully. And it makes you so happy. I’m certain you would flourish. It may be harder, but you’re intelligent enough to parallel plan and work until you’re published.”

“You really think so?”

“I know. And I’m always right.”

“Cambridge is about as far as London from you. Or maybe I’ll go to Oxford.”

“I just want you to select the institution you wish to learn from. I’m sure we can find a halfway point. If not, we can alternate visiting each other.”

“You wouldn’t feel weird if I showed up in your daily life?”

“You’re a part of my daily life. It would be a perpetual summer. Who wouldn’t wish for that?”

“We’ve just only ever had the summer.”

“There’s only one way to find out, isn’t there? I suspect you’ll tire of me when you realize I’m relaxed in the summers.”

“I imagine you wear suits everyday. And your socks, tie, and pocket square all match.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, darling. I don’t wear a tie every day.”

“Oh, there are pictures of  Mycroft in a suit with no tie. Is the top button undone? This is simply scandalous.”

She stretched herself up to kiss him, no hesitation now and fingers brushing through auburn hair. Only the screeched order to Stop being so gross from Sherlock convinced them to pull apart, and Ruth was quite sure he was grinning down at her.

Back when we were still changin' for the better Wanting was enough For me, it was enough To live for the hope of it all

“Are we going to have to chase the two of you from each other's rooms all summer?”

“Mummy, she is my girlfriend. Is it the worst thing if I sleep beside her?”

“You’ll do more than sleep.”

“Yes, Violet, because a bed is the only place teenagers will shag. Never a field or a car or the storeroom at their job. They’re good kids. Leave them be.”

“Siger, this is the third time in a week! Do you want to deal with her mother when we return? She’ll be chasing our boy from her house night after night.”

“Since when does Ruth sleep in her own home? She’s in our guest room most nights. We can feign propriety if it is of such importance and say ‘Oh! I didn’t know he’d snuck into her room’ if for whatever reason Debora learns.”

Ruth was by Mycroft’s side, cheeks pink as she watched his parents. They’d tried to be careful, but she never woke up in time to hurry to her own room. She wanted to tell them her own mother wouldn’t notice anyway, so she should be able to climb into bed with Mycroft. They were talking about flats at Oxford, little ones they would stuff full of books and she’d ensure were always stocked with flowers. She’d made up her mind she’d go there. Mycroft was ready to tell Rudy he was in love, and it didn’t matter what the job entailed; Mycroft could balance it if it meant he’d have Ruth. For once, he was hopeful.

“Both of you, listen to me,” he said firmly, arm around Ruth. “Where do you think she stayed when she visited me at Oxford? This began at Christmas, so I hardly believe it to be a phase. I love her, and upon her graduation, we intend to get a flat near the university. Accept it now, or accept it later. It does not matter to me. This is the reality.”

“You’re following him to Oxford?” Violet seemed to be appraising her now. 

“Yes.”

“You really do love him?”

“Yes.”

“Just don’t make me a grandmother any time soon,” she said finally, obviously acquiescing as her husband followed her to the kitchen again with quiet assurances they’d be fine. Ruth’s cheeks were pink, but she wrapped around Mycroft and kissed him.

“What is that for?”

“You professed your love for me to your parents? You finally put your foot down over something and it's me?”

“I wish to maximize every moment I have you by my side between now and August.”

“I’ll miss you so much.”

“We’ll sort it out. Two terms. Then you’ll follow me to Oxford.” 

“Ruth will leave too?” The soft voice of Sherlock came from the hall, and she pulled away from Mycroft to kneel by him. 

“It’ll be just like the end of summer,” she promised. “It was harder with your brother because he lives with you. But, you usually only see me in the summer, and I’ll still be here for every summer. Who else will help me excavate the garden?”

“Why does everyone go to Oxford?”

“They don’t. But lots of people go to uni, and you will too one day. You’ll get a degree to be a detective or an archaeologist or marine biologist.”

“I don’t want you to go.”

“It’s a whole year away. You’ll be a teenager.”

“I guess that’s an okay time for you to go to Oxford.” He bent to look around her to his brother. “You could do well to learn from her, Mycroft.”

“You need to stop being so rude. He’s getting a degree so he can afford to keep you out of trouble forever and ever, kiddo.”

“I’m never in trouble.” 

“Mhm. Never, ever have I scooped you up before mummy could catch you performing experiments.”

“Shh!”

