#anywhere from a couple minutes to a few weeks later: FINE i love it whatever take your money -_- | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

inafieldofdaisies · 1 year

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WIP Whenever (not me thinking yesterday wasn't Wednesday for a good chunk of it and then being too drained to post... just pretend I ain't late) | Tagged by @direwombat @adelaidedrubman and @nightbloodbix ❤️

I'm coming with Calahan and Mary May POVs for this week's check-in. All the feels, for sure. 💔

Light streamed into the living room of Mary May's place on the second floor of the Spread Eagle, making Calahan change positions and bury his face in the couch cushions in an attempt to get a couple of extra minutes of rest. The previous night, he had sneaked back into the bar with Leslie for a celebratory drink after they had successfully gotten Zorro and his clothes out of his Peggie infested cabin. Once they had parted ways, he had climbed upstairs as quietly as he could and crashed on the couch without a much craved shower, knowing Mary May would be out cold at the late hour and wouldn’t appreciate him barging into her bedroom unannounced. The first thing he heard that early morning as he did his hardest to stay asleep were her footsteps as she left her room and headed for the small kitchen. She was humming under her breath as she made coffee, the scent carrying over to him and teasing his senses. A few minutes later, a cup was placed at the coffee table next to him, and he could feel Mary May looming over the couch. When she didn't move, he reluctantly turned and looked at her with blurry eyes, "Is it an emergency?" He took a second to take in her messy blond hair and oversized t-shirt, ignoring the slightly annoyed look on her face. "Good morning to you, too, Rookie.", she rolled her eyes at his impatient tone before moving back to the kitchen to make herself breakfast. "I could feel you staring, you know.", he retorted and threw a hand over his eyes, deciding he would lay down a little bit longer seeing how for the past few days he had been running around the Valley on so many errands and barely getting any sleep. "Oh, don't flatter yourself, I was making sure you were still breathing. Can't have the Resistance lose its leader." Calahan let out a laugh at her dodging his flirting yet again, "Whatever you say, gorgeous."

Mary May took a seat on the small kitchen table that only had two chairs thanks to the tiny space she was using as living quarters. She bit into a piece of toast before asking, "So how did it go with John's doppelganger? What trouble did you get him into?" "He's got potential, that's for sure. Helped me get my shit from the cabin, and we had fun doing it. Remind me to have a word with Sabrina for hiding him." "And did "your shit" also include a certain raccoon?", she raised an eyebrow. Calahan peeked over the back of the couch, sending a smile her way that usually worked in convincing people to see things his way. With Mary May, sadly, all his tactics seemed to have the opposite effect usually. "Zorro will be on his best behavior, I promise. You won't even notice he's around. Plus… he gives mean foot rubs." "Rookie.", disbelief seeped into her tone. "Fine. The foot rubs were a lie. Though, I can take up on that task." "You ain't coming anywhere near my feet, Rookie." "Your loss. And Zorro?" "You really love gettin' on my nerves early in the morning." Calahan gestured around her living room, "He won't take up much of your space and he will be out with me, anyway." Mary May let out a laugh, the first sign he was getting somewhere, "It's like you're trying to sell me a piece of furniture." "I couldn't leave him behind, gorgeous. He's my son." A huff escaped her, probably at the pout he followed his words with, "He's a raccoon."

"Still my son. He was defending the cabin, you know. Costed one Peggie a finger. Scared the life out of Leslie, too, to the point he tried to flee the room like a bat out of hell. It was hilarious.", he couldn't help the proud smile that emerged at the memory. His words piqued her interest, "Did he now?" "Told you I was teaching him tricks before Joseph's takeover. He is one of us, just stuck in a raccoon body, unable to talk." Mary May rolled her eyes before saying, "Fine. He can stay. Just… keep "your son" in check. I find something in here destroyed, he gets the boot." "You love him, you just don't want to admit it. Thank you.", he blew a kiss her way before lying back down and shifting his gaze up to the ceiling as his mind ran over the potential tasks he could take on next. He was dying to take a drive and check up on Hurk and Sharky, knowing the two were probably in the deep with the cult, but he knew chances were less capable of taking care of themselves people needed his help in the Valley. "Have him scratch a Seed's eye out or something, and I might start to like him." Silence took over as Mary May finished her breakfast while Calahan closed his eyes, set on enjoying the precious minutes of peace, knowing with the County on lockdown that never truly lasted. Eventually, she got up and walked to the couch, her arms came to rest on the back as she leaned over to look at Hartley. "You're staring again.", he muttered before cracking one eye open and meeting her baby blues, "Not that I mind." "Whatever you say, Sleeping Beauty. It's rare that you shut up, forgive me for thinking you had fallen asleep on me." "Sleeping Beauty, huh? There's a proven method to wake me up then, gorgeous." "You say, 'a kiss', I'm banning you from the bar for a week, Rookie." "You're no fun.", he stuck out his tongue, before asking, "So… why did you need me awake?"

Mary May took a deep breath, for once looking uncertain, "I know you have enough on your plate as is and I don't want to join in with all the folks asking you for help…" Calahan rose up to a sitting position that brought him on the same eye level as her when he said in a serious tone, "Whatever you need, just ask." He was well aware only inches separated them to the point he could start counting the freckles scattered across her nose and she seemed to have realized the same thing as her gaze darted to his lips for a second. It happened so quick he could have missed it if he had blinked, but he didn't. You like me, Angel. Too bad you refuse to admit it, let alone act on it. But in a way Calahan was glad about her faking disinterest. He told himself it was for the best, that it would be an unwanted complication in the middle of a holy war, that the last thing he needed was to fall for anyone and he was certain with her it would be unavoidable and as natural as breathing. The biggest trouble I can ever get myself into. He had wholeheartedly expected Mary May to pull back and put more space between them, but as the seconds ticked by, she remained glued to the spot with an unreadable expression on her face. She finally cleared her throat, "I was wondering if you'd help get the Widowmaker back." "Your daddy's truck?" Mary May nodded, sadness swimming in her eyes, "John had his men steal it. And as you know, I was too "preoccupied" to chase after them.", a frown appeared as she added, "Bastard doesn't know how to keep his hands off my things, does he?" "We're getting it back, gorgeous. And the next thing of his I fuck up, you bet would be dedicated to you." A small smile that pulled at his heart erased the scowl, "Can I come with?" "Like you even have to ask me that.", Calahan booped her nose and got up, heading for the bathroom as he called out, "I'm going to put a word out, find where they're keeping the truck."

Mary May watched Hartley disappear into her bedroom and stayed put until she heard the bathroom door close behind him. The second it did, she took it as a sign to move and entered the room, trying to ignore the sound of the running water and the visuals that threatened to appear in her mind. She quickly changed into a T-shirt and a pair of jeans, wanting to not waste too much time in case Calahan decided to cut his shower short. She couldn't deny for some reason it had taken her a more than the usual amount of willpower to stop staring at his bare chest as he slept on her couch that morning. The fact he had called her lingering gaze out didn't help matters. Should tell him to find a new place to sleep at or at least shower elsewhere. Definitely to stop walking around shirtless and promise I'd throw him out otherwise. Yeah, he'd have a field day hearing that one. Mary May immediately hated the idea of making him leave, she had grown used to having his presense around the bar and how he was always willing to try to make her crack a smile or offer a distraction from the headaches John Seed was causing her. Calahan Hartley was a ball of chaos, but also a breath of fresh air and a helping hand to anyone that needed assistance at dealing with the cult. Days back John had spared no resources in taking over Fall's End, finally succeeding at closing down the Spread Eagle with her en route back to his bunker, to the hell she had barely escaped last time.

Or so the bastard thought. The victory hadn't lasted long. Just until Hartley had barelled into town in no other than a stolen Peggie truck and wipped out John's men like nobody's business. Then he had rushed at her with worry in his eyes, curse words directed at the youngest Seed spilling out of his mouth as he had cut her free. "Are you hurt, Mary May? 'Cause I swear to God, John won't know what's coming for him… I ain't losing anyone else.", he had asked while he examined her all over, his tone dead serious, promising of good old trouble headed John's way. As she, Calahan and Jerome had pried away the boards nailed to one of the only things her father had left her: the bar and reopened it, Mary May had been the first to offer the Deputy a place to stay when he needed it, feeling like it was the least she could do as a thank you for helping her keep her promise and her old man's wish alive. Off-key singing pulled her out of the memory and she found herself biting back a smile at the idea that the man that was rapidly turning into the Project's number one enemy and had somehow ended up leading a resistance against it, was currently showering in her very bathroom and acting like anything but a vicious vigilante. Not all heroes wear capes, alright. Some work as deputies that have broken more laws than the people they arrest and own a raccoon they consider a son. She quickly exited the bedroom and strode downstairs, set on preparing the bar for the day and putting any thoughts of Hartley at the back burner, where they belonged.

The first thing to greet her were small feet scurrying off across the wooden floors that made her release a sigh before she called out, "Zorro." Initially the name had no effect until seconds later when a head poked out from behind the bar and "Calahan's son" rushed at her, wrapping his paws around her leg in what his owner deemed as "greeting". "Morning to you, too, boy.", Mary May muttered as she stared down at the raccoon, then pointed towards the stairs, "Up to your father you go now. I have to open the bar. Can't have you chasing off paying customers." The raccoon made no move, dark gaze trained on her face, forcing her to repeat more sternly, "Up, Zorro." At the command Zorro finally sprung into action, waddling over to the stairs and sneaking a look her way to see if she was following as he began to climb up. He got half of the way and stopped, making Mary May shake her head, "What? Want me to come too? Fine. Guess I do need to open the door for you. Maybe he should teach you how to do that." The second her boots hit the first step, the raccoon resumed his ascend. "Bit off a Peggie's finger, did ya now?", Zorro's ears perked up as if he understood her words, "Good job.", then she frowned, "And I'm talking to a raccoon. Your daddy is rubbing off on me, Zorro." She pushed open the door that separated the downstairs area and her living quaters and followed him inside at the exact moment Calahan chose to emerge from her bedroom in nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist as he dried off his hair with another.

"Jesus, Rookie.", the words left her before she could stop them, winning a laugh out of him. "Thought you headed down. Sorry.", Hartley explained sheepishly, while his smug smile was anything but apologetic and only widening at the fact she was most definitely gawking and yet to get anything else out, "Enjoying the view, gorgeous? For the record, I don't blame you for coming back for more." Pull yourself together. Mary May returned her narrowed gaze back to his face, and after a final look at him, she twirled around and said, "Make sure your son behaves." The door cut off his throaty laughter while she took the stairs two at a time and tried her hardest to stop her mind from wandering into a dangerous territory, of wondering what the small tattoo above his hip spelled. Sure as hell ain't asking him. He won't let me live that one down. Back down in the bar, she made it her mission to exorcize him from her thoughts, focusing on taking down the chairs and making sure everything was in place for opening and when she ran out of tasks to keep her preoccupied, she moved onto the small kitchen, arranging whatever Casey had left out of place. Mary May frowned at the knowledge her only employee was no doubt going to be late, that she had nobody to distract her with small talk.

She was used to Calahan's advances, to his casual flirting, had gotten pretty good at ignoring it all and having an array of reasons why she had to do it. Yet as the months passed and he stuck around, the list with reminders of why getting involved with him was out of the question had suddenly started to become shorter. She was starting to forget. To yearn. It was the worst idea to harbor. Especially now that everything had gone to shit. Maybe I should send him to sleep at the church… make him Jerome's problem. Then she'd be all alone again. Left to dwell on the past, on everything she had lost and regretted. Or she could continue laughing at Calahan's jokes. Have his devilish blue eyes be the first thing she saw each morning. Yes, keeping him around for the time being sounded like the better option. A car engine cut off outside, followed by the jiggle of the bell above the bar's entrance that made her poke her head in through the serving hatch of the kitchen, "We're not open yet." Her breath hitched for a second as her eyes settled on the person that had entered.

Phantom pain shooting across her chest inevitably came next, just like it had with his surprising arrival the day before. It was almost as strong as it had been in that awful moment she had found herself in John Seed's chair, teary eyes staring at him bathed in red hues, her blood becoming one with the room when he made true on his promises of immeasurable pain. Her hopeless screams filling the dead silence, drowning out his patient voice as the realization nobody would come for her sank in. She could still hear his sick reassurances how she had made the right choice by finally "saying Yes" after hours of torture, that the fact she had confessed her "sins" meant she was a step closer to his precious Eden. The twisted delight in his blue gaze still haunted her. The memory lingered just like the crude scar he had left he with. Seeing Hudson on screen anytime she turned on the TVs in the bar only reopened her old wounds. You're still standing. Free. Alive. The bar is open. He hasn't won. And never will. "Morning, Mary May. Should I come back then? Figured I could catch up with Cal before he runs off somewhere.", the apologetic tone and genuine smile were a quick reminder she wasn't facing the man that had made it his job to destroy everything she held dear. Not that she would ever actually confuse the two, but she had to admit the resemblance was quite jarring and she'd need time to get used to not wincing at the sight of his face.

"Ah, now, as the owner of this fine establishment, I can always make an exception, Detective. Anything to drink?" Leslie shook his head as he pulled out one of the chairs at the bar and sat down. "Still not at the stage where I'm morning drinking." "Stick around some more, and you'd get there, Les. It's a rite of passage for anyone settling down in the County ever since the Seeds came along.", Mary May retorted as she exited the kitchenette and slipped into her usual spot. Gary Fairgrave used to have those days where he'd throw back a glass of bourbon while cursing the Project to hell and back before heading off towards the bar after bidding her and her mother a goodbye. "I knew that family was rotten down to the root from the moment they got here. Shit smells like shit, no matter how much french perfume you spray on it.", it was what her old man used to say, taking pride in how his gut instinct had been right about the Seeds. Years later, she was the only one left from the Fairgraves to carry on his legacy and keep the deep-seated hate alive. Leslie gave her a sad smile, seeming at struggle with his own demons, "It all feels like a nightmare, yet my alarm for work is yet to ring and wake me up." A grimace pulled at her features, and her hands set back to straightening the pile of glass coasters at the bar, ignoring how many of them had Calahan's phone number on them, "Wish I could say things would get better…"

"Hope.", Leslie muttered with a strange look. "Hm?", she couldn't help her bitter laugh. "It's what we always have left. Hope. Sabrina would always tell me that. Tell it to any worried family we had to meet with." His words made her release a sigh, "You two are going to find her." Yet a part of her worried. That John had his claws deep into the bright-eyed Deputy. That Calahan was wrong about Sabrina's unwavering conviction. That maybe she had been a traitor all along, and all of them had just failed to see it. Whistling carried from the stairs accompanied by Calahan taking the steps quickly, and in record time, he was at Leslie's side. "My new partner returns.", he exclaimed in a greeting before playfully slapping his back and taking the seat next to him. "Come on, my boy.", Hartley reached down and picked up Zorro from the ground. "Chairs are for paying-" "-customers.", he finished her complaint as he set the raccoon down in one of the empty chairs, "Come on, gorgeous, how can you turn down such a cute face?" Mary May frowned at his puppy dog eyes and the fact they were working. A little. "Doesn't change the fact he's an animal." "A member of the Resistance. And… I was talking about myself." "You ain't cute, Rookie."

Leslie choked back a laugh as Calahan rubbed at his chest, groaning in pain for good measure, "One day, you're gonna realize what you're missing, gorgeous. And I won't be looking for payback for these insults. Too much." He sent a wink her way before clicking his tongue at Zorro in a signal, then turning to Leslie, "Shall we go then, partner? See what plans of John's we can sabotage?" The detective was the first to get up, followed by no other than Calahan's son on the way to the door. Hartley remained seated as he regarded her with a heated expression before leaning over the bar the same way he had earlier that morning and whispering, "I will see to locating what you need me to find. Try not to think about me too much while I'm gone." All she could seem to do was exhale and then involuntary inhale his scent while his baby blues stayed glued to hers. "Thank you for breakfast, by the way. I sure can get used to it." "You gonna start paying me rent, Rookie?", she finally managed to croak out, adding, "For two preferably." Calahan ignored her words and the fact he had someone waiting on him and observing the whole thing, "Can you feel this?" "Hmm?", she gave him a confused look, refusing to back away first and prove that he was getting to her. "How good we could be… if only you weren't so damn stubborn." He moved back, finally putting space between them again and with another wink was gone. Mary May stared at the door, willing for the pesky longing to go away and refusing to admit how for a second, it felt like he had taken all the oxygen from the room with him.

Tagging @clicheantagonist @josephseedismyfather @socially-awkward-skeleton @thesingularityseries @detectivelokis @aceghosts @madparadoxum @chazz-anova @theelderhazelnut @purplehairsecretlair @dumbassdep @shegetsburned @poisonedtruth @cassietrn @voidika @harmonyowl @v0idbuggy @strangefable @schoute @jacobsneed @strafethesesinners @g0dspeeed @trench-rot @nightwingshero @josephslittledeputy @euryalex @florbelles @neonneurons @simplegenius042 @vampireninjabunnies-blog and anyone with something to share ❤️

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tiixij · 3 years

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well lets just say that in my version of batman joker and harley are besties (a la tlbm) because i liked that ❤ and also harley once told him his taste was terrible and he said she likes the things he picks out and she then decided to lie and say she didnt and so now every time she likes something he gets her she gives him 10$.

#batman fanart #my art #op #vanyaverse #also hi my artstyle is So inconsistent in this but i think that gives it character.#hghhghg listen. the joker that i first grew familiar with was Not the super terrible one thats in most of current things #he was a funny clown man and well i think hes funny so now hes a funny clown man. executive decision.#harle everytime joker gives her something she likes: hghghgh no i hate this i hate this ive convinced myself i hate this #anywhere from a couple minutes to a few weeks later: FINE i love it whatever take your money -_-

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bitsandbobsofwriting · 3 years

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5 times Merlin noticed Arthur’s odd reactions to things,

+1 time he could start on the road to helping.

TW: Graphic descriptions of child abuse, claustrophobia, panic attacks/flashbacks/disassociating.

Merlin notices things. He always has done, ever since he was a child. Maybe it was the magic, maybe it was the ingrained fear of being snuck up on (as a Bastard child, as a citizen of Essetir, and as someone with magic) or maybe it was just some odd, innate skill. It doesn’t really matter: Merlin is observant, he has keen eyes, which is why he notices Arthur’s sudden change in disposition.

It was a normal afternoon, Arthur and Merlin had just gotten back from the first hunt of the spring and were filling The King in on how it had gone. Well... Arthur was, Merlin was just sort of stood there.

The servant was annoyed that Arthur had dragged him along, both to the hunt and to the meeting, but The Prince had been so excited (not that he showed it too much) at the prospect of telling his father how well everything went, he conceded easily. It was rare that Arthur got his father’s approval; Merlin had only been serving him for a few months, so maybe it was stupid of him to want to see Arthur happy, but oh well. He may be a prat, but he meant well and he loved his people, he deserved a little happiness occasionally.

Uther was in fact proud, and Merlin had better luck than Arthur at holding his grin in, though that changed quickly.

Arthur was looking out of the window and making casual comments on when he planned on going out next, and Uther, stepping quietly without even realising it, manages to move to the space just behind him without Arthur noticing. He claps a firm, but proud hand on Arthur’s shoulder, and if Merlin hadn’t known that Arthur would deny it later, he would accuse him of jumping a foot in the air. He turns around quickly, eyes wide and barely focusing as Uther gives his son another congratulations, as well as a terse “Make sure you keep it up.”

The sudden tightness in Arthur’s shoulders and his clear discomfort at having Uther so close do not go unnoticed by Merlin and he frowns, making a split second decision that could very well get him put in the stocks:

“Sorry to interrupt, My Lords, but The Prince mentioned wanting to join the evening patrol. Sir Leon and his partner will be leaving shortly.”

Uther whips his head around disapprovingly, and his anger at Merlin for interrupting whatever it was he was about to say translates to a tightened grip on Arthur’s shoulder. The Prince flinches slightly, but carefully steps away from The King, speaking before he can order the servant punished:

“Right you are, Merlin. If you’re happy for me to take my leave, father?”

Uther looks back to his son, confused, but approving of Arthur’s sudden eagerness to join extra patrols:

“Very well. I expect you to keep up the hard work, Arthur, I shall be disappointed if you start slacking again.”

Arthur nods and bows, but doesn’t say anything, his jittery demeanour getting worse with The King’s vaguely threatening tone. He walks stiffly from the room, and Merlin follows with a confused frown, making sure to keep his distance and step loudly on the stone floor; apparently Arthur was feeling jumpy today.

Arthur, still in his armour, leads them down to the courtyard where Sir Leon and another knight were indeed preparing to leave. The Prince doesn’t say anything to Merlin, simply nods in his direction before joining the others, and Merlin thinks he must have done the right thing if Arthur wasn’t shouting at him for giving him extra work that he hadn’t intended to do.

He stores this new, odd information in his mind for future reference, reminding himself to stay away from The Prince’s back and warn him of anyone approaching.

The next thing Merlin notices doesn’t come from a specific incident, more from a series of odd happenings over time.

When Arthur had been released from the dungeons after Merlin’s miraculous survival from being poisoned, he was a mess. At the time, Merlin had smugly suggested that it was because Arthur was worried about him; his hair was similar to a bird’s nest, as if The Prince had been running his hands through it and pulling it on a near constant basis, and the shirt he was wearing frankly stunk of sweat.

Arthur had rolled his eyes at that and slunk off to sulk in his chambers—once Gaius had assured him Merlin would be fine—and the young servant had taken that as confirmation.

The first time Merlin actually witnesses Arthur’s quick, shallow breath and wide panicked eyes, they’re rushing through the narrow servant corridors. The Prince’s grip on his sword looks uncomfortably tight and the sweat on his brow seems a little odd: they weren’t running that fast. Merlin figures that Arthur is just stressed out from trying to catch the sneaky arsehole assassin who was trying to do in as many councilmen as he could before getting away.

Which is an understandable thing to be stressed about.

Merlin only takes actual note of it when, after the assassin had gotten away, The King had demanded Arthur retrace his footsteps back through the castle to see if the criminal had dropped anything or hidden anywhere. Arthur practically freezes up at that, his wide eyes and pale skin making Merlin frown in confusion, only for his frown to deepen when Arthur stutters through his suggestion of having another knight lead the internal search whilst Arthur heads out into the city.

The relief on Arthur’s face when Uther agrees is, though brief and immediately hidden, immense.

Merlin thinks back on the state Arthur had been in after he’d quested for Merlin’s cure. Perhaps... perhaps Arthur had been such a mess because he had spent a night in the dungeons, and not because he had been worried about Merlin.

As much as Arthur might like to think Merlin’s an idiot, the servant makes quick connections, pieces things together easily, like a children’s puzzle. At least when it comes to Arthur.

The servant is also reminded of the way Arthur insists that Merlin leave a few candles lit in the evening. At first, Merlin thought it was because Arthur was sneaking out of bed to get more paperwork done (Uther may rarely see it, but Arthur works ridiculously hard), but he checked the paperwork one morning and nothing had been added or altered. Then he though that it was maybe so Arthur could see any attackers coming in the night, because he was paranoid like that, but the candles always burnt out after a couple hours anyway, so it wasn’t like they were lasting through the night.

Merlin figures he was probably just reading into things too much (plus, he knows that accusing Arthur of being afraid of the dark or tight spaces would get him nothing but a slap up the head and, depending on The Prince’s mood, a visit to the stocks), though Arthur refusing to stay in Merlin’s tiny bedroom for any longer than necessary, and insisting on multiple torches being lit whenever they ventured into caves, forces Merlin to reconsider.

It was after one such adventure in one such cave that Merlin took advantage of the castle’s funds being available to him, and heads down to the market to buy some larger candles (and if he cast a spell to make them last longer... well... no one needed to know). Arthur gives him an odd look when he walks into The Prince’s chambers that evening and begins setting up and lighting them without acknowledgement; Merlin answers his questioning hum without looking at him:

“I know you like to be able to see just in case attackers make it into your chambers: these ones should last all the way until the morning. I set up a standing order with a merchant in the lower town.”

Arthur frowns confusedly, knowing that no one had managed to sneak into his chambers in months; it was definitely odd that Merlin had suddenly decided that this was a good idea. Still, Merlin doesn’t look back at him as he casually moves around the room, lighting the new candles and hoping that Arthur wouldn’t notice him leaving the curtains open by about an inch. He notices, though he doesn’t mention it in his response:

“Hmm. It seems you’re finally putting that brain of yours to use, Merlin.”

Merlin finally turns to look at him, glaring half-heartedly as he sarcastically laughs. Arthur just grins at him, glancing at the strip of moonlight on the floor for only a moment before climbing into his bed, muttering for Merlin to go ahead and get an early night.

From then on, Merlin packs extra torches in his pack when they go adventuring, and if he has room, a candle, in case they end up in an inn. If Arthur notices any of that, or the fact that Merlin always opens the window whenever they’re in the tiny Physician’s chambers for more than five minutes and always keeps him company on the now-rare nights Uther is angry enough to lock Arthur in the dungeons... well... neither of them point it out.

The next odd reaction doesn’t happen until years later.

Of course Merlin keeps noticing Arthur’s aversion to surprise touch (especially from knights and his father) and general dislike of the dark/closed spaces, but dealing with it and adjusting to make things easier just sort of becomes part of their routine, without either of them really realising.

Arthur has been King for a few weeks when it happens. It's warm, too warm for armour, so the roundtable knights are practicing their hand to hand instead of using swords and shields. Arthur usually sits out for these lessons, teaching and observing from the side-lines as opposed to taking part in spars. Merlin had always thought it was odd, but the one and only time he had brought it up, years ago, Arthur had forced him to join in on the lessons. He had a lot of bruises that day.

But today was not a usual day apparently; Arthur joined in. He seemed reluctant at first, like he was unsure if he actually wanted to, but his first weeks as King had been going well and he’d had a successful meeting with some of his Lords the previous day, so he’s in a good mood. He finally caves when Lancelot offers to spar with him; there was something about the gentle man that just makes everyone in his vicinity feel a little more at ease.

The sun was shining, but heavy rain the previous week means the grass was bright and soft; all in all, it was a lovely day, but Merlin’s focus was still on Arthur and the way he and Lance dance around each other. All the knights were holding their strength back a little, the purpose of sparring is rarely to go all out, but practicing form and technique and footwork is always a good idea.

Arthur falls into the rhythm of the spar, dodging and side-stepping and blocking with ease, neither he nor Lance were eager to speed things up in the heat. He was moving automatically, running on instincts and just a little bit of adrenaline, which is probably why he freezes up when confronted with something so terrifyingly familiar.

A glint of sunlight off something metallic caches his eye, and his gaze moves away from the fight for barely a split-second, but when he looks back all he can see is shortly cropped brown hair, a bright red tunic, and a fist swinging for his face.

Lancelot yelps when Arthur doesn’t block like he had expected him to, and Merlin is sprinting over before The King’s head has even finished rocking to the side. The other knights go to crowd closer, worried for their leader, but Merlin waves them off harshly and they keep their distance, trusting him. Lancelot looks horrified, but dutifully steps back as Merlin puts one hand on Arthur’s shoulder and uses the other to tilt his chin from side to side.

Merlin’s frown deepens when Arthur just lets himself be manhandled. Even in his worst injuries he was reluctant to let people check him over; Merlin quickly notices his wide eyes staring vacantly and the breathing that was far deeper than it really should be. He tries to get The King to look at him as he speaks lowly, so the others can’t hear him:

“Arthur? You with me?”

Arthur gulps, blinking rapidly and meeting his gaze, though Merlin can tell that he still isn’t really seeing:

“I... I’m sorry, I... I didn’t mean... I wasn’t...”

Merlin can only just hear Arthur’s whispers, and he’s grateful for the fact that the others definitely can’t hear them. He moves the hand on Arthur’s shoulder down to grip the other man’s hand and squeezes, and uses the other to shield his eyes from the sun as he mutters:

“Arthur, it’s Merlin, you’re out on the training field with members of the Roundtable, it’s late Spring, and you were crowned King three weeks ago. Arthur?”

It’s only then that Arthur’s eyes come into focus.

Merlin has never been grateful to have the bones in his hands almost break, and he doubts he’ll ever be grateful for it again. Merlin’s squeezes back, digging his nails in just a little as a subtle “please don’t break my hand”. Arthur loosens his grip and Merlin raises his eyebrow slightly in question; the blonde groans slightly and lifts a shaking hand to rub his eyes:

“What happened?”

Merlin glances at the huddle of knights behind him and gives them a reassuring smile before he looks back to Arthur, speaking so everyone can hear:

“You took quite the well placed hit from Lance, got a mild concussion and lost yourself for a minute. You’ll probably be fine by this evening, but I want to get you in the shade just in case, ok?”

Arthur seems surprised at the explanation, but nods wordlessly, letting Merlin guide him up towards the castle without a fuss. That just worries Merlin more, and he speeds up slightly as he yells over his shoulder:

“Leon’s in charge!”

Leon just chuckles, knowing that Merlin wouldn’t be paying them the slightest bit of attention if Arthur was even close to being seriously injured, but Gwaine just tilts his head and frowns:

“I love the guy but since when does Merlin decide who’s in charge? If he had said Elyan was in charge would we have just... gone with it?”

Leon shoves him playfully and tells him to get back to work, giving Lancelot a comforting pat on the shoulder as they all look away from the servant-King duo.

Merlin doesn’t take Arthur to the physician’s chambers, but goes to The King’s bedchamber instead; Arthur wasn’t actually concussed, but his mind had been elsewhere for a moment, so much so that he hadn’t recognised Merlin and spoke to him as if he were someone else. He sits The King down on the edge of the bed and kneels in front of him, hands on his knees as he frowns:

“Arthur? Still with me, or gone again?”

Arthur takes in a sharp breath, making eye contact with Merlin again as he straightens his back and answers confidently, his voice wavering only slightly:

“Yeah, yes, I’m with you. Sorry, lost in thought. I don’t feel concussed, are you sure?”

Merlin nods and stands up, leaving Arthur on the bed as he moves to open the window and get him a goblet of water:

“Hmm, I lied, I don’t think you are either, you weren’t hit that hard to be honest, but you weren’t really... with it, thought it best to get you away from the others.-”

He turns around the see Arthur tense and angry-looking, though Merlin gets the distinct impression that it’s not aimed at him:

“-You probably just got dazed by the hit, that and you’re overtired, you’ve been staying up late the last few nights. Drink this, maybe have a nap, or at least stay out of the sunlight for a few hours, you’ll definitely be getting a headache at some point soon and I don’t want you to make it worse.”

He hands over the goblet of water, holding it slightly out of Arthur’s reach so the other man has to stand for it. He manages to stand on his own two feet with no issue, and the shaking in his hands is lesser than it was before, though not gone entirely, so Merlin makes a mental list of all the chores that he could finish here, in Arthur’s presence. The King drinks the water absent-mindedly, leaving the goblet on the side table as he mutters:

“Overtired... yeah, probably.”

He wanders towards his desk, collapsing in the seat and staring half-heartedly at the paperwork spread all over the place. Merlin relaxes slightly, deciding that maybe there was a reason Arthur never joined in on hand-to-hand.

