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writingsbychlo · 4 years

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mistletoe magic | stiles stilinski

word count; 10,490

summary; stiles learns that his cute neighbour might be a witch after accidentally getting her spellbooks delivered to him instead.

notes; I know a witch!au isn’t a huge au for stiles, because he’s had evident races of magic throughout the series anyway, but just enjoy it!

warnings; smut, unprotected sex, use of magic

It had been a pretty regular Monday morning for Stiles.

At six sharp, he’d been up and awake, barely functional but stumbling through his apartment and clicking on the coffee machine, before hopping into the shower for a quick wash. When he’d emerged, the machine had just finished grinding, as always, his routine functioning like a well-oiled machine now, and he’d moved it all across into a to-go cup and left it on the counter before going to get dressed.

He’d stumbled around to find his school books and shove them into a bag, eaten two cinnamon pop tarts that had burned the tips of his fingers when he’d grabbed them straight from the toaster, and had still been chewing as he shoved his keys in his pocket and sipped at his coffee, straight into the elevator at twenty to seven.

It was a fifteen-minute walk across campus to his early morning lecture on a Monday, leaving him with a few minutes to spare, in case he saw the sweet older lady from two floors down and wanted to say ‘hi’, or the cute neighbour who lived across the hall that always made him fall over his own feet, or maybe even the kid who delivers newspapers and is always falling off of his bike. He made it on time, took some great notes, and was feeling a little more alive and welcome into his day.

At exactly ten past one, he’d been home, having gone to the library to get some study in and find his new books, and get lunch at the diner he always ate at after classes, a cheeseburger and curly fries, and grabbed his letters and a parcel from the mail slot with his housing number printed on, tucking the package under his arm and heading upstairs and back to his flat, ready to flick through his bills.

All according to plan. One year and four months away at university and he knew every day like he’d been doing it for a decade, so he was only half-way to the kitchen when he remembered the package he was clutching under his arm, coming to a complete halt, throwing the usual assortment of envelopes away to the counter, and producing the neatly wrapped bundle.

He didn’t question it, not even bothering to look at the front, figuring it was just an early delivery on the textbooks that he wasn’t expecting to get here for another three weeks, finger slipping under the folds of the brown paper and tearing it away, fingers dancing over the covers of the books, before his brows were furrowing once again.

These were definitely not his ‘intro to psychological profiling’ textbooks.

Beautiful swirls in gold, carved into dark leather across the front, Latin words he didn’t understand before he was opening the cover, brushing off a layer of dust and letting one brow arch up. The text inside was English - though, no modern - and paper that he was cautious to take care of, simply from what appeared to be the age of it, stained and worn, finger marks clear on the corner from being passed down through generations. It was handwritten, drawings in old ink that had leaked onto the paper a little, rough and coarse, and labelled doodles with names he had never heard of before.

At a glance, he would assume it to be some kind of witchcraft.

He felt on edge, suddenly. He’d left Beacon Hills to come to somewhere that no supernatural would follow, where things like werewolves were still a myth, something to be laughed at, and he swallowed thickly, looking around his apartment as though someone was going to jump out. He loved his friends, he really did, and he didn’t so much mind the supernatural when he was with them all because they protected him, but alone out here, he and his bat didn’t stand a chance.

Now, it was Christmas, he knew this from the poor excuse of a tree up in his living room, and the snow outside, and the fact that for the last six weeks, his usual mochas had been a gingerbread-spiced mocha, on the insistence of the barista who served him whenever he ventured into the little coffee shop joint, and he was growing find of it. So, he tried to be optimistic, in the spirit of festivities and all that, and texted the group chat, waiting to see if any of them had sent him the books as a present, maybe even his father or Melissa. He even texted Parrish.

Except, they all said no, and now, he was stumped. Then, as he was being extra nosey and flicking through the book, he came across a page marked with a small slip of card, the item falling out, and he cursed, having no idea which page it came from, but as he picked up the piece of paper, one of the questions in his puzzle finally gained another piece towards the jigsaw.

‘(Y/N), the spell you’re looking for is here, but be careful, it’s a strong one.’

So, the books are for his hot neighbour, the next number up from his, and it now made sense as to why he had these books - they were a mistake. It opened a new question, however, as to why you would be getting them.

He had absolutely no patience, barley remembering to flick the catch on his door so that he’d be able to get back inside, before he was striding across the hall in one, two steps, and knocking on the wood. He could hear you shuffling around inside, the soft and muffled notes of the classic rock music you’d been listening to getting turned right down to low. It only took you a further few seconds until you were opening the door, but it felt like years to him with his impatience, fingers tapping against the books agitatedly, biting the nail of the other thumb, and his foot was tapping against the floor.

When you opened the door, though, he felt like it was too soon, like he wasn’t prepared for what to say, his breath hitching in his throat as his heart leapt in his chest, eyes sweeping down along your body and widening at your bare legs, only a t-shirt hanging on your frame, rising up to reveal the edge of a pair of white lace panties as you opened the door, and he forced his eyes back up to yours, wincing as he bit down a little too harshly on his nail, and pulled it from his mouth, shaking it as his dropped to his side.

“Hey, neighbour.”

“H-Hi. Hello. Yes, hi.” He already wanted to die a little bit, he hadn't stuttered this much in front of a pretty girl since junior year in high school, even Lydia had lost this effect on him, and college really had been a growing experience for him. He’d had a fair few hook-ups, and experimented, and he wasn’t shy about flirting when he wanted to, but you always through hi right back through loops, like he was still that kid with a buzzcut.

“What can I do for you, four-A?”

“Stiles. My name is Stiles.” He waited for the usual reaction, the cringe, the eyebrows shooting up, the scowl, something to indicate that you had actually heard the pronunciation, but you only smiled a little wider.

“I know. After I introduced myself and you fell over and didn’t give me your name, I checked the mail in your post-slot. I was curious. There was a lot addressed to Mieczysłav, but then one with a handwritten address to Stiles.” You shrugged, leaning against the doorframe, and crossing your arms, and while you might seem casual, at least his degree was coming in useful for something, as your body language read an entirely different reaction, insecurity and worry rolling off of you in invisible waves of tells.

He rubbed at the back of his neck with his free hand, laughing slightly. “That sounds like something I would do.”

Silence fell between you both for a second, and he couldn't help but stare, taking in every detail of your face, the way your lower lip was a little reddened, and he figured you must have been nibbling on it while working, and your hair was messy, an attempt to pin it back that seemed to have come loose and entirely ineffective, presumably from dancing, because you looked a little flushed. When you raised your brows at him a little, he realised you were waiting for him to explain himself, why he was on your doorstep, and he flushed with embarrassment shaking his head clear.

“I got your spellbooks by mistake.” He held them out, eyes widening even more, before his jaw was dropping open. “Book. Regular books. Not spell books, because that would imply magic, right? And, that’s dumb. Just regular books. I didn’t look at them, at all, not even a little bit, I promise.”

“You don’t believe in magic, then?” You took them from him, a coy smile on your lips, and you placed them down on the counter beside the door, pushing a bowl of potpourri getting pushed aside, along with your car keys and what looked like an incense burner.

“Do you?”

He was testing the water, seeing where your mind was at, and as a whistling came from your kitchen, you glanced back over to the kettle on the hob, and he thought this conversation might be about to come to an end. “Well, I think there’s always a little magic in life, even if people don’t notice it. You have to believe in magic to be able to see it. It’s like the supernatural that way.”

“And, you believe in the supernatural, huh?” He felt bad for the way he said it, because it was mocking, but he had to be sure that you weren’t messing with him, or spying on him, he had to try and find out who you were, but you only looked away as the whistling got louder, opening the door a little more and waving him inside as you walked away, and he stumbled after you and closed the door before his mind had even caught up with the movement of his feet.

Your apartment was littered with plants. The windowsills were lined with them, all brought green and blooming, even though he was sure it wasn’t the right season, and there was even a set of cactuses along a shelf near the corridor. There was a homey feel to your place, almost earthy, neutral tones and soft accents, a smell that was so calming he felt his own muscles begin to relax, and the music had changed from classic rock to some country song he was sure he’d heard in a movie somewhere but couldn't quite place it, and he followed you to the kitchen.

Rows of cookbooks and recipe folders stacked up on top of a lower cupboard, and he swallowed thickly, averting his gaze from the way your lace panties hugged your ass deliciously as you reached up for a mug, bringing back two, and pouring them both full of the herbal concoction you’d been making. On a mismatching saucer, you offered it to him, and he sniffed it carefully, but remembered his manners, mumbling a ‘thank you’, because his mother raised his right, even if he was a little suspicious of you.

“Relax, Stiles, if I was going to poison you, I wouldn’t be giving you tea made of Valerian and Lemon Balm. Do you want any honey, honey?” You grinned a little at your joke, but he shook his head, watching as you stirred a spoonful of the sticky sweetener into your own, and taking a tentative sip after blowing on the surface. It wasn’t all that bad, he had to admit, and he found his tensions slipping away a little. “It’s for relaxing, and helping with sleep.”

“It’s good.” You smiled, blowing lightly on your own, and he decided that he could busy himself by checking out your posters. An interesting arrangement, one was a band poster, the other was a chart with the phases of the moon, a third with diagrams of plants and little facts underneath, and the fourth, with symbols and drawing he didn’t quite understand. “So, you’re really embracing that whole witch thing, then?”

“Well, seeing as I am a witch, I would think it’s only appropriate.” He tried to hide his grin behind his mug, shaking his head a little, not believing that they really existed, and you didn’t miss the glint in his eyes, clearly, because there was a playful kind of offence flashing across your face. “You can’t tell me you think I’m insane, not when there’s so much of the supernatural all over you, Stiles.”

“The supernatural? Really?”

“So, you’re not the emissary to a pack of werewolves?” You challenged, his jaw dropping at the accuracy of it, and it was your turn to laugh at him. “It’s literally stitched into your aura, I sensed another supernatural the second you walked into the building.”

“I just associate with a lot of ‘em, but I’m not supernatural myself.”

“You sure about that?” He stilled, memories flashing behind his eyes of a time when he once was, and you seemed to pick up on the slightly sour mood he’d taken on, then again, he wasn’t really sure where your abilities lay, being that Scott or Derek would have simply sniffed it out on him. Your hand on his arm snapped him back to the moment, fingers squeezing lightly at his bicep. “You don’t have to talk about it.”

“There was a possibility, once, but it’s gone. There’s a dark chapter in my past, and the spark I was told I once had disappeared when I got through it.”

It went quiet again after that, your fingers slipping down from his arm to take his, and you placed your cup down, the steaming brew barely touched, but he followed suit, letting himself be pulled along as you directed him back to the living room. You were distracting him, it was an obvious ploy, but he was excited to learn, and he let the sadness of remembering his possession fade away as the thrill of new knowledge took over. “I can tell you have a lot of questions, so, what do you want to know first?”

He rubbed at his chin, settling down onto the couch at the edge of the room, finding it surprisingly comfortable, and you were busying yourself around him, a little water jug in your hand as you nurtured the abundance of houseplants you owned. “How did you know about my pack? And how much do you know about them?”

“It’s in your aura, I suppose. I can just pick up hints of different things when you’re around. The wolves are obvious, I’ve been around a lot of wolves. I also get death, and I've never met a banshee, but I assume that’s what it is. I knew you were the emissary because you’re the only magic in there, I would sense other traces on you, and there’s something else I can’t quite place.” Your face screwed up a little bit as you thought about it, nose wrinkling adorably before shrugging. “Like a werewolf, but not quite. I can’t get it.”