Ruth simply laughed, moving to stand again, Sherlock’s gaze again fluctuating between bored and curious about the world around him as she moved to sit in the arm chair beside the one Mycroft had settled into with his book. She opened her own, feet tucked under her, reaching towards him and resting her hand on the small table between them. He looked at it before resting his hand in hers.

“I like this,” she said softly. He made a noise of agreement, legs crossed. “I could get used to it.”

“We’ve a whole summer ahead, dear.”

That night found them tangled in bedsheets, not bothering to pretend he was going to be sleeping in the room with Sherlock. He rather liked sleeping by her, and he was grateful she was so content to lay against his side, close enough it was intimate and safe, but not requiring their bodies to be tangled. But she did like to play with his hands, especially in the afterglow. She would trace the lines of his palms or the veins on the back of his hand, watching her own actions in the moonlight. He stopped her tonight, letting his fingers slip between hers. She smile down at him, her hair a curtain as she leaned to press a gentle kiss to his lips. 

“Get some sleep, Ruth.”

“Does anyone ever take care of you, Mycroft?”

“I don’t need to be taken care of.”

“Everyone does. And I’m going to from here on out, okay?”

“I don’t need to be taken care of.”

“How often do you sit in the sun and read for pleasure at Oxford?”

“There isn’t time.”

“I’ll make sure there is when I’m there. You need to give yourself breaks.” He didn’t agree, but instead of arguing, he pulled her to his side, deciding he could tangle himself with her awhile, savoring the closeness. 

“You are too gentle for this world, darling. Please never change.”

[silhouetteofacedar]

When We Drive, Ch. 7: Domestic Disputes, a Highway Reverie, and Nachos

Previous Chapter - AO3 - MSR, rated M

Interstate 15, San Diego County, California

3:02 PM PST

March 1, 1999

Scully is mad at him.

She’s stiff in the passenger seat of their stupid undercover minivan, fiddling with a loose thread on her robin’s egg blue sweater set. She looks beautiful in that color, and he almost wants to tell her, but her mood is so sour that he does’t feel like it. She’d probably just snap at him again.

He got to spend six days being fake-married to Scully, and not once did they get to enjoy any of the perks of the arrangement. It was a long shot, but Mulder is nothing if not a believer in improbable odds. They spent all of one night in the same bed, but Scully banished Mulder to the couch the next morning after he casually mentioned the fact that she snored. She’d insisted it was allergies due to the premature springlike weather in Southern California, but if it bothered him so goddamn much, he was welcome to take the sofa in the living room from then on.

It was all downhill from there.

“I can feel you thinking,” he says, squinting against the glare of the sun bouncing off the bleached concrete of the highway. They’re in a dense block of traffic, inching along under a parched blue sky.

“Hmph,” she replies.

“You’ve been acting kinda prickly lately-”

“Oh have I,” she states, sour amusement in her voice.

“-And I was hesitant to ask you about it while we were on a case, but now that it’s wrapped up… are you okay?”

She lets out a sharp, humorless laugh. “I’m fine. I’m always fine, Mulder, haven’t you heard?”

God, she’s spoiling for a fight, and he’s not sure he has the energy for it right now. “Sorry I asked,” he mutters.

“Not a mistake you’ll make twice,” Scully says under her breath, and he feels heat spike up his back.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he retorts, and he can practically feel the rotation of her eyes in their sockets.

“Do you really want to get into this now?” she asks.

Mulder flings a hand out, gesturing to the vehicles surrounding them. “We’re in a frankly spectacular traffic jam,” he says, “Might as well make use of the time. You have, quite literally, a captive audience.”

She sighs, suddenly sounding tired. “Jesus, are we that pathetic, Mulder? We can’t have an honest conversation unless we’re forced, or under circumstances we can’t easily escape.”

He doesn’t respond, just scratches his bicep under the cuff of his itchy pastel polo shirt and waits for her to gather her words. He knows Scully’s patterns by now, and gives her a tried-and-true nineteen seconds of silence before she continues.

Right on time. “I feel… I feel that lately, there’s an imbalance between us. As partners,” she says. “Maybe it’s always been this way, and I just never took notice of it; but I am acutely aware now that things aren’t right.”

“What things, exactly?” Mulder asks, his tone carefully neutral.

“It’s a matter of trust,” Scully clarifies.

“I trust you,” he says earnestly. He can see Scully’s lips tighten into a thin line.

“It’s not you trusting me,” she says softly. “It’s me wondering if I can trust you. Wondering if you’ll trust the wrong people, and endanger us both.”