Merlin wasn’t fond of Arthur’s current visitor, Lord Algere, but he was pleased to note that Arthur didn’t seem all that fond of him either. He was an old supporter of Uther’s, which meant the occasional snide remark about how Uther would’ve handled certain situations differently, followed by deferential admissions of being “a close friend and advisor to the former King.”.

He was just friendly and kiss-ass enough that he couldn’t be kicked from court, that Arthur still had to be polite to him, but he rubbed pretty much everyone up the wrong way and Merlin couldn’t wait until he left to go back to his estate, thankfully situated on the furthest edge of the Kingdom.

It's the day before he’s due to leave when he says it:

“You remind me of your father a great deal, you know, you’re very similar.”

Arthur freezes up at the so-called compliment, but recovers quickly, giving the Lord a tight smile before excusing himself so he wouldn’t be late for the city border patrol he was undertaking. Normally Merlin didn’t go with him on these patrols, he’d only be gone for a couple hours at most and he was joined by a partner; it gave Merlin time to finish up some chores, but the servant felt the need to be there today.

The King is silent the entire time, which is unusual considering he's riding alongside Sir Leon today, and those two always have something official to talk about. He doesn’t even spare Merlin an annoyed glance when the servant drops his bag and has to dismount to pick it up, only halts and waits for him to catch up again. Though he's sure The King had relaxed slightly at the beginning of the patrol, when Merlin mentioned that he fancied tagging along, and if Merlin weren’t so worried he’d be immensely proud at his apparent ability to put Arthur at ease.

Leon gives Merlin a worried grimace as they ride back into the citadel, but Merlin shakes his head and smiles, his meaning of “I’ll deal with it, I’m sure he’s fine” obvious in the action. The two of them have gotten quite good at silently communicating over the years, God forbid Arthur find out that they were trying to look after him.

They made the journey up to Arthur’s chambers in continued silence, though Merlin really starts to really worry when Arthur just wanders over to the window and stares down into the courtyard. He only does that when he’s feeling particularly pensive. Merlin lays out the work he knows Arthur had wanted to get done this afternoon and perches on the edge of the desk, facing Arthur’s back with his arms crossed:

“Arthur, you alright? You’ve been quiet.”

Arthur nods, but doesn’t turn away from the window, staying silent. Merlin purses his lips, but it doesn’t take him long to figure out what he thinks might be wrong. He moves across the room and sits himself down at the dining table, casually starting on the polishing he had left there earlier as he speaks, trying to keep his tone as neutral and absent-minded as possible:

“I’ve no clue what Algere was talking about earlier, he either knows nothing about you, or didn’t know your father nearly as much as he says he did.”

Arthur finally turns from the window, fixing a curious frown on Merlin, who forces himself to keep his gaze down:

“What makes you say that?”

Merlin still doesn’t look up, but knows that he’s on the right track. Arthur has been able to admit, especially recently with his changing opinions on magic, that his father was not a good man, though he still struggles to admit that he wasn’t a good father:

“Well, from what I’ve seen, you look way more like your mother than you do Uther, and you don’t act like him at all, you haven’t picked up on any of his mannerisms or anything.-”

The servant finally looks up at Arthur, his words true but his nonchalance false as he continues with a confused frown:

“-To be honest, I’ve always thought you act more like an odd mix of Leon and Morgana. You’ve definitely got Leon’s sense of chivalry and respect and his knightly traits, but your... how do I say... fiery attitude when it comes to your sense of right and wrong, that’s definitely Morgana. Uther was quick to anger, you’ve got fairly good control of your anger nowadays. Uther was set in his ways and refused to change no matter the consequences, you bend traditions all the time, improve things in ways that Uther would never have dreamed of doing.-”

The servant shrugs and looks back down to his polishing:

“-I just don’t see the similarities, and I certainly know you better than Algere. I’ve a feeling I knew Uther better than Algere as well.”

Arthur hums non-committedly, but sits down at his desk instead of turning back to the window. Merlin feels the tension leave his shoulders, but doesn’t relax fully when he notices Arthur staring at his folded hands instead of working. Apparently it had only partially worked:

“Arthur?”

He doesn’t look up, just shuffles slightly in his eat as he lowly answers:

“Do you think I might... turn out like him? In the end? People say he was kind and gentle when he was young. If... if I ever have children...”

The question goes unasked, but the fear in his voice is palpable, and Merlin has to stop himself from sprinting from the room to burn every painting of Uther he can find. Instead, he puts the armour down on the table softly and stands, making sure to step loudly and clear his throat as he leans against the edge of Arthur’s desk again:

“Arthur, you’re a wonderful King, a wonderful knight, a wonderful man, and I guarantee that one day you’ll be a wonderful father. Don’t stress, you’ve out done your father in every other aspect of your life, I’m sure you’ll continue to do so.”

Arthur looks up at Merlin with a slight frown on his face, though it’s more thoughtful than anything. Merlin holds his gaze with a soft smile for a few moments, content to wait for Arthur to give him some sort of cue; Arthur just rolls his eyes and shoves him from the table, picking up a quill and finally beginning to actually work:

“Try not to insult the former King too much in one sitting, Merlin. And that armour won’t polish itself.”

Merlin just laughs quietly and moves back to the table, understanding and accepting that that was probably the best he was going to get. He makes a mental note to mention Arthur’s similarities to Leon next time the three of them are together; Arthur will be relieved, though he won’t show it, and Leon will be flattered beyond words.

He dares not do it with Morgana. Both of them would be secretly be pleased, though they’d kick up one hell of a fuss trying to deny it.

Thankfully, the two of them are in Arthur’s chambers when it happens.

Merlin’s not entirely sure he could use the “concussion” excuse like he did last time, not with the length of time it lasted.

It’s late, the curtains are drawn—with the traditional inch wide gap allowing a strip of moonlight to fall across the floor and over Arthur’s bed—and Arthur’s special candles have been lit. He’d been made aware of the spell Merlin had cast on them a few months ago, and though he was annoyed that Merlin had put himself at such risk, he hadn’t asked him to remove the spell, which the servant took as a good sign (both that Arthur wasn’t too mad about the magic, and that it had been a good idea).

The King sits at his desk, doing his normal pile of evening paperwork and trying to fit in as much as he can before Merlin snatches it away and manhandles him into bed, Merlin who is generally pottering around the room tidying. Arthur thinks of it more as just... moving the mess around, but he let’s him be; Merlin’s quiet company is much appreciated, especially with all the difficulties Arthur is having with repealing the ban on magic.

The King lets out a deep sigh, sitting back in his chair and tiredly rubbing his eyes. Merlin notices, because of course he does, and wanders over, a concerned frown on his face as he sits in the chair opposite him:

“You alright? Hit a snag?”

Arthur hums but shakes his head, opening his eyes but staying slumped in his seat; Merlin makes plans to get him to bed at some point in the next half candle mark at least:

“Hmm. No, just tired. This whole thing is draining, I wish I could just force them to see sense.”

Merlin knew that the them Arthur speaks of is the council. Currently, The King has about half of them on side, not including Leon, Morgana, and Gaius, but they need a majority by a significant margin before they can move forward, and Arthur refuses to act in any way that isn’t democratic.

Merlin nods, smiling softly at his lap as Arthur closes his eyes again:

“This is what it means to be King, Arthur,-”

At first, Merlin doesn’t notice the way Arthur’s eyes fly open, nor the way he slowly sits up straight, nor the way his shoulders tighten and his skin grows pale and his eyes go vacant.

“-but I think you’re doing great, don’t be too hard on... Arthur? Are you alright?”

Merlin frowns when he finally looks up to see The King sitting ramrod straight and staring into the middle distance, his breathing ragged and his blue eyes glassy and unseeing. He stands slowly, moving around to Arthur’s side to crouch there and wave a hand in front of his face.

He doesn’t react.

Merlin shakes his shoulder slightly, hesitating only momentarily before touching him, but even then, Arthur doesn’t respond. The servant gulps, glancing over his shoulder at the door to make sure it was locked before touching a hand to Arthur’s forehead and muttering a spell; he normally uses this spell to wake up unconscious people, but it has no effect on The King other than sending a slight shiver through his body.

Merlin calls his name a few times, but it expectedly has no effect. He tries to test Arthur’s pain awareness by pinching the underside of his arm, and whilst he flinches away slightly, he doesn’t come to, still stares blankly at the opposite wall. Merlin thinks of calling for the guards and asking for Gaius, but somehow he doesn’t think the elderly physician will be able to help; there was no magic at play here, and he certainly hadn’t been poisoned. In all honestly he just looked a little zoned out, like the time Merlin had lied about the concussion, except it was clearly lasting longer this time.

Merlin frowns but tries his best to keep the panic at bay, it had only been a few minutes now, but other than breathing Arthur hadn’t moved an inch.

The servant takes a deep, relaxing breath, or at least what he hoped would be a relaxing breath. It’s not. He uses magic to slide Arthur’s chair away from the desk slightly, and moves into the space it leaves, shuffling all of the paperwork away and leaning on the edge. Once again, he puts one hand on Arthur’s shoulder, and takes his hand with the other, squeezing slightly.

He waits.

After another ten minutes or so, Arthur’s breathing gets slightly more frantic, and he begins squeezing Merlin’s hand back. Merlin moves closer, crouching in between Arthur’s legs and shaking his shoulder again, but he stops when Arthur begins muttering:

“Didn’t... I... I’m sorry. Not my.... didn’t... didn’t mean to... sorry... disappointment...”

Merlin’s frown deepens at the barely audible whispers, especially when he notices the tears gathering in Arthur’s eyes. He shakes his shoulder again and forces himself to speak, just about managing to keep the waiver from his voice:

“Arthur, there’s no one else here, it’s just you and me, it’s just us, just Arthur and Merlin. It’s the evening in late Autumn, it’s almost time for bed, you sparred with Percival this morning and had a long, annoying council meeting this afternoon. You’re sat at your desk in your chambers with me, no one else.”

Arthur’s eyes come into focus, slowly at first and then all at once. He blinks and stands suddenly, almost tipping his chair backwards in his haste as he reaches a hand to his sword-less hip. Merlin moves back quickly, grimacing as he bumps harshly into the desk. Arthur’s gaze whips around the room desperately, as if searching for a danger that he was certain was there, before his eyes finally land on Merlin. The servant holds his hands out placatingly, not relaxing even as Arthur takes a deep breath and seems to calm down.

The King slumps back in his seat, rubbing the tears from his eyes with shaking hands; Merlin crouches down again, but doesn’t dare touch him, not quite yet:

“Arthur?”

His head whips up, but he relaxes again when he sees Merlin sat in front of him:

“Yes, sorry, I... must of dozed off or something.”

Merlin frowns, but nods one, speaking slowly, his tone low and even:

“Hmm. Must’ve, you looked like you were having a nightmare or something so I woke you. Time for bed, I think.”

For once, Arthur actually agrees with him, not bothering to argue like normal as he stands on shaking legs and heads to where Merlin has neatly laid his sleeping clothes on the bed. Merlin’s concerned gaze follows him, but he doesn’t move too far from the desk, deciding that he and Gaius definitely need to have a chat about... whatever the hell that was.

Half a candle mark later, Arthur is quietly wishing his manservant a good night and dismissing him. He was obviously distracted, Merlin normally can’t be frowning for more than thirty seconds before The King is hounding him about what’s wrong, but thirty minutes pass with not a question from Arthur, and Merlin makes his way to the Physician’s Chambers hoping that Gaius is still awake.

Thankfully, the elderly physician is still pottering around, tidying away various bits and pieces and generally preparing the room for a new day tomorrow. He immediately notices Merlin’s peculiar mood and gestures for the younger man to sit opposite him at the table:

“What’s bothering you, my boy?”

Merlin sits slowly, biting his lip and trying to decide just how honest to be:

“What does it mean if someone... zones out, completely, for extended periods of time?”

Gaius raises an eyebrow:

“I’m going to need a little more than that, Merlin.”

Merlin huffs but nods, shuffling in his seat slightly but responding:

“I was with someone earlier today. We were just chatting whilst we worked and suddenly they just... weren’t there anymore. Stiff, eyes glazed over, ragged breathing. They responded slightly to pain but it didn’t snap them out of it and they just... sat there, utterly blankly, for about twenty minutes. Eventually they started muttering to themselves, but it didn’t make any sense, then they... woke up, I guess, and thought they had fallen asleep. They definitely weren’t asleep, but they weren’t... I don’t know, conscious?”

Gaius frowns but nods, clutching his hands tightly on the table as he explains, his voice grave:

“Hmm. Sounds like an extended disassociation episode. I gather that I’m not to be told who this was?-”

Merlin shakes his head slightly, and though he looks slightly annoyed, Gaius nods and continues:

“-This happens mostly to people who experience something extremely traumatic, though it also happens in victims of extended abuse, especially if the abuse was in childhood, the younger the victim, the worse the reaction. Occasionally it can happen randomly, though it’s mostly triggered by something in their surrounding environment.”

Merlin’s frown deepens, and Gaius would easily hazard a guess at saying he looks angry. He doesn’t point it out though, just waits for his ward to continue:

“What can trigger it? And what other symptoms will child abuse victims display?”

Gaius takes another deep breath, but slowly responds:

“Anything can be a trigger really, something they see or smell or hear, something someone else does or says.-”

(”This is what it means to be King, Arthur,-” pops into Merlin’s head.)

“-As for other symptoms, aversion to touch, occasionally fear of being alone, OR fear of being in another’s presence. Some experience trouble with regulating strong emotions, difficulty in regulating long term relationships, platonic or otherwise, trouble with self-esteem. It varies from person to person, there is no strict list of obvious signs. Might I ask... why?”

Merlin shakes his head and stands, moving towards his bedroom with clenched hands and tight shoulders. Just before he shuts the door behind him, he turns to look at Gaius over his shoulder, brow furrowed and voice low:

“What... what was Uther like? When Arthur was a child?”

Gaius closes his eyes briefly, letting out a weary sigh and trying his best to hold in his grief:

“Strict, extremely difficult to please. He never... he never hit Arthur, not in public anyway, though it wouldn’t surprise me if he was violent privately. As a child, The Prince was terrified of the dark, and the dungeons. I got the impression that Uther forced him down there on more than one occasion. Arthur is... the one your concerned about?”

Gaius knows the answer, but it doesn’t stop the tears from welling in his eyes when Merlin wordlessly nods before shutting the door behind him.

+1)

A few weeks have passed since Merlin had figured it all out.

He didn’t dare bring it up to Arthur, and shuts the conversation down any time Gaius mentions it. The conversation is for Arthur, and Arthur only, and Merlin wasn’t going to force it.

Besides, they’ve been extremely busy with the transitions; The Kingdom was going from anti-magic to pro-magic, and Merlin was going from servant to a member of court. Arthur had tried to force nobility onto him as well as his position as Court Sorcerer, but Merlin had put his foot down at that, insisting that he wouldn’t become some stuck up wealthy arsehole, not even if his life was on the line.

Gwaine, Elyan, Percival, Gwen, and Morgana had grinned at that, Arthur and Lancelot rolled their eyes, Mordred continued to insist on calling him “My Lord” anyway, and Leon had looked marginally affronted as he mumbled something along the lines of “I’m a Lord you know, technically.”.

They aren’t lucky this time around, and it all comes to an explosive head in a quiet, though still habited corridor in the middle of the afternoon.

Afterwards, Merlin absent-mindedly considers the fact that they could’ve been in the courtyard or the throne room or somewhere equally busy, and thanks the Gods for just this little bit of luck; only two servants, one guard, and the... the noble and his son were in the corridor at the time.

Arthur and Merlin are making their way to the council room, preparing themselves for a busy meeting: it was the first since magic was officially legalised, and the first that Merlin (and Gwen, though that was another matter entirely) would officially be sitting in on. Though, in all honesty, pretty much the whole Kingdom knew that Merlin had been advising Arthur privately for years.

Merlin frowns and Arthur stiffens slightly as they spot the noble gripping his young son’s collar and aggressively whispering at him. The boy can’t be more than ten summers old, but the tears in his eyes display his utter terror clearly enough; no child should ever have to be that scared, especially not of their parents. Merlin resigns himself to just magicking the pig’s trousers down when no one was looking his way, but barely a second after he makes that decision the man raises his hand, and slaps the boy across the face.

Everyone in the corridor freezes as the boy cries out, and the noble doesn’t seem to notice the way the guard looks frantically between him and The King, waiting for instruction, or the way the servants and Merlin were staring, horrified. Arthur breaks out of his shocked stupor first, striding towards him with his fist already raised and his eyes blazing:

“How fucking DARE you?!”

His knuckles make violent contact with the man’s mouth, and the spray of blood from a busted lip and loosened teeth is what spurs Merlin into action. He runs forward, scooping the distraught boy up in his arms and quickly handing him over to one of the servants:

“Take him to Gaius, swear that you will not utter a word of this to anyone bar the Court Physician?”

His eyes flash golden as the servants’ both nod, and they rush off in the direction of the Physician’s chambers. Merlin, satisfied that they will be unable to break their promise, turns next to the guard, momentarily ignoring the way Arthur has shoved the bleeding noble against the stone wall:

“Fetch the Lady Morgana and Guinevere and tell them to go to Gaius and the boy, stay with them, swear that you will inform no one bar those three what has happened?”

The guard nods, understanding the magic implicitly as Merlin’s eyes flash gold again. He spares The King and his deserving victim one last glance before running towards Morgana’s chambers.

Merlin turns, finally, to Arthur, almost-but-not-quite recoiling at the tears on his cheeks as he lands another punch to the noble’s jaw. His face is black and blue at this point, and Merlin pulls Arthur back just as he raises his fist again; he thrashes in his grip, but quickly sags as his breathing deepens. The noble falls to the floor, unconscious in all likelihood, and Merlin clicks his fingers, banishing him to the dungeons with nothing but a shower of golden sparks.

Arthur breathes deeply, leaning all of his weight on Merlin as he clamps his un-bruised hand over his mouth, his wide eyes staring intensely at where the boy had been stood moments before. He doesn’t respond to Merlin’s calls, and with another flash of gold, they disappear, reappearing in Arthur’s bed chamber.

Merlin shoots Mordred a quick message over their mental link as he lowers Arthur to the floor, leaning him against the edge of the bed and moving around to be crouched in front of him. The King’s breathing has gotten dangerously deep and dangerously fast, the tears streaming down his face as his hands clench and unclench around nothing. Merlin quickly intertwines their fingers in an effort to stop Arthur hurting himself, but that just freaks the other man out even more as he desperately scrambles to get away from the contact.

Merlin lets go and moves back, eyes wide and desperate as he watches Arthur bring his knees up to his chest, burying his head in his arms and rocking slightly. His cries are muffled, but Merlin can still hear the heart wrenching sound; the Warlock takes a moment to breath before he stealthily moves around the room, lighting candles, locking the door, and shutting the curtains (bar an inch), before moving back to sit beside Arthur, a foot or so of space between them.

After a few minutes of no change, Merlin starts humming. He can’t remember any of the words, but it’s an old lullaby his mum used to sing when he couldn’t sleep, when he was scared of his own magic and his own friends and every shadow that moved in the dark. Arthur’s breathing slows, though he still hiccups occasionally, and Merlin rests his hand on the stone floor between them: an offer, not a demand.

Arthur doesn’t take it, instead shuffling over to lean his head on Merlin’s shoulder. Merlin freezes, not daring to put his arm around the other man as he continues to hum; he must’ve circled back and restarted the same song six, seven, eight times before Arthur nuzzles in further and sniffs before muttering:

“You’ve a good voice, Merlin.”

Merlin huffs a gentle laugh, leaning his head on top of Arthur’s softly as he quietly replies:

“Runs in the family, my mother used to sing to me, though I don’t really know any other tunes I’m afraid.”

Arthur nods, but doesn’t reply, turning into Merlin’s chest slightly as the Warlock hesitatingly wraps his arms around the other man; he stops being so hesitant when he notices Arthur’s eagerness. Merlin pulls him close, sighing but letting Arthur settle in before he says anything. In the back of his mind, he’s aware of the pain shooting up his spine at being sat on the stone floor for so long, but he decides he doesn’t really care, if this is what Arthur needs.

After a few more minutes, he rubs his cheek into Arthur’s soft hair and speaks, his voice gentle and loving:

“Feeling better?”

Arthur stiffens slightly, but quickly relaxes, nodding into Merlin’s chest and mumbling:

“The boy?”

Merlin smiles at Arthur’s worry:

“Safe. He’s with Gaius, Morgana, and Gwen, under protective guard.”

Arthur nods again, tightening his hold on Merlin’s tunic:

“And his... father?”

“Bloodied up and locked in the dungeons, far away from his son. Mordred let the guards know that he is not to leave under any circumstances, told the council that the meeting had been postponed until further notice, and then went to relieve the guard in the Physician’s chambers.”

The King relaxes, and so does Merlin, though only slightly, he knows that this is where that terrifying conversation has opportunity to rear it’s ugly head:

“Arthur, are we going to talk about this?-”

He rushes to carry on when Arthur’s breath hitches and his hands pull on Merlin’s tunic slightly:

“-You can say no, Arthur. I swear, I will never, ever ask, not if you don’t want me to.”

Arthur doesn’t relax, but he shakes his head, gulping before replying, his voice thick:

“No, it’s fine, I should probably... talk about it, right? Morgana is always on my arse about being less repressed or whatever.-”

Merlin nods, but doesn’t say anything, stroking his fingers through Arthur’s hair rhythmically. Arthur lets out a deep breath, humming contentedly at the gesture and leaning even more into it:

“-My father was... difficult to please. His default was anger, no matter what, and it was... rare, for him to be anything but furious. He never... not in public, and never left marks where anyone could see.-”

Merlin struggles against the urge to hit someone (preferably Uther, though unfortunately he was dead. He supposes Uther’s old supporters would do in a pinch), but he makes do with taking a deep breath:

“-When he was especially furious he would lock me in a storage closet, or the dungeons. He... he would order that all the lights be put out, and all the windows covered, so I couldn’t see. Merlin I couldn’t see anything. I still... I can’t stand the dark, but I’m guess you figured that out?-”

Merlin knows that he’s referring to the candles and the perpetually open curtains and nods, humming in agreement:

“-How pathetic is that? A grown man, a King, afraid of the dark.”

Merlin tightens his grip on Arthur and shakes his head:

“It’s not pathetic, Arthur. It’s an automatic response, a defence mechanism that your brain puts in place to try and protect you from being re-traumatised. To this day, I’m terrified of fire, even though I have no reason to be anymore, even though it can’t hurt me as a Dragon Lord.”

Arthur gulps, but relaxes slightly, though his voice is quiet, almost ashamed as he continues:

“I can’t look at Lancelot’s turned back, I struggle to spar with him as well. He... he doesn’t even look anything like my father, he just... he always wears red and has the same hair as my father when he was younger and they’re the same height. Sometimes I feel like I’m a child again, everything around me just disappears and I’m back in that dungeon, or my father is stood over me screaming. How am I meant to be a good King when I’m scared of my own shadow?”

Merlin sighs, staying silent for a few minutes as he attempts to put an answer together in his mind. Arthur sniffles again, and Merlin is suddenly made aware of the wet patch where Arthur’s head rests on his tunic:

“I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, as many times as you want: you are a wonderful King. You’ve delivered a Golden Age upon this Kingdom, your friends love you, your people adore you. You’ve never just been a good King, Arthur, you’ve been the best this Kingdom, and this world, has ever seen.”

Arthur loosens his grip again but huffs a quiet laugh against Merlin’s chest, which the Warlock definitely counts as a win:

“Kiss-ass.”

Merlin laughs this time, though he doesn’t stop carding his fingers through Arthur’s hair:

“Nah, when have you ever known me to kiss ass? I speak only the truth, My Lord.”

They both fall silent again, and Arthur pulls away from Merlin’s chest. Merlin drops his arms immediately, not wanting to make the other man uncomfortable, but Arthur just takes one of his hands and goes back to sitting by his side, his head resting on Merlin’s shoulder. The silence is long, but comfortable, and it’s dark outside by the time Arthur speaks again:

“Merlin?-”

The Warlock doesn’t make a sound, but squeezes Arthur’s hand in acknowledgement:

“-I thanked you for all the big stuff: saving my life, and saving the Kingdom, and all that. But I never thanked you for the small stuff. The candles and the endless support and the excuses.”

Merlin frowns slightly in confusion, not that Arthur can see:

“Excuses?”

“You didn’t think I didn’t notice, did you? You started years and years ago. You always seemed to notice when being with... with my father, or the knights, or anyone really, was getting too much, you always had some excuse ready. Sometimes you outright lied, even if it would get you in trouble, just to get me away from people. I don’t know how you knew... no one else ever realised. Saying I had paperwork when I didn’t, or a patrol when I wasn’t scheduled for one, or a concussion just to give me some privacy. Thank you.”

Merlin smiles slightly, squeezing Arthur’s hand again:

“You were too busy looking after everyone else, someone had to look after you. I’m grateful it was me, Arthur, I-”

He pauses and sits up slightly straighter, though it doesn’t jostle Arthur too much. He lifts his head anyway, staring at Merlin in concern with tired eyes:

“Merlin?”

Merlin looks to him suddenly, but smiles:

“Hmm, sorry, just Mordred. Updating me on the kid and asking if you’re alright.-”

Arthur’s cheeks flush slightly, but Merlin’s smile grows as he shakes his head:

“-Don’t worry, no one knows about... this, just that you went berserk when you saw a Noble beating his kid, and punched his teeth out.”

Arthur relaxes and nods, humming thoughtfully as he looks to the floor. He stands up, wobbling only slightly after being curled up in the same position on a cold stone floor for several hours, and Merlin follows him confusedly:

“Do... do you want to go check in on them? The kid’s been asking after you apparently, wants to thank you.-”

Arthur looks conflicted, almost as if he were worrying that he wouldn’t actually be welcomed, so Merlin puts a hand on his shoulder and smiles, waiting until Arthur looks at him before continuing:

“-We can leave it until morning, if you like, but you saved that boy, Arthur, there’s nothing to worry about.”

Arthur nods, but doesn’t move until Merlin wipes his face clean with his sleeve and smooths out his clothes. If he uses a little magic to make the two of them more presentable, then neither of them mention it as they walk purposefully to the door.

Merlin looks to Arthur stood next to him, his hand hovering over the door handle:

“Ready?”

Arthur smiles at him, taking his hand and squeezing it, but not dropping it as he opens the door and steps into the corridor:

“Ready.”

THE END!!!

As angsty as it was, I really enjoyed writing that😅. I couldn’t help myself though, I had to give it a happy ending :D

I hope y’all enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!! I love y’all!!

My Ko-Fi, which is where I post sneak peeks of upcoming works, check it out and consider donating!!

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rafescoke · 3 years

Note

hi ! i'm obsessed with your work ! <333 can i request a rafe cameron x reader

the reader is always there for rafe when he's sick or in trouble but rafe doesn't really show any reaction or gratitude from the reader's affection - but when reader goes sick (or nosebleed) he immediately begins to worry/make sure reader is okay. basically fluff !

August ; Cupcake! Rafe Cameron

masterlist

Read Cupcake if you haven't before you start this fic!

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x reader

Summary: In which Rafe cares more for the girl he likes rather than himself.

Warnings: Extreme fluff! Mentions of alcohols and drugs, Rafe Cameron being a complete sweetheart

A/N: After a week full of nothing but angst I've decided to give y'all what y'all have been screaming for; fluff. Thank you for all the love over my stories, I love you more than anything else in the world <3

p.s, I'm so sorry @blank-velvet if this isn't what you had in mind :(

"Hello, beautiful."

(Y/N) rolls her eyes, giving him a side smile as she locks her front door. "You're late today."

Rafe pouts, pulling her into a hug as he breathes into her scent. She doesn't smell like cupcakes anymore, thank god, because he can't take another few hours of flashbacks of him whisking the batter.

Turns out, the children's home becomes a fortnight habit for the both of them. They would bring so many cupcakes for the kids and spend the new 2 hours chatting and playing games.

Rafe hates to admit this, having to show the soft side of his, but he likes it. Every single bit of it; children telling him he's the best person in the world and how they like his frosting over (Y/N)'s because his were more 'unique'.

"Are you thinking of another girl?" (Y/N) teases, poking him by his side. Rafe looks down to her height with a shocked expression and shakes his head.

"Never."

"Yuck," she replies, but she's smiling. She keeps her hands in his, loving the way his fingers are wrapped around hers. His metal rings knock against hers, and she can feel the slight tightening every time the light turns red.

She wishes she can assure him that she'll never leave his side, no matter what happens. She knows how hard his life is for him, dealing with his family and his addiction, and she swears to be in his life until he's okay.

"I don't want you to leave once I'm okay."

"I don't mean it that way, Rafe. I'm just saying that if you decide to find anyone else after this whole bullshit ends, I'll be fine."

Rafe shook his head, "I don't want anyone else, (Y/N)."

"Now you're thinking of a guy," Rafe rolls his eyes playfully, turning into a corner before stopping directly before a fancy restaurant (Y/N) can't roll her tongue to call it. He steps out, helping her to her feet, and proceeds to give his car keys to the butler.

"You don't have to pay 30 dollars for valet parking," (Y/N) rolls her eyes. "I'm perfectly fine with walking a long distance, you know."

"Not in that heels," Rafe answers, pointing to her pink mules. "You'll get your dress dirty too."

Rafe escorts her to their table by the beach with her arms in his, and the couple never looked so beautiful. Rafe's hair is left messy today, since (Y/N) likes it that way, and anything that (Y/N) likes, Rafe will try to obey.

"We can eat at Fraiser's and I'll be happy, Rafe. This is too much."

Fraiser's is Obx's famous burger shop located in The Cut, and sometimes even the kooks would come down to the other side of the island to enjoy the food.

(Y/N) stares at the beach, hearing its calming waves and turns to Rafe. He's still admiring the view, his lips pulled into a charming smile, and (Y/N) has the urge to kiss him.

"I want to," he says. "I'm glad we met."

The candle burns brightly by the side of their table as he gazes into her eyes, feeling himself getting lost in them. Her (E/C) eyes are mesmerizing, and it had struck him.

"Stop. You're getting all mushy mushy."

The dinner is perfect. To (Y/N)'s surprise, Rafe had requested her favorite song to be played by the band earlier. When the starting melody to August by Taylor Swift starts playing, she's basically gaping at Rafe.

"Shut up! You did not!" she hits him on his arms as he laughs.

"I thought you'd like it," he shrugs, stuffing his mouth with the garlic bread. "Do you like it?"

"Are you crazy? I love it, Rafe!"

Before Rafe can process his mind to what she just said, she pulls him into a hug from the other side of the table, and the other diners glance at the sudden sound of a chair scraping against the wooden floor and clanking of cutleries.

Rafe relaxes, "You're embarrassing us."

She pulls away, her face red, but Rafe holds her tightly.

"It's okay. I like it. Embarrass us even more, please."

(Y/N) feels like she's in heaven, soaring high above the clouds with Rafe by her side. Her life can't be more perfect; being in a close relationship with the boy he likes, doing so many things together she feels like they were married already.

Keyword: close relationship. He never proposes her to be his girlfriend, and she's too afraid to bring it up.