“She’s a werecoyote.”

You paused your pouring, turning to look at him, eyes flicking lightly around his being, before smiling slightly to yourself, and going back to your task. “Huh. Interesting.”

“Have you been a witch your whole life?”

“Since the day I was born, but I didn’t know or start practising until I was older. It just kinda’ happens, comes out of nowhere at a certain age, you start to realise you have abilities.” You had moved onto using a dropper to give little drips of water to cacti and succulents, standing on a small step stool as you did.

“Do you have to go to a school, like Harry Potter? Do you have a wand?”

You laughed at that, a genuine and hearty laugh, and you finished up your tasks, legs folding underneath yourself and you smirked a little at him as you sat down and got comfortable. “You wish, Stilinski. It’s not like that, it's more of an earthly connection than magic. It’s why my plants are so healthy. I can brew stuff, make little potions-” You motioned a hand over the jars lining the shelves on the walls, his eyes scanning over each one, picking out the neatly written titles across the fronts. “-I can cast very light spells, but it’s not the sort of thing where you can curse people, or teleport.”

“So, you can’t curse people to turn into frogs?”

“No, unfortunately not.” He was sure your giggle was the sweetest he’d ever heard, and he dared to twist himself around a little more, inching slightly closer to you across the couch. “I can do some stuff, like make your skin break out or give you a rash that won’t go away until I let it, and I can even give you headaches and such, but I don’t like to dabble in that sort of stuff. I much prefer protection charms.”

“Protection charms?” His heart skipped a little beat at the way your face lit up as you nodded, and he was intrigued, interest piqued. “I could use one of those, y’know, I’m incredibly clumsy and often get into supernatural trouble when I’m home. Hasn’t been so bad since I got here. Will you make me one?”

Your eyes left him, bottom lip nibbled between your teeth, and for a second he had worried he’d messed up, unsure on how witch spellcasting etiquette worked, but then you were moving across the room, opening up the cabinet on the other side of the room, and inside the doors and wooden frame hung what must be close to a thirty different decorative charms. Some were dreamcatchers or garlands hanging on the inside of the door, others were handcrafted little ornaments sitting on the shelves and filling them up, and your fingers were flittering over them all.

When you found what you were looking for, you lifted it out, a dream catcher that was bright and colourful and a little odd-looking, before bringing it back over to him, and presenting him with it cautiously. “You already made me one?”

“Yeah, well, I couldn’t let the cute guy from across the hall get any more injuries. I watched you fall over five times in your first week living here. You’re really clumsy.”

He felt heat rush to his cheeks, and yet he couldn't help the goofy grin that travelled across his features, not mentioning the fact that he noticed you sitting considerably closer to home when you took your seat once again. He was embarrassed for two reasons, the first being that you had noticed his innate penchant for ridiculous injuries, but more overwhelmingly, the second being that you still thought he was cute. College might have helped him bloom a little, but when he had a crush, he was still a bumbling mess, and he didn’t know quite how to respond.

He busied himself with taking in the details of the dreamcatcher. Somehow, despite this being the first real conversation that the two of you had ever had, passing and fleeting chats in the halls and elevator not counting, you had managed to capture his entire essence, he could already tell. The strings were made of wool, chunky and all different colours, a mix of yellows and blues, woven in together and tangled in strange patterns, but beautiful nonetheless, and the little accents were what made it complete.

A button that had fallen off of one of his flannels, he recognised the distinctive wooden piece, and it was woven into the design, along with a blue ribbon in the same colour of the jeep that was tied in a bow, and a wooden twig tangled in it. Dangling on more pieces of wool from the bottom was a keyring he was sure he’d lost after leaving it downstairs overnight, the Yoda on it looking cleaner than he remembered, and you must've cleaned it. There was also a black feather, and a sprig of some kind of dried herb that he didn't recognise, but enjoyed the smell anyway.

It was intricate and personal, and he felt chuffed just to know that you’d made one for him, a little security and peace washing over him to know that someone was out here looking after him, completely unmaliciously, simply because you wanted to.

“This is incredible.” You let out a breath of relief, he recognised it in the way your body slumped a little, and he placed it down carefully on the coffee table beside you both, reaching out to take your hand in his, and daring to lace your fingers together and squeeze in gratitude, and you held onto him yourself, gaze dropping down to your connected hands. In a bold move of your own, you lifted your other hand, holding onto his with both of yours, and his thumb lifted out to brush lightly over your skin. “You’re the reason I don’t get papercuts and splinters anymore.”

“And you are very welcome for that.” You teased him back, and an easy kind of harmony fell between you both, your presence being more comfortable simply having only just really begun to meet you than he ever had been with someone new. It was strange, to feel so relaxed and at home with you, the way you put his fears at ease and soothed every worry without even trying, making him feel welcome and accepted, like he’d known you for years, not just shy of an hour. “Will you tell me about your pack?”

“You really want to know?” He couldn’t mask his surprise, and you nodded, excitement gleaming in your eyes, and he felt a surge of pride swell up in his system at the idea of getting to boast about his friends completely honestly for the first time in his life. There was no threat, he wasn’t showing off their skills as a way to try and ward off a threat or intimidate someone, but he simply wanted everyone else to be as awed by them as he was, and he didn’t have to hide any supernatural secrets from you. “Shall I start at the beginning?”

“Is it a long story?”

“Very long.” He confirmed, a shy laugh leaving you, before you were shifting again.

“How about I go and make us some fresh tea, then?” You were on your feet, wandering away to the kitchen as soon as he’d offered his affirmations of the idea, and he decided to follow after you, already beginning to blather about Peter Hale.

Hours seemed to pass by, as he spoke to you, two more pots of tea being made, and you’d broken out your snack-store for him, before the two of you had ordered pizza. He’d made himself at home, too, keys and phone sitting abandoned on the table, shoes kicked off on the floor, and feet stretched out along the couch. You were sitting at the opposite end, your legs stretched out in his direction, and one of his hands was sitting on your ankle, fingers drawing patterns on the soft skin there absentmindedly as his other hand was used to gesture wildly around himself.

He told you it all, confessing right from the beginning as he encountered Derek Hale, who liked to lurk in the woods, which had made you crack up as he told you about how the man was basically now the alpha, even if Scott was officially the alpha, and he’d told you about Jackson’s kanima phase, which had made you crack up even more as you claimed he deserved it.

You’d been shocked by his homicidal English teacher, and comforted him when he spilled his heart to you over the nogitsune incident he hated to think about, accepting your hush happily, and revelling in the smell of your hair when you’d pressed in close to him, before retreating to your seat.

He told you all about the benefactor and the dread doctors, and about Allison’s death, which he still blamed himself for when he was on a low day, and you’d used your thumb to clear away the tear that had fallen from his cheek, leaving him blushing and breathless for a second when you’d pressed a light kiss to his cheekbone just after.

You had scooted closer to him and stayed there near the end of his tales, tucked under his arm, playing with his fingers over your shoulders as he rambled about how alone he’d felt while taken by the Wild Hunt, thoughts that he’d always kept locked up in his own mind, never having shared with another person before.

“You really got the short end of the ‘supernatural encounters’ stick then, huh?”

“Oh, sweetheart, that is the understatement of the century.” You lifted your head from his shoulder, your feet nudging together on the coffee table, the reindeer themed fluffy socks on your feet playing with the patchy and worn door knitted socks he’d had for years, worn to keep warm during the winter, even though your apartment was nice and toasty, the heaters running and the radiators on, and it was much cosier than his place had ever been.

The Christmas lights on a timer had come on, flickering around the place once the light had started fading, hours flashing by in the blink of an eye, a hazy glow cast over the apartment and creating a whole new range of shadows. “Do you want me to make charms for your friends?”

He watched you for a moment longer, trying to discern whether you were serious, and when he caught no gesture of ill-will, or hesitation, or hidden-motives, he smiled. “You’d do that?”

“Seems like you all need it.”

He shrugged a little, smiling when you rested your forehead against his, fingers playing together still, but feet stilling in their game of footsie. “I can’t believe I waited this long to get to know you. You’re, like, the coolest chick I’ve ever met.”

His eyes fluttered closed, he couldn't’ help it, noses bumping together as you both simply drowned in the moment, in what the moment was leading up to, where you both knew this was going but were revelling in the simple but exhilarating tension that was crackling with electricity in the millimetres of space between your lips and his. You were so close to him that he could feel it more than hear it when you whispered some words he didn’t quite understand, your breath fanning over his face in a dreamy sigh, and it took his hazed brain a second to catch up, before he was pulling back just enough to catch your eyes, one hand coming up to rest over your cheek as he turned to face you fully.

“Oh, my God. Did you just cast a spell?”

“Look up.” He was hesitant to pull back much further, but did so anyway, and he chuckled slightly as he spotted the little green plant beginning to sprout from the ceiling. Vines were still strengthening along the beam, and the leaves were beginning to form right before his eyes, white berries hanging between the green stems, and Stiles shook his head, in complete awe as he looked at it.

You were staring up to, eyes focused on the plant as it bloomed and he assumed you were concentrating on its development, but he couldn't hold back anymore, two hands on your cheeks, pulling your face back to his, and your lips barely parted to speak before his mouth was colliding with your own. A squeak left you, and he wanted to grin at being able illicit such a sound from you, but the temptation to kiss was just enough for him to contain himself. When your mind finally caught up, you were kissing him back just as eagerly, a soft sigh leaving you. “You are fucking adorable.”

The words were whispered into your mouth, he felt you shake with a soft laugh under his hold, before you were holding onto him just as tightly in return. One of your hands wrapped around his wrists, the other sliding over his bicep to his shoulder, before slipping down underneath, and smoothing over the front of his chest. He puffed out a little under your touch, pulling away for a quick breath, groaning slightly at the way your nails dug into his skin as he did, and then, he was diving right back into you.

Your hand slipped down to rest over his heart, the organ thudding under your hand, and he felt like it was going to burst right out of his chest, but as he pressed a little further into you, a shock like an electrocution was racing right through his body, a kind of jolt that was thoroughly exhilarating, and he pulled away, eyes wide as he stared at you.

You looked just as shocked as he expected he did too, his hands dropped down as he watched sparks and electricity crackle between your fingers and his, your brows raising at him. “Thought you said you had no magic left after.. y’know..”

He couldn’t drag his eyes away from it, your fingers weaving with his, a loud snapping sounding as a particularly bright flare went off, and he flinched a little, jaw dropping and a whine slipping from him as you contained it all the sight disappeared before his eyes. “So, there really are sparks flying between us, huh?”

He regretted the words the moment he’d said them, expecting to see on your face the same kind he’d always gotten from Malia or Lydia when he made those kinds of cheesy puns that only he enjoyed, even Scott daring to fix him with a bored or blank look, and Derek would simply glare, but much to his surprise, you laughed. It was fond, with a roll of your eyes and a huff to preempt it, but you laughed nonetheless, and he felt himself somehow manage to brighten even further. “That was cheesy.”

“I know.” He beamed, shifting a little, hands sinking down to your hips to pull you closer to himself as he settled back into the couch, and your hand pressed to the cushions beside his head, the other one coming up to weave into his hair lightly.

“I loved it. I am quite a fan of puns.”

“That’s good, because I usually have a lot of them.” He leaned up, daring himself to be bold enough to close that gap once again, and he could feel your lashes tickling his cheeks as you nuzzled into him a little more. “If I kiss you again, will those sparks happen this time, too?”

“If I stop controlling it, they will.”