Here we go again, he thinks. “Is this about Diana? Scully, I don’t understand. This case had nothing to do with her; she is literally thousands of miles away, and you’re still letting her influence you.”

As soon as he said the words he wanted to scoop them up and shove them back down his own throat. The irritation coming off of Scully has heated up to full-blown anger, and he braces himself for a collision.

“Letting her influence me? Are you fucking serious, Mulder? She’s been leading you around like a dog on a leash, despite information that multiple sources have provided you-”

“It’s not that simple, Scully,” he counters weakly.

“Of course it’s not. Because it’s personal,” she says, and he feels the words stick in his chest like a dart.

“Scully-” he begins, but she holds out a hand to stop him.

“Don’t you dare,” she says in a tight whisper, “Try to pin that shit on me. After all we’ve been through, after - after things we almost did, I thought…” She shakes her head, abandons her sentence. “Don’t insult me, Mulder.”

Things we almost did?

A cold sweat breaks over his skin, and he’s not in the car; he’s in the hallway outside his apartment door, her face in his hands, warm breath mingling between them. He’s curled up in her arms on the spongy forest floor somewhere in the depths of Florida, lulled to sleep by her soft raspy voice. He’s waking up next to her in a scant full bed in Kroner, Kansas, an arm flung across her waist in sleep; pulling her in closer because he can, just this once.

He told her in Bermuda, and she thought he was just high on painkillers. He dug her out of the ice in Antarctica, pulled a tube out of her throat, restarted her heart and filled her lungs with his own breath.

After everything she’s seen, how can she still not believe?

The car behind them honks frantically.

“Mulder, we’re moving again,” Scully prompts him.

He shakes himself out of his daze and steps on the gas. “I don’t know what to say, Scully,” he says softly. “But I don’t want us to go on like this. I agree with you, about things not being right. But I’m too tired to tally up our transgressions against each other, and I’m pretty sure my pile of wrongdoings in this partnership dwarfs yours.”

“That’s just it,” Scully says. “I don’t want to measure, and I certainly don’t want you to flay yourself on my behalf, Mulder. It’s not helpful.”

“Then what do you want?” he asks, glancing at her. “I don’t mean that in a combative way. I’m genuinely asking.”

“Just… hear me,” she says, voice thin and tired. “Please just hear me. Have my back. Be my partner. That’s all.”

Mulder reaches out and lays a hand on hers, squeezing so gently he barely feels it himself. His hands return to the steering wheel a second later, and the moment passes by like a roadside landmark at seventy miles per hour.

“You want Taco Bell?” Mulder asks, gesturing to the next offramp. “Nachos BellGrande, on me.”

“Taco Bell isn’t real food,” Scully points out. “I’m honestly surprised you don’t have an X-File dedicated to the chain.”

“I don’t yet,” Mulder replies, hazarding a grin at her.

They stop anyway.

[boop-le-snoot]

masterpost • main masterlist • taglist & faq

previously on...

Witchy stuff! Disclaimer: I am not a witch so please do not take my theory of theory seriously. This has been taken off first page of Google, which is where I did my research. First ironstrange x reader interaction & tony being sweet and stephen radiating wife energy.

fun fact: the moodboards are just chapter spoilers without context.

Whatever protection spell the book had, it was nuclear. Burn cream didn't do much in terms of numbing the pain; I had to wear gloves throughout my shift at the café, self-conscious about the skin peeling off my palms and the light, sensitive fingertips. Saying that the day was hellish would have been too kind.

My spirits were briefly lifted when one of my favourite mad scientists walked in, nose buried in a StarkPad - his chattier, more confident friend nowhere to be seen. Doctor Bruce Banner lifted his eyes from his work only to give a brief, polite smile and mumble his order, immediately resuming the poking of the screen.

"You forgot something last time," I couldn't suppress the grin. Sometimes routine was nice, comfortable. The napkin with unintelligible scribbles and formulas in my hand was transferred to Banner's pocket with a shy smile and a reddish tint to his cheeks, as if he didn't find himself in this very situation more often than not. "Is Mr. Stark okay?" I voiced my concerns, having noticed the recent, acute absence of the rowdy man in the café. Dr. Banner rarely came here alone and it was more of a telling exception than anything.