But whatever they're having now; she loves it. More than anything else in the world.

"Let's go to the beach."

"Okay," she giggles, gathering her clutch and her forgotten shoes somewhere under the table. She feels like leaving them, but the heels were one of the many presents from Rafe a few weeks ago, and she intends to keep them until the day she dies.

She stops, placing the clutch against his chest. "Have you paid?"

Rafe looks up to her, "Nah."

"Go pay."

"No."

"Rafe!" she widens her eyes, closing her mouth with her hands. "They'll catch us!"

"Not if we act like we've paid. Come on, they know me. They wouldn't suspect me of fleeing before paying."

She bites her lips nervously, but her heart is thumping wildly against her chest. Fleeing away from paying is never on her bucket list, but she always likes watching these kinds of scenes on the big screen.

"Okay. Fine."

"Okay, sweet. Come on."

He pulls her hands in his as he walks towards the exit. The waiter close to them bows, giving them his thank you, and when (Y/N) feels like they're safe, a loud voice from behind them shouts.

"Sir! Madam! Have you paid?"

(Y/N)'s grip around Rafe's hands tighten, but Rafe is a natural at lying. She wonders if he ever lied to her before.

"We have, a few minutes ago. This is a very bad moment for me and my wife, we are catching a flight back to Paris in an hour and you're wasting our time."

(Y/N) looks at him, gawking. His wife?

(Y/N) isn't sure if his lie would get them out of this situation, because his fake British accent does not sound anywhere near British and no English couple would spend their summer in a place like Obx.

The manager, (Y/N) assumes takes a step back, bowing down to them. When he looks up at them, he still has the curious glint in his eyes.

"Can I get your name?"

There's a long silence between them, and (Y/N)'s getting more and more nervous. "Coke." she blurts before she can stop herself.

"Coke?"

"That's her nickname, right, my love? It's not coke, my dear, it's Cookie," Rafe sighs and turns back to the manager. "I'm sorry. She had had a few drinks tonight."

"Sir," the same waiter that had muttered his thanks to them says, standing beside the stern manager. "They haven't paid."

"Run!" Rafe exclaims, running towards the exit with (Y/N) in his trail. There are shouts behind them, but they don't stop, running for dear life until the music from the band playing sounds a distance away.

Eventually, the gravel turns into sand, and they stop running. (Y/N) is the first one to laugh, throwing her head back and pulling him into a hug.

"Oh, thank you! Thank you, Rafe, that's the best thing that has ever happened in my life!" she exclaims, placing her arms around his neck. The adrenaline from before is still flowing at a fast pace, and she never felt more alive.

Rafe smiles, catching his breath. He let her in his arms, smoothing her locks and lifting her slightly from the ground.

"Let's go in the water!" she says excitedly, pulling him towards the waves.

The cold saltwater pools around their ankles as they stand in the water, intertwining their fingers. (Y/N) looks up at him, watching as he stares at the darkness ahead.

She looks in the direction he's gawking at and sees the silhouette of a huge boat somewhere in the distance.

"What's wrong?" she asks, tugging at his hands.

"Someday, (Y/N), I'll bring you around the world."

She smiles. Always the charmer, that one.

"Rafe!" She suddenly shouts, bending down and letting the water soak her dress. "Something bit me!"

Rafe snaps back to reality, holding her in place and trying to find the mysterious creature in the water. Can a piranha get this far?

"I don't see-"

(Y/N) cuts him off by splashing the water at him, and he steps back with a shock.

"You'll regret doing that."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"I'm not feeling anything."

"Get ready."

"For what?"

Rafe splashes her with a larger amount of water and uses the stalling time as she gasps and tries to get away from him by pulling her down into the water.

"This," he laughs, watching as she screams playfully. She's between his legs now as they sit peacefully, letting the water soak their expensive clothes.

"I'm sorry I'm ruining the dress you bought for me."

"It's okay. It's just Dior. Besides, I'll probably ruin it by-"

"Later," she cuts him off, placing her pointer on his lips to silence him. "Let's just watch the ocean."

And Rafe obliges.

A walk back to your home doesn't take long when you're in love. (Y/N) has Rafe's hands in hers, swaying them back and forth as they skip back to her apartment.

"I'm not going to be responsible for your car if it goes missing, Rafe."

He smiles, "It's okay. I have insurance."

She's on cloud nine; singing along to August and letting Rafe twirl her around under the night sky full of twinkling stars.

"I love this," she whispers, stopping midway. "Thank you, Rafe."

"For what?"

"Being the best."

He kisses her cheeks in response, "Always."

Just before they can continue their walk back to her apartment, a familiar blue mustang pulls up beside her, and Rafe pulls her to his other side in reflex.

He waits until the car window pulls down, revealing a half-drunk boy with his black hair messily slicked back.

(Y/N)'s breath hitches, and she pulls Rafe closer to her.

"What do you want?" Rafe sighs. "Can't you leave her alone?"

"Rafe," she whispers, pulling him in alarm. Out of all the time in the world, her ex-boyfriend decides to surprise them after a good night full of good memories.

Jack ignores Rafe and stares at (Y/N), smiling in a taunting way. "Hey, (Y/N), why are you all wet?"

"Rafe," she pulls him again.

"Come on, I'm just asking," he laughs. "I thought you liked getting wet."

"Fuck off," Rafe says, gritting his teeth. His chest heaves with every breath he takes, and he longs for the moment to connect his fist with his smug face.

"Aw, come on Rafe, you used to be so fun," Jack fakes pout, sighing. "Now you're all up in her ass. Does she feed you bone?"

Rafe steps forward, but (Y/N) quickly pulls him back.

"Does she beg you to go to the some children's shit too?"

Rafe stalks forward again before (Y/N) can help it, and launches Jack's car door open. He topples over from leaning over and not wearing the seatbelt, and Rafe uses the chance to throw him on the road.

"Wanna talk shit again, asshole?" Rafe yells, pushing him as he staggers backward. Jack clutches onto his chest, holding a hand up and moving backward.

(Y/N) cries, waiting for Rafe to come back. As Rafe turns away to go with her, Jack takes the free time to bring him down to the road again and throws a punch against his face.

"Jack! Let him go, please!"

Rafe groans, feeling his bones cracking, but he's too fueled by the snickering Jack had made toward (Y/N). He turns him over and continues his punches against the thrashing boy.

(Y/N) pulls Rafe's arms, not wanting him to get hurt, but the pull is so strong that when he finally lets go of Jack, she topples backward and falls straight on her bottom.

He gushes out beside her, "You're okay? I'm sorry, I didn't mean to push you!"

Jack scatters into his car again, muttering a curse word under his breath and saying something along the lines of 'I'll get back at you, Cameron' before speeding off into the night.

(Y/N) groans, rubbing her legs and turns to Rafe. She gasps, holding his face in her hands. "Oh my god! Your nose, Rafe!"

Rafe grunts, pushing her hands away. "I'm fine. It's just a nosebleed. You scraped your thighs!"

"Just the side of them," she mumbles, glancing at the ripped part of her used-to-be beautiful midnight blue dress. "Let me see your nose."

"No."

"Please."

He sighs and lets her examine his broken nose. His eyes are red, and (Y/N)'s sure there's some kind of a broken blood vessel in there, and there are bruises starting to form under his eyes.

To compare with her pain, Rafe is a hundred times worse.

"Jesus Christ, we have to get you to the hospital."

"No!" Rafe exclaims, pulling her hands away from his place. "No, please. I hate hospitals, you know I do. Let's just get home."

(Y/N) sighs, knowing there's no way she can win this fight against Rafe and helps him to his feet. She staggers backward, feeling the sudden pain coursing through her from the gash on her side.

"Oh god, you're losing so much blood."

"No, I'm not. I'm perfectly fine. It's just a scratch," she bites her lips.

"Let me carry you." he stops her.

"No! You're an idiot. If anything, I'm the one who's supposed to carry you," she rolls her eyes and turns to look at him again. "Rafe, you're crying blood. Let's get to the hospital."

"I'm not, I just drink too much red wine."

"It doesn't work that way. Please, Rafe? I'll be there with you the whole time."

Rafe sighs, and after a long time of thinking and weighing his options, he nods.

"If they start telling me to open my clothes, I'll head out. I will only remove my clothes from you tonight."

He can still joke around at a time like this?

(Y/N) bites her lips, "You will do exactly what the doctor says."

"You're my doctor," he shrugs. "Be my doctor?"

(Y/N) decides, with Rafe limping beside her, walking towards the hospital will be the stupidest idea ever. She orders an Uber, and before the driver can ask why they're booking to go to the hospital at 11p.m. on a Friday, he speeds away when he sees the sight of Rafe.

"It's not too late to just go home," Rafe mumbles against her neck. Her hair tickles his nose, but he likes it like that.

He feels safe. Protected.

"We're not sleeping in my apartment tonight."

"Can I still make love to you in the hospital?"

"We'll think about it."

(Y/N) pays the driver, muttering her thanks, and attends to a groaning Rafe again. One of his eyes is shut, and the other is fighting its best to stay awake.

The EMTs grab a wheelchair for Rafe as soon as she pulls him in through the automatic door, and when (Y/N) finally lets go of him, he shouts over the loud orders of the workers.

"She needs to stay with me or I'll die!"

One of the technicians looks at (Y/N), and she sighs. "I'm sorry. We got into a fight, and I think he's just not thinking straight right now."

She nods and asks (Y/N) to wait for him in the waiting room.

Half an hour later, with a coffee from the 24 hours cafeteria near the emergency room in her hands, the doctor finally calls for her attention. She stands up, her dress sticking to her bloody wound, and she winces from the pain.

"Why didn't you tell us!" the doctor sighs, pulling her into the same room he brought Rafe in. Rafe isn't in there, and (Y/N) can't help but search around.

"He's okay. He's sleeping. He's suffering from subconjunctival hemorrhage. It's nothing serious, really, but we decided to keep him under our watch for one day."

(Y/N) nods, slightly relieved, and let the doctor removes her skirt so he can take a better look at her wound.

He clicks his tongue, "What's your name?"

"(Y/N)."

"Okay, (Y/N), we called for your boyfriend's parents and they'll be here in an hour. Do you have any parents I can contact?"

"I'm okay. I'm not suffering from any hemorrhage."

The doctor sighs, "I know. But you just confessed to being in a fight, so I have to get the parents involved. It's protocol."

Fuck.

(Y/N) mumbles out her brother's phone number, and she hopes against hope he's out with his friends and getting drunk so that she wouldn't have to face her family.

"Okay. Do you want to see your boyfriend?"

"He's not my boyfriend. But yes, I want to see Rafe."

(Y/N) holds out his hands as she sits beside his sleeping form. She smiles, grazing her fingers across his soft skin as he breathes peacefully.

"I'm awake now."

She pulls her hands away, gasping slightly at his tired voice.

"Come on, hold me again."

She rolls her eyes, but her fingers are around his again. "We look so corny."

"I know. Wanna know something cornier?"

"What?"

"Take that thing out of my pocket. No, not that, that's my dick, (Y/N), my pocket, yes, yes, take that box out."

(Y/N) holds out the small box in her hands, letting the white light from above illuminate the box. Her face is still red at the mention of accidentally touching his private part, but she's more intrigued by the box now.

"Open it," he says softly.

(Y/N) hesitates, and pops the box open. She gasps, having a small diamond glinting back at her.

"Do you like it?"

"You did not, Rafe, oh my god."

"Wear it. Wait, fuck, I messed it up. Wait, wait, let me just-" he sighs, trying to sit up, but (Y/N) stops him midway. "Would you like to be my girlfriend, (Y/N)?"

She looks up at him, her eyes teary now, because God, no one has ever done this to her.

"Would you?"

"Of course, asshole, even when you're asking me in the middle of your deathbed."

He smiles, "Okay. Now you can put the ring on."

She slides the ring on her ring finger, holding her hand up and admiring the way the ring compliments her hands.

She loves it. More than anything.

"Oh, and they called Ward and Rose. I'm sorry it's going to be your first time being my girlfriend and meeting them."

She laughs, leaning over him and placing a longing kiss on his lips. He kisses her back, feeling so much better now he can walk out of this hospital.

"You're like a princess. Nursing me back to health. None of these Harvard graduate doctors can compare to you."

"Urgh, shut up," she rolls her eyes. "Now you're pushing it."

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missblissy · 3 years

Note

Human Alastor x reader playing Bowling? (Idk i just like that type of date hhaha) Maybe just them or maybe with friends

((>W>.............................. js I hate bowling. But I love you nonny, so for you..... I made this. ENJOY!! Sorry for the wait *cries*))

How goes bowling these days? Is that even still a thing? And why would anyone want to go bowling other than to drink? But no one drinks have the time... people just go for the pin and balls. Maybe it had to do with long and round phallic objects and balls rolling around. Regardless, your friends had dragged you to go bowling for whatever reason. And you decided to drag Alastor along because if you had to suffer, so did your boyfriend. It was also a bonus that he got along with your friends as well... some of them at least.

It was Charlie's idea mostly. She was someone who always wanted to go out and try new things. It was something she lived by apparently because this week's new activity was bowling at one of those dark neon allies with an arcade built-in. Charlie managed to talk her girlfriend, Vaggie, into coming too. Angel came because he also assumed there would be drinks but found out there wasn't a damn bar inside. You honestly had no idea how or why Husk was even there because he was completely and entirely miserable. If you had to guess it had something to do with you forcing Alastor to come.

Anyways, you and your little group of friends had found themselves staring down an alley with those silly little shoes on. Angel wouldn't wear his though, he wouldn't let their piss shade of yellow clash with his outfit.

You were sitting in plastic chairs next to Angel as you watched Charlie and Alastor go up next. You had two lanes so they went together. Angel sat next to you, he grabbed an arm behind you on the back of your chair and leaned in, "Five bucks says Allie gets the gutter," He whispered loud enough for Alastor to hear. You giggled as you saw your boyfriend's brow twitch and ignore the comment.

There was a second there that you were tempted to say something back to Angel but you were interrupted by the loud clash and computer saying "Strike!" You looked up and saw that Charlie was still holding her bowling ball. But walking away with a smirk on his face, Alastor's smug pride gleamed off him. The shock on everyone's face only made him boast to himself even more. When did Alastor find the time to get good at bowling.

As he sat down next to you, he threw Angel's arm away from you and replaced it with his own, though he was sure to wrap his fingers around your shoulder and bring you closer to him. He never liked Angel, and he was always so overly protective when it came to you anyways, so it wasn't welcomed that the boy was so close to you. Even if he was a guy. Competition is competition, it doesn't matter who they are, Alastor didn't like sharing you. Period.

"How... Did you do that?" You asked him.

Alastor shrugged and watched as Charlie threw her bowling ball right into the gutter, "I'm perfect at everything I do, dear." That was supposed to be satire.

Angel rolled his eyes and with a huff, he crossed his arms, "You can't fuck." He deadpanned.

Instincts kicked in and you ducked seconds before Alastor nearly climbed over you and punched Angel in the face. He missed and got him in the shoulder instead.

"Leave Alastor and his fuckless life alone," Husk said as he got up from his seat, "Some people are just better than the rest of us sexual deviants," He took his turn bowling soon after saying that. Vaggie went next as well. She choose to keep her mouth shut on all this.

But even Charlie had something to say, "Come on guys," She awkwardly waved her hands, trying to calm everyone down, "If you're going to fight take it outside this time. I don't want to get kicked out of another place of business..."

"He won't fight me, he'd know I'd deck him in the head and give 'em a one-two combo real quick like last time." Angel reminded everyone, and you all collectively remembered Angel clocked Alastor in the face at a bar after a heated argument. Alastor went out like a light and broke his nose on the way down. You looked at him and saw the little kink in his nose from that night.

You sighed and reached down into your pocket and pulled out your wallet. You grabbed a random twenty and handed it to Angel, "I'll give you this and two cigs if you go outside for ten minutes."

Angel gave you a snotty look, somewhat offended that you'd even offer such a thing. But he knitted his brows, snatched your twenty-dollar bill, and stole two cigarettes from the pack you left laying next to you on your seat, "I'm gonna find a bar on this fucking street- I'll be back later, losers."

You could still feel the rage simmer off Alastor even after Angel left. Though you didn't have time to say anything to him. It was your turn to go up. And now that Angel was gone, you didn't want to go up there and make a fool of yourself alone... Half your plan was to have Angel bowl next to you so that no one would notice how bad you were.

"Um-" You said as everyone waited for you to go, "I'd...uh... Um. I don't know hooow-" You were cut off as Alastor quickly got up and pulled you up with him.

He dragged you to the lane and got a bowling ball for you, "Hold this," He said. You noticed his anger from before had all but melted away. Alastor gave you a charming smile and stood beside you, "Copy me. Like when we dance."

You blinked at him a few times then did was he said. He held his hand up, pretending he had a ball. You copied him and did the same. He brought his hands to his chest, stepped forward, swung his arm back then forward again. You smiled at him and did the same, but you actually threw a ball. It rumbled down the lane and crashed into a couple pins. At least you didn't get the gutter.

"See? That easy," Alastor smiled at you. He place a hand on your arm and pressed a kiss on your cheek. He grabbed your hand in his and asked, "Do you want to see if they have any vending machines in the arcade? We can get some snacks?" Which was code for do you want to sneak away for a second?

"Sure," You quickly agreed while locking your fingers with his. The two of you scurried off with him. The second you were out of eyesight and safe behind a wall, Alastor gave you a more proper kiss.

He pulled away and asked, "Why did we come again?"

You shrugged, "Charlie asked." You simply said.

Alastor let out a huff then started walking with you towards the vending machines, "You can't really say no to someone like her..."

As you pulled out a few loose coins from your pocket and slipped them into the machine you laughed, "No, you can't." You both dearly loved your friendship with Charlie... But she could be a bit bossy sometimes.

The two of you collected an arm full of snacks and started walking back together, "Well, I say when we get home, we have a proper date."

You laughed and even lost a few snacks. You picked them up quickly and said, "You mean you cook us dinner and we watch a movie? That's not a proper date either, ya know."

Alastor smirked at you then nudged his arm into yours with a grin, "It is too because it'll be just us. Alone."

You rolled your eyes but still chuckled to yourself, "Alright, alright," You said, "What do you want to watch?"

He shrugged, "Don't care. I just want to make fried rice tonight."

You let out a huff of a laugh and passed out a snack to each of your friends while Alastor gave them a drink of some kind, "Fine. But I'm picking a TV show then because I just started watching something on Netflix."

"Aw, are you guys leaving?" Charlie asked with way too much sadness on her face.

"No, no-" You waved a hand slightly, "Alastor just doesn't think this is a proper date, so he has to make one up at home."

"What do you mean this isn't a proper date?" Vaggie threw a hand in the air, "All of us brought our partners! I mean- Angel left... So Husk is more like a third wheel at this point. This definitely counts as a group date or whatever."

"Call me old-fashioned, but you don't bring your friends on a date and there is no such thing as a group date," Alastor said as he cracked open a can of cola.

"What about a double date?" Husk asked from his seat while he tore open a bag of chips.

"This isn't a double date and even then those aren't real dates either. You're supposed to be somewhere nice, havea nice meal, share a few drinks. Share some stories and laughs with the one person you're interested in courting, then call it a night, done!" Alastor smiled to himself while everyone else collectively sighed. He was old-fashioned. (But you liked that about him.)

"This isn't 1955, Al. You can go on a date anywhere. Like here. What about going to the zoo? Could that be a date?" Vaggie asked.

Alastor thought about it, tapped a finger to his chin then gleefully said, "Nope! That's an outing!" Several people groaned but no one went on to feed into his banter.

You did hear Husk grumble under his breath "You need to go out to go on a date," But Alastor must have not heard it or choose to not say anything.

The rest of your night there wasn't that bad either. Angel did end up coming back, but not without his arms full of booze bottles of all kinds. They didn't serve drinks here but at least Angel was wise enough to buy some solo cups too. No one was really paying attention to the bowling anymore either. (You lost, not that you cared or anything.... You did.) Instead, you and your friends had gathered around in the arcade, drinking, laughing, playing games, and picking on each other harmlessly. You enjoyed every second of it, much to your surprise. Alastor did as well, though... He still insisted on his proper date once you got home.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin #hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor x reader #reader insert #alastor / you #alastor x you #alastor / reader #modern!au #human!alastor #human!cast #human!reader #ask #anon #nonny #answered

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sour--disposition · 4 years

Text

Baby Steps

harry lewis x fem!reader

Request: Can I have an imagine where Harry accidentally gets you pregnant but no one knows your dating and you are scared to death but he is really good and it all is okay in the end and the rest of the sdmn are very supportive in the whole situation when they first find out about not only the two of you dating but also of the pregnancy. Thanks xx

I’m super open to doing a part two of this where baby w2s meets the uncles and we get super cute harry and baby fluff so lmk if thats something else i should add to the to do list

please check my masterlist to see if requests are open

They were taunting you. The two lines on the stick. It was like they were laughing at you, enjoying the turmoil erupting in your gut. Maybe that was the baby making itself known. Who knows?

What was Harry going to say? Neither of you were ready for a baby, were you? Harry’s career was only growing at this point, the sky was well and truly the limit for the Sidemen and for Harry himself. You couldn’t jeopardise that with an accidental pregnancy. It could ruin everything.

You’d been safe, you were on birth control, for Christ's sake. Yet, here you were, having a face off with 3 pregnancy tests.

You texted your best friend, Gee, immediately, asking if you could come over. She replied instantly, worrying about you but telling you to come over whenever you wanted to.

“What’s wrong?”, Gee asked as soon as she opened the door to you. She looked up up and down, checking you for damage.

“I’m pregnant”, you whispered. “I was late and I thought it was just my birth control fucking around with me but I’ve been really ill the last couple of days and I just thought that I’d take a test and rule out that silly possibility because no way am I pregnant but I am and-”

“Breathe, Y/N”, Gee told you firmly, taking your hand in hers and dragging you over to the sofa. “It’s going to be okay”, she said softly, pulling you into her arms. “Does Harry know?”, she asked.

“No, I came straight here”, you whispered. “Oh, shit. The guys don’t even know we’re together. I think Freezy does but... Hi guys I’m actually Harry’s girlfriend surprise also surprise, I’m pregnant”, you said in a put on, over the top, happy voice. “My God, my life has gone to shit, Gee”, you huffed, slumping back onto the sofa.

“It’ll be fine. It’s your body, Y/N, and it’s your choice what you do with it. If Harry is supportive, that’s great. If not, you’ve got me, and the girls and Will and his friends. Whatever option you pick, you don’t have to do it alone”, Gee told you reassuringly, running her hand comfortingly up and down your arm. “You need to tell Harry and then you can take it from there”.

Gee let you sit with her for a little while longer, letting you calm down and get your thoughts together before you attempted to face Harry. You texted him, asking if he was free and if you could come over. He replied quickly, thank God, telling you to come over whenever you wanted.

“You can ring me whenever, okay? And if you need to come here after, you don’t have to ring, just come straight over. Let me know how everything goes, yeah?”.

The drive to Harry’s was stressful. You seemed to hit every red light possible, and every driver in front of you seemed to have zero sense of urgency. You tapped the steering wheel impatiently, flicking through the Spotify playlist you’d set when you left Gee’s.

By the time you’d parked up and gotten to Harry’s front door, you were practically shaking where you stood. The nerves were wracking through your entire body. Forget butterflies, there was a whole stampede going on in your stomach.

“Hey”, Harry smiled once you’d finally knocked on the door. “Are you okay? You don’t look too good”, he said, worry written plainly across his face.

“Is Freezy here or is it just us?”, you asked, chewing on your lip.

“It’s just us”, Harry said simply, taking your hand in his and guiding you over to the sofa. Once you’d sat down, he rested his hand on your knee. “You’re really worrying me, Y/N. What’s wrong?”.

“Promise you won’t be mad?”, you asked, voice small. Harry nodded, moving his hand to hold yours. “I’m pregnant”.

Harry seemed to lose all control of his face. His mouth dropped open slightly in shock and his hand around yours slackened. “I-”, he spluttered. “I thought we were safe”, he said quietly.

“We were”, you said, voice watery as tears started to fall. “There’s, like, a less than 1% chance. I’m so sorry”, you said, voice cracking slightly with emotion.

“Don’t be sorry, don’t cry”, Harry shushed. He seemed to snap back to reality there and then. He bundled you into his arms, carefully pulling you closer to him. He gently wiped the tears off of your face, leaving his hand there to cup your face. “Don’t ever be sorry”, he whispered, leaning forward to kiss you.

“But the boys and your channel and they don’t even know about us”, you rambled. “I don’t know what to do, Harry”, you whispered into the soft fabric of his hoodie.

“It’s your choice, Y/N. It’s your body. I’m not going to force you to have a baby that you don’t want to have, but I’ll be there every step of the way if you choose to keep it”, Harry told you.

“What do you want?”, you asked him quietly. “In an ideal world, what do you want?”.

“Ideally? This would’ve happened a little bit later. But I love you, Y/N. I’ve known from day one that I love you. I want nothing more than to have a family with you and if thats a little bit sooner than we first thought, then so be it. But I’ll be here, no matter what decision we make. All I ask is that you include me. No matter what choice we make, I’m not going anywhere”, Harry said. His thumb came up to swipe at a few more tears that had fallen.

You looked at Harry in awe. “Of course I want this with you, Harry. There’s nothing I want more. Sure, a couple more years would’ve been great. But we can do this, right?”, you asked, voice wavering only slightly.

“Yeah, we can”, Harry smiled. His hand moved from your thigh to your stomach, cupping around what would become a bump in the next few months. “Hi, baby”, he cooed softly, dipping his head down to rest on your chest. “I love you and your Mummy so very much”, he hummed. A smile fell into place on your face as you let yourself bask in the soft moment for a little while.

“Do you want to tell your friends?”, you asked Harry a few minutes later.

“Yeah”, he said simply. “I wanna be a good dad to my baby and that has to start from now. I think they know I’ve got a girlfriend, but I want you to meet them properly finally. And I’ll tell them there and then about Harry Junior. If they can’t get on board, then that’s a them problem”, Harry said with a sense of finality.

“We are not calling this baby Harry Junior, no matter how great of a dad you are”.

You were nervous, but not nearly as nervous as when you’d told Harry that you were pregnant last week. You were sat with Harry on the sofa of his living room, waiting for the rest of the Sidemen to come around. You’d already told Cal, it was kind of hard to deflect the question when he came into the room to see Harry affectionately cradling your body and stomach.

“What if they hate me?”, you asked Harry, leg bouncing in anticipation.

“You know them already, sort of. They won’t hate you. You’re amazing”, Harry promised.

“Yeah but they don’t know me as your girlfriend or the mother of your child”, you stressed. Harry opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by a knock on the door.

“That’ll be some of them”. Harry bounced up to open the door, returning to the room followed by Vik, Tobi and Josh. “I got a text from Simon, him and JJ are down the block in an Uber”, Harry said, quickly returning to his spot next to you.

You made small talk with the 3 boys and Harry until JJ, Ethan and Simon arrived. The wait couldn’t have been any longer than 5 minutes, but to you, it felt like a life time.

Once everyone was situated around the living room, Harry gestured at you awkwardly. “So, you know Y/N”, he started, sounding unsure of himself. He was met with a round of nods and ‘mhm’s. “We’ve been together for just over a year”, Harry said bluntly.

You were surprised by the lack of surprise in the room. “You dragged us all the way over here to tell us something we all already knew?”, Vik asked, looking around at the other boys.

“Yeah, it’s not exactly a well kept secret, Harry”, Simon laughed with a smile on his face.

“Oh, well...”, Harry trailed off, blushing and spluttering slightly. “There is something else, though”, he said quietly. “You’ve said I’ve been a bit off the last week and it’s because I’ve really needed to speak to you lot about something”.

“You aren’t pulling a JJ, right?”, Josh asked with a dramatic sigh. “I can’t do diss-tracks again, man, it feels like a fever dream”, he whined. Everyone around the room let out a low chuckle and Ethan poked at JJ’s shoulder, purposefully trying to wind him up.

“No, it’s not about that”, Harry laughed nervously. Harry looked like he was trying to find the words, but he was too nervous to string any of them together to form a coherent sentence.

“Last week I found out I’m pregnant”, you said, squeezing Harry’s hand gently in your own.

The shocked faces almost made you burst out into laughter. Over the last week, it was all you and Harry had talked about and it helped the both of you come to terms with the reality of the situation. It was still daunting, but you knew that you weren’t doing it alone which lifted a massive weight off of your chest.

Shocked faces soon broke out into huge grins. “Congratulations!”, Josh beamed from the other side of the living room. “How far along are you?”, he asked you.

“I’m not too sure, I have a doctors appointment tomorrow because I need to know if my birth control will have done any damage. But I’d say maybe 8 weeks, give or take”, you smiled.

“You had a good time in Italy then, Harry?”, JJ teased from his spot in the chair, earning him a swift swat from Simon.

Harry’s face screwed up in confusion. “What does our anniversary trip have anything to do with - Oh...”, Harry trailed off, cheeks immediately setting alight with a pinkish red blush. You couldn’t help but giggle, leaning gently against Harry’s side. “Wait, how did you know about our anniversary trip?”, Harry asked.

“Like we said, Harry. You aren’t very subtle”.

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please-buckme · 3 years

Text

A Broken Heart.

Lee Bodecker x fem!reader

Chapter 2

Chapter warnings: 18+ mentions of death, mentions of sex, cursing, Lee being an ass, angst, meninist behaviors

Chapter summary: You move back home after three years to find your heart still in shambles.

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Chapter 1 // Chapter 3

3 Years Later

After moving a whole county away, Highland Ohio to be exact, you stayed for quite some time. Your aunt was amazing and the sweetest woman you’d ever known, and living with her was a breeze. She’d even gotten you a job at the auto shop her recently deceased husband left to her, which you loved. Life was good, for a while. You never had a reason to come home until your momma got sick.

For the past year you watched as your momma slowly faded away until the last week of April when she finally passed in her sleep. You were devastated, of course, but not only because of her death. She didn’t have much to her name besides a couple thousand in the bank and the house you’d left so long ago, which she left all to you.

The house was old. White paneling a faint tint of brown, grey shutters that were almost all off their hinges and rust anywhere you looked. It was a fixer upper and there’s no way you could sell it in its current condition. So, you decided to move back to Knockemstiff, just for the time being.

In all honesty, you’d grown to hate that town. Nothing but bad memories and any good memories you’d had were tarnished completely. So, once the house was decent enough to sell, you were out of there and back to the life you’d created in Highland.

Your aunt and you drove together in her pick up truck back to the house after your momma passed. She helped you unload your stuff and take things to the necessary rooms.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay? I can make my famous pancakes. I know you love’em.” She grinned.

“As tempting as that sounds, I’m fine. Please, I insist you go now before it gets dark.” You pull your aunt into a hug, a tight hug.

“I’m gonna miss havin’ you around, kiddo.” She sighed, her breath fanning over your neck.

“It’s only for a few months. I’ll be back to annoying you in no time, oldie.”

“Hey, I’m not old.” She laughed and pointed her finger at you sternly but still in a lighthearted way.