“Stop controlling it, sweetheart.” He felt you move to nod your affirmations, but dipped his head in time, proud of his own reflexes as he caught your lips, feeling the hand in his hair tighten, and he was so glad he’d decided to grow it out all those years ago, because right now, he was losing all sense of himself in the way your nails would scratch across his scalp, or the delicious burning that flared over his skin for a split second when you pulled on his hair, before you were rubbing it softly, fingers working in tandem timing with your lips, teasing over his own.

That same feeling took up, a sparking that felt like fireworks, like energy surging through him, escaping at his fingertips in every place that he touched you, one palm smoothing along your back to somewhere that was definitely too lose to be respectable, as the other held onto your cheek still. You were taking control, your tongue darting out to trace over his lower lip, bribing him to part them but he needed no convincing, letting your tongue meet his own only a second after you’d made the request, equally breathy and needy noises escaping you both at the slow and wet drag of the muscles over one another.

His lungs were burning, lips beginning to sting as his assault on your mouth continued, his neck straining to hold this angle, and yet the more you kissed him, the more that the hazy feeling of getting to be with you like this raced through his body was the more he became addicted to needing more, chasing a high that he didn’t even know he wanted until now, like an addict finding his next hit.

You seemed to pick up on it all, as though you’d read all of his thoughts, because the second he’d had the lingering thoughts, you were settling yourself across his lap, a leg on either side of his own as you seated yourself down, and he couldn't help the way his hips bucked up a little to meet you, or the way his hand slid down fully to rest on your ass.

After all, as much as he’d gone through the make him grow up emotionally, physically he was still a horny-teen college boy, and you were one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen, sitting half-naked in his lap and sucking on his lower lap while doing something with your tongue that was making him feel like he couldn't even breathe properly for how aroused he was.

Maybe you could feel the growing erection underneath of you, maybe you couldn't, but he’d stopped caring about being embarrassed around you about three hours ago when he’d had to tell you all about the time he’d once dropped a condom in Coach’s class in front of the entire classroom, and you’d laughed so much your face had gone red and you’d hidden it form him by pressing into his shoulder.

You were something he felt like he was dreaming up, like any moment now he’d wake up in a small puddle of his own drool with his face pressed into the desk of his lecture hall, the lights turned out and another note left by his kind professor to get more sleep at home, and to lock up when he left, before you were giggling a little at him, pulling away and stealing a few more pecks as you did, and he wondered if you really could read his mind, heat flushing his cheeks.

“Are you reading my mind or something?”

He felt stupid even as he mumbled te words, especially when it only seemed to heighten your entertainment, but you shook your head. “I can’t read your mind, I can just kinda’ sense your mood, I guess. It’s the connection, you were clearly thinking something funny, and I don’t know what it was, but I got a sudden rush of amusement.”

“That’s pretty fucking incredible.” He whispered, letting you peck his mouth a few more times, simply sitting there with puckered lips as he tried not to smile too much, before he was tucking hair away behind your ears and finally you were opening your eyes, and at this point, he really should learn to stop being surprised by new developments with you. “Holy shit, your eyes are glowing!”

“So are yours.” You winked, the bright purple being a shade that was so captivating and beautiful on you that he couldn’t look away, even when you leaned away from him to grab his phone, raising it up to snap a picture for him, and forcing his gaze down to it. Much like you’d said, his eyes were beginning to hint in with a faint purple, the neon shading beginning to drip into his irises and take over from the usual golden-brown that resided there. “You never made out with another witch before?”

He pinched at your ass for your cheeky comment, taking his phone and throwing it away to the side, grinning when you yelped at his painless attack. “I didn’t even know witches really existed before today. Besides, what makes you think I'm one? I had a spark once, but as I said, that died out. Nothing truly magical.”

“I don’t know, you’re having a pretty strong connection with me right now, aren’t you?” Your arms looped around his neck, snuggling in a little closer to him, and he bit back a groan as you shuffled in his lap. “I think you’re underestimating yourself, you just don’t know how to tap into your magic, you have to believe in it to see it.”

“You really think so?”

He was vulnerable and he knew it showed, he’d gone his entire life being unsure as to where all his energy and twitching came from, as to why he’d always felt a draw to the earth; the preserve and the woods, and justice and balance, and why he’d somehow fit into a supernatural world with far more elegance and ease than he ever had the normal one, and maybe this was the explanation. “I really do, Stiles.”

“Will you teach me?”

“I would love to.” He pressed a kiss to your jaw, and then to the spot below your ear, before flicking his tongue out a little to drag over the sensitive patch that lay there, before moving down your neck. He didn’t want to mark you without your consent, he wasn’t sure what was going to come of all of this and where it would go, but he was more than happy to lick and bite lightly at your skin, finding the sweet spot that made your hips roll down into his own and a sound of need and desperation to leave you that was like music to his ears, before his hips were bucking up to meet you once again.

“Y’know when you said that you could feel what I was feeling?”

“Uh-huh?” You were distracted, your reply seeming somewhat faded and distant, and he chuckled lightly, before making his way back up to your mouth now that you’d both had a chance to catch your breaths once again.

“Does that mean everything?”

“Are you asking if I know just how much you want to fuck me right now? Because yes, I do know.” He choked a little on his breath, your hand in his hair pulling his head back so that you could meet his gaze, your lower lip held between you teeth, flesh going a darker pink, and he longed to be the one biting that lip for you. “Trust me, the sentiment is returned.”

“It is?”

“Oh, yeah.” He wasn’t used to women being so confident with wanting him, being so unashamed of it, or of even wanting him at all. Most of his hook-ups had been slightly drunk make-outs and sloppy grinding, or booty calls and meetings in closets at parties. He got more action than he ever did in high school, he’d finally grown into his limbs and his looks, but that didn’t take away the surprise that still happened every time someone as pretty as you even offered him the time of day.

“Like, right here? Right now?”

“Been thinking about how much I want to ride you on my couch for like an hour and a half, now.” Stiles couldn’t stop the moan that bubbled up in his throat, lips parting as you ran a finger over his swollen lips, a cheeky glint flashing over purple eyes as you looked at him.

“You might just be perfect for me.”

“I like the sound of that.”

A toothy smile was offered to you, before he was pulling you back in towards him, hands slipping down to lay resting on your thighs as soon as your lips had found his once again. The heat seemed to have passed, and while the kiss was still completely intoxicating, there was something a little more tender about it, too. It wasn’t nearly as rushed and frantic, the sloppy kisses you’d shared as you learned one another’s ticks had passed, and as your lips worked slowly with his own, Stiles found that he much preferred this kind of kiss.

This was the kind of kiss that he could picture himself sharing with you in many settings. A sleepy, early morning kiss, when you were still between the land of consciousness and the realm of unconsciousness. Or, late nights, when he’d fall asleep while studying, and he would let you drag him to his feet and to bed. Or, simply when he would finish a lecture, or get you coffee, or meet you for dinner. The point was, Stiles already knew he wanted to kiss you at all times of the day, and to hold onto you, and to watch you brew little spells at the stove while holding onto you from behind.

Your lips were wet when you pulled away, eyes sparkling as you looked at him, a bright shade of royal purple, like silk and rich violet on flower petals, and you looked utterly ethereal. “Do you have any idea just how beautiful you are?”

“You’re sweet-talking me.” You teased, bumping the tip of your nose against his, and he shook his head.

“No, I’m not, I’m just being honest with you. I’ve been into you for a long time, even if I didn’t quite have my mind in the right place to actually say it.” You huffed out a little laugh, your eyes averting from his own so that you could try and hide your bashful little expression, but he didn’t miss it.

“Well, I’ve been admiring you a little, too. I should’ve had my deliveries sent to you sooner, if I knew it was going to end like this.” As if to punctuate your words, you rolled your hips down into his, reminding him of the solid erection pressing into his jeans, his fingers digging a little firmer into your skin, and he pushed your shirt up higher, the soft cotton of your panties revealed to him.

“These are just fucking sinful. Do you normally wander around your house in underwear and band-tees?” He tugged at it a little, before daring to tuck his hand underneath the fabric, trailing up, and a poorly-concealed groan left him as he found no further obstructions, fingers closing over one of your breasts, squeezing lightly as he palmed at your chest. “Well, clearly not all of your underwear.”

“I tend to, I keep it warm in here, for all the plants.” Your back arched up into his hand, one of your own closing over his outside of your shirt, as your other held onto his shoulder, fingers leaving crescent-moon shaped marks he was sure, and the rocking of your hips into his own only seemed to increase.

“I’d love to see you in one of my flannels sometime, just like this.”

“Give me your shirt and you’ll see it sooner than you think.” You teased, his brows raising, before he was pulling his hands back just long enough to lean into you, stripping the garment off as best as he could, leaving him in a thin black t-shirt as you took the item from him. He wanted to whine out as you stood up, choosing instead to replace the pressure of your core over his with his hand instead, palming at his cock through the thick denim, and you grinned as you watched him, yet he didn’t feel the slightest bit embarrassed.

You stood before him, draping his shirt across his spread knees as he slumped further into the cushions, getting himself comfortable and popping the button on his jeans, swollen lower lip being nibbled as you played with the hem of your shirt. Your hips were swinging to the beat of the song, and then, you raised the garment up and over your head, letting it drop away to the carpet, his jaw dropping as he looked at you.

You picked up his flannel, pulling it up your arms, and leaving it open at the front, just barely covering your tits. You were an angel and also the devil, tempting him to do so many wrong things. Stretching his hands out toward you, he beckoned you back into his lap, an act you were more than happy to take as you bounded over to him, a pep on your few short steps, before you were settling back into his lap.

“Perfect.”

He let his hands find the flaps of the flannel, pulling it open wide enough to be able to admire your tits fully, letting you push your hair back away from your shoulders for his unobstructed view. Sealing one hand around your waist, he dragged you up closer, until you were almost pressed to him fully, before dipping his head down. His tongue dragged over a hardened nipple, taking the taut peak into his mouth and sucking harshly, as your hand wound into his hair. You tugged, roughly, a groan that vibrated along your entire body leaving him and making you shiver, and you made the prettiest little noises above him.

He switches sides, making sure to give the other half of your chest that same kind of attention, leaving wet marks and stinging watches along your skin that would become bright purple marks in the morning to match the colour of your eyes, and he just hoped you kept him around long enough to see them when they did become beautiful and prominent. He wanted to see his good work, he wanted to see the way he got to mark you up and leave his touch all over your body.

“Stiles..”

“I do love how you sound moaning my name, princess, but I’m not sure how much longer I can last when you're making noises like that and grinding yourself all over my cock like this.” You grinned, letting him kiss his way back up your chest and throat until he was taking your lips with his own. Your hands were moving down, tugging at his zipper as far as it would go, hid hips bucking up into his hand as he felt you drag a nail along his covered erection, breathy sounds between you both when you pulled away.

He only had to lift himself up for a moment, before you were tugging at his jeans, helping him to get them just far enough down his thighs for his boxers to be able to follow. His cock was throbbing, painfully hard and desperate for you, leaking precum along his skin, and he gave himself some form of relief. You were watching him, eyes wide as he pumped his length in one hand, the other dipping under your skirt rubbing over your core, and you bundled up your shirt for him.

“Y’know, all those times I thought about us, a quick fuck on your couch wasn’t how I had wanted our first time to be, but then again, I didn’t expect the cute chick across the hall to be a witch, wither, so..”

He used his thumb to drag your panties to the side, your sodden folds revealed to him, and he slipped two fingers into your dripping core with ease. “I’ll let you take it slow next time, I swear, but right now, I’d really like it if you’d fuck me.”