"Oh, Tony? Yes, he's fine," the scientist nodded absentmindedly. "He's on a small vacation with his boyfriend," the last part was said with puzzlement and incredulity and I had to remind myself that a forty-something scientist was unlikely to possess at least a halfway decent gaydar. I mean, I would have eaten my shoe if Tony Stark was 100% straight.

The fact that Tony having a boyfriend surprised Dr. Banner, who appeared to be one of Mr. Stark's best friends, was quite funny to me. "Good for him, he deserves it after saving the world, like, a bajillion times," I replied honestly, attempting to hide my good-natured snicker at Banner's obliviousness. Scientists, they just are a different breed, man.

The perplexion melted off Banner's face, leaving only supportive contentment. "That is correct," he nodded confidently, exchanging a bill for his matcha. "Thank you. And, uh, congrats on your new job," he added with another one of his not-quite shy smiles.

My cheerfulness vacated the premises shortly afterwards as I struggled to keep up with the endless stream of customers all the while my hands throbbed and burned under the nitrile gloves. I was ready to call it a day and just tell Jeremy I had an accident, but my pride wouldn't let me. I arrived at Odette's feeling less than stellar, running purely on spite and several cups of espresso.

It went about as good as expected, select few customers growing clouds over their heads at the slow pace I was assembling their orders: the fact that even witches had Karens of their kind was a fact that I found both amusing and alarming. It wasn't particular comfortable, knowing that I, or any other wait staff, was always at risk of being cursed for bringing them the wrong kind of cake or messing up their white suburban mom coffee.

"You could have asked, you know," Odette's slow drawl startled me out of the trance I'd put myself in to avoid focusing on the discomfort. "Come here, girl, I'll take care of it."

My face heated up immediately as I realized the tender skin of my grubby little hands was on full display. Odette must've put two and two together, seeing my sins written all over my scarred hands and my guilty face. Not wanting to invoke a negative reaction and get on her scary bad side, I let myself obediently trot into her office.

"I, uh," the eloquence of my speech - spectacular. I was ready to fall through the floor out of of shame.

"It happens sometimes," a round jar of what looked like buckwheat honey landed on the table. Odette massaged the thick gel into my palms with gentle circular motions, shushing my hums of pain in-between. "The book called for me in the same way it called to you. The only difference, it was my grandmother's at the time so the protection wards did not go off because I was family." My eyebrows rose at the calm in Odette's voice. Composed as ever, the witch looked more amused than upset by my little snooping stint.

The pain in my hands disappeared completely, a cool sensation I could only describe as minty enveloping them and spreading throughout my body. The chill was pleasant - I hadn't even realized my body had been running on higher-than-usual temperatures ever since I touched the book. Those protection wards Odette spoke of, they really packed a punch!

"I will teach you," she must've interpreted my stunned silence as curiosity, having made up her own mind in the seconds I was basking in my newfound relief. "We'll start slow. The transition from the material world into the spiritual isn't easy," Odette warned, locking her fingers, her magnetic eyes commandeering mine for utmost attention. "But it is incredibly rewarding. If you follow the rules, you will prosper. Our kind isn't plentiful these days, with people praying to gods that condone greed and selfishness," her lip curled in distaste. "Each one of us can make a large difference in this world. The opportunities you have been given need to be taken seriously."

My lip caught between my teeth as I mulled over the words my boss spoke with so my concern and conviction. Nothing in her speech sounded amiss; sure as she was, I was still mercifully given a choice. Odette's aura, that used to seem suffocating and dense, grew around me into a non-physical hug, a comfort akin to a mother supporting her child taking their first steps.

I eyed the sixty-something year-old, tall, imposing woman, scanning her for any deceitfulness, exhilaration and wariness sitting on my shoulders and whispering into my ears. True to myself, I gave into the side that craved and lived for adventure. "I would love to learn," hoping my voice conveyed the excitement and hopefulness of being a part of something special.

Odette smiled kindly. "I knew that," with a chuckle to herself, she reached into a set of drawers and extracted a few worn, plain notebooks. "Homework," the wink she threw at me instantly took ten years off her face. I couldn't even bring myself to sigh, only the sludge still covering my palms preventing me from making grabby hands in the direction of new information.

The bell rang before I could make another comment and I was let go with the instructions to wash my hands - and that's exactly what I did, having noted the short Asian man impatiently tapping his foot next to the front desk.

The man's name was Wong and he was the sole reason for my uncontrollable flares of temper during my work hours at the bodega. Odette herself avoided him like the plague, and for a good reason: his attitude was nothing short of conceited, as if the weird robes that he wore were some kind of a hall-pass to be a demanding asshole when it came to the store's wares.