“And I’m not a kid.”

She laughed a little more then sighed, “Well, I guess I’ll head out. Call me if you need anything and don’t forget to go down to Billy’s tomorrow. He’s excited to bring you in.”

You smiled, “How could I forget? I need some sort of income to fix this craphole up.”

You walked your aunt to her car and waved her goodbye as she drove way. Your eyes welled up but you made sure not to cry in front of her or she’d never leave.

Once you went back in, you immediately got to work. Starting in the kitchen, you didn’t have much but a few coffee cups. The house was still occupied with your momma’s things and you were already dreading having to go through it all.

Things started to come together room by room as you worked most of the day away. You cleaned and rearranged things to your liking now that it was your house. It felt almost empowering to do what you want. You’d never lived alone so, in a way, this was an adventure as well.

You took your old room instead of the master, since that’s where your momma passed. It gave you goosebumps just thinking about and you knew you’d never get any sleep if you stayed in there. Your room wasn’t big but it was good enough for now and much better than sleeping in your momma’s death bed, hard pass.

You’d taken a seat on the couch with some tea you’d brewed up earlier that morning. This was the first time you sat down since arriving, and of course there’s a knock at the door.

“Whatever you’re selling, I promise you, I ain’t interested.” You shout, too exhausted to even attempt getting up.

The knocking continued, “Oh, for fucks sake.” You groaned under your breath and stood on your aching feet to tell them to fuck off in person. You opened the door, “did you not hear me the first time. I said-“

“Hi, Y/n” Lee greeted as he removed his hat.

You scoffed, “Can I help you with somethin’, Sheriff?”

Lee stood there, fiddling with the bill of his hat. His belly had gotten a little bigger and his cheeks had gotten a little chubbier, but you couldn’t help the hitch in your throat when his wedding ring caught your eye. Just a basic silver band, nothing special. But it still left a hollow pit in your stomach.

“I-“ he cleared his suddenly dry throat. “I heard you was back in town. Thought I’d come see for ma self if the rumors were true.”

“Welp, here I am. You can go now.”

“Y/n, I-“

“No, Lee, please. I’ve had a long day and I honestly don’t feel like talking to you right now. No, I take that back. I don’t feel like talking to you at all.”

“That’s a bit harsh, don’t you think, doll.” He grins.

“Goodbye, Sheriff.” You shut the door only to hear him holler at you from the other side.

“Still can’t say my name, huh, Doll? Boy, I really did a number on you, didn’t I?” Your heart sank at his words. It seemed your pain was a joke to him this whole time. You’d always pictured him crying alone like you were but clearly that was never the case. Y’all’s relationship didn’t seem one sided until you were the only one hurt by the fall out.

“Welcome home, Y/n.” He said before you heard his boots click against the porch as he left.

You took a deep breath as you backed away from the door. Tears rimmed your eyes and you scoffed aloud to yourself. After three years you still weren’t over him and you knew that. You didn’t know, however, that he’d still have such a hold on you. And by the way he reacted to how sensitive you were towards the situation still didn’t help the ever growing void that ran through your entire loveless body. The only man you ever loved looked at you as if you were a quick fuck and a punchline.

A tear burned against your cheek and you were quick to wipe it away. You swore to yourself that you’d never cry over that man again and you won’t, instead you decided it was time for a much needed bath.

The bath was scolding hot, just how you liked it, and you opened up a bottle of wine as a sort of reward for the work you’d done today. Once the water got cold and the wine ran out, you brushed your hand and teeth and went to bed.

The sun beamed down against your skin as you walked to the local auto shop where your aunt had set you up with another job. You were always good with numbers and they desperately needed someone on the books. Your job would be to look at their spending over the last few months and figure out some sort of budget. You did that for your aunt at her shop, so this didn’t worry you at all.

“Hi, you must be Billy.” You greet the owner, “I’m

y/n, Peggy’s niece.”

“Oh, yes. I’m glad you finally made it down.” He beamed, shaking your hand, “How long will you be here for?”

“I’m not sure, actually. Just until I get my house fixed up enough to sell.” You say, retracting your hand from his sweaty one.

“Ah, well as luck would have it, our secretary just quit on us last week, so there’s a position you’ll adjust to right fine.”

You scoffed, “Wait a minute. Did you say secretary?”

“Yeah. You need to get your hearing checked, Honey?” He grinned. What is it with the men in this town?!

“No, I heard you just fine. My problem is that I was supposed to be your Budget Holder, not a damn secretary.” Your face was turning a touch of pink as you became increasingly annoyed.

“That’s a man's job, sweetie. We don’t you blown a fuse tryin’ ta add up all them numbers, now do we?”

“You can’t be serious.” You say flatly.

“Look, it’s the only position we got. Take it or leave it.”

Everything in you wanted to March out of that shop and never go back again. A secretary's position is nothing to frown upon, but to only be offered it because you’re a woman was despicable. Sadly, you needed this job and it would only be for a few months. So, when you told him you’d take the job you swallowed every ounce of respect you had for yourself. Knockemstiff was truly the worst town in America.

“Sounds great. We’ll see you tomorrow for training. There’s no dress code but there are a few things you’ll need to know before starting. I’ll fill you in once we start your training tomorrow.” He shook your hand again, completely ignoring the furious grimace on your face.

“Great. See you tomorrow.” You mumbled, walking away so you didn’t ‘accidentally’ hit your new boss.

Before heading home you decided to stop and grab some things for the house. Being sick, your momma didn’t eat much besides soup, and there was an over abundance of vanilla flavored Ovaltine cans littering the kitchen counters, which you hated.

The second the doors opened, all eyes were on you. You even heard a faint gasp coming from the woman at the register. A smirk crept upon your face. These people's lives were so boring that they still aren’t over your breakup that happened so long ago. Rolling your eyes, you grabbed a cart and headed down the produce aisle.

Once you grabbed the vegetables you’d need for a stew, you headed towards the baking aisle. You need the ingredients for an upside down pineapple cake your momma used to make for you as a kid. Your aunt was coming into town on Saturday to lend a hand and celebrate her birthday. You told her to go have fun, but she insisted on spending her special day with you.

As you searched for the baking soda, you heard your name.

“Did you see Y/n’s back in town?” A lady with a high pitched voice whispered.

“I did. I just saw her. Poor thing. She’s probably still caught up on the sheriff. Prolly wish it was her that was on his arm instead of Laura-Jean.”

You rolled your eyes.

“I know it. Wouldn’t you, though? He’s so handsome.” The lady with the high patched voice giggled.

“Oh, hush! Don’t say things like that.” The other lady joined the high pitched one in whispered giggles. “Oh my goodness, here he comes.” She cleared her throat, “Afternoon, Sheriff.”

“Evenin’,Ladies. Y’all behavin’ yourselves?” You could hear the smirk in his voice.

They both giggled and in unison said, “Yes, Sheriff.”

“Oh give me a break.” You grimaced to yourself.

“Heard Y/n’s back in town.” The high pitched one spoke up. Your face burned. Why would they bring you up to him so bluntly like that? Everyone in this town was so unbelievably nosy.

“I- I heard. Actually just went to see her yesterday.” He said, clearing his throat.

“Uh-oh, the misses didn’t like that, I’m sure.” They giggled.

“Oh, no. She didn’t mind. I was just droppin’ by to give her my condolences about her momma dyin’. Then, she slammed the door in my face. I guess she’s still pretty upset with me.” He was pouting, trying to get some sort of sympathy. If you rolled your eyes any harder you thought they’d pop out of your head.

“Oh, you poor thing. Is there anything we can-“

Suddenly the baking soda slipped from your hand and scattered all other the floor in a puff of dust. “Shit, shit, shit.” You whispered to yourself.

“What was that?” One of the ladies asked.

“Excuse me, ladies.” Lee said. You could hear his boots clacking against the floor on there way over to you.

Shit.

You desperately wanted to run away but leaving this mess for someone to clean up wasn’t right, not even with the predicament you found yourself in. “Well, well, well,” Lee mocked as he rounded the corner. “Only here for less than a day and you’re already causin’ trouble.”

“Stay out of this, Bodecker.” You huff, trying to scoop the baking soda back into the card box it spilled from.

“Was you eavesdroppin’, girl?” He asked, kicking the soul of your shoe.

You scoffed, “Oh, please. I could give two shits what you say about me, Bodecker.”

He leaned in close, hovering over your left side. You heard him chuckle which startled you. He was so close. You could feel the familiar heat radiating from his body and smell that familiar cologne. His lips came down close to your ear. He licked them and then whispered, “If ya weren’t eavesdroppin’, how’d ya know I was talkin’ bout you, hm?”

Your eyes shuttered closed as he spoke, feeling his hot breath against your cheek. His deep southern drawl always made you weak. It took you back to those times in the back of the cruiser. He whispered such dirty praises in your ear when you would ride his cock. Those dirty words that could make you cum in seconds.

“You still with me, doll?” You felt him tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear.

You flitched and stood up, “I- don’t touch me and stop calling me doll, alright? I really don’t have time for your games today, sheriff, and I’m not even really sure what you’re playin’ at in the first place.”

He smirked, running a thumb across his lip, “Darlin, I think the only thing I ever played was you..”

“I-“ your breath hitched in the back of your throat, “I have to go.” You turned to walk away, leaving the mess you’d made and your cart behind. Your eyes welled up with tears again. You didn’t know the man that stood in front of you. Lee was nothing but good to you when you dated and now he’s the most hateful man you’d ever met. The man you loved had disappeared and there’s nothing you could do to bring him back, no matter how bad you wanted to. A tear stained your cheek as you sped through the aisle. You could hear Lee hollering for you to stop but you wouldn’t this time.

All the heartbreak and sorrow that you’d left behind was creeping its way back in. The sooner you sold the house and got the hell out of there, the better.

Dividers by: @firefly-in-darkness

Taglist: @haydens-moles , @c00lkidvibes , @tcc-gizmachine , @buckysm3talarm , @gogolucky13 , @cryptidcasanova , @heavenlyseb , @writersbuck , @teddy-bearbaby , @bbmommy0902 , @sweetllamaparadise , @thereblogcrusader , @aleemendoza2425-blog , @frostbytebaby , @jessyballet , @emotionallyandphysicallydone , @sarge-barnes-sir , @generalbagelcookieslime , @lady-loki-ren , @dime-piece-xo , @greeneyedblondie44

(Dm me to be added to taglist)

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shysneeze · 4 years

Text

cliché (cedric diggory x fem!reader)

Cliché

Cedric Diggory x fem!Hufflepuff!reader

Request: could you do a Cedric Digorry oneshot in which the reader is also a hufflepuff who's always smiling and he sees her crying?

Warnings: mentions of loneliness, crying angsty but also as title suggests its super cliché and soppy but you’ve been warned

(Author’s Note: This is my first Cedric fic so excuse me if the characterisation isn’t quite correct, its a work in progress also the ending might seem bit rushed but this is a procastination baby and I got spooked last minute that I’m four weeks behind on uni work. )

Some might call her a cliché.

It’s rumoured that the hat barely hovered over her head for two seconds before its decision was made, that its decision was made the minute she stepped into the great hall and smiled.

Some will say that the warm yellow tie fixed neatly around her shirt collar and badger crested robes are unnecessary all these years later, that from just one conversation with (Y/N) (Y/L/N), no one could ever doubt that she belongs in Hufflepuff.

With a smile sweeter than honey, her presence can lift the stubbornest of frowns and the lowest of spirits. Patient and loyal, she lends herself as a friend to all, from homesick first years to gossiping classmates.

Like hot chocolate on cold winter day, she’s the most welcome cliché there is, and her reputation precedes her, known to all as the girl with the infectious smile, the never-ending supply of cheerfulness.

Cedric Diggory is no stranger to her smile, the one that sends warmth to his cheeks when their eyes meet during class, the one that causes him to lose all his well earned confidence, that turns house prefect, quidditch captain and school champion, Cedric Diggory, into a nervous wreck.

He’s fallen under the same spell as everyone else, enamoured by whatever it is in her presentation that lifts the mood of an entire room, that holds people captivated and has people longing to be in her company.

Tonight however, he’s seeing her without that smile for what feels like the first time, and his concern logically overrides the part of him that would usually be flustered to be anywhere near her.

The otherwise empty common room is lit only by the gentle flame of the fire, crackling softly in the background. He was about reprimand her, before she turned to face him and he recognised her, even with wide watery eyes and tear-stricken cheeks.

“(Y/N)?”

“C-cedric?” Her voice wobbles until panic suddenly grabs her expression. “Cedric!”

She pulls her jumper’s sleeves over her hands and presses them hastily to her eyes in a scramble to hide her tears. Then, gulping momentarily beforehand, she pulls her lips into a smile so fragile, it falters instantly.

“You caught me.” She forces a chuckle. “I should be in bed...”

She climbs to her feet sheepishly, making her way around the furniture in order to slip past him. He’s almost too dazed to stop her, only reaching out at the last second to take hold of her hand before she can sneak up to the girl’s dorm.

He tugs her back gently, curling her back until she tumble softly into his chest. He steps back quickly to give her space, but keeps hold of her hand too keep her steady. She stares up at him once firmly still again, red-rimmed eyes a mixture of panicked and surprised.

“Sorry- are you okay?”

“Fine.” She lies poorly.

She scans the room quickly for an excuse, zoning in on a book left lying on the coffee table in front of the sofa she was moments ago sat upon. She turns back to him, mustering a sheepish smile.

“Sad book is all.”

Cedric raises a quizzical brow, slowly leading them both towards the aforementioned book. His eyes scan the title before returning to her own with a knowing glint.

“Really?” He asks. “Transfiguration for Senior Students?”

“Too much change…” She nods, wincing at the stupidity of it. “Fine…”

She drops herself back onto the sofa with a shaky sigh and a hiccup of someone who’s been crying for a while. He studies her for a moment, worried by this teary version of the most cheerful girl in Hogwarts, then, he takes a seat beside her.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, voice gentle and encouraging. “You can tell me.”

“You have enough to worry about with the tournament, Cedric.” She shakes her head. “You don’t need my silly problems on top of it.”

He shakes his head, frowning at the statement.

“I doubt they’re silly, (Y/N).” He says. “Just different.”

Something in his voice, soft, kind and genuinely concerned, has tears stinging at her eyes again and a frustrated sigh falling out her lips. She sniffles again and presses her palms to her eyes.

“This is so stupid.” She hiccups.

“Hey.” He whispers softly. “It’s okay.”

She freezes when she feels the warmth of his fingertips on her hands for the second time this evening, tugging gently to pull them away from her eyes. She lets him, surrendering to his gentle touch.

“You don’t have to be happy all the time, (Y/N).”

Her breath falters at the statement, the weight of it taking a moment to sink in. She pulls her hands from his to wipe newly forming tears again with her sleeves, the efficiency of which she’s beginning to doubt.

"No one's ever told me that before." She admits, once convinced that she’s composed enough to do so.

"What?" He frowns.

"That I can be upset." She laughs sadly. "I'm sure it's just common sense but no one's ever actually told me before."

"Really?"

"I'm supposed to be the one that has it all together." She reminds. "I'm the shoulder to cry on, not the crier."

She lets out another sigh, looking up at him with watery eyes.

"I didn't know it was possible to be so lonely while never once being alone."

His heart twists at the realisation, that beneath the happy cliché is an ordinary girl shrouded in the worst type of loneliness, the type only felt in a crowded room, that exists in the gaps in lively conversation and that hits you when you try to sleep after a long day spent with friends.

“I don’t know if that makes sense- “

“It does.” He assures quickly. “It does, (Y/N).”

“It’s not that I dislike being the one to help people.” She explains quickly. “I love that people can approach me and ask for help.”

"That doesn't mean it's not hard." Cedric says gently.

"Yeah." She agrees with a sigh. "It just gets to be a lot sometimes..."

"I'm sorry, (Y/N)."

Her eyes drop to her lap, the softest of sigh escaping her lips, dropping her head back against the back cushion of the sofa and staring up at the ceiling. This isn't how she saw her evening going, sat across from Hogwarts's champion in tears, a blubbering mess.

“It’s okay.” She mumbles. “It’s just how it is.”

"It doesn't have to be."

“Huh?”

“You shouldn’t have to pretend you’re okay all the time.” He explains sincerely, even if just a little nervously. “I want to help, even if that just means being the shoulder you can cry on.”

There is a deep honesty in his grey eyes, intense as they hold hers. She can hear her own heartbeat in her chest, hopeful that even in the quiet of the common room, he can’t hear it too. She’s embarrassed enough for one evening.

“You don’t have to- “

“I want to.” He gulps.

“Why?”

There is that blush she’s become so acquainted with, the one that causes butterflies to flutter in her stomach and for people to nudge her and tell her what a cute couple they’d make together when they notice. The blush she’s grown to find so endearing.

“I care about you, (Y/N).” He admits. “I want you to be happy, but I also want you to know that when you’re not, that I’ll be here to listen to you rant or cry, or even just sit with you in silence if that’s what you need.”

She takes the words in, not sure how she’s supposed to reply without firing herself into his arms. He reaches out nervously for her hand, squeezing it comfortingly. The look he gives her is something between reassuring honesty and shy, as if trying to make sure he’s gotten his point across.

“You don’t deserve to feel lonely.”

“T-thanks, Cedric.” She manages after a minute, although unsatisfied about how understated it is. “That means a lot.”

Whether the warmth of his hand in hers or the kindness of his words she’s unsure, but for the first time this evening, her chest feels lighter and although her eyes sting, they no longer well with tears when she’s left to her own thoughts for longer than a few seconds.

“Someone should have repaid you that kindness before now.”

“I’m glad it’s you.”

Her voice is quiet, nervous to say the words aloud. Yet, they’re bold words, a leap she’s suddenly proud for taking and that she hopes he’ll find the deeper meaning of. At his expression, she knows he does, but that he needs to be sure.

“I mean to say that it means more coming from you than I suspect it would from anyone else…”

“Oh.”

She panics, sure she’s made a mistake from his slight reaction. She goes to pull her hand from his in order to make her mortified bid for freedom easier, but his grip tightens enough to still her desire to flee.

“No, I just need to know you’re not just saying this because you’re upset.” He explains. “That you aren’t just doing this out of gratefulness or- “

“I like you, Cedric.”

There it is, a clear and concise confession, the words he’s never imagined from her lips before, not when he’s so regularly embarrassed himself by turning into a stuttering nervous wreck in front of her.

“I’ve liked you for a while and I’m not just saying it because I’m grateful.” She adds in assurance. “I’m doing it because you’ve just seen me at my worst and not ran, and for the first time in a long time, I don’t feel completely alone.”

“I’d never run.” He whispers reassuring, rubbing his thumb soothingly over her knuckles.

“Not even now, with puffy red eyes and tear stained cheeks?”

“No.” He shakes his head. “Not even now, because you look beautiful regardless.”

She once again worries that he’ll hear her hear racing in her chest.

“Talk about a cliché.” She exhales.

“I quite like a good cliché.” He states, grinning at her softly. “They’re terribly misunderstood.”

She returns his smile, not the one she forced onto her cheeks at the beginning of the evening, or even the one that he’s so used to making him blush, that he knows now was hiding a pain beneath it. This smile is new, honest, and soft, the prettiest thing he’s ever laid eyes on.

“I love this smile.”

She melts into his touch when one of is hands comes to cup her cheek, pad of his thumb ghosting over the corner of her lips. He’s decided it’s his new favourite thing, this newly genuine smile.

“Can I kiss you?”

“Hmm.” She hums in agreement. “Yes please.”

Their lips meet tentatively, her face still cupped in his hand, the other holding hers still. It’s slow, he gentle with her and she’s grateful after such an emotional evening. She’d go as far to say that it’s perfect in a way.

“I’m never going to let you feel lonely again.”

“I believe you.”

#cedric diggory #cedric diggory x reader #cedric x reader #cedric imagine #cedric diggory imagine #cedric diggory reader insert #cedric diggory fanfiction #cedric diggory fanfic #harry potter imagines #cedric #harry potter #harry potter and the goblet of fire #reader insert #x readers

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eliemo · 4 years

Text

Purple Skirt

Summary: Patton and Logan look amazing in their skirts, but Virgil knows he doesn’t get the same freedom when it comes to clothing.

TWs: past abuse, past gaslighting, self esteem issues

Notes: Thank you to @self-taught-mess for giving me the idea to make the skirts angsty. Sympathetic everyone. Taglist at the end

Masterpost

The first time he’d been able to even look at a skirt without wanting to throw up was when Patton had come bouncing down the stairs, looking absolutely delighted in his new suspenders skirt, and Virgil had smiled along with him without even thinking about the memories.

He was so happy and radiant and god Virgil wished he could do the same. The idea of wearing a skirt around the mindscape, never giving it a second thought, allowing himself to be comfortable and confident like Patton could be was...amazing.

Logan had donned a skirt a couple weeks later, wearing it as casually as any other outfit, and he’d barely batted an eye when they had all jumped up to compliment him.

They were all so...comfortable with it. And of course they were, they were allowed to be. They deserved to be. Everyone was, except Virgil. He knew that.

Which is why he had no idea what had possessed him to start wearing a skirt in the privacy of his own room.

It was a horrible idea, and his hands started shaking every time he shut his door and put on the dark purple skirt, but...but he liked it. He liked wearing skirts, and the light side’s outfits had reminded him of that.

He’d tried to wear skirts a few years ago, but the Others had very quickly shut that down, drilling into his brain how selfish and horrible it was to even consider outfits like that an option.

Anyone else could wear a skirt. Anyone else could wear whatever they wanted. But Virgil didn’t have that right. Virgil was disgusting and useless, and he didn’t deserve that comfort.

Besides, they looked horrible on him. He didn’t need to look any more pathetic than he already was. He’d been mocked and beaten and screamed at for forcing other people to see him like that, for thinking for a second that it had been remotely acceptable. They’d made themselves very clear, and they hadn’t stopped until Virgil had understood. Anxiety didn’t get to wear skirts.

Now...now he knew he wouldn’t be beaten if he was caught in a skirt. He knew by now not to assume his family would hurt him, especially not over something so small.

But he’d still be told off. He knew he wasn’t supposed to be wearing something like this, knew it was disgusting of him to even try. Patton and Logan looked amazing but Virgil was...well, Virgil.

Still, after seeing Logan and Patton’s skirts he hadn’t been able to help himself. He was careful about it, only changing once a week at most with his door locked, always when he was sure he’d have time to himself where no one would come looking.

The first few times, he couldn’t look at himself in the mirror, taunts, hate, and repulsion echoing in his head every second the skirt was on. He hadn’t been able to keep it on for more than five minutes.

But recently, he’d started to feel a bit more comfortable. He knew it wasn’t ok, knew better than to risk letting anyone see him, but...with no one around to tell him how disgusting he looked, he allowed himself a few glances in the mirror, and let himself keep it on for longer.

It was comforting, freeing, and...maybe if it was anyone else, it might actually look good.

He should have known better than to drop his guard like that.

Virgil had put his skirt on about half an hour ago, closing himself off in his room until dinner, his usual ripped jeans laid out for him to quickly slip on before heading back downstairs.

He’d gotten too comfortable- too relaxed, lounging on his bed with his music playing and his eyes slipped shut and his head went foggy, losing track of time completely.

“You in there, Hot Topic?” Roman’s call and gentle knocking didn’t startle Virgil like it usually would, and he groggily lifted his head from the pillow, slipping off his headphones. “Can I come in?”

Virgil rubbed sleep from his eyes, pushed himself up on the bed, and waved a hand to unlock his door without a second thought.

He then immediately realized his mistake as soon as the handle started to turn. Shit shit shit--

He scrambled off the bed, suddenly wide awake as his feet hit the carpeted floor, but he didn’t have a chance to get anywhere to hide before Roman was standing in the doorway, eyes going wide.

For a split second, Virgil let himself be overtaken by dangerous, desperate hope. The light sides had pleasantly surprised him so many times already- it was ok for him to make mistakes, it was fine if he dropped something or made a loud noise or talked too much- so maybe...maybe this was ok too?

But then Roman opened his mouth, and old instinct and far too familiar fear took over.

“Sorry,” Virgil blurted as he shrank back, wrapping his arms around himself. “I didn’t...s-sorry, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to--”

“Wait, what?” Roman stepped closer, and Virgil internally cursed himself for flinching. This wasn’t like last time, this wasn’t like last time. “Virgil. Why’re you sorry?”

He shrugged, suddenly hyper aware of the way the plaid skirt hugged his waist, draping just above the knee to show off the black and white striped stockings. He found himself absently tugging at the end of the material.

“I...I’m not--” he cut himself off when his voice grew unsteady, swallowing past the lump in his throat. “I’m not supposed to, but I- I wasn’t going to leave the room. I know I- that I can’t--”

“Oh, Virgil of course you can.” Roman’s voice was soft, always so genuine, and this time Virgil didn’t flinch back when the Prince took another step. “You look amazing.”

Virgil’s shoulders hunched on instinct, and he scrambled to figure out if that was sarcasm in the Prince’s tone, because he’d been expecting something far more hurtful.

“I...you don’t have to, I was just- it was stupid. I- I forgot I was wearing it, I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” Roman said, but his smile suddenly dropped. “Oh, Stormcloud you’re shaking.”

Oh. Virgil hadn’t even realized how bad he’d started trembling, too scared to meet Roman’s eyes despite them radiating nothing but kindness.

“Hey.” The Prince held out his hands, and Virgil risked a cautious glance up from the floor. “Come here?”

Virgil let his shoulders drop, but his defenses were still raised, always waiting for the other shoe to drop, always expecting some kind of trap or trick. He still couldn’t help it.

But he let himself close the distance between them and fall into Roman’s chest, letting out a shuddering breath as strong arms wrapped around him, gentle but secure.

“You can wear a skirt, Virgil,” Roman said. “Did you...think I would be angry with you?”

Virgil couldn’t bring himself to speak again just yet. All he was able to manage was a small nod against Roman’s chest.

“Why?” he asked, voice still soft but Virgil thought there was a hint of something defensive. “I wear skirts all the time. So does Remus. And Patton and Logan have--”

“I know.” Virgil took another small, trembling breath. “And you- you all look great. Obviously. Everyone can- everyone can wear whatever, I’m not...I just...can’t.”

Roman pulled back slightly, but Virgil couldn’t meet his gaze. “Why not?”

“Because I’m...I’m gross, and I shouldn’t...I can’t. Not like you guys, it’s not...it’s not allowed. It’s...probably bad for my influence over Thomas or something.. Plus I, uh- I look horrible in most things anyway, so…”

He trailed off, and his heart sank when he caught a glimpse of the look on Roman’s face. He was watching Virgil intently, head tilted slightly, eyes filled with something sad and...and angry.

“I’m- I’m sorry.” Shit, he’d been talking too long hadn’t he? He was being annoying and he was still making Roman see him like this and he probably just wanted Virgil to shut up already. “I didn’t mean to ramble, I’m sorry, I’ll change and then--”

“I’m not upset with you,” Roman said, and Virgil quickly fell silent. “This is...just one more thing they took away from you, isn’t it?”

Virgil shrugged, back to wrapping his arms around himself like a useless shield. He felt tears spring to the corners of his eyes, face burning hot, and he quickly blinked them away.

“I guess,” he muttered. “They didn’t really want me to...like myself. It’s still...hard, you know? To get their voices out of my head.”

He tried not to think about it. He tried to block out the vicious, horrible things that had been said to him every time they’d raised a fist, their words just as powerful as a punch.

They’d hurt him so bad, and they’d worked so hard to make him hate himself as much as they hated him.

He wasn’t going to roll over and accept that. Not anymore. He’d get better now that he had people who loved him by his side. It just...god, it was so hard sometimes.

“I know,” Roman said, and Virgil didn’t think he’d ever heard the Prince sound so grim. “Trust me, Virgil. I know.”

Virgil didn’t doubt that. He dug his foot into the carpet, doing what he could to remind himself that Roman wasn't upset. The prince wasn’t disgusted by him, he didn’t think he was pathetic, and he wasn’t angry that Virgil was making him look at Anxiety longer than necessary.

“Yeah, well. Self esteem is overrated.”

Roman laughed, but he was still staring at Virgil with something sorrowful and uncertain. “Maybe. But if it helps, I think you look absolutely stunning.”

“What?” Virgil scoffed, even as he was sure his face was bright red by now. “N-no, I...I don’t. Look, I can just change--”

“Virgil, have you even looked in the mirror?” Roman asked, and Virgil tried not to flinch because those words had been said to him before, just under very different circumstances.

But Roman was suddenly taking his hands, dragging him (gently, of course) into Virgil’s bathroom, standing in front of the sink and looking in the mirror. It was something he tried to avoid as much as possible, but with the way Princey was beaming at him...for the moment he couldn’t find it in himself to be so apprehensive.

“How long have you had this?” Roman asked, and at Virgil’s blank stare he quickly gestured to the outfit- an older black hoodie over a white shirt, black and white stockings, and the plaid purple skirt.

“Uh...I don’t know, it’s just some clothes. The skirt is kinda new, though. I had to make a new one after my old one was…” destroyed, was really the only accurate way to put it. And they hadn’t even waited for him to take it off. Somehow he really doubted that would make Roman feel any better. “Lost. It’s...it’s pretty stupid, I know.”

“Not at all,” Princey said, and Virgil didn’t know why he couldn’t just give in and believe him. “Just look! You’re beautiful!”

He seemed so excited, eyes brimming with awe and eagerness, Virgil couldn’t bring himself to protest. Even when he was struck with the familiar urge to avert his gaze as soon as he came face to face with his own reflection.

It was just...him. Nothing special, nothing particularly good, just plain, dark and brooding Anxiety. But he’d been taught, over and over and over again, to hate every little thing about himself. Just like everyone else already did.

But that had been a lie, just like nearly everything else he’d been told. The people who mattered didn’t hate him, and they did much more than tolerate his presence.

He just...didn’t know where to start when it came to liking anything about himself.

Luckily, Roman already seemed to be two steps ahead of him.

“You are not disgusting,” he said, completely catching Virgil off guard. “And I swear, if I could I would run my sword through every single person who ever put that thought in your head.”

“Please don’t.” It came out a whisper, soft and pathetic. They’d had this talk before, countless times, but each time it sent terror shooting through his chest. “Please--”

“I know. As much as I want to make them suffer...I would never betray your trust by doing something so selfish. It will always be up to you whether or not I go after them.”

Virgil’s shoulders dropped, relief just as dizzying as the last few times. “Thank you.”

“But I mean it,” Roman said. “They were so, so wrong. We think you’re wonderful, Virgil. We...we all think you’re amazing. I know you don’t see it, but- but we do. And every day you shine just a little bit brighter.”

“Princey--”

“Did you know Patton couldn’t stop crying that first night we found out about what happened to you? He kept it together right until you fell asleep and then he...Logan held him until he exhausted himself. And Lo was...we were all so angry.”

Virgil couldn’t turn around, instead staring at Roman’s reflection through the mirror. “I...I’m--”

“This isn’t a guilt thing,” Roman clarified. “I’m saying we didn’t understand. We still don’t. How someone could look at you and not see someone incredible. You’ve been through so much and we’re...I’m honored to get to meet the person you always deserved to be.”