He could only nod, heart skipping a beat at the promise of another time. Your legs shifted, muscles clenching as he forced himself to take his touch away from your core and bringing his fingers up to his mouth, sucking your sweet essence from the thin digits. As you leaned over him, he was sure to line himself up, and then, you were sinking down onto him, your forehead flailing to his as your mouth fell open, his eyes rolling back in his head.

“You’re so fucking big.”

“You’re so fucking tight.” He whispered the words, a little breathless and hanging on the edge of his orgasm already, and you seemed just as close, because as you finally sank all the way down and settled into his lap again, he could feel every pulse within your walls as you hugged around him.

It took him a moment, staving off his climax so that he didn’t come just from getting to feel you like this, and you looped your arms around his neck gently to find your purchase. Your nails were scratching lightly at the hairs at the base of his neck, his flannel once again flapping around you, panties pushed to the side to let him have access to your centre, and it was deliciously filthy.

Once you were settled, you circled your hips, a test movement, pleasure spiking in both of your systems and it felt like the temperature in the room was shooting upwards. Stiles could already feel sweat beginning to bead along his skin in a thin layer, and you pressed yourself in closer to him. Each time you shifted your hips you were moving a little more, every rock of your body into his, you were pulling yourself up just a little higher to be able to drop yourself back down onto his cock, stretching and squeezing around him.

You felt like velvet, slick and warm as you sheathed around him. You were precise and deliberate, and he couldn't help the wonton sounds that were leaving you with every drop down onto his cock, before you were taking him up to see stars every time, leaving the both of you resting in the clouds. Panted breaths, a scream in the back of your throat that tried to break out each time as you gave him broken moans of his name, picking up your pace further and further each time.

Once you were stable above him, you were moving with purpose, fast and quick as you rode him, gaining more confidence each time, and he was gripping you so tightly that there would be fingerprints all over your hips in the morning. He helped you go, lifting you up each time, only to pull you back down into his lap, thrusting up with a weak effort to meet you, but feeling you go wild each time. That same energy was back, crackling with more force, surging through him like nothing he had ever felt.

Stiles was in college, he was away from home and the weight of being the Sheriff’s kid for the first time, and he had experimented. He’d gotten drunk, and high, and hungover, but this was a whole new kind of thrill; it was like lighting up with fireworks and adrenaline all at once, like creating a bond with another person, and a tingling spread throughout his entire body as your magic bonded with his own. He hadn't felt this kind of singing in his blood since the day he’d managed to finish the circle with the mountain ash back when he was only sixteen, or breaking through the wild hunt barrier at almost eighteen.

These kind of thrills were rare for him, but they’d never been this strong, and as the two of you moved as one in the most intimate way that two people could, your mouth coming up to claim his as you silenced yourself and him, growing louder and more desperate as you went, he felt that final high beginning to build.

“‘M so close, honey.” His voice had taken on that same kind of scratchy rasp that he had in the mornings before he even broke into his day, “Oh, God, keep goin’.”

He knew his words were beginning to grow slurred, and he could barely buck his hips up into you. As everything within his body began to light up, he felt like all of his muscles were going lifeless, his body going boneless, because the heat was consuming him. He couldn't hold it back, he’d been waiting for so long to feel you this way, and his lips could barely even move back against your own as he went slack-jawed, exploding within your tight heat.

The send that he was shooting over the edge, you were following right after him, crying out his name into his mouth as you kept going against him, until you couldn't clumping down into his body as you trembled, and Stiles felt as though you’d milked absolutely everything from him that he had to offer. There was a crackling along his skin from everywhere that your fingertips smoothed over, sliding down from his shoulders so that you could press your cheek to the spot instead, fanning breaths rushing over his neck as you tried to catch your breath, racing heart just like his was.

You didn’t even bother to move from him, letting him throb within your walls with each flutter you made and each shift, and if you kept it up, he was sure he’d be ready for a second round, but he wasn’t entirely sure that he had that in him. Resting his head back against the edge of the couch, he let you lift yourself up and off of him finally, your legs shaking as you stood, offering him a weak smile as he took in your through fucked out state, before taking wobbly steps away from him, and disappearing down the hall.

He heard a door close, assuming you’d gone to the bathroom, and he leaned over to the coffee table to snatch up a few tissues, to clean himself up with, before sorting himself out too. He did the bare minimum, not even bothering to do up his jeans once he had them pulled back up, but he stretched out along the length of the couch to lay down, an arm popped under his head, and a little laugh on his lips as he did.

He took a moment to glance around, not missing the way that the plants all seemed to be blooming particularly beautifully, seeming more alive than ever. As he lifted up a hand before his face, rubbing his forefinger and thumb together, a spark travelled between the tips, and he felt a little in awe just at the sight of it.

“It's pretty incredible, right?”

He startled, jumping a little, before turning to look at you and propping himself up on his elbows as you lingered in the doorway. You had changed, your hair pulled back and out of your face, missing a few odd strands and you’d buttoned up his flannel along your body, mismatched and hanging unevenly, but still adorable. You took slower steps over to him, waiting for a second as you stood beside him, before he was lifting his arms and making it clear to you that you could lay with him, a smile gracing both of your faces as you flattened yourself along him, cheek pressed over his chest as his arms wrapped around your waist.

“You like feeling your magic, then?”

He lifted his palm, holding it to yours and admiring the final dying flares he saw, as the energy began to dissipate and absorb into his body and yours fully. “I’m not used to feeling special myself. I’ve always been a behind the scenes, research, kinda’ guy. I’m not used to being one of the main players.”

“Oh, hush. You told me your story, you were most definitely a key player, Stiles.” He shrugged under you, letting you cross your arms over his chest and prop your chin on them.

“Yeah, but I never really felt that way, and now I feel like I have something to offer.”

You leaned in, brushing your lips over his jaw with a sweet kiss, and he felt like he could most definitely get used to this feeling. Can I meet them?”

“My pack?”

You nodded, seeming a little shy now, and joy raced through him at the fact that you saw enough of a future with him to want to meet his friends an get to know them, and to once again be able to be completely open and honest with everyone, never having to hide anything from anyone, and being able to let you fully and wholly into his life. It was a surprise, because the more he’d thought about his future late at night when lying alone in his bed, he was so sure he’d never be able to really settle down, because he could never let someone in on his life in every single way, but with you, that wasn’t a problem.

“I would absolutely love that.”

“Really?” You were studying him carefully, trying to ensure that he was telling the truth, and he gave you the most honey look that he possibly could, before lifting his head to meet your lips as he leaned in.

Soft and delicate, like a kiss that was shared between deep romance and longtime lovers, and he rested a hand on your cheek, holding you to him, and rolling you to the side, to sandwich you between the couch and his body Your thigh came up to rest over his legs, his palm slipping from your face to rest on your leg, drawing patterns on the skin until you pulled away to breathe, lips detaching from his as you whined a little. You stayed close, though, a soft look etched onto your features;

“I just want to meet a few more supernatural people, and get to know others who I don’t have to hide from.”

“Well, you definitely don’t have to hide from them, and you’ll love them, just as much as they’ll love you. We’re a pretty odd group, you’ll fit right in.”

“You’re right about that ‘odd bunch’ thing. I’ve never met a banshee, or a - what did you call it? - werecoyote.” That was an undeniable truth, your head coming back down to rest on his chest as he shrugged, unable to deny that you were right. “Your wolves sound nice, too. All the other wolves I’ve met have been overly territorial and closed off.”

“Well, Derek used to be like that, but we’ve pulled him around a little. He is still broody, though.” You laughed at his joke, a sound that made his heart burst open slightly and bleed with affection, all for you, as you continued to take more and more pieces of his heart with every act, and he was falling in love with you faster than he’d ever known was possible. “Don’t take notice of any of his lurking, by the way, it’s his twisted way of showing concern and care.”

“I’ll remember that, and if I ever catch him hiding behind a tree, I’ll know that it’s real friendship.”

“He does that, I’m serious, don’t underestimate him. I think my dad arrested him for stalking, once.”

“I think your dad would be who I am most scared to meet.” A fond tone in your voice, before he was pressing a kiss to your forehead, humming under his breath.

“He’ll love you the most, don’t worry.”

Silence fell between you both then, and he busied himself with tracing illegible drawings into your skin, simply enjoying feeling so close to you. It was irrationally domestic, and you were the final piece in his college life and college experience that was missing. Despite not being a wolf, he was unequivocally part of a wolf pack, and being surrounded so closely by such a tight-knit group of friends for those years had made him dependent on company and reliability, and he had been feeling so alone since leaving for college.

Scott had Malia, Lydia had rekindled things with Jordan, and even Derek had been (begrudgingly, to begin) hooked up with a deputy by his father, and they’d been on a few dates.

The last time he’d been home, he’d felt like a fifth, seventh, or was it ninth wheel, when Liam and Hayden were taken into account? He had been feeling awfully lonely lately, and he was glad to finally find someone that fit him perfectly, matching him like a glove.

“When I do introduce you to my friends, my pack, y’know, and my dad..”

You lifted your head, a little crease across your cheek from the fold in his shirt, and he rubbed the spot with his thumb gently, an attempt to remove the mark. “Yeah?”

“What should I introduce you as?”

“A witch.” You deadpanned, and he knew immediately that you’d clearly know exactly what he meant, but were playing with him, and he pouted, fixing you with a mock glare, before you were laughing to yourself over your joke, something so undeniably cute that he couldn't even pretend to be mad about it. “What do you want to introduce me as?”

Nudging your jaw a little with his, he puckered his lips, tempting you down to kiss him, and you were more than happy to press a series of sweet and short kisses to his lips. “I’d really like to formally claim you to be my girlfriend?”

He mumbled the words into your mouth, feeling your lips flick up at the edges in a smile as you gave him a kiss that was a little more firm, a little more loving and powerful, before whispering your reply; “Then we’re on the same page, because I’d like to introduce you to my coven back home as my boyfriend.”

“You have a coven?” He pulled back, a gasp of shock, and you giggled at him.

“That I do. Maybe I should tell you about them?”

“You absolutely should.” He insisted, his craving for knowledge taking over, and he couldn't have been more glad to whatever deity was watching over benevolently that he’d taken the choice to stay the first time knowledge had been offered, because it had led him to where he was now.

“It might take all night, maybe you should go and get a change of clothes. Get comfortable.”

“Is that an invitation to stay the night?” You only nodded, letting him roll you back over onto your back as he kissed at your neck. “I’ll buy you take out if you cuddle me later?”

“Cuddling and dinner? Glad I get to call you my boyfriend, now.”

“Not nearly as glad as I am to call you my girlfriend. My little witch.” His lips sealed over yours, silencing your laughs against his mouth as you teased him for the nickname, and he pinched a little at your sides. The mistletoe overhead grew a little more, a few of the berries dropping away and bouncing off of his back as the plant became bolder, just like the rest, that energy beginning to grow once again, as you got lost in each other’s touch.