Wong could spend up to forty minutes inspecting the baggies containing herbs and other knick-knacks, meticulously picking out what he considered best and curtly insulting the items he found to be lacking in quality. I was made aware he belonged to some sort of a sect or a cult of honest-to-god wizards; as if him looking like a worker of the Ministry of Magic didn't make that fact obvious. I was unpleasantly surprised at the fact that even witches, much like doctors, had elitist pricks among their kind - and Odette had the audacity to simply vanish whenever one of those robed people set foot in the shop, leaving me to use all my mental strength to try and not strangle the wannabe Karens.

I was willing to bet my favourite star-patterned scarf that Wong hexed the waiters who made him wait longer that he considered appropriate. I just knew it.

The anger, the frustration and at times, blind, total rage came in useful - and that was a surprise to me. According to Odette's notebooks, everyone had the potential to master magick - to an extent, each individual's threshold was, well, individual - but the more a witch was in tune with her emotions, her feelings, the higher the success rate of her spells grew.

The notebooks contained enough information for me to understand that Odette was considered a High Priestess (not to be confused with Head of the Coven - not all witches wanted to be a part of those) and the amount of power she held was quite impressive. No, she couldn't turn back time, she couldn't raise the dead; the people she helped and healed were, oftentimes, made well at the expense of her own life energy. It was an endless cycle of emptying a glass and refilling it back up. The deities lended a hand with that.

Some time after I'd gone through the theory, Odette encouraged me to choose a direction I was to study in depth; much like her, I was interested in the defensive rather than the offensive. Healing spells, protection wards and the occasional light hex to deter enemies from reoffending: I was disappointed but not surprised to learn the fact that curses and serious harm done to other people quite often backfired, harming the caster themselves as well as their victim.

I had always believed in karma, to a healthy extent, but these days I was that much more aware of how I treated those around me. That's not to say I became a pushover - I simply chose to smile rather than frown at the world and replaced my longing and envy with a sense of gratitude towards the things I already possessed. Just like Odette had said, layering the spiritual values over my material, earthly ones wasn't easy - it was hard work, and what prevented me from stopping when I felt exhausted was that it actually paid off.

As I got ready to cast my first serious spell, I ran through a mental checklist of things I developed - of sorts. Positive vibes only. Having vengeful intentions when warding off potential harm-doers was not only dangerous, it was counterproductive. Intentions mattered the most when casting a spell and I could end up killing all the innocent, stray cats in the area instead of making a burglar choose the neighbouring building some five months down the line.

The spell, I considered to be a success. The atmosphere in my home lightened, the dingy walls of my rental started radiating comfort and safety I hadn't felt since moving out of my parents' home. A slight tiredness persisted for a few days after the last candle burned out; Odette reassured that it was perfectly normal as I was a baby witch and my energy channels were adapting, growing to accommodate my newfound awareness and flow of cosmic energies that I was training to harness.

Next on my list was a personal protection charm, an antique silver locket adorned with stars I had scavenged in a local pawn shop. Odette had given me instructions on how to cleanse potential magical conductors: the amount of rings and jewelry she wore directly correlated to the power of a singular spell she could cast. There was a fine hairline between charging your accessories and letting them drain you and I learned to walk South of it the hard way, but as all learning processes go, eventually I found my middle ground and was successful.

My daily routine grew small rituals like the forest trees grew moss. Slow and steady, I was transitioning from a curious baby witch into a self-sufficient practitioner of magic. Sounds crazy, I know, coming from someone who could barely believe into aliens until Thor himself had walked into the coffee shop and ordered a latte, but as all things do in life - I changed.

Working the morning shift allowed me to discreetly place a few of the good-luck charms I had made during my most recent creative stint. While they didn't have a direct effect on the customers or their tipping habits, the atmosphere on the cafe's premises had lightened enough that even Jeremy's usually sour face tipped more towards neutral these days.

The smile blossomed on my face without effort as I caught the tell-tale bespoke suit and sunglasses of the man waltzing through the doors of the café as if he owned the place. "Nice to see you, Mr. Stark. Enjoy your vacation?" I asked the smirking man, giving a respectful once-over to the tall, lithe man holding onto his shoulder.