And, yeah Virgil was definitely going to cry now, fresh tears just replacing the ones he wiped away. But maybe that was ok, because Roman’s eyes were red and watery now too.

“Back to the point,” Roman said with a sheepish smile, rubbing the back of his neck. “You can wear what you want. Always. My only request is that you don’t outshine me.”

Virgil snorted, even as uncertainty and apprehension still rested heavy on his chest. “I don’t think you have to worry about that, Princey.”

“Well, I stand by what I said,” Roman announced, clapping his hands together. “You look stunning. And I’m sure the others will agree. Patton will be thrilled to have another skirt-buddy. Why don’t we head down so you can--”

“No!”

Roman had already started for the bathroom door, stopping in his tracks and spinning back around at Virgil’s outburst. He hadn’t meant to raise his voice, but…

But the terror that had hit when Roman had caught him just moments before, the disgust with himself that had just been starting to dissipate a bit...all of it hit full force again at the thought of going downstairs like this.

He wanted to. He wanted to know he could be comfortable and learn to feel ok again so bad. But he couldn’t. There was no way.

“Virge--”

“I can’t.” And now he was going to upset Roman, after the Prince had tried so hard to get Virgil to stop being such a coward. And now he probably was going to be angry- or disappointed at the very least. Virgil wasn’t sure which one was worse. “I’m sorry, sorry it’s just--”

“Hey, it’s ok,” Roman said, with way more patience than Virgil deserved at this point. “I’m not going to force you out of your comfort zone, Emo. Prince’s honor. We go at your pace, and your pace only.”

Virgil stuffed his hands into the hoodie pockets, fighting the urge to pull up his hood. “You’re not, like...mad?”

“I’m not mad, Virgil,” Roman assured, and smiled. “Take your time. I’ll be here whenever you’re ready.”

“Ok.” Virgil let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, shaky and small, and once again he wondered what he’d done to deserve this much kindness. “Ok. I’m uh, I’m gonna change. I’ll be down for dinner soon.”

There was no annoyance, no frustration or exasperated eyeroll. Just a nod from Roman and another gentle, understanding smile as the Prince slipped through the door and left him alone again.

For a moment, standing in his silent bedroom with his black jeans in his hands, Virgil considered keeping the skirt on.

He wasn’t...he wasn’t a monster. He wasn’t the selfish, horrible, grotesque villain he’d been taught to think he was.

He had the right to say, do, and wear whatever he wanted. He was just as free to exist and express himself as anyone else in the mindscape.

It was what his family told him, over and over and over again. And it was what he was trying desperately to begin to believe.

But he was almost positive that if he tried to step outside right now he’d have a panic attack before he reached the bottom of the stairs. So he took another deep breath, steadied himself, and changed back into his regular jeans and oversized hoodie.

He wasn’t going to suddenly lose the right to recover if he took his time. There wasn’t a time limit to all of this. And like Roman had said, they’d be there when he was ready.

It was another few weeks before Roman heard a knock on his door, timid and familiar enough for him to know it was Virgil before he pulled it open with a smile.

The anxious side was standing in the hall, arms wrapped around his middle as he shifted his weight from foot to foot, shoulders hunched in a defensive stand and...oh.

He was wearing the outfit Roman hadn’t gotten the chance to see since their talk in his room, complete with the plaid purple skirt that the Prince thought looked absolutely perfect on Virgil.

“Good afternoon,” Roman said, fighting to sound as nonchalant as possible, all too aware of how big of a deal this was. “You heading downstairs?”

Virgil took a minute before nodding slowly, chewing incessantly on his lip, still fidgeting in the doorway.

“Alright,” Roman said, hoping it was at least a little encouraging. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

He could see Virgil trying to compose himself, recognized the slow, deliberate breaths he was taking in an effort to fight against rising panic, and Roman’s heart throbbed at the watery, scared look in his eyes.

“Could you…” Virgil trailed off, squeezing his hands into fists. “Could you come with me? Please?”

Roman softened, and stepped into the hallway. “Of course.”

It wasn’t until he held out a hand, letting Virgil latch onto him and squeeze as tight as he needed, that he realized just how bad the anxious side was shaking. Just like the first time Roman had seen him in the skirt.

As nice as it looked, it was a fairly simple outfit. Roman had worn far more extravagant things, and other than excited compliments from Patton, no one really looked twice.

He couldn’t imagine what the others had done to make Virgil so afraid of being seen in a skirt.

But this wasn’t the time for that. Roman forcefully pushed his anger back down, and squeezed Virgil’s hand in response. He didn’t stop trembling the entire trip down the hall.

When they reached the top of the stairs, Patton and Logan’s voices began to filter in from the living room, and Virgil suddenly stopped, breath catching in his throat, looking to Roman with wide, panicked eyes.

“What...what if they--”

“Nothing bad will happen to you,” Roman said. “I swear it. But we don’t have to do this today if you aren’t ready. Like I said, we go at your pace.”

Virgil’s eyes were glued to the stairs, tense and unmoving, clutching Roman’s hand like he thought it would be ripped away at any moment.

Roman was fully willing to stand here for hours if it meant Virgil would be comfortable, but it only took a few minutes for his breathing to even out slightly, some of the tension in his shoulders coming undone.

“Ok,” he said softly, probably more to himself than to Roman. “Ok. I’m...I’m good. I’m sorry.”

“No need to be sorry,” Roman promised. “Your pace, Virge. I’m here.”

They made their way down the steps together, slow and steady, Roman letting Virgil move as fast as he wanted, stopping to take a few seconds to breathe whenever he needed.

Logan and Patton were lounged on the couch by the time they made it to the living room, the logical side lost to the contents of the open book on his lap.

Virgil suddenly froze in the doorway, looking up at Roman like he thought the Prince was the only thing standing in between him and certain death.

And then Patton glanced up at the movement, and Roman couldn’t remember the last time the moral side had smiled so wide.

“Oh my gosh! Virgil, you look so good!”

Virgil automatically flinched against Roman’s side as Patton jumped up from the couch, but Roman could see surprise battling with doubt and confusion as he took in Patton’s happiness.

“I...yeah?”

And in the middle of it all, a small flicker of hope.

“Yes!” Patton practically squealed. He rushed over to take Virgil’s hands, and Roman stepped away with one last reassuring smile. “I didn’t know you liked skirts, kiddo! You should have told me!”

Virgil was searching Patton’s face, probably making sure there wasn’t any hint of hidden disgust in his words, before relaxing ever so slightly. “Yeah, I...wanted to try it, I guess.”

“You look so pretty!” Patton was bouncing up and down now, Virgil’s hands still in his. “Don’t you think so, Logan?”

Roman glanced at the logical side still seated on the couch, unsurprised to find a look of pride and quiet understanding.

“He does,” Logan agreed. “The outfit itself is aesthetically pleasing, and the colors suit you very well, Virgil. I am glad you were comfortable enough to try something new.”

Virgil shrugged, cheeks turning a light shade of red, briefly meeting Roman’s eyes with a small, thankful smile. “It’s...it’s whatever.”

“We should have a skirt day!” Patton announced suddenly. “Can we have a skirt day?”

Logan raised an eyebrow. “A...skirt day?”

“We can all wear our skirts together! Do you think we could get Janus and Remus to join us?”

Roman chuckled, beyond relieved for the small smile now beginning to overtake Virgil’s features. “I’m sure you could, padre.”

“Patton, it is simply an article of clothing,” Logan pointed out, completely lost. “Why do we need an entire day dedicated to wearing it?”

“Because! It’s--”

Patton was suddenly interrupted by Virgil suddenly wrapping his arms around the moral side, pulling him close in a tight, almost desperate embrace.

Virgil so rarely was the one to initiate physical contact, as much as he needed it, always terrified of being seen as needy or ungrateful. From what Roman had gathered, Virgil had been told he was too disgusting to be touched in any way other than violent.

“Oh, kiddo.” Despite his obvious surprise, Patton didn’t hesitate before hugging back. “Can you tell me what’s wrong, honey? Did I upset you?”

Virgil shook his head, still clutching Patton’s shirt as he pulled back. Roman wanted so badly to rush over and hold him close when he realized Virgil was smiling through his tears, so clearly overwhelmed but so so relieved.

“No- no, it’s-” he took in a shuddering breath, struggling to get a hold of himself. “I’m...thank you. I just- I love you all so much.”

And then he was covering his mouth with his hand, crying quietly as Patton gathered him back into his arms, squeezing his eyes shut but relaxing further when the other two sides hurried to join the embrace.

Roman couldn’t even imagine the weight that had just been lifted from Virgil’s shoulders, how rewarding acceptance without question must have felt. Especially when for him, every step forward was like climbing a mountain.

He caught Logan sending him a questioning look, but he quickly shook his head. Later. They could talk it out later. Right now…

Right now Virgil just needed the reassurance. And Roman knew they were all more than happy to remind him they would never get tired of giving it to him.

Taglist: @self-taught-mess @itawalrus @mygenderisidiot @a-very-gay-raccoon @dawnfire7 @cr4zyart @ray-does-stuff @whydoifeeltheneedtoorganizestuff @bunny222 @the-blue-recluse @bisexualdisaster106 @basilthefourth @snowtrashowl @thefingergunsgirl @trashtm @stubbornness-and-spite @kieraelieson @alias290 @darkch1ld @craz-ewaters @damy-02 @frogdog145 @gattonero17 @madamedraconis @stoicpanther @@love-to-read02 @that-spider-fan-over-there @thatoneloudowl @rich-flower-17 @demigodbookdragon @i-gobymanynames @wyvern-tales @spoopyseason66 @gaylotusthatexists @my-life-is-an-artistic-mess @that-one-fander @alias290 @yalltookmyurlideas @theantisocialghost @dark-strange-daughter @joylessnightsky @nova-galexa @luckymasie @stayarmy321 @starsinger @unhygienic-andy-the-anon @deathdarknessdevils @d-rizzle83 @spoonfullofcrofters @sarcasmremovedsoul @bananabread123443 @alpacadraws @nonbinaryemonugget @espepspes @awesome-and-unique-username @starshinemoonglow @honeybonesvirgil @fandertrash24 @tracingstarlight @sanders-fanders @heartwitchhouse @major-disaster-enby @a-poor-anxious-baby @franticfandomfanatic @the3rdpansexualpanda @a-flying-gay @hermitcreature @darkle-elkrad @coaltail121 @i-really-like-dragons @blagi @the-daydreamers-rebellion

#sanders sides #past abuse tw #violence mention tw #sympathetic janus #sympathetic remus #sides in skirts #prinxiety #moxiety #analogical #platonic lamp #fanfiction #writing #sympathetic light sides

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skellebonez · 3 years

Note

32. Are you aware of how much money you spent? Tang and Pigsy

go wild god of fanfic prompts, go wild

I WOULDN'T GO THAT FAR ANON JDFKLSJFAS But that's very sweet of you to say! And I couldn't pass up a great chance to write these two as the old (but not that old) married couple I know them to be in my heart. I tried something a little experimental, this isn't exactly how I would normally write them but I had a little idea and wanted to see what I could do with it.

Are you aware of how much money you spent?

Tang loved Pigsy. And he wasn't afraid of who knew that fact.

"You sure you wanna come with me to the market after... you know,” Pigsy said with a shrug as he rubbed his neck awkwardly.

Tang knew. He remembered the events of quite a few months ago very well. Over half a year if he remembered correctly. It was the last time he had gone with the chef to purchase his ingredients at the market, not wanting to go anywhere close to what was likely still far too close to the lair of the Spider Queen.

Especially not after their later encounters on the new year and the following weeks.

“I’m sure.”

It wasn’t as if they didn’t spend pretty much all their time together anyway. Tang had work, of course he did, and he wasn’t always in the shop 24/7. But whenever he could take his work on the go or take a break or just have the day off he would be by the chef’s side. He always had been for as long as he could remember since their first meeting in college.

At first it was simply from a sense of loyalty to an old friend. He’d kept in touch with Pigsy since they had graduated together, went to the restaurant from day one since it opened, and went back almost every day since then.

And then... he’d lost his apartment, an accidental electrical fire no one could have prevented and he had been glad no one was hurt, and Pigsy had just offered him his spare room like it was nothing.

Tang could have possibly stayed in a hotel until he was able to find another apartment, at least for a while. But not forever. Not the way people who knew who he really was thought he could.

Once someone learned you were the descendant of a long distant cousin of the Tang Sanzang they had a tendency to assume and want things from you after all.

He wasn't in any way rich, far from it. But people thought he was the second they learned he was related to Tang Sanzang and he was just well off enough for people to assume they were right. Just enough for people to expect more from him than he could really give. And he gave all the same, scared to disappoint. Scared to be left alone. Scared to be alone.

Not Pigsy, though. He didn't tell the chef for a long while before moving in and not for quite some time after, guilt from not revealing who he was making Tang leave him far more money than would be his reasonable share of the rent despite the fact he didn't really have it to spare, and the charade would only last as long as Pigsy was willing to ignore that.

It took 1 month and 28 bowls of noodles that Tang vastly overpaid for before Pigsy dropped an overstuffed envelope with all the excess money (which was really nearly all the money he could spare) he had given the chef right into his lap while he was attempting to study a book on their now shared couch.

Pigsy barely got out his question of "why?" before Tang buckled under the pressure and revealed everything.

His heritage.

His past with others.

His feelings.

That last one had been an accident. Truly it had. He'd never planned on telling Pigsy that he had developed a crush on him ever since he had asked him to taste test some of the recipes for his shop. That he kept going to the shop not because the food was amazing (even though it absolutely was, the best he'd ever had and he was certain ever would have) but because he just wanted to see Pigsy more. That the day he'd asked Tang to move into his spare room in his own apartment his heart had skipped a beat and he wondered if there was a deity out there both enjoying the idea of giving him everything he wanted on a silver platter while also reveling in the idea of it being snatched away in an instant because he was certain Pigsy had never liked him back.

Well. Was certain.

Until Pigsy stared at him for a few second too long before a lopsided grin spread on his face and he ignored every single other part of his confession to ask "you had a crush on me too?"

It had taken a minute or two for them to realize they were both hopeless idiots who had been mutually pining for each other the entire time.

They felt pretty silly after that, having lived together for a month when they probably could have been doing so long before.

"You don't have to keep givin me all this, you know," Pigsy said firmly once everything was out in the open, gesturing to the envelope that Tang now held in his hands.

"I know," Tang admitted, worrying his fingers over the edges. "It's just... everyone else always wanted more from me and... I was scared, I guess..."

"I'm not everyone else." Pigsy gently took hold of Tang's hand, giving it a careful squeeze. "I don't care who your great uncle or cousin or whoever was. I mean, I do, cause they're your family!" The chef corrected himself, flushing a deep crimson in embarrassment. "But you could be related to nobodies or a king and that wouldn't make you less you to me. I like you for you! I... am I makin any sense? I didn't go to college to sound nice, I went for business stuff!"

Laughter bubbled up from somewhere in Tang's chest, making him squeeze the chef's hand back.

"You are," he said, feeling a lightness inside him that he didn't realize he hadn't felt in a long time. "I get it. I like you for you too, Pigsy."

"Good," the chef said, a chuckle of his own resounding in unison. "Good..."

The two sat for a moment longer, staring at each other before Tang started to lean forward. Pigsy followed, just as he had with the laughter.

It didn't take long for noses to bump each other awkwardly and for the two of them to burst into cackles as they realized they would need to remember to turn their heads before they kissed.

And then they shared their first.

They'd been together for years after that. Scholar and chef, old college buddies now roommates turned boyfriends and then later husbands. Most people didn't even know they were married at all, "if they couldn't see it when it was right in front of their faces why explain it" was Tang and Pigsy's mutual reasoning. And for those that did know, some people didn't really understand their relationship. Not with how they carried on with the whole "freeloader" thing.

But that was because of one of Pigsy's only requests when they started dating.

"Don't feel like you gotta pay me for anything, ok? I don't know what other people have said to you, but you don't gotta do that with me."

Tang liked to take that a little far, admittedly, for the fun of it with the noodle orders at the shop. He couldn't help it, he loved everything about Pigsy! His smile, how much he cared behind his gruff exterior, his cooking (obviously), and how cute he was when he would let out that exasperated sigh at the end of the month and just look at Tang's tab as he took out whatever was extra in his half of the month's rent to pay for all but a few yuan of it and just change into that soft smile all over again.

The tab was real, but Tang always paid it at the end of the month. Even if Pigsy always insisted behind the scenes that he didn't have to. He could just stop giving Pigsy the extra cash and they'd wash their hands of the tab and the freeloading completely if he wanted to.

But Tang liked teasing his husband too much and Pigsy was happy as long as Tang was alright with that.

Something in the back of Tang's mind wondered if he was still just scared though, despite everything. As if the ideas of his youth were too deep seated to really go away, intrusive thoughts needling into his brain in a way that would need something even more life altering than he already gone through to get them to leave, and he kept the tab and the teasing around just for some extra security so he would know he'd get to see Pigsy's exasperated smile and hear him say he could stop again. He was certain he was just overthinking things, something he did more often than he would like to admit.

Of course... that was until Spider Queen.

It hadn't been a good morning already, the selection at the market had been poor and Tang was tired from a long work week. Pigsy had been determined to find the right ingredients for... something that, frankly, Tang couldn't remember after all these months. What he did remember was the way the Spider Queen drew Pigsy in, despite his sniping at him while they were tied up he knew that the chef really was only after actual vegetable, and being in that lair.

It was awful.

They hadn't been down there long, but it was long enough for Tang to suggest Pigsy stay away from the market entirely and order his food via online delivery. Pigsy thought he'd been jealous at first, until he realized that Tang was just... scared. Scared of Pigsy getting hurt, scared of losing him. Just scared.

Until MK had shown up there really was no telling if they would have made it out. And that scared Tang. A lot.

Pigsy didn't stop going to the market entirely, but for Tang's peace of mind he bought most of his food via delivery like he suggested and took MK with him every time instead. Tang refused to go back, not when he knew how close that stand was.

And then the Lunar New Year happened and Tang no longer really felt safe anywhere.

Oh he acted like everything was fine alright, but he knew Pigsy could tell how defeated he was in knowing that Spider Queen and her crew could just show up anywhere at any time now. It left him tired, having trouble sleeping, and just emotionally exhausted.

Until this morning. When he woke up before Pigsy and got dressed and ready to go and suggested they go to the market together.

He was tired. Too tired.

Tired of letting himself be afraid. Of Spider Queen. Of the market. Of his old intrusive thoughts.

After all he had used a giant gun sword on that one spider guy with the pony tail who insisted on teasing Pigsy for some reason. And went through whatever happened with that weird shadow puppet guy. Why be afraid anymore after all that weirdness?

So at the market they were, looking over the selection of ingredients together for the first time in months almost as if nothing had happened. No one would have been able to tell except for the way Pigsy kept looking over at Tang to make sure he was alright.

Tang loved that about Pigsy too.

“Tang you don’t have t-”

“I want to,” the scholar said firmly, handing his card to the merchant they had stopped at over Pigsy’s head before the other even had a chance to argue further.

“Tang!” Pigsy yelped as his card was handed back, gesturing to the bag of food he was being handed shortly after. “Are you aware of how much money you spent? That stuff’s expensive!”

“I know,” Tang said nonchalantly, smiling softly as he turned to head to the next stall. “I told you, I wanted to buy them.”

“But why?” Pigsy insisted, looking a bit lost at having to be the one to follow someone else through the market for once. “You know I’d never make you pay for anything... well, heh, except your tab that you insist on keeping open.”

“About that" Tang said, smiling softly as he turned back to the man he loved for so long. "I don't think we need to keep that open anymore."

Pigsy froze, staring at Tang in confusion for a moment before his eyes widened as he realized what he'd just said. He blinked, looking at the bag of ingredients, thinking about the amount of yuan Tang had spent before he finally caught on to what the scholar had so sneakily done.

The exact amount down to the last little bit.

Paid in full.

"You're serious," The chef said as he took in Tang's expression carefully, reaching out to grab his free hand softly and squeeze. "What brought this on?"

"Just thought it was time to let go of old fears," Tang answered with a shrug, and he barely had time to react before Pigsy tugged him forward with a tilt of his head and pressed their lips together.

Tang didn't keep count of how many times they kissed over the years, who would after so long, but he was sure he'd remember this one as vividly as the first.

"Let's get back," Pigsy said after he pulled back, smiling warm and bright and just looking the way being home felt. "MK's probably waiting to get that out of the city training started and we don't wanna keep them all waiting."

He loved Pigsy.

And the one thing he was never ever afraid of was who knew that.

#monkie kid #lego monkie kid #freenoodleshipping #prompt fill #ship fic #tang #pigsy #i attempted some symbolism and metaphors i never tried before because of the prompt itself and i am not sure if they came across right #but i made an attempt #given what episode this is set right before OOF #i'm really not entirely sure i like this but i wrote it and didn't want to start over so EH... there are parts i do really like so

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heliads · 4 years

Text

Into Thin Air

Newt doesn’t know what to think after Y/N disappears one night in the Scorch. She’s nowhere to be found, until a few weeks later she shows up with the girls from Group B. The only problem is that she can’t remember who Newt is, and all Newt can remember is how much he loves her.

masterlist

Newt sits alone, staring out at the desolate desert before him. He’s hidden from view, sheltered by a craggy outcropping, but the protection does little to settle the turmoil of thoughts lurking inside his head. The sound of footsteps approaches behind him, but Newt doesn’t have to turn his head to recognize his friend.

Minho stoops and sits down a few feet away. Newt glances at him. It’s strange- all of Newt’s memories of his life before the Maze have been stripped away, leaving behind only his time trapped within those walls. Minho is his best friend, but Newt can’t help but wonder if he had other friends, before all of this started. Before he was imprisoned in the Maze, before they escaped WICKED and stuck themselves in the desert. Did he have friends before that? Would it really matter if he did, anyway? If they’re not dead by now, they will be soon.

But he has Minho, and that’s enough. Minho’s been his friend for a long time. Newt hasn’t really known anyone for that long, or grown that close, except maybe Alby. Even the thought of the guy makes Newt’s throat burn. He’d known the guy forever, even been his second in command for all that time in the Maze. Newt can still picture Alby’s face in the back of his mind, that look of determination just before the Griever snatched him away. They’ve lost so many people. Alby, and Chuck, and Winston, and-

Newt can’t quite bring himself to finish the sentence.

Distantly, Newt realizes that Minho is still there, and staring out over the same horizon Newt had been studying a few minutes ago. At last, the other boy speaks. “We’re going to find her, you know? There’s no way we won’t.” Newt sighs. “We don’t know if she’s out there anymore. Or if she’s even somewhere we can find.”

Minho shakes his head, resolute. “She has to be somewhere. They wouldn’t take her just to kill her when nobody is watching.” Newt opens his mouth to argue, but Minho holds up a hand and continues speaking. “WICKED had to have taken her. She would never have left any of us, and definitely not you. Besides, we went to sleep with her right next to us, and woke up to her gone. No footprints, no tracks, no nothing. If she had left on her own accord, we would have seen a trail leading away, but there was just blank sand. It’s like she never even existed. Does that sound like some girl who’s sick of us and wanted to leave, or like WICKED wanted to send a message?”

Newt’s heard Minho’s attempt to soothe his worries a couple of times now, but he still plays along. “What message would WICKED want to send instead of just taking all of us? If they have the ability to get her, what’s stopping them from completing the job and getting all of us back?” Minho jabs a finger in the air, ready to prove his point. “They want to scare us, make us think that WICKED’s way more powerful than we’ll ever be. If they pick us off one by one, they’re hoping that we’ll come back to them easily instead of them having to chase us down. Less damage to the subjects if they return of their own free will, right?”

Newt chuckles quietly. “If they were interested in keeping their subjects in the best condition they wouldn’t have put us through the bloody Maze in the first place. They would have stuck to inkblots and blood tests like any other reasonable doctor.” Minho grins. “Hey, who said they were reasonable? They just don’t want us killed off before they get the chance to do it themselves.”

In spite of himself, Newt feels a smile growing on his face. “Alright, alright. I’ll stop moping. Are we heading out soon?” Minho stands, clapping his friend on the back as he leaves the outcropping. “In a few minutes. Thomas thinks the Right Arm reinforcements should be in the mountains just a mile or so down. We’re almost there.”

The Right Arm. Thomas seems convinced that the people of the Right Arm can help them, and save the Gladers from inevitable deaths at the hands of WICKED. It doesn’t make a whole lot of sense- use a shadowy, mysterious organization to escape another mysterious organization? At least the Right Arm isn’t known for running death tests on teenagers. That’s already a bonus.

The path to the mountains is dangerous, but to be honest, what part of their journey hasn’t been dangerous? Newt thinks it’s going fine, that although the terrain isn’t the best they’re at least making progress, and then the bullets start to ring out. Instantly, everyone panics and starts to hurtle toward whatever cover they can scrounge up in the desert, cowering as gunfire rains down around them. From the corner of his eye, Newt sees a couple of figures emerge from the mountains, faces hidden and weapons drawn.

Newt shoves Thomas and Minho to get their attention, and they start to come out with their hands drawn. Three figures stand before them, weapons pointed at them. Newt scans their faces, but he doesn’t recognize the first one, or the next. It’s only when his gaze falls upon the last of the three, on the figure standing farthest away, that he feels his heart freeze in his chest.

It’s not her. It couldn’t possibly be her. But yet-

Before he even knows what he’s doing, Newt is stepping away from the protective cover of the car, away from his friends, and towards the third figure. He can see Thomas and Minho extending their arms to pull him back, but they’re moving slowly, as if coming from far away. All that matters now is the girl before him, the girl with those all-too-familiar eyes that are now glaring at him in fear.

Newt’s voice comes cracked and quiet in the space at the foot of the mountains. “Y/N?” The girl levels her gun at him. “Who are you, and how do you know my name?” Newt stumbles, thrown by less by her threatening tone of voice and more the words that she’s just said. “Y/N? Why don’t you-” Hie voice breaks off into silence. Minho and Thomas are next to him now, and all Newt can do is stare at the girl in front of him. “Why doesn’t she know who I am?”

The other two figures are by Y/N’s side in an instant, the two pairs of three staring at each other. The tension builds and builds until finally the first of the figures glances away, at the other boy walking up to them. “Aris?” Suddenly, the hostility vanishes, and the figures are pulling away their face coverings to reveal the smiling faces of two girls. Aris turns back to them, clearly happy to see the girls. “This is Harriet and Sonya. They’re from Group B.” He addresses the Group B girls now: “They’re with me. They’re friends. They helped me escape from WICKED.”

Harriet and Sonya nod, but Newt just watches as the third girl hesitantly removes her own coverings. Sure enough, it’s Y/N. Harriet notices Newt’s stare and turns to his former friend. “Y/N, do you know these guys?” Y/N shakes her head. “I have no idea who they are, or how they know who I am.” Newt’s heart seems to drop in his chest. “What are you talking about? Y/N, I’ve known you for about a year, ever since you came into the Maze.”

Y/N’s eyes hold no recognition, no laughter, no light. She seems to have no idea who Newt is. “All I know is that I showed up one day alongside the Group B girls. They’ve been my family ever since.” She walks away, presumably to tell the people with guns to stand down. Newt is left alone with the words dying on his tongue: We were your family first.

Newt watches from a distance as his friends talk and laugh around him. They’re happy to have the Group B girls, who went through the Maze just like the Gladers did, and they’re relieved to have the protection of the Right Arm. Newt should be out there too, finally allowing himself to relax or at least have a good time, but he can’t quite muster up the energy to fake the smiles. Y/N doesn’t recognize him. That’s the only thing he has room to think about right now.

As if just thinking about the girl was a summoning, Newt turns to see a familiar figure walking away from the fire and coming to stand next to him. This picture, the two of them standing so close together, away from everyone else, is so painfully familiar that it hurts to know that she isn’t thinking of the connection they once shared. All Newt can think about is that he’s stood by her a hundred times, but all she can think about is that the boy next to her is a stranger, someone she’s never even seen before.

Y/N is the first to speak. “Is it true? Did you really- did you really know who I was?” Newt nods hollowly. “We first met when you arrived in the Maze. We were friends for a while, and-” He cuts himself off. He can’t talk about that, not right now. “And then we escaped, and you disappeared.” Y/N looks at the ground, at the fire, at her friends. Anywhere but him. “I have this strange feeling like I know who you are. Or I should, at least. But I can’t remember a single thing about you.” Newt stands silently, not trusting himself to speak.

Y/N turns to him at last, eyes burning into his own. He’s missed that look, that focus brushing across her brow. “Can you tell me what I was like? You know, in your Maze?” Newt sighs. “I’m not sure we could fit it into one night. You were there almost as long as I was, bordering on two years.” Y/N’s gaze is unrelenting. “Can you try?” Newt could never say no to her. Not in the Maze, and not now, when it’s just the two of them and he’s missed her so much. He clears his throat, and begins to speak.

“We were friends at first. Probably since the moment you showed up. You had this way of getting people to listen to you, even when the shanks were seconds away from tearing each other apart. There were only a few of us in the Maze, or at least at the beginning. You, me, Alby, and Minho. We were like a little family. I thought our friendship would last forever, and then other boys started showing up.”

Y/N frowns. “Did we fight or something?” Newt laughs ruefully. “No, we just- Well, I was kind of a shucking idiot myself. This one boy showed up, and he used to make me so angry. You’d be doing your job, not focusing on anything else, and then he’d come up and start talking to you. I didn’t know why it was bothering me so much, that he would be there for just a few seconds and the two of you would be laughing like you’d known each other all your lives, and then I realized after a while that it wasn’t him that annoyed me, it was that I was just jealous. Stupid, but jealous all along.”

“I kept it to myself, didn’t want to bother you. I didn’t realize you loved me until later.” Y/N looks up at him, mouth slightly tilted down into a frown. “But then what happened with you?” Newt smiles to himself. “I’d loved you all along. Don’t think I had much choice in the matter. Anyways, it took me a while to get up the courage, but I told you how I felt one night at the bonfire. I was nervous about it, but you just looked at me with this smile and I knew everything was going to be alright.”

Y/N’s smiling now. It’s strange, thinking of that night with this new Y/N next to him. She’s got the same expression on her face as the night Newt told her he loved her, and it cuts away at Newt that she could smile at him like that without remembering that night at all. Newt realizes he’s been staring too long, because Y/N gently nudges his arm. “Go on.” Newt looks away, fighting the shyness that suddenly overwhelmed him.

“We were happy, for a long time. We had months of uneventful life. Well, as uneventful as the Maze can be. Then Thomas and Teresa showed up, and the Maze doors didn’t close, and the Grievers attacked us all.” Newt’s eyes flicker shut as he remembers that night, remembering the tongues of flame spiraling over the buildings and the horrified looks of his friends. He can still hear the screaming, smell the coppery tang of blood like the scene was still being played out around him.

“We managed to escape. Not quite sure how. I don’t think I was scared for myself, more that you were going to die and I was going to have to live without you. When we first showed up at Janson’s building, I thought we were finally out and in the clear. We were so excited to have escaped and have a new life, one where we could actually relax and be just teenagers.” Newt’s voice twists into something bitter as he remembers how hopeful they’d been, and how quickly that hope had fallen apart, just like everything else that seemed to come their way.