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dinosaurtsukki · 4 years

Text

[ too scared to say ]

pairing: tsukishima kei x f!reader

word count: 1.6k words

contains: slight angst, tsukishima with insecure!s/o cause he’s usually the insecure one in fics, another wedding-themed fic

a/n: had this idea for a while and i’m glad i’ve finally written it. it’s usually tsukki’s who’s insecure and guarded in xreader fics so i wanted to try it out with the reader being insecure this time

i love you.

you're caught off-guard when you hear the words from tsukishima's mouth. you never thought you'd ever hear him actually say them. as much you wished for it to happen, especially after you spent three years of high school doodling his name in the margins of your notebook, it feels too good to be true.

tsukishima looks sincere about it though. you're both seated on the couch in your apartment and even though it's pouring outside and the electricity had died, you can still make out his face in the dim lighting. you can tell it took him a great deal of effort to say that: his eyes are focused on the cushion on his lap as he picks at a stray thread, the sound of his breathing is more audible now as he inhales deeply.

this is the time where you say it back but the words catch themselves in your throat. after all, weren't you the one who got yourself into trouble for being too naive all the time? after leaving high school and all hopes of tsukishima ever liking you back behind, you tried your hand at relationships. you thought every single one of them would be your last, only to find that you had deluded yourself yet again.

meeting tsukishima again, years after high school, felt like a weird universal coincidence that you didn't know if you should thank for yet. even more so when he admitted to his feelings for you back then.

"so, what do we do about it now?" you asked.

"i'd... like to give this a shot," tsukishima said, rubbing the back of his head. you were reluctant, but agreed anyway.

you've said 'i love you' before, more than a few times. and yet, you couldn't say it now.

"aren't you... jumping to conclusions a bit?" you asked, nervously letting out a laugh.

"what do you mean?" tsukishima frowns slightly.

"just, saying that you might not be sure about that yet so... slow down a bit before saying things like that," you shrugged.

"what? you think i don't know my own feelings?" tsukishima scoffs. there's a look of hurt on his face and you can't exactly blame him for it.

"i'm sorry, tsukki," you apologize, resting your hand in the middle of the couch between you except he doesn't reach for it.

"it's fine," he shakes his head, focusing now on the wall in front of him. "i know you're not really the person you once were and, i don't mind that at all cause neither am i. sometimes, it really feels like you have a wall up."

you find yourself flinching slightly at that last part. maybe this is the part when things go south, like they always do. except, you feel sad that it had to happen with tsukishima too.

but he doesn't act like how you expect him to. "if you need time, it's fine with me," is all he says. tsukishima doesn't sound exasperated, nor frustrated at all. but he does stand up and head for the door.

'you can stay,' you think, 'please stay.'

but all you can bring yourself to say is: "take an umbrella. it's pouring outside."

...

that was about a week ago and tsukishima has barely heard from you then. he didn't know what else to do aside from give you space, and also silently regret things. maybe he was too hasty in saying that he loved you.

but, that was what he truly felt, and it wasn't easy for him to say but he did it anyway. 'you're not always losing anything when you open yourself up to someone,' akiteru had told him. and now, tsukishima was riding a bus on the way to his older brother's wedding.

he had just hung his tux on the curtain rod above the window and settled into his seat though when he caught a familiar flash of blue. of course, tsukishima would recognize your favorite dress and sat up in his seat to see you walking down the center aisle. he watched as you looked around for a seat before landing on the last empty one in the bus, which happened to be right next to tsukishima's.

"hey."

"hey," tsukishima swallowed as you approached.

"is this seat taken?" you asked.

"no, go ahead," tsukishima shook his head, his eyes distracted by the familiar dry-cleaners bag that you held in your hands. "let me help you with that," he offered, taking the hanger from your hands and hanging it up beside his tux.

“saeko nee-san invited me to the wedding,” you explained as soon as you sat down beside tsukishima. “congratulations to your brother, by the way.”

“thanks. we all, kind of saw it coming,” tsukishima chuckled. now that you were here, he realized just how much he missed you.

“i’m sorry for not calling or anything, by the way,” you apologized. “i can’t say that this is all new to me but, it’s just... well... i’ve been in other relationships before and sometimes, it feels like things repeat themselves too much.”

tsukishima nodded, remembering the night when you two met again after so many years. he was working the counter at the bar and noticed you sitting there, obviously dressed up for a date, obviously stood up in that said date too. you were very much different from the young girl who used to invite him and yamaguchi to watch the latest romance movie theaters, the one who sang songs at the top of your lungs in your bedroom, loud enough for those downstairs to here. but that didn’t mean he liked you any less.

“hey,” he laid a hand on top of yours. “why don’t we just enjoy today? you still love going to weddings, right?”

you smiled gratefully and chuckled. “yeah, that hasn’t changed.”

...

you fully expected to run into tsukishima at his own brother’s wedding and had thought twice about going before talking sense into yourself. and now, you were glad to have gone.

the wedding was absolutely charming and more than a few of your old high school friends came. you and tsukishima were seated with yamaguchi and yachi at the same table and chatted about old times and what the volleyball duo was up to. saeko looked stunning in her dress and akiteru cried more than a few times during the ceremony. tsukishima looked proud of his brother, and more than a little tired of his new brother-in-law.

“they look really good together,” you sighed, smiling at akiteru and saeko who were breakdancing in the middle of the dance floor, the latter doing much better than the former.

“yeah,” tsukishima chuckled. “they barely met each other in high school but i could tell nii-chan was star-struck when they met at the shiratorizawa match.”

“and now look at them,” you giggled. “kind of the opposite of us, in a way.”

“yeah, because you were definitely head over heels for me,” tsukishima snickered. you smacked his arm with the back of your hand.

“and you were too dense to realize it,” you countered.

“not exactly. just thought it was too good to be true,” tsukishima smiled wryly.

“we should have been accidentally locked into a room together to force us to admit our feelings.”

“you and your romance movie cliches.”

you chuckled at that. “just saying. would have made things way easier for everyone.” you sighed again and remembered the confession letter you had penned to tsukishima before deciding to stash it away in your desk. then, you turned to tsukishima who was watching his brother and sister-in-law dance.

maybe you were going to enjoy yourself tonight.

“hey, tsukishima?”

“yeah?”

“wanna dance with me?”

...

with the dancing and frequent visits to the wine bar, you ended up enjoying the wedding immensely. but as much as you didn’t want to, it was finally time to go home. you and tsukishima didn’t even bother changing out of your formal clothes before catching the last bus back home. your hair had escaped from its pins and you were definite that there was mascara smudged under your eye. tsukishima’s tie hung loosely around his neck and he had already unbuttoned the upper part of his shirt.

all of the dancing tired him out way more than you, but it was a pleasant surprise for him to comply with your request. you also had the wine to thank for tsukishima deciding to break dance for about a minute when his older brother asked him to.

as soon as he was seated, tsukishima was out like a light with his head leaned back against the seat and his mouth slightly hanging open. looking at him, you realized that he was someone you didn’t want to let go. dating him was scarier because of that and you didn’t want tsukishima to be one of those people you were eventually going to say goodbye to.

but how could he be that person if you don’t ask him to stay in the first place?

once again, you remembered the confession letter that you had wrote to him all those years ago. there was a tremble in your hand when you wrote down the last line of that letter, so much that it screwed up the writing and you decided not to send the letter anyway. you glanced at tsukishima’s misty reflection in the fogged up glass of the bus before using your finger to write down that line.

i love you

the words looked like they were suspended in the air and fragile enough to be blown away by the wind. with a swipe of your hand, you could easily erase the message.

and that’s when tsukishima wakes up.

his sleepy eyes travel from you to the message written on the window and his eyes widen when he realizes what you’ve written down. with a smile, he leans over, and writes a word right under your message.

i love you too

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#haikyuu!!#hq x reader #tsukishima kei #tsukishima kei x reader #tsukishima x reader #tsukishima #haikyuu!! angst #hq!! angst #haikyuu!! fluff #hq!! fluff #haikyuu!! drabble #hq!! drabble #haikyuu!! one-shot #hq!! one-shot #haikyuu!! writing #hq!! writing

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noctualilith · 4 years

Text

Our Past Got Us Here

We all love the Harvard FinnLo pining, but after the amazing and painful art Haz posted today we needed an extra dose of fluff to balance the feels. Co-written with the amazing and eloquent @ais-for-alex , the characters and universe by queen of the hazelhoots @lumosinlove

The box with the ominous title Harvard in blood red sharpie should have been heavier for all the memories it carried, Logan thought as he hefted it on his desk in his new room. He was all moved in with Finn and Leo, unpacked and fitting seamlessly in their space just as he did in their lives… but for this one last box.

Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, he reminded himself that whatever he unearthed was firmly in the past now, and his present was so much lighter and happier than anything he would find in there.

He heard Finn and Leo moving around in the apartment and he knew they were there for him if he needed them. He knew Finn saw the box and suspected what was inside, if the way he was lurking close to his door was any indication. He also knew that this was his task first and foremost - to unpack the past and claim it fully as his own, with all the good and the bad it brought. This was where he met Finn. This was where he fell for Finn. This was where he carried the burning flame of all he felt for him, held it close and hid it away from everyone including himself, until it burned him from the inside. He could still feel the hot rush of shame and hurt he was so well used to pushing back under and avoiding at all costs.

Opening the box would mean coming face to face with it for the first time after years, no more deflecting.

He was ready. He was home, their home, the three of them together and he was ready.

He pulled the lid off the box and was met with Finn’s warm gaze staring at him from a treasured photograph lying on top, the two of them only a few weeks after Logan got to Harvard, throwing him back into a memory that cut with precision right into those places that hurt the most. Years ago, he had packed that box in a state of numb resignation, putting away his heart piece by piece, alone in his room back at Harvard because Finn had left him for a dream and it hurt too much to see the reminders all around him. He had been crying too hard by the time he placed that last photo in the box, Finn’s smiling face blurred by the tears and hidden away when he closed the box and tucked it away. Now the feeling roared to life in his chest, loud and hungry for a resolution.

He wasn’t ready.

He must have made a noise, or maybe Finn had a sixth sense for when Logan needed him because the next thing he knew were his arms wrapping him in a hug, the safest place on Earth as far as Logan was concerned.

“Lo, baby, we’re okay.” Finn murmured into his hair as Logan hid his face in his neck, breathing him in. They were okay, they were great, but there were still some things unsaid between them, an unspoken agreement to leave that box unopened for another day.

Well, it was open now and waiting for them on the desk innocently.

Logan took a breath and lifted his head, searching for a kiss and the reassurance that came with it. He wasn’t alone, with Finn thousands of miles away, both of them silent and hurting. He was here, with his boys, allowed to touch whenever he wanted. They were good at reminding him of that, too. He needed that reminder now.

“Tell me.” He knew Finn would understand what he was asking for. Logan wasn’t good at talking, but Finn could read him like an open book after all those years. Logan only realized how much after he stopped pushing him away and allowed himself to love and be loved exactly how he’d yearned for.

“We’re okay. I love you. I’m never leaving you. Leo is never leaving us. You moved in with us and everything is finally as it should be, because being away from you feels like I’m missing a part of myself and fuck, I’m done with that. Do you know how important you’re to me? I’ll spend the rest of our lives telling you, Lo.” Finn was cradling his face in his hands and pressing a kiss to his lips after every declaration.

Logan’s hands were grasping at the fabric of Finn’s hoodie - Leo’s hoodie, actually - and that brought an unbidden smile to his face, helping the words hit home. Finn, in Leo’s hoodie, in his room. He didn’t have to do this alone, do anything alone, ever again.

“I know, mon amour. It’s just-- we haven’t really talked about-- I know I wasn’t in a hurry to unpack all that and you probably weren’t either but I want to, now. I think I need to.” He gestured to the innocent-looking box, watching Finn step closer to it and look inside, emotions playing across his face. He knew what it represented, of course he did. He probably had one just like that at some point, or maybe his was still unpacked too.

Finn reached into the box and picked up the photo from the top, the same one that Logan could barely look at just moments ago. He held it out to Logan with a wistful smile. “Let’s unpack this one together, what do you say?”