"It's Tony," the happiness was radiating off him in waves. "Missed my favourite coffee shop and the world's nicest barista," he winked at me, causing the man behind him snort, steely blue eyes studying me in turn. "Had to introduce my two favourite people," the engineer took a step back, parting his arms with a flourish gesture. "Stephen, Starlight. Starlight, Stephen," he spoke before rattling off his usual order. And a cake on top.

I gave an amused grin to the man obviously humoring his significant other, as Stephen mock-bowed in my direction. "You're right, how could we be together without the approval of your favourite barista?" Stephen had his wits. I decided I definitely liked him. "Starlight? Is that a nickname or were your parents hippies?" Okay, witty bordering on rude. Was Stephen a lawyer?

"Now, now, honey," the crinkles around Tony's eyes deepened as he barked out a laugh. "No need to be jealous. We're all adults here, we can share. There's enough of me for everyone."

I rolled my eyes, easily slipping into the familiar banter. "Speak for yourself, Mr. Stark. I'm very selfish," I cocked an eyebrow, tilting my head to the side and pretending to size up Stephen. "You've outdone yourself this time," Stephen's eyebrows rose. The line between 'sizing up' and 'checking out' was so very fine and I walked it well, a quiet sort of confidence that had bloomed within me at the recent events in my life letting me be slightly bolder that allowed myself to be before. "I'd have to be the Devil myself to break up such a blessed union. My congratulations," my smirk grew into a warm smile as Tony beamed at me in return, content on showing off his most recent acquisition.

Who, by the way, looked a little bit lost. Evidently, Stephen did not expect such a degree of familiarity between me and Tony; which was, to be honest, most likely what had him returning to the establishment over and over. Come for the coffee, stay for the company. Or how was it?

The energy between Tony and Stephen was electric. There was something undoubtedly attractive, magnetic even, about the tall, steely-eyed man, something similar to Odette's charismatic pull but without the overwhelming ossification of the air around her. Even putting aside the fact that Stephen was a visually stunning person with his sculpted phisique and high, sharp cheekbones, he commandeered the attention to himself without even uttering a word. Definitely a lawyer, with how the type could hold the whole courtroom together with a single look.

The early birds on a Friday were few and in-between; the three of us chatted as the two men sipped their coffees with muted noises of joy. According to Tony, Fiji was delightful this time of the year. Oblivious to everything around him, the engineer rambled about his ventures without a care in the world as his partner looked up to him with earnest happiness and I- well, I wished I could go to Fiji, hot boyfriend optional. The weather in NYC was slowly becoming dreary: I did not look forward to winter sludge and the traffic congestions that it created.

"And I love what you've done with the interior. Those cat statues? Charming," Tony rambled, pointing out the good-luck charms I'd placed all over the café. Small knick-knacks I carefully selected to match the overall vibe of the room. "Tell Jeremy I send my regards. Appreciate the lack of paps, too," he winked at me, looking visibly relieved.

"Huh?" The rag in my hands froze. "I haven't seen a single paparazzi around here, since, like, ever," I admitted, puzzled.

"And I appreciate it. Ever since our thing became public knowledge, they've been hounding me wherever I go," the eyeroll Tony made was truly powerful. "Whatever you're doing, keep doing it," and again, the engineer winked at me, apparently having made some assumptions of his own. "I won't tell if you won't."

The puzzlement persisted within me all throughout my shift. I lived in NYC, for fuck's sake, I wasn't unfamiliar with how things ran around here.

Every establishment I worked in had been swarmed with the annoying, persistent celebrity hunters at some point - and yellow press and paparazzi were, by far, the worst. Some of the greedier ones could go as far as to shove simple folk out of the way or order a cup of coffee with their camera hiding under the tablecloth to sneak in a juicy picture of a celebrity just trying to have their brunch in peace. I hated those vultures with a passion; their negative energy, their lack of morals when it came to hunting for a new scandal that would make them a few hundred bucks.

The only way to even slightly deter them was to repeatedly call the cops on them for public disturbance. I'd done it once or twice, egged on by Jerry and his worry of losing profit - after all, there were establishments known specifically for high rates of celebrity sightings and if any of the superheroes wanted to make an appearance, they would just go there for their cup of overpriced coffee and defrosted sponge cake. Our café was strictly for comfort and leisure - a rare thing me and my boss actually agreed upon.

As I said warm goodbyes to my favourite engineer and his newfound, dashing boyfriend, the cat statues stared at me in mute satisfaction, their hollow eyes radiating smugness and their immobile mouths stretched in what looked like pure, mocking mischief.

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