“Then Janson turned out to be with WICKED, so we escaped. Took a while and a lot of running, but we made it out.” Newt falls silent, and Y/N tilts her head expectantly. “And then what?” Newt swallows unevenly, still feeling the pain and overwhelming heartache of that one specific night. “And then we were alone in the desert, all of us from the Glade who’d made it out plus Aris. We went down to sleep, late at night. You were right next to me. When I opened my eyes, you were gone.”

Newt looks away, fighting back the hot prick of tears threatening to appear at the corners of his eyes. “That was the worst part. You were right there, so close. There was no way you could have left without waking me. I knew you wouldn’t leave, so it had to be WICKED, but it still hurt. I was so worried that you’d died, or that they had dragged you back to their facilities and were experimenting on you-”

Newt can’t finish. Y/N nods, understanding. “And then you showed up to the mountains, and I had no idea who you were.” “Exactly.” Y/N sighs, leaning up against the rocky crag behind her. “I don’t know what to say. It all sounds familiar, but it just doesn’t sound like me. Are you sure that you’ve got the right girl?”

Newt nods. He’d know Y/N in a heartbeat, across the darkest night, anywhere. This girl is the one he loves, right down to that slight crease in her brow that she gets whenever she can’t figure something out. “I don’t know how to explain it. You are you, Y/N, and you’re the same girl I’ve been in love with since the Maze. You’re the same girl who always had a smile, even when things got dark, who yelled at the Builders but made friends with all the Greenies, who helped everyone survive the Maze because that’s just who you were.” Newt draws a ragged breath. “You’re the same Y/N who made me fall in love with you, and I’m not going to let any trick from WICKED convince me to let you go.”

Newt’s staring off into the darkness of the desert, but he turns with a start when he hears a slight noise from Y/N. He stares at her. She’s almost bent double in pain, hands clutching her head. He rushes over to her, helping her to the ground. “Y/N! Are you alright? What happened?” She just shakes her head, gritting her teeth through the pain. “I don’t know. You started talking, and I felt like I recognized something, and then my head started feeling like it was about to crack in two.”

She squeezes her eyes shut in agony, and her shoulders tense up in a spasm of anguish but then suddenly fall still. She lies on the ground, silent. Newt feels like his heart is in his throat. “Y/N? Can you hear me?” Her eyes open slowly, eyelashes fluttering in a dark frame around her eyes. She looks at him for a moment, then two, as if drinking in the sight of him. She reaches out a shaking hand to him, lightly touching his cheek. “Newt?” Her voice is quiet, as if she’s doubting herself, and then she breaks into a grin.

“Newt. Yes. I remember you.” All of Newt’s worries leave him in a rush, and he wraps his arms around her, pulling her close. “Y/N?” She nods, laughing slightly. “I remember everything. The Maze, the Gladers, you, everything.” She pulls back, smiling, so she can look in his eyes. “I don’t remember the part about you being in love with me from the start. You should have told me that earlier.” Newt chuckles, helping her stand. “I was trying to help you get your memories back. I’m sure it was just a dramatized detail.”

She flashes him a beaming glare. “I’m sure it was.” Newt can’t take his eyes off of her. “I was so worried, you know that? I was so worried that you’d left.” Y/N shakes her head. “I could never leave you. Not in a million years.” Newt lets himself smile again, and reaches out to lock his hand around hers. Y/N remembers him. The girl he loves is finally back once more.

#newt #newt imagine #newt x reader #newt imagines #newt oneshot #maze runner #maze runner imagine #maze runner x reader #maze runner imagines #maze runner oneshot

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zeldas-cigarrette · 4 years

Note

Hi!!! I love your writing for Zelda and was hoping to request one where readers hired by hilda (readers human) after sabrina dies and ambrose leaves the mortuary, to help out zelda (aka make sure shes not lonely, makes sure she eats and doesnt smoke excessively) and zelda starts crushing even though she’s annoyed af by her new secretary at the mortuary

- ❥author’s note: Hi!! Tysm<3 I really hope you like it, I had a lot of fun writing🤍

The secretary.

You had known Hilda for a couple of years now and you had heard of their loss. The blonde, usually cheery Brit, worked at the bookstore. She always had the latest gossip about people you had never heard of, nonetheless, Hilda was a polite a friendly woman you were happy to know.

You two were close, it seemed as if she was your only friend in town and you cherished her existence very much. That’s why you couldn’t hesitate to help her after the loss of her niece. „I’m not sure how to ask you Y/n, but I really need your help with this,” her voice carried concern. „Just say it,” you replied not averting your gaze from her worried face. „My nephew is out of town, I have to be here and my sister is all alone and she doesn’t take good care of herself,” she sighed before starting a new sentence, „Would you mind, taking a job at the mortuary as a secretary? Just to make sure Zelda is okay while I’m here?”

„Sure?” It sounded more like a question than a statement. „Don’t worry, she can be very nice when she warmed up to people.” To be honest, this didn’t sound too promising, but to make Hilda feel better you gave it a shot, what could go wrong? Hilda’s „Just don’t tell her you’re looking after her.” should’ve warned you in the first place. Your naïve mind just shook it off, you knew how much Hilda loved her niece and how hard it was for her to lose that girl, you couldn’t imagine how it was for her other aunt, so you felt the need to help.

Two days later you were marching through the woods, thick layers of mud covering your shoes. It rained the night before and you have never been at the Spellman’s house and didn’t know that the way would lead you through the forest. The smell of rain lingered in the air and even though you had never met the other Spellman sister you hoped she wouldn’t hate you too much. From what Hilda had told you she didn’t seem like a charming person, but you didn’t want to judge too much before you actually meet her. When you arrived at their front door you softly knocked and waited for a response, nothing. Another, more eager knock, seemed to awake response in the house because the door flung open and revealed a mischievous redhead. „What is it? I don’t want to buy anything,” the woman scoffed and was about to close the door again. „Hello, I’m the new secretary,” you smiled innocently. Zelda, who you thought it was, rolled her eyes. „Come in.”

You assumed that she just wasn’t the type of person for warm welcomes. Stepping into the house, a cloud of smoke surrounded you, that must be one of her habits, excessively smoking. „There,” she pointed at a table, „Just take the calls or whatever.” As fast as she appeared, the fast she disappeared into the kitchen again. It left you frozen in place. Before you could worry about anything, luckily the phone rang and brought you your first client.

—♡︎

Weeks had gone by and from time to time you were able to check on Zelda. It was hard to do it without waking to much mistrust in the woman. It was late noon and you had brought rice and vegetables for cooking lunch. You knew she would be in there and you might have a chance to talk to her.

You sat at the table, observing the older woman from time to time. It was a miracle, Zelda never left the table, she sat there smoked her cigarettes and read her newspaper, the whole day. It worried you, to say the least, seeing this woman who was smart and also very beautiful, destroying herself piece by piece. „Have you eaten today?” your voice was shaky, fearing she wouldn’t answer. It nearly surprised you when she slightly shook her head. „Would you like to have some rice then?” Just another shake of her head. „Could you at least stop smoking when I’m in here?” I asked. „It never bothered you until now, what is your problem?” Zelda’s voice grew in rage. „Okay, no need to freak out it was a subtle question,” you tried to ease the tension between you two. Zelda averted her gaze and turned a page in her newspaper. „I’m going to cook now, if you want anything let me know,” you almost whispered and got up from the chair. Soon the smell of freshly cooked food filled the kitchen and you placed bits of it on two plates. „In case you develop appetite in the next time,” you said and placed a plate in front of her. You left the kitchen with you. „You’re annoying,” was the last thing you heard before you entered the hall again. „I know.” She may not hate you as much as she used to.

As the day went on no calls were incoming, no people came, nothing at all. „Do you mind if I join you for a while?” you entered the living room with a book in your hands. „No just sit.” Even the living room smelt as if fifty people were smoking in there. You opened your book on the page you last stopped and continued reading the novel. Sometimes coughs interrupted the suffocating silence. It felt good being near the woman, though she doesn’t seem to like you very much it made you feel at ease to know that she was doing nothing severely hurtful to herself. „I really don’t want to bother you, but could you please stop smoking?” you asked anew not bothering to look up from your book. Only a sigh in response, but she stubbed it out. It surprised you, to say the least. Normally smoking didn’t bother you at all, but smelling it so prominently the whole time took a toll on you and when Hilda said that her sister chain-smoked the cancer sticks madly you think it was one of the reasons why she hired you.

—♡︎

Days after, a lot of calls were incoming. It was a busy day and you arranged days for the grieving family members to see their loved one dressed nicely in their coffin. You spent the morning talking on the phone almost with no breaks, you wondered what had happened in the last days that so many people died.

You entered the kitchen when you made sure nobody would call in the next few minutes, to get a glass of water. Zelda sat at the table once again, reading her newspaper. At least she wasn’t smoking.

„Want something to eat?” „I’m good,” her voice sounded strained. „There were a lot of people calling today,” you explained before taking a sip of water. „Is there someone for the morgue stuff or…” you wanted to continue but you heard suppressed sobs. „Oh God, Zelda are you okay?” it almost worried you immediately. You had never seen her like this before, nor did you think she was even able to cry. You quickly scurried over to her, wanting to comfort the woman. The soft sobs turned into uncontrollable cries. „What’s going on, please tell me,” you panicked when the woman buried her head in her hands. „Get Sabrina back!” the redhead screamed through her tears. You didn’t know what to do, you knew you couldn’t get her back. „Zelda, just talk to me you need to calm down alright,” you caressed her cheek. „I can’t.” „Yes you can, get up we’re going in the living room,” you cooed in her ear and took her hand, not caring about the sudden contact.

„Just sit down, it’s going to be fine,” you placed a cushion behind her back. Her sobs became less and less audible until they stopped completely. „Do you want to talk about it?” „I’m sorry I didn’t want to-“ „Don’t apologize Zelda it’s fine,” you forced a smile onto your face. Silence.

„We don’t have to talk about it, we can just sit here in silence,” you reassured her putting her hand back on her thigh, not wanting to be clingy. „Could- Could you take…” referring to your hand she stared down at yours. „Sure.” You took her hand again and caressed her palms with your thumb. Zelda’s body relaxed and she leant back on the couch, letting her head rest on it. A look in her direction let you know she had fallen asleep, sound and peaceful. You carefully placed her hand on a cushion next to her and got up. „Don’t go?” it almost sounded desperate. „I’ll be right by your side when you wake up,” you smiled before sitting down again. Your mind went on and on about how incredibly sad Zelda was, and how much you grew fond of her. You watched her sleep, how her nostrils slightly twitched every now and then and how some of her hair fell into her face. „Y/n!” the sudden noise startled you. „Jesus, what’s happening?” you asked perplexed and closed the book in your lap. „I’d thought you left,” Zelda admitted and sat up straight. „I told you I’ll be here,” you smiled and scanned your opposite. „Is there something you’d like to tell me because you seemed to dislike me from the very beginning, Ms. Spellman,” it was hard to hold back a chuckle. „Well…, I might have taken a liking to you Y/n,” it came like butter over her lips. „I might’ve too,” you took her hand and squeezed it, letting her know that you were there.

„I’m glad Hilda asked you to stay here with me,” she yawned and closed her eyes again. „You knew, huh?” it didn’t surprise you, Hilda wasn’t a secretive person. „We both know my sister.” „Can’t say anything against it.” Zelda’s arm slowly pulled you closer to her, fearing you’d be gone just as fast as Sabrina was. „I’ll be there tomorrow and the day after tomorrow. I’m not going anywhere,” you mumbled and one could almost hear you smile. „I’m not taking the risk,” the grip around you got stronger, but you didn’t mind.

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spaceorphan18 · 3 years

Text

Head Over Feet (2/14)

After Kurt and Blaine broke up the second time, they went their separate ways, living their separate lives in New York City. Fifteen years later, a retirement party brings them back together into each other’s orbit, with surprising, for both of them, consequences. Are they able to fit each other into their already complicated and messy lives? And are these newfound feelings real? Or just echoes of a past relationship?

Canon Divergent after Season 5.

Ao3 Link

A/N: Since the first chapter seemed to be such a huge hit - I'm dropping this today. This was all originally supposed to be the first chapter anyway! Going forward, I'm going to try to update once a month. Thanks for reading - and I hope you enjoy! :)

Thanks to @snarkyhag for the beta. :)

***

Chapter 2: Loser Like Me (Part Two)

Kurt Hummel loves sex. He loves the feeling of strong hands holding his body, rough lips against his skin, and a hard cock buried deep within him. And that morning he had woken up feeling particularly horny. He isn’t sure what exactly he had been dreaming about but his dick aches to be touched. And luckily he shares his bed with a very hot guy who doesn’t mind taking care of it for him.

He and Ian have been together a little over a year now, though this moving in together thing is new and still taking time to get used to. Sex, however, is not an adjustment they need to make. Ian doesn’t seem to mind Kurt waking him up with a hand on his cock, desperate to be fucked. Ian might be a little slow to wake, but not long after they start, Ian’s already pulling Kurt to a quick orgasm; Kurt spilling all over Ian’s fist as Ian pumps his hips into Kurt from behind.

The thing is, as much as Kurt loves sex, he’s not one to draw it out. Kurt finds himself holding steady onto the bed frame, staring at the wallpaper, as Ian takes his time fucking him. And the wallpaper is incredibly ugly. Seriously. He knows that Ian isn’t the one to have picked it out, but it’s a striped puke-green, burnt-orange, and tacky-gold, left over, most likely, from a renovation to the old building from the sixties. It’s a travesty that it’s remained on the wall so long, and if Ian would just fucking come already, he wouldn’t be forced to stare at it for so long.

Kurt fucks his hips back a little, hoping that Ian will pick up the pace. He leans back for a kiss (that wallpaper is seared forever in his head, god) and gives out a little moan. It’s a tiny bit performative, but it seems to do the trick, and Ian’s hips finally begin to snap, pushing him to his own orgasm.

“Fuck, Kurt, I could wake up this way every day for forever,” Ian says, sucking a kiss to his shoulder.

The word ‘forever’ echoes in Kurt’s brain uncomfortably. Kurt turns in Ian’s arms, quieting him with a kiss. “Happy to oblige.”

Ian goes in to deepen the kiss, but Kurt pulls away. Now that he’s feeling a bit satisfied, he wants nothing more than to take a shower and get ready for the day. He’s got about a thousand things to do, and he’s eager to get started. Ian tries to keep him close -- he’s always wanting to make out after sex -- but Kurt manages to slip out of Ian’s light grasp.

“Shower time,” Kurt says, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Mmm, let me join you.”

The thought suddenly makes Kurt twitch but he tries not to show it. What is wrong with him? His incredibly handsome boyfriend, with his disheveled dark hair and playfully pleading light eyes wants to join him in the shower for a possible part two of morning sexy times. But having Ian shoved in next to him in their tiny shower stall makes him feel claustrophobic.

He pushes past his discomfort to allow Ian to join him. He even gives in to a little light making-out. But there’s no way sex is happening in that bathroom.

They do their morning routine together, bumping into each other in the tiny bathroom. The sink is covered in bottles and sprays, creams and soaps, razors and combs, and they have to reach over each other to grab what they need. Kurt is normally a very organized person, and when he moved in, he took the time to organize a side for each of them. But since then, Ian’s stuff has slowly migrated over to his side, and Ian’s slowly been using the products on Kurt’s side. And mostly, he’d be fine with the sharing if things would just keep their place. However, he doesn’t say anything, enjoying Ian’s good mood.

Ian suggests breakfast, wanting to go to the little bagel shop a few blocks down. He asks Kurt to walk with him but, just wanting a few minutes to check his emails alone, he declines. Ian throws a look of disappointment but heads out, stating he’ll bring Kurt something back. Kurt tries not to feel guilty about it, and reminds himself that there’s nothing wrong with wanting a few minutes to yourself. Besides, Ian’s still excited that they’re living together. He’ll calm down. Surely. Right?

Ian being gone gives Kurt a few minutes to pick up the apartment. There are clothes discarded in the living room, where they had been left after starting sex on the couch the night before. There’s an old pizza box sitting on the coffee table, a few mugs with half-drunk tea, and a scattering of papers. And underneath a pile of Ian’s sheet music is the mail from the previous week, most of which is Kurt’s. He clenches his jaw as he goes through it, annoyed that he’s just now seeing it.

There are a couple of old bills in here that need to be paid, as well as a bright red envelope that looks like an invitation sent from McKinley High. He looks over the invitation with curiosity, though something else quickly catches his eye. It’s a jewelry catalogue sent to Ian. Specifically, a men’s jewelry catalogue. And Ian doesn’t wear jewelry. Highly suspect of it, he looks it over, and a growing anxiety starts to spread. This could not possibly mean…

The door slams shut and Kurt jumps from his spot on the couch. It’s just Ian home from the bagel shop.

“I got your favorite, multigrain with that fancy whipped cream cheese that you like,” Ian says. He hands him the bag and gives him a kiss on the cheek before sitting down next to him.

“You didn’t give me my mail,” Kurt grumbles, taking the bag. Then adds a quiet, “thank you.”

Ian shrugs it off. “I figured you’d see it eventually. I’ve been wondering when you’d open that red envelope. I wanna know what it is.”

“Oh,” Kurt places the bag with his breakfast on the coffee table and picks up the envelope from his lap, opening it. He gives it a fond smile. “I guess my old choir director is retiring. There’s a party for him back in Lima.”

“Well, that’s cool,” Ian says, grabbing the invitation out of his hand. “Quaint. I’m guessing you aren’t going? I mean, other than mentioning your dad, I’ve never heard you talk about your time in Ohio. Hell, I’ve never even heard early New York stories. All I know is one day you walked into my piano bar, a full grown man, mysterious and sexy.” Ian wiggles his eyebrows. “Hard to imagine you in high school.”

“Well, I can assure you I was anything but sexy,” Kurt says. A flash of a memory crosses his brain - one of a performance in a warehouse, lots of boys in blazers, and a really uncomfortable situation for young Kurt. He shakes his head, ridding his mind of it.

“So, are you going to go?” Ian asks, far more interested in the idea than Kurt is.

Kurt scrunches his nose at the thought. He hasn’t stepped foot in Ohio for a better part of a decade. There aren’t even people from high school he still talks to, not on a regular basis anyway. It’s sweet of Will Schuester’s family to think of him, but maybe he’s better off sending a card or something.

“I don’t know,” Kurt says, he stares at the invitation, unsure of how he feels about it. “I don’t know.”

***

Wednesdays mean that Ian is home all day. He is a classical pianist by trade and his day job is playing with one of New York’s symphony orchestras. In the evenings, he usually plays gigs at local bars. But on Wednesday, he has time off from both jobs to be home all day. Wednesday used to be the day where Kurt spent all his time with Ian. Now that they live together, Kurt usually spends his Wednesday anywhere but home.

It usually lands him at his own job, running a small theater that he co-owns with his old friend, Elliott Gilbert. Technically, Elliott’s rich grandmother’s money bought the theater, and Kurt had been brought on to manage the projects and productions that happened there. It’s still quite a work in progress, as the building had been nearly condemned when they originally bought it a few years earlier. But with all their hard work, they’re beginning to draw in better productions, and this might be the first year they actually draw a profit.

When he gets in that afternoon, he finds Elliott up in the rafters, working on some of the lights. Kurt watches for a moment as Elliott finishes whatever he’s working on. It’s hard to say, but he has the toolbox with him, so Kurt can only guess it has to do with the lights nearly coming down the other night. They really need to get an electrician in, but Elliott’s pretty handy about these things, and will at least try to do what he can before they have to ask for help.

Kurt watches a good few minutes as Elliott finishes up and comes down the ladder.

“You’re being quiet,” Elliott says, carefully bringing down the toolbox as he reaches the bottom of the ladder. Kurt, hands in pockets, just gives a gentle shrug. “You’re not usually quiet, which means it can only be one of a few things. Something’s up with your dad. You want a favor. Or it’s boyfriend problems.”

“Well, my dad is fine, and I don’t need anything,” Kurt says. “So….”

Elliott lets out a heavy sigh, and places the toolbox on the ground. “It wouldn’t kill you to go to therapy, you know.”

“You’re not my therapist?”

“Alright, so this session is going to cost you three-hundred dollars,” Elliott looks at his watch. “You have twenty minutes. Go.”

Kurt lets out a laugh as he follows Elliott to the edge of the stage. Elliott jumps off but Kurt lowers himself to sit on the edge, his legs hanging off. Elliott makes a shrug for Kurt to get on with it.

“So, I was going through some mail, and I found this jewelry catalogue. It had a lot of men’s engagement rings,” Kurt says. Elliott makes a face as if to say ‘and…?’ Kurt purses his lips. “I think Ian might ask me to marry him.”

“Have you guys even talked about marriage?”

“Definitely not.”

Elliott doesn’t seem at all convinced. “Maybe it was just an ad then. I get shit like that all the time. I somehow managed to be subscribed to a women’s lingerie catalogue for years.”

Kurt still can’t rid himself of the low-level anxiety he’s been feeling about it all day. “Even so, I just… don’t like the idea.”

“I thought you and Ian were doing great?”

“We are, we are,” Kurt says. Elliott, again, doesn’t seem convinced. “Ian’s in the honeymoon stage of wanting to do everything together, and I don’t know. We’ve been together for a year. We know how we are. Do we really need to do everything together now that we live together?”

Elliott folds his arms across his chest. “Kurt, if this is becoming an issue, why did you agree to move in with him in the first place?”

Kurt stares up at the ceilings. The old, red curtains have a few fringes and tears, and Kurt wonders vaguely, if they should get new ones or if anyone would really notice. He kicks the stage lightly as he avoids Elliott’s question. “I mean, my apartment lease was up, and they were going to double my rent.”

“Oh, god,” Elliott chokes out. “Please tell me that wasn’t the only reason.”

“It’s not,” his voice squeaks a little too much on the words. “I also, you know, love him.”

Elliott shakes his head. Kurt knows judgment when he sees it. “This is just classic Kurt,” he says.

“You know, there’s nothing wrong with having an adjustment period with having to live with someone after I’ve had my own place for so long,” Kurt says, defending himself.

“Uh-huh.”

“I just like my independence.”

Elliott’s eyebrow is arched high. “Or you like sabotaging your relationships.”

Kurt scoffs, looking off to the side of the stage. They’re going to need to scrub this whole place down before allowing anyone to do a production here again. Elliott, however, is not letting him off the hook, and eyes him hard. “I do not do that.”

“Then why have I seen you more in the past couple of weeks than you’ve probably seen him?”

It’s a fair question, Kurt admits to himself. “Well, I do find you tolerable.”

“Kurt, you don’t find any of your boyfriends tolerable,” Elliott says. He almost sounds annoyed, but he knows Elliott’s limits and he knows he hasn’t reached them. But truth be told, he’s as sick of himself as Elliott probably is. “Who was that guy before Ian? That Matt guy? Why did you break up with him?”

He picked the scab, of course Elliott is going to rip open the old wounds. “Because he wanted me to be ‘a part of the family’,” Kurt replies, using air quotes to highlight his point. Matt had been a sweet guy, but his family had been his life. He hadn’t been ready to be a part of any family, let alone one that had been as close as Matt’s had been. He felt as if he had been suffocating every time they went to visit. “His family was crazy. I didn’t need to be a part of that.”

Elliott nods, continuing on. “Okay, and Joey was the one before that. I remember him because he helped clean up this place when we bought it.”

Kurt bites his lip. He did feel bad about that. Joey had been so quick to offer his time. But Joey also had been there. All the time. It had been too much. “He was super clingy,” Kurt says quietly, though he hates that he’s seeing the trend.

“Sure he was,” Elliott says. A grin slips onto his lips. “And then there was Steven.”

“He wanted to marry me six months into the relationship,” Kurt says. He snaps a little too loud, his voice echoing in the empty theater. Elliott remains amused, even if Kurt is not. “Who knows they want to get married six months into a relationship? Why are you getting on my case about this? It’s not like you don’t go through, like, three guys a week.”

Elliott throws his head back in a laugh. “Well, I am at peace with my slutty ways. Look, Kurt, it’s not about the number of guys you go through. It’s just that, well, honestly, I’ve known you forever. And I know you’re this old school romantic and the slutty ways will never be satisfying for you. Did it ever occur to you that the reason it doesn’t work out with these guys is not because you’re this progressive independent, but because deep down you want to be an old school married, and haven’t found the right person to be with yet?”

The gnawing pit in his stomach starts to fade as he thinks about the old fantasy -- the one he had as a kid, where you met your prince, and you lived happily ever after. Only, real life doesn’t happen like that. Most guys are not princes, and the ones who are don’t always lead to happily ever after. He knows better than to be unrealistic, but maybe he’s pushing people too far away.

“Do you think I’ve made a mistake?” Kurt asks, he begins bouncing his foot against the stage again.

Elliott goes soft in deposition. “You know I can’t answer that for you.”

“You’re probably right,” Kurt says. He thinks of Ian - of his kind smile and good heart. He shouldn’t be running, even if every ounce of him feels like it’s too much. “Ian is a good guy, and I’ve been…”

“Difficult?”

“I was going to say myself, but thank you.”

“I do my best.” Elliott playfully taps his knee. “If you want, though, you can crash at my place for a few days. I’m gonna be out of town. Some third cousin is getting married, and Mom insists that everyone be there.”

“No, I’m good,” Kurt insists. And then an idea hits him. “You know, I got an invitation to go back to Lima. Old high school choir thing. Maybe I’ll take a long vacation and do that. It could give me some time to clear my head -- reflect on my questionable life choices.”

Elliott gives a hearty laugh. “You haven’t talked about Lima in years. Besides, going back to Lima might force you to dig into your past, and we all know how much you enjoy doing that.”

Kurt swats at Elliott. “It’ll be fine. What’s the worst that can happen?”

***

After work, Kurt doesn’t go home right away. Instead, he opts to walk around the city for a while. There’s a slight chill, causing him to bundle his jacket a little tighter, and the sky is overcast, threatening a storm rolling in. He won’t be out too late, but he knows Ian is back home waiting for him and he’s just not ready for it yet.

His conversation with Elliott plays over in his head. He does like his independence. He always has. Even when he had been a little boy, his parents had let him play on his own. And after years of rejection from kids his own age, he learned that sometimes being on your own is your best bet. It’s not that he doesn’t like the company his boyfriends have brought him over the years. He just likes his space. And his peace and quiet. And his room to move about as he pleases. And sometimes boyfriends make him feel too tied down.

But he can’t help but think about what Elliott had said. The thing that seems to stick in his brain, wiggling to the forefront of his thoughts. Maybe he wants to be an old married? Maybe he does want that connection, that one person who seems to know him, who understands him enough that there will be days when they’re inseparable, and days when they’re apart. He likes the idea of coming home to the same face every day to see someone who can read him like a book, who will enjoy the same things as him, who will love him for the insufferable human being he always seems to be.

But are there really people out there like that?

Maybe he’s not giving Ian enough credit. When they had decided to move in together, Kurt thought it had been the most optimal choice. Living costs would come down. He’d have a partner to spend his time with. And the sex. God, Ian knows how to have sex.

But permanently? The buzz of anxiety begins to grow at the thought. There are too many little things about Ian, too many things about himself that just don’t feel right. It’s not perfect. Well -- it’s never going to be perfect, he argues with himself. But still…

The storm breaks sooner than Kurt expects, a sudden heavy rain coming down. Kurt stands on the street corner, looking up at the sky as he gets drenched. Maybe the universe is trying to tell him something, and he can’t help but laugh as the rain splashes his face.

Just as he’s about to head home, however, he catches a sign on the corner of a building. A sign advertising an open leasing on a loft, with a number attached. For a moment, he’s transferred back in time to all those years ago, when he lived in a loft in Bushwick with four other people all of whom had been trying to make it in the city. He hasn’t thought about that loft in ages. Hasn’t thought about those people in ages. God, what even happened to…

He tries hard not to think of the name that first pops in his head. But he can’t help but see the face. He shakes his head, as if attempting to get rid of the image.

Nostalgia hits him just then.

Nostalgia for a place he left long ago, for people whom he never thought he’d miss. He is going to take that trip to Lima. He does need a break from Ian. He does need to get his life sorted out. But mostly, he feels a soft ache for returning home -- even if he’s not sure where that is anymore.

***

A week later, Kurt finds himself rolling up to one of Lima’s three motels in a car he rented at the airport. It’s strange coming back to the city he grew up in and, yet, not returning back to his childhood home. He had thought about driving past, but he hadn’t necessarily wanted to see through the window to see whatever happy suburban family had bought the place. Instead, he had driven straight to the motel that he had booked himself the moment he knew he would be coming back.

There is something surreal about returning to the place you grew up after so much time has passed. It’s like time has frozen, remaining exactly the same as the moment you left, even if there are new storefronts in the old buildings, expansions where wooded areas used to be, and a real attempt, it seems, to clean the place up. It feels unchanged, and Kurt can’t tell if that’s a good or bad thing. It’s just a thing.

It’s evening by the time he gets in. The motel room is bland and tiny, and the four channels on the TV don’t offer much entertainment. He lays down on the bed to stare at the ceiling, thinking if there’s anything he could do. Most places in Lima shut down before eight, even on a Friday night. And it’s not like he has anyone to call. He had been texting Mercedes Jones earlier in the week, shocked that her number had still been the same, but she had explained that she wouldn’t be getting in until very late and implied that whatever plans she had wouldn’t be with him. He had understood, and it’s not like he won’t be seeing her the next day anyway. Scrolling through his phone, he finds that he doesn’t have a single other contact from high school he could call.

Maybe he should just text Ian -- but as his thumb hovers over his boyfriend’s name, he remembers that Ian is probably playing a concert that weekend. And even if he waits until later when Ian’s home, he just doesn’t want to ruin Ian’s good time by explaining that he can’t quite quash the crushing sense of loneliness that seems to be his homecoming.

Why did he think this would be a good idea?

Out of the corner of his eye, he notices a neon flashing light, and through the window he sees a building that he hasn’t thought about in years. Thinking anywhere is better than being stuck in that sad motel room for the next twelve hours, Kurt heads out into the night.

***

Scandals is, if nothing else, exactly how he remembers it. Not that his memories are anything more than fuzzy blips of moments from long ago. He remembers the same posters being on the wall, in the same tattered state. He remembers the huge, neon signs lining the walls. And god, the music even feels strikingly similar. There aren’t, he thinks with a laugh, any drag queens though.

The atmosphere is quiet for a Friday night. There are a few guys out on the dance floor, enjoying each other’s company, but most of the people in the bar are huddled in the darkened corners. No one looks up from their conversations to notice him come in. The bouncer is too busy flirting with a denim dressed, bearded guy leaning against the wall to notice him slip by.

He’s not a few steps in when he realizes coming out to a bar seems like a silly thing to do, but makes a deal with himself to have one drink before he heads back to the motel and to do the sensible thing in calling Ian.

But as he heads to the bar, he sees something that makes him freeze in his tracks.

Is that…?

It can’t possibly be…?