“Yeah, I’d really like to do that.” Logan’s voice was shaky, but he was determined. They’d probably end up crying, he could already feel the hot press of tears behind his eyes just thinking about all the memories that they were going to bring to light, but he wanted them all. He wanted to touch them, to put them up on his walls and see them every day without hurting for their past selves. A story of how they got to here and now, of how they lost each other and then found each other again. How they found their missing piece and built a home together.

He took the photo from Finn, their fingers brushing and unfailingly sending sparks across Logan’s skin. It’s been like that since he could remember, Finn’s touch like a brand, whether accidental and forcedly platonic for the longest time, or purposeful now but no less exciting with the promise of forever. It made him feel brave, so he cast around for the tape and tore a piece to stick it to the back of the photo. First one for the wall. First memory to unpack.

“You remember this one?” he asked Finn while he picked a place for it, pressing it to the wall and making sure it held. “I loved you already, when we took this photo. I was trying to convince myself that I couldn’t, but I did.” He heard Finn behind him suck in a breath, but he stayed quiet, letting him speak. Logan turned a bit, just enough to reach his hand back, wordlessly asking for the next photo, sticking it to the wall without looking at it first.

It was a photo of the two of them at a party. At the party.

“Lo--” Finn started behind him, already gearing up to tell him they could do this another day, Logan could hear it in his voice. It’s happened often enough. Logan was sick of it, of swallowing the pain and the tears and hiding in the safe topics of their everyday life, like what to get for dinner and who should drive.

“I’m sorry.” He interrupted Finn, softly but with determination, still looking at the photo. He felt Finn pressing himself along his back, one arm coming up to drape over his shoulder, his hand pressing over his heart. There was another photo of them, just like this, a favourite of Logan’s and currently in Finn’s room, another piece of his heart captured forever. He leaned back into the embrace, drawing strength from the unwavering support. Now, then, always, Finn was by his side no matter how often Logan pushed him away. He was done pushing him away.

“I shouldn’t have done that, at the party. It was a shitty thing to do. I’m sorry. You deserved so much better.” Logan felt the first tear roll down his face, felt Finn’s breath stutter in his chest.

“I’m sorry too. You weren’t the only one not talking about it, you know? It’s on me, too. And we’re better now, aren’t we?”

Logan nodded wordlessly, breathing through the swell of emotions that threatened to overwhelm him when he thought about that night. A miracle turned into a secret and sitting heavy and unaddressed instead of being treasured as it should have been.

Finn spoke for the both of them, needing to acknowledge in words what happened. “That was our first kiss, Lo. I still remember it, like it happened just yesterday. I loved you already, when we took this photo. I couldn’t believe what happened after. I’m glad it did.”

Logan turned to him at that, surprised. “You’re glad? I blamed it on being drunk and then never talked about it. It might as well not have happened at all! Our first kiss was a lie and I can never change it. How--” Finn pressed a kiss to his lips and stayed there, interrupting his rant and waiting for him to kiss back before pulling away again, keeping their foreheads together.

“I’m glad because we’re here now. We’re talking about it now. It was real to me, Lo. I was afraid then, too. I’m not anymore, you’re not anymore. We found each other. We found Leo. That’s what matters.” Finn’s eyes were swimming in tears but he was smiling, and Logan couldn’t help but kiss that smile right off his lips. “You’re right. That’s what matters. Gimme the next one. Let’s talk about all of them.”

The wall was slowly filled with memories and their weight was lifted from their unspoken past word for word as they remembered each moment for the good and the bad. So often Logan had felt close to crumbling under the guilt, but Finn was right there holding him close and offering him absolution with each new piece out of the box, like it was the easiest thing in the world.

Beside photos, there were other things too. Movie tickets, four of them from the same movie they kept going back for. A receipt from a dinner at a roadie, just the two of them, where Finn doodled stick figures playing hockey while they waited for dessert. Crumpled notes that Finn would sometimes leave stuck to Logan’s door, sometimes a shopping list, sometimes an inside joke. Logan kept them all.

FInally, the box was empty and the wall was full. Logan felt exhausted but his heart was lighter than it had been in years, brimming with love for his boys and gratitude for the road that brought him here. He and Finn stood shoulder to shoulder in the middle of the room, looking at the wall, tears drying on both their faces.

“I want Leo” Logan spoke into the comfortable silence, pulling on Finn’s arm, suddenly eager to have them both close, to bask in the reality of having them, of being loved by them. “Come on Harz, let’s find him.”

Finn reeled him back in for one more kiss. “Love you, Lo.”

“Love you, too. Love Leo. Want Leo now.”

“Yeah, me too. Come on, he’s in the kitchen.” Logan was already squirming away and Finn let him pull them from the room and towards the kitchen where they could hear the clatter of utensils. He did the hard work and now he wanted his rewards. He wanted his boys close.

Hand in hand, they padded down the hall towards the kitchen, towards their missing piece, towards their future, leaving all the guilt and the hurt finally where it belonged; in their past.

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

Leo brushed a bit of flour from his hands. He suppressed the urge to wander into Logan’s room where he knew his partners were unpacking more than just the old boxes beaten by years of hiding in the closet. Those old boxes that carried memories of Finn and Logan’s days spent so close to each other but separated by an ocean of feelings that fit between their dorm beds.

No, Leo had to let them unpack together. Finn and Logan needed to be the ones to pull each memory from the moth eaten cardboard. They needed to be the ones to hold them close to their hearts and feel, and once the hurt of all those years past had been aired away they could finally hang those memories on the walls to look at without that bitter hurt anymore.

Leo would wait though, he would wait for them to emerge from the solemn confessional of Logan’s room, he would wait for them to be ready, he would wait until they wanted him there to pull them back together. He would wait for them forever. Luckily though he didn’t have to wait forever. Leo turned as he heard their footsteps padding closer to the kitchen.

“Hello, my loves,” he said as Finn and Logan peeked their heads in to see what he was doing.

“Mmm,” Finn hummed in greeting and came up to press a soft sweet kiss to Leo’s lips. Out of the corner of his eye Leo saw Logan hop up to sit on the counter. When Finn finally pulled away his lips were pulled into a gentle smile and his eyes as warm and sweet as melted chocolate. Leo sighed at the sight, but turned to Logan who was softly kicking the cabinet doors where his feet dangled from the counter.

“Hi baby,” he whispered, slotting himself between Logan’s knees and running his hands soft against his thighs. Logan sighed and wrapped his legs around Leo’s waist pulling him in closer.

“You all unpacked?” Leo asked so softly for a moment he wasn’t sure Logan had actually heard him. But he saw that look in Logan’s bright green eyes that meant he was thinking, choosing his words carefully before he tried to speak. So Leo waited, he reached up to lightly trace his fingers against the scratchy stubble on Logan’s jaw as his partner gathered his thoughts. Leo felt Finn settle in behind him, pressing his chest flush to his back and rest his chin on his shoulder. He turned his face inwards pressing closer just to place a kiss to the soft skin on Leo’s neck.

“Yeah,” Logan finally answered with a sigh, he turned his face to nuzzle into Leo’s palm. “It was- it was hard,” he whispered, then looked over at Finn still resting his head on Leo’s shoulder and smiled softly. “But as hard as it was to live through, and remember, I don’t think I would change even a minute of it.”

Leo gave him a bit of a puzzled look at that, why on earth wouldn’t he change it if he could? Why would he be willing to live through that pain? Logan chuckled lightly at his confusion and leaned forward to press a chaste kiss to the corner of Leo’s mouth.

“Mon amour, I would live every minute of it again and not change a thing, because mine and Finn's past is what led us to you. And you know what? Thinking of it like that, it doesn’t hurt at all.”

Leo couldn’t help the sheen of tears that glazed his eyes, or the sniffles as he reached forward to pull Logan fully into his arms, holding him tight like he couldn’t bear to leave even an inch of space between them.

“We love you so much Nutty,” Finn whispered, pressing a kiss to the nape of his neck, “you make it easier. God, you make everything better.”

“Guys,” Leo sighed at the feel of them pressed so close against him, “this wasn't supposed to be about me.”

Logan reached out to cup his face, his eyes bright and sure as they gazed into Leo’s own, “sweetheart, it’s about us, all three of us, together. Our past, and yours, they were stepping stone to get to this exact moment.”

“Leo,” Finn said softly, he pulled away slightly and turned Leo to look at him so his back was now pressed against Logan's chest where he was still sitting on the counter. Logan twined his arms around Leo’s torso as Finn tilted his chin just so until he couldn't look anywhere but those chocolate eyes. “It’s time we all moved on from the past, ok? Instead, lets focus on building a future, one for all of us, that we’ll get to spend the rest of our lives cultivating.”

Leo swallowed hard, Finn's words seemed to crawl into his heart mending cracks and fissures he hadn’t realized were there. His words put to rest that horrible feeling that crept into Leo’s mind in the dead of night, in those moments he was all alone with no one to soothe away the fear, that he was the odd man out. That one day Finn and Logan would realize that they didn't need him, because they already had a foundation to build on.

“I love you guys so fucking much,” he breathed, and felt Logans arms tighten around him. Finn smiled and leaned in, pressing closer gently until they were so close they were breathing the same air.

“D’accord, d’accord,” Logan mumbled into his shoulder, he breathed in deeply then continued, “no more sad for tonight.”

“I think I can get on board with that,” Leo said with a chuckle.

“Same,” Finn agreed before finally pulling away.

Leo grinned and padded back to the other side of the kitchen where he had left ingredients for dinner strewn across the counter, “Well, do you guys want to help me make dinner then?”

“Le, my precious Peanut Butter, I need you to understand this;” Finn said seriously, “just because we have grown emotionally does not mean our skills in the kitchen have improved in the slightest.”

“Well yeah, and they never will if you don’t let me teach you,” Leo teased, snagging a dish towel and snapping Finn in the thigh.

Logan laughed at Finn's pout as he rubbed the welt now forming and jumped down from the counter, “Alright Nutty, teach us your ways, impart your vast cooking wisdom upon us.”

Leo rolled his eyes at their dramatics but set them to work nonetheless. Finn was tasked with peeling potatoes, with a stern warning from Leo about slicing off his finger. As he was prepping the meat, Leo glanced over at Logan who seemed to be having far too much fun smashing the crackers to make a breading. He couldn't help but grin as he felt warm affection rush through his veins, like he had injected pure love directly into his bloodstream. Leo couldn't wait to feel this for the rest of his life, to build and grow with them, and love them for as long as humanly possible.

It wasn't long before their kitchen was filled with laughter, and banter, and music played over the bluetooth speakers. The three of them worked in tandem, until the delicious aroma of home cooked food was wafting through their apartment. And so what if Finns mashed potatoes were a bit soupy, and what if the veggies Logan chopped were a bit uneven, it was something that they created together, Leo wanted to savor every bite.

#lumosinlove #coast to coast #sweater weather #inspired by coast to coast #inspired by sweater weather #coast to coast fic #sweater weather fic #O'Knutzy #Finn O'Hara #Logan Tremblay #Leo Knut #FinnLo #Harvard pining but with comfort #domestic fluff #needed fluff after that art Haz hit us with today #here is our humble offering

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teacup-crow · 3 years

Text

Maybe, Maybe, Maybe

Fun bit of survivors’ guilt for @badthingshappenbingo, based pretty heavily off Don’t Poke the Bear and Variations on a Theme. Post-finale.

They take it in turns to keep watch for when he wakes up: Doug, Reneé, Isabel, first names still such a novelty. Just his luck, he opens his eyes to the impassive face of Captain Lovelace.

“Hi, dickbag. Sore head?”