Blaine Anderson is sitting at the bar, casually chatting with the bartender as he sips a beer. Kurt is stunned to see him, his mind reeling at how this is even possible. There is only one gay bar in Lima. And he’s probably here for the reunion.

But still… Blaine Anderson, of all people.

There’s a tiny part of him that wants to run. Turn on his heel and walk right back out of that bar and not even worry about the formal meeting they’ll inevitably have tomorrow at the reunion. He doesn’t though.

He watches Blaine for a moment, in his element, throwing his head back to laugh at something the bartender said. It’s astounding to Kurt at how much and how little Blaine has changed. Age, it seems, has done him well. There’s less gel in his hair, allowing the natural curls to reveal themselves. His face is harder, jawbone more defined. He’s wearing a dark sweater vest, but no bowtie, and the shirt underneath is unbutton, revealing a wisp of hair on his chest. Blaine is no longer that young boy he once knew. Sitting at the bar is a man.

And yet… his movements are exactly the same. The way he crinkles his eyes when he laughs, the way he lightly touches the bartender’s arm while expressing his point, the way casually plays with the napkin on the counter. That’s still the Blaine he used to know.

Kurt takes a deep breath, releasing the tension running through him. He could leave… but he doesn’t really want to. It’s been a decade since they’ve seen each other. That’s enough time to let old wounds heal, right?

Kurt takes the plunge.

“I’m guessing this place rarely sees a man as gorgeous as you. Mind if I buy you a drink?”

Blaine turns around, utterly shocked to see him there. Kurt’s confidence slips as the silence lingers. Maybe this had been a bad idea. But then, Blaine breaks out into a grin.

“Kurt?” He says his name slowly, as if it’s unfamiliar in a way, but easily slides off his stool, going in for a hug. It’s awkward -- where do you put your hands and arms? How close do you stand? How do you properly greet someone you once agreed to share your life with? Someone who is a relative stranger now. It’s bizarre to him that somehow, Blaine still feels so familiar in his arms. “Please, join me.” Blaine offers the stool next to him as they slip apart. “I’ll definitely take you up on that drink.”

Kurt sits down, suddenly feeling much more nervous than he had been. Blaine waives down the bartender -- asking for beer, while Kurt shortly asks for an amaretto sour. He definitely needs something to calm him down. How is Blaine being so calm? Is he hiding it better? Or is it that he’s soon to be on his third beer?

“So, what are you doing here?” Blaine asks, placing his head on his hand, now looking amused. There’s no anger there. No resentment, or negativity. Blaine genuinely seems to be happy to see him. Based on how they had left things all that time ago, Blaine could have harbored some ill will towards him. But they are both adults now. And it had been a long, long time ago.

“I’m in town for Mr. Schue’s retirement party,” Kurt says. He rubs his legs, not sure what to do with his hands.

Blaine nods, finishing off the beer he had been drinking when Kurt had arrived. “Oh, yeah, I figured that. I meant, what are you doing here ?” He uses both hands to point down.

“Oh!” Kurt feels a little silly not understanding. Thankfully, the bartender brings them their drinks. Kurt wastes no time gulping half of it down as if it were a shot. “I saw it from the motel window. Call me crazy, but I was feeling nostalgic.”

“Huh,” Blaine takes a long sip from his bottle, narrowing his eyes as he thinks it over. “You’re not staying with Burt?”

“Oh, god, right you wouldn’t know,” Kurt laughs as he stirs his drink. “Dad retired a few years ago. He and Carole moved to Arizona to be closer to her sister.”

“Ah, gotcha.”

“I guess I could have stayed with Uncle Andy,” Kurt continues, remaining fixated on his drink as he talks. “He and his sons took over the tire shop. But we’re not exactly close. And he has, like, ten dogs. I’d rather take my chances with the motel.”

Blaine nods, sympathetically.

“What about you?” Kurt asks. “How’s your family?”

“They’re pretty good,” Blaine says, easily. “Cooper has three little girls. Here, let me show you.” Blaine wastes no time fishing out his phone, scrolling through the roll for a picture of three gorgeous young girls who all, clearly, take after Cooper. Kurt coos accordingly but he can’t help but notice Blaine’s left hand, and the indentation of skin where a ring used to be. It makes him wonder.

“So, what are you doing now?” Kurt asks, trying to relax on his stool. He rests his elbow on the wooden bar, and his head on his hand.

“I teach, actually. New York Institute of Fine Arts,” Blaine says, taking another sip of his beer with a laugh. “I mean, I still perform every now and then. But an adjunct professor was needed, and a friend of mine pulled some strings, and I just kind of fell into it. I love it though.” There’s no lie in Blaine’s voice. Blaine had always been a passionate person, but it’s clear by his demeanor that he loves his job.

Kurt smiles meekly, happy for him. “A private school, of course. How very you. Actually, now that I think of it, that’s not far from my theater.”

“You have a theater?” Blaine’s eyes grow wide with interest.

“Well, half a theater,” Kurt rocks his head from side to side, as if it’s a silly little thing, and not the pride and joy that he’s sunk most of his adult life into, now. He plays with the nearby peanut bowl. “The Gilbert Theater.”

“Oh, I know that place,” Blaine says. There’s excitement in his voice. Kurt isn’t sure why this makes him happy. “I thought it had been condemned. I mean - I’m sure you’ve fixed it up.”

“Oh we have,” Kurt says, thinking about all the work he’s put into it over the years. “Elliott and I renovated it. You wouldn’t even recognize it now.”

Blaine takes another slow slip of his drink. “Elliott? Like from college?” Kurt nods slowly. “Ah. So are you guys…”

“Oh, no,” Kurt quickly corrects. “God, no. Business partners only.” It’s such a funny thought to him. Elliott. They’re like brothers. No, he’s definitely not romantically linked with Elliott. There is someone else… but he quickly pushes Ian out of his brain. He doesn’t want to think about him. “So this is crazy, right? That we both ended up in the same sleazy place? Maybe the universe was trying to push us together again.”

Blaine gives an uncomfortable laugh. “Well, there is only one gay bar in Lima, but I suppose…”

An awkward silence grows between them. Blaine bops his head to the music. Kurt munches on some peanuts. They both avoid direct eye contact. The uneasiness that Kurt had felt when he first walked in begins to return. Maybe he should go.

The bartender breaks the silence, asking Blaine if he’d like another drink. There’s an ease there that Kurt picks up on. Blaine knows the guy -- like really knows the guy. Kurt shifts from side to side not sure what to say or do. He eyes the door, he can still slip out if he needs to.

“Man, I cannot believe how little this place has changed since I used to come here,” Blaine says, taking a look around.

“You mean when we were in high school?” Kurt asks. He’d hardly say coming the three times that they did a lot.

“No, it was actually after…” he trails off but Kurt picks up on what he’s saying. After they broke up. After he broke Blaine’s heart. Blaine kind of skips past the beat. Why dredge up all that old stuff. That’s what the reunion is for, right? Something turns in the pit of Kurt’s stomach. “When I moved back to Lima, I used to come here a lot. Thought maybe throwing myself into this place might make me feel better. Not so alone, you know?”

“Did it help?” Kurt’s voice is small.

“Maybe,” Blaine says with another laugh. “I don’t know, it was so long ago. You know it…” he pauses, thinking it over. “Alright, if I tell you something - do you promise not to run screaming?”

Kurt’s intrigued. “Of course.”

Blaine stares intently at his bottle. “After you and I ended things -- I came back to Lima. And I sorta, kinda dated Dave Karofsky for a while.”

Of all the things that Blaine could have said -- that is the last thing Kurt expects to hear. It makes Kurt chuckle into his drink. He can’t even picture it, it’s such a wild thought. “Wait, seriously?”

“Shocking, right?”

“A little. More so that you were into a bear.”

The tension breaks as they let go into easy laughter. The conversation becomes lighter as they begin to discuss old things. They talk about Dave Karofsky, and how someone who had once been Kurt’s ghost had turned into a friend whom Kurt sees every few years for lunch. Blaine mentions he had attended Dave’s wedding. Kurt mentions he had lunch with Dave and his husband last year. It’s strange how things can change so much in twenty years.

They talk about Dalton -- though not about that staircase. The staircase that will forever be burned in his memory for better or worse. Instead, they talk about Sebastian Smythe with fondness, though neither could say where he ended up. And about the one time Blaine sang at the Gap to impress a guy whose name neither can remember.

And for a moment, unprovoked, Blaine mentions his husband. It’s a startling jolt into reality, but Blaine doesn’t give him any more than a name and a passing story about having to explain to his husband why he refuses to shop at The Gap. It’s not like Kurt hadn’t heard Blaine had gotten married. He doesn't remember who had told him or when or even how he had felt about it. Blaine had wanted to be married. He got his wish. And Kurt is happy for him. He wants to be happy for him. Still, that missing ring…

As they reminisce, the bartender brings them more drinks. The room begins to feel warm and familiar. Kurt isn’t sure if it’s alcohol or Blaine that is making him feel so comfortable so far from home. They talk about high school and old friends, people whom they’ve lost touch with and people they’re looking forward to seeing tomorrow. Kurt learns that Blaine developed a surprisingly deep friendship with Santana Lopez. Blaine learns that Kurt hasn’t talked to Rachel Berry since college.

“I just couldn’t after that show,” Kurt explains. They’re both giggly from drinking too much - Kurt having to hold his hands up when the bartender offers him a third. “I mean - not that she even tried to keep in touch with me. But my god did you watch that thing? It was terrible! She was fine - she was always fine. But who decided that would be what America wanted to see for a decade?”

Blaine snickers into his drink. “Well, personally I was offended. ‘Slaine’,” he uses both hands to make air quotes around the character’s names, “was written out after year two. I was like ‘fuck that’. It’s just as well. Had he stayed on, I might have had to sue their asses for defamation of character.”

“You are not wrong,” Kurt says, unable to stop laughing as he thinks about it. He puts a hand on Blaine’s shoulder to balance himself so as to not fall off his stool.

Blaine notices and smirks. “How drunk are you right now?”

“Less drunk than you are,” Kurt smiles into his glass. He is buzzed but not at all drunk. In fact, he feels good and relaxed and happy. When had he last been this happy? “Anyway… All I know is that a terrible writer wrote ‘Cert’ as the sassy yet sexless gay best friend. And he stayed on the show. The. Entire. Run. If anyone has the right to sue, it’s going to be me.”

“Well, for what it’s worth. I don’t think Cert was anything like you,” Blaine says. He leans in close. Kurt can smell the sweet scent of raspberries. “Personally, I thought you were always sexy.”

Something in the atmosphere shifts. Suddenly, Blaine is close. Close enough that he can see the depths of Blaine’s golden eyes. There’s something there that Kurt hasn’t seen in a long time, and it causes him to break.

He’s not sure what it is that makes him say it. He’s not sure if it’s the heaviness of guilt, or the friendliness of Blaine’s demeanor, or the fact that all of this nostalgia is causing him to reflect on his life’s choices - but he can’t help but let the words stumble out. “Blaine, I’m so sorry.”

Blaine looks at him, genuinely confused. “For what?

“For a lot of things, I feel like I owe you an apology for so many things,” Kurt rambles on. “I was not in a good place and you… I shouldn’t have ended it. I mean I shouldn’t have ended it the way that I did. I shouldn’t have hurt you like that. And I’m sorry that I did.”

Blaine takes a moment to think it over, as if he’s processing everything Kurt’s saying. “Kurt…” he lets out a sigh. “You weren’t the only one who was a mess back then. You don’t have anything to be sorry about. We had a good thing. We had a great thing, even. But it’s fine. It’s all in the past, and I’m fine.”

Kurt feels a bit of relief wash over him. Maybe this is why he needed to come back. Maybe he had just needed to bury his demons. He feels lighter than he has in, well, a while. He reaches out for Blaine’s hand and squeezes it. It feels comforting in his own.

“Look at us now, all grown up,” Kurt says, a smile sliding across his face. “I mean, you’re married and I’m…”

“Kurt?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s an open marriage.”

Blaine places his free hand just above Kurt’s knee and squeezes, ever so lightly, he holds it there, stroking his thumb along the side of his thigh. It’s an invitation. His cock gets there first, as he watches Blaine’s hand, firm and strong. His brain becomes fuzzy, but all he can fixate on is the urge to have Blaine’s hand travel up. This is closure, right?

“Come with me,” Kurt makes the quick decision not to second guess this. He grabs onto Blaine’s hand with purpose, sliding off the stool and taking Blaine with him. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Blaine smirk as he throws out a few bills on the counter to pay for the drinks.

***

They’re in the bathroom stall, where Kurt vaguely remembers making out once back at the end of his senior year. They never would have done anything as daring as have sex in a public place, but just kissing, even in a place that accepted it, felt naughty and fun back then.

Now, he couldn’t care less that there are people who might know what they’re doing. His desire is too strong, his brain clouded in a haze of need to taste Blaine again; the wonder of if it will feel so good after so long. The room is broken up into stalls, dimly lit, and smells as if they are the next in a long line of gay men who will use this place to relieve themselves in more ways than one. Kurt pulls Blaine back to the farthest stall, ignoring that there’s another couple occupying another stall, the panting sounds of their fucking echoing in the room. It only turns him on more.

Once the stall door is locked, Blaine looks at Kurt, his large, dark eyes more sure than Kurt is about this. It almost throws him off kilter but Kurt looks to Blaine’s mouth, and suddenly he remembers all the things that can be done with it. His resolve broken, Kurt lunges for a kiss.

Blaine kisses back with force, pushing Kurt back into the wall. Kurt doesn’t even care that the metal bar for handicap use is pressing against the back of his thighs. He just wants to feel Blaine. They kiss deeply, wantonly. His sense memory returns and suddenly he feels like a teenager again, hungry for Blaine back when he had been first discovering what sex is. Kurt moans into the kiss that encourages Blaine to slide his tongue against Kurt’s.

They’re all hands and mouths, wrapping themselves around each other as they make-out. Kurt wraps his arms around Blaine’s neck, combing his fingers through Blaine’s curls as he pulls Blaine closer to him, enough so that their bodies are sliding against each other. Blaine brings his hands down to Kurt’s ass and squeezes with both hands. Fuck. He doesn’t remember the last time he’s gotten so hard so fast.

They begin to rock against each other as they kiss. Kurt can feel Blaine’s hard cock pushing up against his own. If they keep going at this speed, he is not going to last long, and dammit, he refuses to come in his pants.

Kurt breaks the kiss, only for Blaine to start kissing along his jaw and down his neck, Blaine’s touch is electric, and Kurt can’t help but feel dizzy with pleasure. He loses himself in Blaine’s embrace, soaking up the feeling as much as he can. It’s been fifteen years since they’ve fucked - how can this possibly feel so good?

Blaine works his way back up to Kurt’s mouth, though this time, Kurt is able to slow it down. Kurt busies his hands with the buttons on Blaine’s pants. Blaine takes a slight step back, allowing for Kurt to pull him out. Kurt takes a quick second to look down at Blaine’s cock; his thick and delicious cock. If only they weren’t in a bathroom stall right now, Kurt would take his time devouring that cock. Instead, he takes to stroking it, becoming satisfied with the low moans and grunts that are eliciting Blaine’s mouth.

Blaine steadies himself against the wall, as he begins to pump his hips in time with Kurt’s strokes, fucking himself into Kurt’s hand. “Let me,” Kurt says, in a low whisper, biting gently at Blaine’s lips before they fall into a sloppy kiss. Blaine is close - he knows Blaine is close, he can feel it as Blaine arches further into his hand. Kurt speeds up his hand, deliberate in his strokes. It’s a little rough, but Blaine becomes more and more undone, uttering little obscenities as he closes eyes and allows himself the pleasure. Blaine comes, jolting into Kurt’s hand, and lets out a moan that Kurt covers with a kiss.

“Give me a second,” Blaine says, breathlessly, holding firmly against the wall as he comes down.

Kurt smirks, licking the come off his fingers. His own cock is throbbing with need but there’s something incredibly satisfying seeing Blaine loose and fucked out.

Blaine takes a second to put himself back in his pants and then goes down on his knees. This isn’t at all what Kurt had been expecting, and his eyes go wide as Blaine sucks a kiss over Kurt’s clothed cock.

“You really don’t have to do that,” Kurt says, feeling a little guilty. Blaine’s legs are sticking out of the stall door and anyone could interrupt them.

“Shut up and let me blow you, Kurt,” Blaine says, a wicked grin on his face as he unzips Kurt’s zipper. Kurt’s cock bobs free, and like a man allowed to drink water after years in the desert, Blaine sucks Kurt all the way down in one go.

“Jesus, fuck Blaine.” He really doesn’t care if there’s anyone else in there who can hear them. Blaine had always been good at blow jobs; always so eager to give them, and Kurt’s glad to know that Blaine’s enthusiasm hasn’t changed. Blaine sucks him down, greedily, and he loses himself in the sensation of Blaine’s velvety mouth on him.

“I’m curious about something,” Blaine says, pulling off. Kurt can’t imagine what, but he doesn’t have to wait long to find out. Blaine begins to stroke him, slowly, drawing it out. Then sucks a kiss to the tip of Kurt’s cock, using his tongue to swirl and tease it, before he sucks him down once more. Kurt lets out a heavy groan as his knees nearly buckle. “Huh. So that really still does things for you?”

Kurt can’t help but give a little laugh. “Shut up and finish me off, Blaine,” Kurt manages the tease despite him now being desperate to come.

Amused, Blaine obliges, sucking Kurt into his mouth again. Kurt closes his eyes, taking it all in as he lets Blaine take him over the edge. He spills into Blaine’s mouth, Blaine being able to swallow with ease -- something, he notes, Blaine hadn’t been able to do before. As Blaine pulls off, he licks his lips, and remains on his knees for a long moment.

The atmosphere then shifts suddenly. Blaine looks down for a long while, and Kurt can’t tell what Blaine’s feeling -- Guilt? Sadness? Regret?

“Thank you for that,” Blaine says, his sincerity layered with something that feels like finality. Blaine gives Kurt’s hip a kiss before helping put Kurt back into his jeans. There’s something strangely intimate about it, and despite the fact that Kurt is feeling blissed out from his orgasm it’s now tinged with a heavier, unknown feeling. Blaine gets to his feet. There’s a lot going on behind his eyes that Kurt can’t read, but Blaine says nothing, only gives Kurt a soft kiss on the lips. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Blaine leaves the stall but Kurt stays, unsure what to make of everything that happened. A lot just happened. A lot. And as the buzz of sex begins to wear off, a sickening gnawing grows in his stomach. He just had sex with his ex-fiancé whom he hasn’t seen in years. He just cheated on his boyfriend. But what makes Kurt feel the worst, as he slides down the wall to sit on the sticky floor because his legs can no longer hold him, is the realization that for Blaine - that might have been his way of saying goodbye.

#s.o. writes things #head over feet #klaine #klaine fic

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streetlight11 · 3 years

Text

Try Not To Fall In Love

Summary: Being forced into marriage is never an exciting idea simply because you are getting married to someone not out of pure love. So when he was forced to marry a girl he doesn't know, he desperately gets help from his friend, hoping his friend could save him from the arranged marriage.

Theme: fake dating au, strangers to lovers

Genre: fluff, tinge of angst

Warnings: none

WC: 6.6k

Pairing: Bestfriend's Friend!Hoseok x Fem!Reader

a/n: Hello! I got this idea the other day while I was listening to a song by Keshi called Summer, where there was a line in the song which goes, "3 months is all we got, try not to fall in love" so I wrote this before I lost the feel of it ✌

“Shoot, what am I gonna do? My parents are setting me up for marriage with this… I don’t know, this spoiled brat whose parents apparently owns the famous clothing brand in Korea. Ugh, I hate her! I don’t wanna be married to some spoiled girl who only thinks about herself.” Hoseok groans in frustration as he paces around Namjoon’s living room.

Hoseok’s parents were power and money hungry. They thrive to be rich but forgets that the safer alternative was to work hard for it instead of taking a short way out. Since Hoseok was an only son, they used him as a pawn by planning to marry him off to the daughter of the most wealthiest family in the country.

He despised this whole plan.

Namjoon could only frown as he didn’t know what to do for his friend.

“Can’t you like maybe, I don’t know? Tell your parents you’re not interested in her or something?” Namjoon asked.

“Yeah, unless you want me to waste my breath then yeah sure I’ll make that excuse to them. They’re going to make me marry her no matter what I say! Shit! I hate this!” Hoseok growled as he plopped on the couch and threw a pillow across the room, making Namjoon scold him for throwing a tantrum.

Hoseok mumbled an apology as the room fell quiet. Just then, it was as though something clicked in the back of Namjoon’s mind. He snapped his fingers and shot up from the couch instantly, shocking the poor boy.

“I know! How about you get a fake girlfriend? That way your parent’s can’t say anything right?” Namjoon exclaimed as if it was the most brilliant plan ever.

“What do you want me to do if they ask me to break up with this fake girlfriend? Joon, I’m telling you. My parents can be hella desperate, they'd do literally anything to make their plan work.” Hoseok sighed again.

“Look, if you get a fake girlfriend, treat her like a real girlfriend. That way, when they see how much you care and love each other, your parents won’t bother you with arranging a marriage for you ever again. There! Problem solved.” Namjoon shrugged, only for Hoseok to roll his eyes.

“Okay fine, sure. But the problem is, who am I gonna ask to help me with the plan? You know I don’t have any close female friends…” Hoseok frowned worriedly at his older friend before the male smirked.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got that covered.” Namjoon said with a satisfied smirk on his face.

You were just typing away your codings for your assignment when a familiar figure stood in front of you on the other side of that wooden table. You glanced up and were immediately greeted by your best friend, Namjoon.

“What is it now, Namjoon? I already told you the group project is not discussable with members outside your group.” You sighed, earning a blabber from him.

“Yeah yeah whatever. Listen. I need you to do me a favour.” Namjoon began, rendering you curious.

“With what?” You asked.

“I need you to be a fake girlfriend for a few weeks.”

“What? Why do you need a fake girlfriend? Having girl trouble again?” You chuckled at your successful mock directed to him.

“Shut up. Anyways, not me. It’s for my friend.”

Your eyebrow was raised in confusion, staring at him with so much doubt.

“Yeah, I don’t know about that.” You said but he was quick to stop you.

“What? Why?”

“Namjoon, for one, I don’t know who your friend is. And two, this might be a little risky…”

“Why do you say that?”

“Most of the time when two people get into these fake relationships, they often end up being awkward and are close to opposite from what they hoped to turn out.”

“Y/N come on! Please! He’s really in need of help, his parents are forcing him to marry a girl he doesn’t even know and love. Just help him this once, will you? After all of this ends, I promise I’ll make it up to you.” Namjoon begged as you stared at him with worry in your eyes and he could clearly see it.

After much thought, you decided to help out simply because if you were in this person’s shoes, you would also dread the idea of being forced into marriage.

You just hope this plan turns out successful.

It was a Saturday afternoon and Namjoon had texted you earlier saying to meet his friend for lunch to discuss how you want the plan to go. Namjoon gave you the address of the cafe and told you to find a guy with dirt blonde hair and black long sleeved shirt. You didn’t want to have a bad first impression for yourself so you opted to dress slightly nicer instead of your usual sweatpants and oversized sweater.

You chose a simple denim skinny jeans, fitted cropped top with a cardigan to go over. Once you made it to the cafe, your eyes skimmed over the entire interior of the cafe.

You noticed that the cafe was filled with people but out of pure luck, there was only one guy seated near the windows alone and was exactly as Namjoon described him to be. With that, you made your way to him, noticing the two cups on the table. You assumed he bought a drink for you to not get kicked out of the cafe.

He was handsome. You definitely never met him before. Which makes things slightly harder considering this means you would have a lot to learn about this guy if you had to pretend to be his girlfriend for the next few weeks.

Right when you were a foot away from the table, his eyes glanced up from his phone only to lock eyes with yours. For a moment, you saw the way his cute brown eyes sparkled.

“Hi, are you Hoseok?” You asked as he nodded.

“I assume you are Y/N?”

“In the flesh.” You joked, only for him to crack into a smile that seemed too adorable. You took a seat after he gestured for you to sit down. Both of you went silent for a split second before you spoke up.

“How long have you waited?”

“Not too long, I think close to about 10 minutes?”

“Oh, sorry. I got stuck in traffic for a bit.” You apologized knowing you were in fact late.

“No, it’s fine…” Hoseok smiled as his eyes glanced around your face for a second while you looked down at the cup to see that it was a Hazelnut Latte, your favourite.

“I bought Hazelnut Latte with almond milk for you. Not gonna lie, I had to get help from Namjoon on what you usually drink. Didn’t want to buy the wrong one on a first meet.” He said as he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. You giggled at his confession, finding it extremely endearing how he asked Namjoon what your favourite drink was.

“Anything is fine honestly, I’m not picky but I guess I can say this is the perfect pick.” You smiled when you saw the corner of his lips curled up sharply.

The two of you began chatting more comfortably with each other, getting to know the other in slight depth so that you would know what to say if someone questions you about the other. You later found out he was your age and that he owns a puppy named Mickey. He was a dancer and he likes to rap when he’s bored.

You also found out that he and Namjoon have been friends since high school. Which means he’s known Namjoon longer than you have.

A few minutes later, you both decided to lay out the plan for his fake girlfriend project. You went through the basic stuff, saying what you can or can’t do in public, all that kind of stuff.

After brainstorming and exchanging ideas or thoughts on the plan, you smiled before saying the one thing that both of you had to try to be mutual about.

“Whatever we do, let’s try not to fall in love with each other.”

Your first few weeks of fake dating went well. Hoseok and you managed to act like a legit couple in public. He would drive you to campus every morning, hold hands as you walked around the campus grounds, sit with you during his free period, have lunch with you and Namjoon on days where your lunch schedules are in sync, walk you to your classes with his arm on your waist, basically everything a couple would do.

Of course, not to forget the little kisses he gives you after every walk, before every separation, in between chats, but those kisses were anywhere but your lips for you both agreed to avoid lip kisses.

Everything was going well so far and despite the little butterflies you sometimes get whenever he holds you or kisses you a certain way, you tried your best to remind yourself this was all temporary.

Besides, you were only doing this to practice so that when you do in fact go over to meet his parents, they would believe that you are dating their son.

Nobody would believe someone is dating if they saw an awkward couple who doesn’t know what to do around the other.

Right?

It was a Tuesday afternoon and you were having lunch with Namjoon and Hoseok when the latter sighed deeply the minute he sat down beside you with his own tray of food.

“Hoseok? What’s wrong?” You asked as Namjoon eyed his friend worriedly.

“My mum’s inviting that girl’s family over this weekend to our family dinner. All my relatives are gonna be there…” He said hesitantly as he avoided your eyes. Hoseok was currently picking his food, not actually eating it.

So you gently placed your hand on top of his that was on the table, successfully gaining his attention when he turned to look at you.

“Hey, you’re gonna be fine. Don’t worry too much, okay?” You tried reassuring him but it looks like he was too stressed out about it.

“I know… It’s just… The last thing I wanna do is to humiliate myself in front of everyone, or even worse, humiliate you. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea. I shouldn’t have dragged you into this mess in the first place.” Hoseok said as he began to have second thoughts.

Before you could respond, he got up abruptly while slinging his bag strap over his shoulder.

“Sorry, I have to go.” He apologized as he began to walk away. You turned to Namjoon who looked just as confused as you were. Namjoon told you to go after him and that was exactly what you did.

Hoseok had just left the cafeteria hall and was making his way towards the Dance Studio building when you ran after him.

You grabbed his hand to stop him and once you were standing in front of him, you took in a breath to speak.

“Hoseok, listen to me. Everything’s gonna be fine. No one’s gonna humiliate anyone. Don’t stress out too much okay? It’ll be fine.” You tried to reassure him but it looks like he was still having doubts about it.

“Y/N, the plan was to bring you home with just my parents and that girl around, not my entire family. I don’t want you to get hurt if they say anything bad about you, about us… We really shouldn’t have done this, I’m sorry for bringing you into this.” Hoseok apologized again but you weren’t having any of it.

With that being said, you cupped his face and caressed his cheeks with your thumbs, not caring about the looks you got from the students that were currently passing by your two figures in the middle of the hallway.

“That’s not gonna happen… Okay? We’re going through this together. No matter what. We have to finish what we started. Besides, if there’s anyone during that gathering who I trust would keep me safe, it’s you.”

Your words hit him deeply and he couldn’t agree more. It has been 3 weeks since you started this whole fake dating thing. And if he were to be completely honest, the very last agreement you made right before all this started in which you said ‘try not to fall in love with each other’, this statement has been washed down the drain since the first week of your fake dating.

After the third day of practicing your fake relationship, he realized that you were an amazing person. You were so humble, kind, selfless, down-to-earth, basically everything a guy dreams of. Seeing how sweet you were with such a genuine heart, makes him go all fuzzy and warm for you.

It was only after the first week of that fake relationship that Hoseok realized, maybe he really was falling in love with you.

With that being said, Hoseok leaned into your hands as you watched his frown get replaced by a smile and soon, he wrapped his fingers around your wrist gently to say, “Okay… Let’s show them how love should really be.”

Weekend finally rolled around and you were currently getting ready for Hoseok’s family dinner. You opted to wear a beautiful lavender laced sleeveless dress with a pretty round neck, where the hem of the dress stops just past your knees. You were going to pair it with your nude heels. You style your hair to a pretty low bun with your bangs framing your face in a middle parting.

You kept your makeup at a bare minimum since that was just your personal preference. You were just packing your important belongings into your purse when you heard the doorbell ring.

You abandoned your purse for a second as you jogged to your front door. Once you opened it, you nearly got your breath stolen by how handsome he looked.

He was wearing a white button down formal shirt, the first few buttons undone, his sleeves rolled up to his forearms, pairing that with a tie loosely hanging around his neck. He wore black jeans with the shirt tucked in, along with a pair of black loafers.

Not to mention his hair being styled in a way that his forehead is shown but at the same time, his fringe flops down with a slight volume so that it’s not too flat.

He looks really good.

“Hey gorgeous.” He smirked upon seeing your outfit.

You couldn’t stop the blush forming on your cheeks but you were quick to respond to him to avoid getting teased by him.

“Hey handsome. Give me a second to get my purse!” You said as you jogged back into your apartment, hearing his soft chuckle behind you. After you grabbed your purse, phone and house keys, you strapped your heels on and soon left the apartment. You made sure to lock your door before walking down the hall with him.

Both of you were talking about random topics when you felt him slide an arm around your waist. For some reason, this made you jump while your breath hitched in your throat a little too loud.

Hoseok chuckled at your reaction, clearly not expecting you to react that way especially since you were always relaxed when he does that out of the blue on campus.

“You okay? You seem jumpy…” Hoseok asked worriedly before his eyes searched for yours desperately.

“Uh, y-yeah… I’m just nervous I guess.” You laughed, earning a soft squeeze to your side before he kissed your temple gently like he always does.

“Don’t be. I promise nobody’s gonna hurt you… I won’t let that happen.” Hoseok’s voice gradually got lower until he whispered those last words to you. It made your heart flip and your stomach swirl from both anxiety and adrenaline.

The drive to his family home was about 40 minutes but you enjoyed the entire ride there. Hoseok made you laugh quite a few times, both of you singing along to the songs on his playlist, you played around with his things in his car, him glancing over at you every now and then only to smile every time he catches you doing something silly or was just laughing at something he said.

Gosh he was sickly in love with you.

He finally managed to park in his parent’s driveway along with a few other cars that probably belonged to the other guests. You got out of his car, suddenly feeling nervous all over again. Hoseok noticed the way you were stuck in place beside his passenger car door, making him walk over to you.

“Hey, relax. We’re gonna be fine. You said that yourself didn’t you?” Hoseok smiles as he cups your face softly while he caresses your cheeks with his thumbs.

You slowly nodded up at him, watching as he plants a soft kiss to your forehead.

Of course this was all for the fake relationship at the end of the day, but was all of this gestures really fake though?

Both of you walked towards the front door with your left hand in his, fingers intertwined while your right hand wrapped itself around his left forearm to hold him close to you. Hoseok stopped in front of the door before turning to you and whispered, “Are you ready?”

“Ready if you are.” You gave him a weak smile and soon, he pushed the door open.

You made it inside without anyone greeting you at the door since it was in fact his house anyway. However, the minute you entered the living room, you instantly squeezed Hoseok’s hand lightly. Clearly overwhelmed by the number of people who were gathered there.

“Oh! Hoseok dear! You’re here!” One of the middle aged ladies said with a smile.

“Yes Aunt Ju, I’m here and I brought my girlfriend with me if you all don’t mind. I figured it’s a perfect time to introduce her to all my family.” Hoseok said proudly, making you feel slightly safe in his arms.

Just then, a voice sounded from behind you and it wasn’t exactly pleasant.

“How dare you bring an outsider to our family dinner! She’s not invited! And who said you’re dating this low life girl? You’re getting married to Lena!” Who you could only assume to be Hoseok’s mother, said in full disgust as she glares and looks at you from head to toe.

Hoseok’s body shook with rage as he frowned at his mother, ready to shoot her down with his words if he had to.

“You can’t tell me who I can and can’t be with, mom. Why should I marry someone who doesn’t mean a single thing to me when I can live happily with the girl of my dreams?”

“Nonsense! I am your mother so you have to listen to my decisions!” You were afraid of what might happen next so you tugged Hoseok’s hand a little to gain his attention. Luckily, he felt it so he glanced down at you for a second and the moment he locked eyes with you, he immediately softened.

He took a deep breath before turning back to his mother and smiled, “Yes, you are my mother. But I get to decide who I want to marry for it is my life and not yours.”

His mother’s face distorts into an offended scowl. She watched as her son brought you over to the rest of his family in the living room.

Upon sitting down, one of Hoseok’s cousin’s greeted you with a hug as she began talking to you.

“Hi dear! What’s your name?” She asked.

“Hi, I’m Y/N, you?”

“I’m Seori. It’s nice to meet you!”

“It’s nice to meet you too.” For the first time that night, you smiled genuinely as Seori warmed up to you pretty quick. Though from the corner of your eye, you could see a girl who hadn’t kept her gaze off you from the minute you entered the room.

For this reason alone, you could only guess that she was Lena, the girl who Hoseok was supposed to marry.

You were just chatting with Seori about Hoseok’s old habits when she suddenly leaned in to whisper something surprising to you.

“Honestly, I’m rooting for you instead of that rich girl. She’s such a brat. Hoseok is definitely too good for her.” Seori smiled, making you chuckle. You couldn’t believe Hoseok’s cousin was actually agreeing with you being her cousin’s partner even though she only just met you.

“Oh… Thanks… I guess?” You said awkwardly, earning a laugh from her.

“No really! She’s such a spoiled brat. I don’t understand why my aunt is dying for Hoseok to marry her. Blegh…” Seori faked a gag at the end.

Just then, your eyes travelled over to the other side of the room, only to find Lena shooting daggers into your skull. You got uncomfortable under her intense gaze which caused you to fidget in your seat. Unfortunately, Hoseok noticed this so he turned to you and whispered carefully.

“Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

“H-Huh? Oh, n-nothing. I’m fine.” You smiled at him as he frowned knowing you were lying but he decided to just trust you so he snuck a quick kiss to your cheek before smiling at you.

Why is your heart racing?

An hour went by, Hoseok kept you close to him at all times, making sure Lena or his mother never got too close to you.

You were just talking to Seori and Wooyoung, another one of Hoseok’s cousins when you excused yourself to go to the washroom. You made it down the hall and was about to enter the bathroom when you heard bickerings from one of the rooms.

As bad as you know it would be to eavesdrop, you got even curious when you recognized one of the voices to be Hoseok’s.

The closer you got, the clearer those voices were. However, your heart wasn’t ready for what you were about to hear.

“I want you to break up with that stupid girl and marry Lena!”

“No mom! What the hell? You can’t do this to me!”

“I’m your mother! And I demand you to leave that lowlife brat or else, I won’t take you as my son anymore! You choose. Outsider or Family.” His mom threatened him as she began to walk towards the door.

For some reason, you couldn’t seem to move. Your feet were glued to the ground as your eyes pooled with tears at the brim.

The moment his mother pulled the door open harshly, you flinched.

The tears on your eyes were now falling freely down your cheeks. You locked eyes with Hoseok for a brief moment before you looked back at his mother who had a satisfied wicked smile on her face.

“So, you heard right? Break up with my son if you love him and care about him still being a part of this family.”

Hoseok was frozen behind her as he watched you carefully for your next words. You two were supposed to be strong for each other. You were supposed to come out of this family dinner hand in hand with a proud smile on your face. Unfortunately, that doesn’t seem to be the outcome tonight.

So with one shaky breath, you locked eyes with his mother while your tears streamed down your face, giving her exactly what she wanted.

“Okay. I promise I’ll leave your son alone from now on. This will be the last time you see me in his life, if that’s what you want Ma’am.”

“Good. Now leave. You don’t belong here.”

With that, you gave her a weak smile before you turned in your heels and ran. Hoseok was going to run after you but his mother stopped him.

Your running figure caught everyone’s attention as Seori and Wooyoung called out to you desperately but all you did was run to the front door and left. A few seconds later, Hoseok was seen running down the hall and was about to go to the front door when Hoseok’s mother yelled his name.

He stopped in his tracks, only for her to threaten him again.

“Jung Hoseok! Don’t you dare go after that girl!”

“Why?! Why not mom?! Why can’t I go after the one girl that I love?! Tell me mom! Tell me!”

“You don’t love her…” She scoffed, trying to convince herself that her son isn’t capable of finding love on his own.

“What do you know about love mom? You call marrying someone I don’t know, someone I’ve never talked to, someone I’ve never met before, love? If that’s what you call love, then I don’t want to be a part of it. In all my life, I’ve never known what is the true meaning of love besides a family’s love. And now I know…” He paused to take a deep breath before he continued.

“Call me insane, but I am in love with her. I am madly in love with the girl who you just blatantly threatened to break up with me. It’s such a low move of you to threaten an innocent girl when all she did was love me.” Hoseok said as he turned and was about to leave when his mother threatened him again.

“If you step out of this house right now just to go after that brat, you are never to step foot in this house ever again.”

With that being said, Hoseok turned around and gave her a sad smile. He knew the decision he was going to make. He knew it would probably change his life forever. And yet, not a single ounce of regret was lingering in him when he said the next few words.

“And let the girl I truly love slip out of my hands for good? I’m sorry mom, but I don’t think so.” Hoseok said and with that, he left.

Hoseok’s father had to hold his wife back from slaughtering her son as Seori and Wooyoung cheered for their cousin while Lena was just fuming in her seat.

Hoseok arrived at your apartment building, running up to your unit level only to pound his fist against your door. He waited a few seconds but all he got was silence. He tried a few more times and still no response. He panicked as he ran his fingers through his hair, trying to think of where else you could go.

Just then, it was as though something clicked in his brain that made him rush back to his car and soon drove off to the one possible place you could have gone to.

After a few more minutes on the road, Hoseok practically leaped out of his car and soon sprinted up the apartment steps not bothering to wait for the lift.

Once he was on level 4 where Namjoon’s apartment unit was, he gave it a few knocks.

It was currently 10:40pm so he knew damn well that Namjoon was still awake. Hoseok’s mind was currently running amuck as he tapped his foot impatiently against the ground.

Just then, the door opened to reveal Namjoon who looked worried for something, or perhaps someone.

“Joon ah! Please tell me she’s here…” Hoseok whispered desperately as his eyes pleaded for Namjoon to give him the answer he really wanted. Of course, Namjoon could never lie to his friend. Which is why Namjoon lets out a sigh of relief before smiling at the latter.

“She’s in my room.”

With that being said, Hoseok quickly kicked his shoes off only to walk towards Namjoon’s room carefully so as to not scare you.

Once he was standing in front of the door, he skipped the knocking and went straight ahead to open it.

The moment he did, his heart shattered upon seeing you sit on Namjoon’s bed with your knees up to your chest while you hugged them. You had your face buried in your arms as your soft cries echoed around the room.

Hoseok softly entered the room, closing the door behind him as he carefully made his way to you.

“Joonie… Why am I feeling this way? Why am I so sad? This is fake, isn’t it? All this is fake… So why does my heart hurt so bad?” You whispered in between sobs but still not looking up. You felt the mattress dip beside you which means someone had just climbed into bed with you.

Except, you just assumed it was Namjoon. Little did you know, you were wrong.

“Maybe because our feelings weren’t fake.”

His familiar gentle voice caught you off guard as you slowly brought your head up only to gasp when you locked eyes with Hoseok’s soft ones. He was smiling down at you, and yet, you could see how broken he was.

“H-Hoseok… W-Wha… What are you doing here?” Your voice was weak as you stuttered over your words.

“I left… I couldn’t let you leave.”

“N-No…” You croaked out. “N-No… No… What about your family? Hoseok, did you not hear what your mom said?”

With that being said, Hoseok gently cups your face with both hands as he shushes you to calm you down.

“Shh… Shh… It’s okay. I know what she said. But it doesn’t matter because what’s important is that we’re together.” He smiled as he kissed the tip of your nose, wiping your tears away with his thumbs.

“Hoseok…” Your voice was barely a whisper, earning a soft ‘shh’ from him yet again.

“I don’t care what she said. I don’t care what any of my family says. It's my life so I make my decisions. And right now, I’m so glad I left. That way I can show you just how much I truly care for you…” Hoseok paused as he slowly leaned closer to you until his lips were just an inch apart from yours, foreheads touching gently before he took one shaky breath and finally expressed his feelings for you wholeheartedly.

“I love you, Y/N.”

Your heart was pounding against your chest as you closed your eyes, afraid to look him in the eye. Finally, with one small breath, you whispered your reply for his little confession.

“I love you too, Hoseok.”

And just like that, Hoseok smiled as he caressed your cheeks before he kissed you on the lips.

Your heart almost jumps out of your chest as you slide your hands around his waist. He kissed you so sweetly, you nearly allowed yourself to fall on him. Hoseok pulls away with a soft sound, keeping one hand on your cheek while the other rests on your neck.

He kept his forehead gently against yours as his lips purposely brushed over your lips. You could hear his nervous breaths, only for him to whisper against your lips.

“Let me love you properly this time. You’re all that I want.”

With that, you couldn’t help but giggle feeling your heart full again. You loved him. You don’t know what you did to deserve him. Nevertheless, you promised to love him back equally.

7 months had passed without any of you realizing. Hoseok has been staying with Namjoon ever since that unfortunate incident with his parents, more specifically his mother. Hoseok hasn’t talked to his parents ever since, simply fulfilling her request if he decided to leave the house that night.

You were in a stable relationship with Hoseok in which he has shown you more love than what he was capable of giving you previously when you were fake dating.

He showered you with so much love, it makes your heart melt every single time.

It was a gloomy Saturday afternoon. You went over to Namjoon’s place to hangout with him and your boyfriend. Upon your arrival, Hoseok seemed too excited as he quickly tackled you down onto the sofa whilst he tickled the life out of you.

You had to beg him to stop as you ended up panting for air. You were just cuddling with Hoseok on the couch while Namjoon sat on the huge bean bag chair at the corner while you all watched the movie.

You were just drawing random patterns onto Hoseok’s clothed chest, earning soft kisses at the top of your head when you heard the doorbell ring.

All of you glanced around at each other, only for Hoseok to ask his roommate if he ordered anything.

Upon Namjoon saying no, the male stood up and made his way to the door. You and Hoseok continued watching the show while Namjoon went to answer the door. A few seconds later, you heard Namjoon’s voice calling to Hoseok from the end of the hallway but for some reason, his voice sounded a little suspicious.

You definitely didn’t expect this.

“Uh, Seok ah, you might wanna pause the movie.” Namjoon warned as you both turned around. The minute you locked eyes with Hoseok’s parents, you immediately tensed up whilst he sat up straighter in an alert stance.

“Mom. Dad.” Hoseok whispered under his breath as the two of them smiled at their son.

You could feel the tension rising as Hoseok’s body became stiff. To avoid making things worse, you carefully got up and excused yourself.

Before you could leave, Hoseok grabbed your wrist as his eyes were begging for you to stay.

“You should talk to them.” You whispered as you looked at his parents and soon gave them a small nod before you and Namjoon left them to head to Namjoon’s bedroom.

You closed the door behind you and the minute you were inside, you couldn’t help but let out a shaky sigh. Pressing your back against the door, you slid down to the ground until you were seated on the floor. Namjoon frowned as he went over to you, pulling you into a warm hug as he caressed the back of your head comfortingly.

Meanwhile, Hoseok's parents took a seat on the same couch he was in except there was a huge gap between Hoseok and his mom.

“My dear son, how are you sweetheart?” His mom smiled sadly, knowing Hoseok probably still held a grudge on her.

“I’m fine…” Hoseok said coldly, unsure of how to react.

“How’s school? Everything okay?” His dad asked.

“Yeah. I’m coping okay. Nothing out of the ordinary for me as usual.” Hoseok shrugged as he looked everywhere but his parents. Just then, his mother was the first to apologize.

“I’m really sorry for the way I acted that night… I… I wasn’t thinking.”

Hoseok finally looked at his mom with a deep frown on his face.

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that I shouldn’t have treated Y/N that way and that I shouldn’t have made those threats to you and her when I should be happy that you found love and that you were genuinely happy to be with her… I’m so sorry, dear.” His mother started to tear up as Hoseok’s heart immediately softened for her.

Of course he couldn’t hate her.

He could never hate his mother.

So when she began to cry, Hoseok scooted closer to hug her, rubbing her back soothingly to calm her down. His father simply smiled as he patted Hoseok’s back a few times for he wasn’t a man of affection. No doubt, he still loves his family dearly.

A few minutes later, Hoseok pulled away from his mother, only for the lady to sniffle and ask, “Can I see her? I want to see the girl who’s been making my son so happy.” She smiled as Hoseok nodded.

He soon got up, making his way to Namjoon’s bedroom. He gave it a few knocks before opening it, only to find Namjoon and you seated on his bed facing each other, placing a game of rock paper scissors. You were just laughing at Namjoon’s mistake when you heard the door creak open and soon, you met Hoseok’s soft eyes.

“Hey…” Hoseok said as he stepped inside briefly to walk to you and Namjoon.

“How’s everything?” Namjoon asked with a weak smile, only for Hoseok to speak up.

“We made up…”

“Oh? That’s amazing.” Namjoon sighed in relief but then Hoseok looked at you and placed a soft hand on your thigh.

“But now my mom wants to see you.” Immediately, your breath hitched in your throat.

What if she still hates you?

Hoseok could sense your worries so he squeezed your thigh softly and soon reassured you that if anything goes wrong, he’ll be there to protect you. With his words of affirmation, you both finally left the room with Namjoon flopping onto his bed.

You walked behind Hoseok while he laced his fingers with yours. The minute you came into the living room, you locked eyes with his mother and for some reason, her words from that night came haunting you back.

You unconsciously hid behind Hoseok and his mother saw this.

However, the frown on her face couldn’t easily be mistaken for anything else. She knew she would leave this effect on you, but maybe not to this extent. And for that, she feels bad.

Seeing how you wouldn’t budge from behind him, Hoseok gently tugs you forward while he whispers to you, “It’s okay… I’m here…”

This was enough to give you some moral support as you carefully sat down on the couch beside his mother.

“Hi dear, how are you?” She asked as you saw a brand new tear threatening to roll down her cheeks.

“I-I’m good, Ma’am.”

“Don’t worry sweetheart, I’m not here to yell at you… I’m here to say sorry. I know what I said to you that night wasn’t right. And I know that I can’t take back whatever I said. And I totally understand if you don’t forgive me. All I wanna say is thank you for making my son happy. I can see that he truly loves you. I’m sorry once again.” She smiled as the tear finally rolled down her cheek.

All the while, you were still holding Hoseok’s hand as he sat closely behind you but his fingers were laced with yours on your lap while his right hand gently caressed your sides to calm your nerves down.

For some reason, you could see the sincerity behind her apology. Which is why you reached for her hand afterwards and spoke up.

“I forgive you.”

His mother stared at you in shock, surprised that you forgave her despite all the things she said to you.

“You… really forgive me?”

“I understand that all you wanted was the best for your child. And I couldn’t blame you for that. But apart from that, I’m thankful that you finally approve of my relationship with your son. I love him so much but I dread to see him being torn apart from his family.” You said.

His mother couldn’t help but cry harder as you offered her a hug to which she openly accepted.

You rubbed her back to soothe her nerves only to hear her say, “Hoseok did an excellent job at choosing the right girl.”

You pulled away to find her smiling at you before glancing past your shoulder to look at her son with a look that Hoseok seemed to understand. His parents soon took their leave, while you went back to join Namjoon after saying goodbye to Hoseok’s parents.

Hoseok was just standing by the door to say bye to his parents when his mother cups his face and whispers, “Don’t lose her, no matter what people say. She’s a keeper.”

With that being said, she kissed his forehead and soon left.

Hoseok couldn’t agree more with his mother’s sentence, knowing that he would never let go of you that easily nor would he lose you because of other people’s words. He won’t ever let those things happen.

And that’s exactly what he’s going to do.

~~~

#bts imagines #bts scenarios #bts jhope #jung hoseok #bts hoseok #bts jhope fluff #bts hoseok fluff #jung hoseok scenarios #jhope fluff #jhope scenarios #bts x reader #jhope x reader

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writingsfromhome · 4 years

Text

Nuclear Family I

A/N: As requested (accidentally deleted the ask soz) a Dad!Harry where you visit him with your daughter and you live together as a family even though the reality is far from it. But for the sake of your kid you put up with it. The next part gets better promise!

Part I / Part II / Part III / Part IV / Part V

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“Charlie don’t get too far,” I call out to my three year old. She gives me a disappointed look but I return one of my own and she drags her feet back to me.

Sometimes it felt like it had always been just me and Charlotte and other times it was hard to believe it would be almost four years since I’d had her. The moment she was born-two weeks early-on a rainy August day, I knew I made the right choice to keep her.

“When are we getting on the airplane?” my daughter pouts. She reminded me so much of her father with her bold eyes framed by her lowered brows. I remember when I held her for the first time in my arms and she blinked up at me, her big eyes were a dewy field reflecting her father. It was then that it hit me that no matter where he and I were on earth-we were still somehow connected. And since I was still in love with him then, it hurt. But I learned soon to pour my love into Charlotte and focus on raising her the best I could.

“We’ll be boarding soon." I pick her up and hold her on my knees to keep her from running off again. This was my first time travelling with her-her father generally came down to LA a few times a year to visit her so we never had the need to make the trip. This time, for her fourth birthday, we’d decided to go to London and stay there for the month. And since I was my own boss, I could take my work anywhere.

“I want to see daddy,” Charlie whines.

"We will babe,” I try to soothe her.

“Daddy” was Harry Styles, the Harry Styles. We met through a friend over six years ago when he was in LA. Up until meeting him, it felt like I was living a grey version of my life. Our chemistry was explosive and our connection instant--colouring my world a vibrant hue. We were in love-so in love I moved to London a few months later to be with him and it was going perfectly until I got pregnant. We agreed to keep the baby-it was a no brainer, but as the months went by and the reality sunk in, our relationship took a hit. Suddenly we were arguing about insignificant things, Harry stayed out late with friends or in the studio and wasn’t as supportive as he should have been, and I wasn’t happy. When I brought up the separation Harry looked almost relieved-which hurt. When I brought up moving back to LA he was enraged, but after a few days he agreed. Now, our Charlie saw him a few times a year when he lived in LA and she would stay with him. Our interactions were limited to picking her up and as I’d heard it Harry had a steady girlfriend for the past year. Despite all that, I still loved him. What we had was unlike anything I’d felt, seen, or read about before. I knew he'd felt it too, the music he released spoke the words he never said. But the ugliness of the last few months of our relationship always kept me from remaining wistful. Harry didn’t want commitement. He only had room in his heart for our daughter and I was fine with that.

We were staying around the corner from Harry’s at an air bnb for convenience. Ever since having Charlotte, I hadn’t been outside of the US so this was exciting yet daunting. The idea of seeing London again, all my old friends, and Harry gave me a rush of mixed emotions.

The landing and locating of our luggage had a few bumps and a minor tantrum but our taxi takes us to the flat where we are met with the hostess.

“There’s been a terrible mistake,” she wrings her hands as we stand in the heat of the summer afternoon.

“What kind of mistake?” My heart drops and there’s a tugging on my dress. Charlotte demands to be picked up.

“We accidentally booked another couple to the flat.” The woman responds.

“What?” If I wasn’t this tired, I would be shouting. “How can you make a mistake like that? I booked this well in advance!”

“I understand,” the woman says. “Your booking must have been accidentally cancelled and I-the couple is fine with sharing the flat-”

“I have a small child with me as you can see,” I cut her off not going into detail why our privacy was extremely important. “I’m not living with two strangers when I secured the place for all of August. This is bullshit,” I spit out, forgetting Charlie could hear me. This trip was not going how it should be. “I’m contacting air bnb and-”

My rant is cut short when my phone vibrates. Harry.

“Hi,” I answer.

“Daddy!” Charlotte yells into my ear. I hush her with a glance and try to listen to what Harry was saying.

“-landed? I was trying to reach you where are you?”

I sigh and give the woman a dirty look. “We’ve just arrived at the bnb and apparently there’s been a ‘mistake’ and it’s double booked so now I don’t know where-”

“Shit, stay with me,” comes Harry's steady voice.

“I couldn’t,” comes my own, slightly less steady voice. Staying with Harry would be bad for me. It would only stir old emotions back up and make it harder to leave once again. I just knew it.

“I’m right around the corner Y/N. Just stay until you find another place at least.”

I couldn’t argue with that. I agree and order an Uber, giving the woman a piece of my mind before I go.

Charlotte had fallen asleep on my shoulder in the midst of all of it so I struggle with the child, our luggage, and my phone when I reach Harry's.

“I’ll be right down,” he says. My stomach is suddenly doing sommersaults and I can barely feel my legs. I saw Harry near Christmas! Why was I suddenly so nervous?

“Hey,” Harry enters the lobby in a black shirt and jeans and his glasses sit atop his mess of hair. “You look lovely Y/N, but that’s nothing new.”

Harry's grin is like a crack in the ice surrounding us and I give him a quick hug hello.

“Let me get that.” He grabs the luggage and we wait for the elevator again.

“She fell asleep,” Harry brushes our daughter’s hands and she shifts on my shoulder.

“She’s been doing that since the ride,” I say. “I think jet lag is already doing her in.”

Harry smiles at her and the tenderness in his gaze holds me captive. It was a while since I saw Harry look like that.

Harry gets the luggage onto the lift and I follow him in. The mirrored interior reflects the glimpses he takes of me but I stay staring forward, not wanting to give in.

“Won’t your girlfriend mind?” I ask Harry when we enter his flat. “That we’re staying with you.”

“About that,” Harry scratches his nose. “I’m sure she’ll understand. We should talk though…about the trip.”

“Of course, let me just put Charlotte to bed.” Harry points out the spare room and I can tell Charlie will like it here with the amount of stuffed animals Harry's decorated the bed with. She was spoiled.

“So you can stay as long as you want here,” Harry begins. “Or if you want to find someplace else I understand. Whatever you feel comfortable with.”

He holds my gaze as he talks and I nod along. It was all very proper and polite, almost as if we’d never had anything more than a friendly relationship.

“What’s your schedule like?” I ask. “I know we already figured things out but if I’m staying for a few days here will I be in the way of anything?”

“I’m filming in a few days, I took a lot of time off the next couple weeks for Charlie but that’s it. Then I'm in the studio after that." Harry scratches the back of his head. “Just make yourself at home don’t worry what I’ve got to do.”

“I don’t want to get in the way. I know we didn’t plan for this,” I flush. Harry reaches over and squeezes my shoulder.

“I want you to feel comfortable, love...”

I’m suddenly 21 and Harry and I are on one of our first dates at a bar. He holds onto my hand and tells me he really likes me. He asks me if we wanted to take our relationship past the dating stage. I’m giddy and drunk on love and kiss him yes.

“Mom?” A small voice calls out.

“Yes!” I jump up and shake the memories off, rushing to the spare room. Charlotte sits up in bed with a frown on her grumpy face. “I’m right here babe.” I scoop her up and she holds onto me, already holding a stuffed koala in the other hand.

“So you’ve met Mr. Blake.” Harry walks into the room and points to the koala.

And just like that Charlotte is jumping into her dad’s arms and bubbling with laughter, explaining how his real name is Oreo. My heart squeezes watching the two interact. Charlie is more awake than before the plane ride as she continues with her endless chatter. Harey is wide-eyed and drinking in everything she says. She says something funny and he throws his head back laughing, kissing the side of her head while she giggles. Seeing them two made my heart full.

“Momma I’m hungry,” Charlie says abruptly.

“You must be,” I look at the time. “It’s been a while since we ate.”

“Let’s have an early dinner out,” Harry suggests.

“That’s not necessary-” I try to say but Charlie cuts me off with a big cheer and soon Harry joins in and he’s off with her riding his back with her hands clasped tightly around his neck. I would never win with those two together so I find my wallet and join them.

“I didn’t realise how much I needed this,” Harry says on our walk to the restaurant. It was a ten minute walk Harry wanted to take, reassuring me that we wouldn't be bothered. Charlotte holds her dad’s hand and stares in wonder at the new city around her. “I can’t believe you-she-Charlie hasn’t ever been down here.”

“She was so excited to finally see where her Dad lives,” I laugh at the image of her bouncing off the walls in happiness.

“I think the weirdest thing for me is that my baby has an American accent,” Harry comments.

“I never thought about that!” I laugh. “At least she won’t be saying things like crisps and the loo!”

“Oi that’s offensive,” Harry jokes. “My english is just as good as yours mate!”

“Now you sound Australian!” I tease.

Harry laughs and bumps his shoulder into mine.

“Australia has kangaroos,” Charlotte comments randomly.

“We’ve got a clever one,” Harry winks at me. “They’ve got massive spiders too.” Harry says to our daughter but little does he know she actively picked up spiders.

Charlie starts jumping like a kangaroo and soon Harry picks her up and sits her on his shoulder where she shouts to anybody who listens that she was on top of the world.

“I always tell people she’s got that energy from her dad,” I tell Harry quietly. There a shine to his eyes as he looks to Charlie and she looks down at him and shouts it louder.

“My mum and dad were thinking of coming around this weekend to see her,” Hadry suddenly says.

“That would be nice for her. To see her family,” I say.

“I mean you’d be there too?” Harry says.

“Oh, right.” My mouth dries at the thought of having to see his family. They were a great bunch but the way Harry and I ended things so abruptly was an uncomfortable reminder. “I’ll try to make it.”

“Charlie can have some sort of a normal family dinner,” Harry jokes.

“Both parents and grandparents? That would make her trip actually.” I say with a little bit of sadness. Charlotte wouldn’t grow up with both parents like Harry and I had the privlege of and that hurt me thinking about it.

“I wish she could have that all the time,” Harry sighs. He glances over at me as he says it and there’s something unspoken. But Charlie grabs a fistful of his hair and he has to get her down in her drunken power.

The restaurant is cozy and Charlie talks a mile a minute with the attention of both her parents. Every so often when she says something ridiculous or something related to an old inside joke from years past, Harry will glance over at me with a smile. It’s a secret language between us, and I swear I even feel his hand brush my own but I chalk it up to accidents. Harry had a girlfriend, he had no business doing that with me.

It gets more confusing later that night. Harry had plans to go out at 8 and Charlie falls asleep by half past 7. Being in LA time, I stay snuggled in the couch, watching a random movie Harry recommended. My eyes drift shut halfway but I’m awoken by a bang. My eyes squint in the dark as my hand feels for my phone. 1:47AM the bright display reads.

“Sorry,” comes a voice. The lights flick on and Harry stands dishevelled in the clothes he went out in. “I was trying to keep quiet I di'know you were sleeping!”

He was drunk-whispering which meant his voice was only slightly lower than normal. He stumbles towards me and falls onto the sofa, yanking his shoes off with a great deal of effort.

“Were you sleeping?” He asks me up close.

“I guess so,” I respond. “Did you have a good time?”

A part of me feels awash with sadness, the dull and familiar ache settling into my chest. Another part of me is angry at myself for still being in love with a man who could not love me the same way.

“It would have been nice if you came,” Harry reaches out and twists a strand of my hair. “Are you naturally a brunette?”

“I am,” I say gently. “You should drink water before bed.”

“No-no don’t start taking care of me!” Harry puts a pillow on his lap. “I’m supposed to be taking care of my girls. But I’m doing a shite job I guess.”

He stifles his laugh. I try to stifle the pang in my chest when he says 'my girls’ because it meant nothing more than just words. I couldn’t afford to read into these things. But when Harry switches the pillow to my lap and lays his head down, all self-control gets chucked out he door.

“It’s been so long since we talked,” Harry tries to whisper again. He reaches out to touch my hair again, his fingers lingering on my face before lowering to his side again.

“You came to LA a lot,” in my statement is also an accusation. He never came in to my apartment or asked me to go out.

“You never invited me in,” Harry says quietly.

“Surely I did?” I tell him.

“No,” his reply is almost a sigh. I realise maybe I didn’t make it so explicit.

“My mistake,” I admit. “But you know you were always welcomes.” I trace the bridge of his nose.

“I know,” Harry says with a boyish smile. “I was slightly nervous when we were on your terf. I didn’t ask either-you’re right.”

Involuntarily I brush my fingers through Harry's hair. Instantly, his body relaxes with a sigh as he closes his eyes. So I remove my hand immediately and nudge him.

“I should go to bed,” I wait for him to clumsily get up. We walk to the stairs together where Harry wishes me goodnight. He leans foward and misses my forehead by an inch, kissing my eyebrow instead.

“Night,” I back away into the spare where Charlotte sleeps, rubbing my eyebrow. In bed, I try to sort through my feelings. My eyes land on the sleeping body next to me and I pull her into me. She was all I needed, I try to remind myself. I was only here for her. Harry and I were never getting together again.

#harry styles #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fic #harry styles imagine #dad!harry #fic #harry styles x reader #harry styles angst #writingsfromhome #idk lol

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