“Unnnnhh…” he whines as if he’s lying under a ton of rocks rather than a cosy quilt on Renee’s living room floor. His face is a patchwork of bruising. “Aspirin?”

She takes pity, and passes him two and a glass of water. The sitting up takes longer than he thought it would.

“You look terrible. Lucky for you, Renee makes a mean chilli con carne. Never would have guessed she could cook.”

“No thanks, I should, should be going-”

“You need food in your system, that’s non-negotiable. First thing’s first, though, you’re having a shower, and you either go willingly or get dragged bodily, because you goddamn stink. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, sir,” he mumbles automatically, and he remembers the Colonel - Warren? Was it on a day he could call him Warren? - once saying something similar and his head pounds. ((“mr jacobi, of all the irresponsible, stupid shit i have seen from you this really takes the-“))

“Bathroom’s on the second floor, just past the master bedroom. Dominick put a pile of clean clothes in there before he left for work. And it’s Isabel, okay? Not sir. Not Captain. Never again.”

***

“Who did this to you?”

He grips his mug of sweet tea like it’s thousand dollar whiskey. He’s still ashen. “I did this to me.”

“You beat the shit out of yourself? Okay, yeah. Don’t buy that one.” Isabel repeats the question. “Who did this to you?”

“Just some guys I pissed off. I don’t know how many. I don’t know who. Happy now?”

The room goes silent. Isabel continues:

“And did you go provoking them deliberately?”

Not for the first time, Renee wonders whether they should have included Doug in this little intervention. He’s been through so much just like the rest of them, but he doesn’t know it, and he’s clearly freaking out at the situation.

“Why would he want something like that to happen? He looks terrible!”

“I don’t know, Doug,” Isabel says levelly. “Care to answer, Jacobi?”

He’s not on a first name basis, apparently.

“Not… I didn’t... no. No, no, no. I was too drunk and… picking fights, but suddenly there were too many of them, okay? But I got out. And if I want to drink then that’s my own problem, so thank you for the hospitality but-“

Renee cuts in there. “When you drink yourself into a stupor, get attacked by a gang in a back alley, and stumble into my doorway at 0300 hours after six months of radio silence, it becomes our problem.” Her look of pity makes his stomach churn even more than the chilli did. He breathes in, hold, out; in, hold, out; in-((alana’s breathing technique and why why why is she everywhere in everything why does he have to see her out of the corner of his eye when it’s been so long he can’t properly remember her face-))

“Fine. What do you want from me?”

“You are a good man and you saved every single one of our lives and we need to understand why you’re so intent on throwing yours away.”

Jacobi starts laughing then, guttural laughs that worsen the ache in his head and bones but he can’t seem to stop them. “...me? I’m a good man? Oh my God, Lieutenant, that’s hilarious. Give us another.”

“You need to take this seriously! This is a form of self harm! You could have died!” Isabel is pacing up and down. She and Renee do good cop, bad cop like it’s a professional sport.

“Boo fucking hoo. And the world would forever be worse off for my passing.”

Isabel stops, and turns back towards him with some heat in her gaze. “I have lost too many crew members who deserved to die far less than you do. Okay? Is that what you want to hear? Do you need me to reconfirm that you are a an asshole? Do you need to hear about how Fisher, and Hui, and Fourier, and Lambert were all far better people than you will ever, ever be? Or will you accept that you are good in there? That deep down you’re on the right-“

“We burned their letters.” He’s staring at the duvet he’s wrapped in, running his finger over the flowers on the pattern. “Okay? Still think I’m a good person?”

“...wait. What?” She laughs a little, in shock perhaps. “But you told me…”

“I told you what I needed to tell you to make you trust me. We burned your crew’s letters. Lambert’s… I remember those especially. His hands were shaking really hard when he wrote them, weren’t they.”

It’s not a question.

Isabel stops pacing, and Jacobi grins again but it doesn’t reach his bruised eyes when he looks up at her. “More than mine, even. You could tell he was sick. They didn’t make any sense. We laughed at them. The irony of a Communications Officer who can’t communicate. Are you listening to me? We read their letters and we burned them and we laughed about it-“

Renee loses her softness. “Jacobi, that is enough!”

Isabel has a hand on her chest as if something has hit her there. She counts to ten in her head, ((fisher’s technique to try and stop her fighting with sam, never worked but still stuck in her head, or this copy of her head, or whoever she is now-)) and leaves the room.

They hear her slamming drawers in the kitchen.

Doug glances at Jacobi and shakes his head, before hurrying after her.

“How could you,” Reneé says. “How could you.”

“I don’t know. Will you let me go and ruin my own life now?”

“Never,” she replies. “Because, God help me, you’re still a member of my crew.”

At that, his eyes prick with tears he can’t explain. He rolls over on the air bed, and closes them.

***

“Lovelace?” Jacobi finally makes himself walk into the kitchen, grimacing like each step is on hot sand. The words are monotone. “I’m so sorry. What I did and said is... inexcusable.”

“Nope. That’s too large a word for your vocabulary. Come back to me with an apology Renée didn’t script,” Isabel snaps, going back to scribbling in a sketchbook.

“Look, I’m not much good at this-“

“You’re telling me.”

“I’m… really used to people yelling at me and hitting me until they feel better. Or you can shoot me if you like!”

“Jesus. Well, I am not about to do that to ease your guilt. You look like you’d snap if one more person poked you. So apologise properly.”

“I’m sorry…”

“For?” Isabel prompts over the top of her book.

“I’m sorry for burning your crew’s letters.”

“You did what you were ordered to do. It is what it is. I’m not condoning it.”

There’s a moment of silence, and Jacobi realises she’s waiting for him to continue. “And… I’m sorry for bringing it up. That was… needlessly cruel. It sucked.”

“It really did,” she replies, putting the book down. “Tell you what: that sounded somewhat genuine, and Goddard brought out the shit in all of us. You look so pathetic, I’m going to forgive you. Not because you deserve it, but because I don’t bear grudges. Not anymore.”

She holds out a hand, and he shakes it. “Thank you.”

“Wow. That actually hurt for you to say.”

Jacobi nods. He sits down across from her at Renée’s huge darkwood table, and thinks about how she and Dominick must have bought this when they moved in together with plans to have people over for dinner every other night. Maybe even plans to have kids.

He wonders if Dominick ate at it alone while his wife was gone.

“So, you gone on that holiday yet?”

“No, actually. I’ve legally been dead for about seven years, so getting a passport is proving pretty tricky.”

“I can imagine.”

“Where have you been, anyway? We tried to get into contact with you. We drove down to your old apartment - got your address from the Goddard database - but it was cleaned out.”

Jacobi looks sheepish. “Yeah, well, I’d mostly been staying at Alana’s for the last few years or overnight at… yeah… so I’d not been a very good tenant and turns out they took ‘lost in space’ as the perfect opportunity to kick me out. So I’ve been sofa to sofa, on the streets a bit-”

“For heaven’s sake, Jacobi. We would have helped you, you stupid asshole! All you had to do was ask and you could have stayed here! Renee and Dominick would probably even let you have a cheese collection or whatever the fuck it was.”

“Guess the amount of drinks it takes for me to lose my pride is somewhere over eighteen?”

“How do you have a functioning liver?”

They sit in an almost comfortable silence for a few minutes, Isabel reopening her sketchbook.

“I never knew you drew.”

“You never knew me outside of a life-threatening situation.” Isabel sighs, twists the pencil between her fingers. “I don’t think I did. Before. The old ‘me’, I mean. But I was bored and I can’t get a job because of the ‘being dead’ issue, so I thought I should take up a hobby or something. Might be therapeutic. I’m not very good at it…”

“Can I see?”

“I, uh,” Isabel suddenly looks uncertain. “I drew her. Maxwell. I drew everyone, actually. Are you sure you want to look?”

“Yes.”

He leafs through the pages, at first simple doodles before branching into full portraits. Eiffel, upside down and smoking a cigarette. Hilbert, looking troubled at a shadow behind him he can’t quite see. Two ghostlike figures in lab coats staring out at the star, the man with a prophetic terror etched on his face - must be Isabel’s old crewmates. Mr Cutter smiles up at him with far too many sharp teeth in sharper lines where the pencil was pressed far too hard and he turns the page quickly. There’s Kepler, mid-whiskey speech and it almost stops his heart. He pauses. Maxwell.

In the picture, her eyes are shining as she stares at Hera’s console, fingers nothing more than a blur - the three-day stint she spent trying to get the AI online. Aside from the orange and blue of Wolf 359, elsewhere in the book Isabel has barely used colour, but here the room is bathed in a serene green light from the screens. Behind Maxwell, Jacobi sees himself, little more than a stocky, sketchy outline, waiting for her to finish.

He looks so proud of her.

He looks so… content.

After staring for a long moment, Jacobi closes the book and hands it back. “Thank you.”

“You can keep the pictures of them, if you like,” Isabel offers, but he doesn’t know whether he would like, so he says:

“Tell me about your crew.”

“What?”

“Your old crew. Tell me about them. Was Lambert the one staring at...?”

“No. No. No, that was Kuan Hui, our senior astrophysicist. He was whipsmart and funny and fearless, until the time Goddard Futuristics played around in his brain, stretched out his perception of time. He was completely alone in the dark for two weeks. His smile never really reached his eyes after that.”

Jacobi sips tea awkwardly, even though it’s cold.

“Something like that, it stays with you. At least he had Fourier, though.”

“That’s the woman behind him?”

“Junior physicist. Victoire Fourier had eyes like stars. Cleverest person I’ve ever met. She played six instruments, spoke four languages and she had the most gentle soul. She used to read to Hui when he got sick with Decima. Coughed up every organ in his body. I thought it would break her, but she was made of stern stuff. She vanished off the space station in the final days and I still don’t know what exactly happened to her-”

“I… do. If you want to know, I mean.”

Isabel shakes her head. Then pauses. Then shakes her head again. “I get the feeling whoever is to blame is long gone.”

Jacobi shrugs. “Who else?”

“Well, there was Mace Fisher. Fisher… Fisher died because of me, not Goddard Futuristics. Asteroid shower tore him from my hands. He had a boyfriend waiting at home. He was sensitive, sensible, grounding. A real older brother type. I- I didn’t deal particularly well with his death. Well, you know that much.”

((Pill popper!)) Jacobi gulps more cold tea.

“And Lambert?”

“Sam Lambert. Officer Samuel Lambert had a stick up his ass. He was whiny, and authoritarian, and he treasured his copy of Pryce and Carter more than Reneé and Kepler combined did. He drove me nearly insane, and I drove him likewise. The best second in command you could ask for. A damn good man. Sam got sick after Hui, so we knew what was coming. What it meant. He was brave, though. At first.”

((“C-Captain, please shoot me, please, it hurts, it hurts, Captain, please, I just want it to-”)

She falters.

“Lovelace?”

“Yup?”

“You know, it’s not even really about the Hephaestus. I keep… it’s insane, but I keep thinking about… I was an explosives guy for the Air Force. Before Goddard. A trigger failed and two men died. Andrews and Sullivan. I haven’t thought about them in years and suddenly-“

“They’re everywhere?”

There’s a sudden understanding between them.

“They’re everywhere. Them and Maxwell and Kepler. They’re in mirrors, in the back of my brain, around corners.”

“Flashes of them.”

“And if you just reach out far enough, maybe-“

“Maybe-“

“Maybe.”

((let’s go be monsters)), Jacobi’s brain echoes. He grits his teeth.

“Did it stop for you? When does it stop?” He finds himself asking. Isabel doesn’t answer.

#wolf 359 #bad things happen bingo #Daniel Jacobi #isabel lovelace #w359

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hermannsthumb · 3 years

Note

I know you don't usually write PRU stuff, but if you ever feel inclined, here's a ficlet idea! so: Newt is trying to fight off the Precursors by constantly reminding himself that He Is Human. but whenever newt thinks about what makes him Feel Human, the answer is always hermann. so newt starts conjuring up vivid mental images of hermann (doing mundane, hermann-y things) to ward off the Precursors. bonus point if, like, newt fondly remembering smth innocuous (like the scent of Hermann's chalk dust?) is enough to actually sever the alien mind control.

Anonymous asked: Maria!!! Would you ever write an angsty post uprising prompt? Or even a pre uprising? Anything with Newt fucking around with Kaiju and being sad i am HERE FOR 👏

in honor of the sequel’s 3 year anniversary, let’s try something a little different 👀 THIS ONE GOT AWAY FROM ME RE: LENGTH....I'll leave it up to interpretation whether or not the bonus is wholly fulfilled.... also on proofing this I realized it might need content warnings? so vague refs to disordered eating and alcohol drinking (ie, newt’s body is inhabited by aliens who forget how human stuff works)

-----------

Honestly, Newt’s life has been kind of a shitshow lately. He’s too, like, high strung. Too many responsibilities. Not enough hours in the day to get that shit done. He’s even higher strung than he was during the war, which is nuts, because certain doom was lurking around every corner. Maybe that’s why it’s not that nuts, though. The war was chaotic—and Newt’s fueled (or, used to be fueled?) by chaos. The kaiju were unpredictable. The kaiju didn’t run on a 9-5 schedule. The kaiju didn’t expect Newt to have three new jaeger prototypes on their desk by noon on a fucking Saturday, which is usually the day Newt spends two hours in his expensive bath tub and drinks a nice bottle of wine, and definitely not a day he wants to spend giving himself a stress migraine and shouting at underlings to make themselves useful. On top of that, his usual cafe got his coffee order wrong—when Newt had to run in to get it, himself, on a Saturday morning—and it only had half the espresso shots he really needs for the day. No wonder he’s going grey at forty. Fucking nightmare. Stable employment is exactly the kind of chaos that’s bad for Newt—give him the kaiju any day, thanks.

“Dr. Geiszler?”

Newt pushes his sunglasses up, and scowls at whichever one of his employees has dared to interrupt his catnap. The fluorescent overheads are brutal on his poor eyes right now. The lab needs more natural lighting. Maybe if he complains, they’ll knock out some walls in put in a few more windows. “Did you find any Aspirin?” he says.

Wordlessly, Newt’s assistant passes him a bottle. Newt pops the cap off and takes at least four. The coffee he washes it down with is cold. “How are the last simulations coming along?” he says, flicking his sunglasses back down. He seems to have so many migraines these days. It’s the contact lenses, he thinks—making the switch over from frames so late in the game. Screwing with his perceptions. Newt went thirty years with frames, after all. “We only have two hours before—”

“We’re almost done,” his assistant cuts in. “We’re working as fast as we can, Dr. Geiszler.”

“But are we gonna make the deadline?” Newt says.

She fidgets, and moves her clipboard to her other arm. “Well—we’ve had some—issues.”

Newt stands up with a long sigh. Double overtime, probably. Sunday lost to this shit too. That new bottle of wine waiting for him on his kitchen counter bought for nothing. “Gotta do everything myself, huh? Unbelievable.”

He follows his assistant over to the main lab down the hall, where his team of j-techs are hurrying around. Hardly anyone in proper lab attire—no labcoats—someone in sweatpants—Newt wasn’t the only one who had his Saturday ruined, probably. No one else is going grey, though. “What’s this shit?” he says, stopping in his tracks with one foot through the doorway. The high-tech holo-smartboards have been pushed aside, and instead, someone’s wheeled in a huge…chalkboard.

“Technical issues,” his assistant says. “The other floors are having the same problem—something in the new interface update that downloaded last night, we think. They’re all out of commission. Technology is working on it, but for now, we had to pull that out of deep storage.”

Two of his scientists are scrawling across the board quickly—one with white chalk, the other with pink. They’re debating something in hushed tones. Newt hasn’t seen a chalkboard in years. It doesn’t fit with Shao Industry’s whole chic, sleek, futuristic aesthetic. So—bulky. And messy. “Of course it would happen today of all days,” Newt sighs. The sight of it makes him feel odd, and he can’t seem to drag himself any further into the lab and any closer towards it.

His assistant says something. Newt doesn’t hear—he’s listening, instead, to the squeaking of chalk across the blackboard. So noisy and obnoxious. It reminds him of years and years ago, of working in a grimy little basement, of…

“—look it over. Dr. Geiszler?”

“Hm?” Newt says. It was like a layer of fog had begun to lift from his thoughts, but the interruption sends it rolling right back in.

“I said we’re ready for you to look it over. Only if you want too, of course,” she adds, nervously.

“Uh-huh,” Newt says.

Newt’s never had anyone fear him before, not like his employees seem to fear him—he’s not sure he likes it. His scientists shut up the second he looms over (well—under, Newt’s never loomed over anyone in his life) their shoulders to inspect their work so far. The squeaking stops. One of them lowers their piece of chalk. “Wait,” Newt says, too-loudly, surprising them and himself. They both look at him with the same nervousness as his assistant, like he’s about to start shouting or something. “Keep doing that.”

“Keep…?”

“Writing,” Newt says. “On the chalkboard.”

The scientist frowns at him. “Um, okay,” she says. “What am I supposed to write?”

“Anything,” Newt says. “Seriously. Anything.”

She hesitates.

“Anything,” Newt repeats.

She picks up the white chalk, and writes out her name, then doodles a few random pictures—a DNA helix, a flower, a cat face, a star. Newt shuts his eyes, and breathes in deeply. That smell. He snags the forgotten piece of pink chalk from the ledge. “Can I have this?” he says. He doesn’t wait for them to respond—though they both nod yes frantically, and bewilderedly—before writing out his own name on the board. Dr. Geiszler. It looks wrong, so he writes Newt beneath it. He shuts his eyes, and writes Newt again. Why does he feel like he’s done this sort of thing before? This thing is ancient—before his time at Shao—he wouldn’t have used it before they carted off to the basement. Newt, Newt, Newt Was Here,he writes, Newt +, and then he stops.

He opens his eyes. “Who’s Hermann?” his assistant says.

Newt + Hermann. Newt didn’t realize he wrote it. “Someone I knew,” he says, faintly. “Years ago. He was my—” He swallows. He feels strange. “My colleague?”

Strange. Dizzy. The Aspirin isn’t working. Definitely the contact lenses. He could afford laser eye surgery now, if he wanted, maybe he should look into it. He grips the ledge of the chalkboard, swaying, and grits his teeth; his two scientists back away from him slowly, no doubt worried he’s about to hurl all over their shoes. He might, to be honest. Newt + Hermann. Hermann was his colleague. Hermann was his— “Are you feeling okay, Dr. Geiszler?” his assistant asks. “You look…”

“Tell Shao I’m taking the rest of the day off,” Newt says.

“What?”

“You guys got this shit handled without me,” Newt says. He pockets the chalk. “I’m not—I’m not feeling myself. I think I need to go home and lie down. Seriously, you’ve got it under control—all these numbers look, uh, good, I trust you. If you guys don’t get it finished you can just tell Shao it’s my fault, okay?”

She gapes at him. “Uh,” she says. “Okay?”

Newt doesn’t go home. He goes to the nearest shop he can find instead, and makes a beeline for the art supplies aisle. Only a few boxes of chalk in stock. Four multicolored, two all-white, one yellow. He drops them all into his basket but the yellow, which he rips opens and immediately smells. Newt + Hermann. Hermann always smelled like chalk dust—he always had a fine layer of it on his clothing, patches of it on his blazer, his sweatervest, even on his undershirt. Newt used to tease him for that. He closes his eyes, and breathes in again. Funny—all those baths, all those bottles of wine, and this stupid little box of chalk is what’s finally making him feel calm for once. Quieting down his brain. He didn’t realize how loud it’d gotten in there. When Hermann would kiss Newt, he would sometimes stain Newt’s clothing with chalk, too, and Newt would pretend to be annoyed, but he never really was.

Someone is speaking to him. An employee. They’re staring at him, a cautious distance away, and Newt’s not sure what they’re saying.

His vision’s gone blurry—he didn’t realize he’d started crying, either. He wipes his eyes on the cuff of his blazer and sniffles. “Sorry,” he says. The box of yellow chalk is wet. “Um. Do you have any more of these in the back?”

He takes the bus home for the first time in years, one hand stuffed in his little brown shopping bag the whole time, wrapped around a box of chalk. When he gets back to his apartment (his big, lonely, apartment), he pulls out the only food in his fridge—some leftovers from a Shao Industries event three nights ago—and settles down on his big, lonely couch. He can’t stop thinking about Hermann. Five or so years, maybe more, not thinking about Hermann, and now suddenly—it’s like the floodgates have opened. He thinks about Hermann’s haircut. (Bad.) He thinks about Hermann’s smile. (Silly, and sweet.) He thinks about Hermann’s dumb accent, and the clack of Hermann’s cane on the floor, and Hermann’s chalk squeaking over his chalkboard, and how it felt when Hermann would wrap him in his arms and kiss him and whisper things to him. Hermann’s sweaters always smelled like mothballs and stale cigarette smoke. Terrible combination.

Newt’s stomach growls. He’s finished the small bit of leftovers without realizing, and is apparently still hungry. He would kill for some sushi takeout right now. Or pizza, God. Yeah, it’d be screwing with his new diet and fitness plan—he casts a guilty glance over at his brand new exercise bike, which is gathering dust in the corner by his TV—but he’s tired of doing stupid kale and juice cleanses or whatever, just to please—well. He’s only human.

He is?

He walks up the stairs to his bathroom, and stares at himself in the mirror. Stupid vest. Stupid tie. Neat hair, clean-shaven cheeks, contact lenses. Newt’s only human. “I’m human,” he tells his reflection. Is he human? He felt human standing by that old chalkboard back in the lab, and holding that box of yellow chalk in the aisle of that little shop. He felt human when he was remembering things. Because of—Newt blinks at himself. Because of whom?

“Hermann,” he says, and smiles at the way the name makes him feel. He should text him, maybe.

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

“I must say,” Hermann says, “I was quite surprised when I received your dinner invitation. You’ve done a rather fine job of ignoring my calls as of late. I’d thought— Ah, thank you,” he adds, as Newt holds the door open for him. He steps into Newt’s apartment and cranes his neck around, squinting curiously, and then shoves a bottle of red wine at Newt’s chest. Hermann is much more personable than Newt remembers—what little Newt remembers—and he wonders if it’s age or something else. “I’ve been holding onto this one for a while. It’s the one you gave me as a part of a gift for my thirty-seventh birthday—you remember? Oh, but isn’t it so terrifically, er, modern in here.”

“Is it?” Newt says. He’s never given much thought to his apartment before, but he stares around at it now in mild interest. It is very chic, isn’t it? Monochrome. Impersonal. Not something Newt would’ve picked for himself. “Yeah, I had some interior decorators come in and do it for me.”

Hermann arches an eyebrow. “How…”

“Modern,” Newt offers. He puts the bottle of wine on his marble kitchen island. “Thanks for this, by the way, but I’ve actually been trying to cut back on the—” He bites back drinking. No need to alarm Hermann. “—Calories, so if it’s cool with you I’d rather not open it. I’m doing a, um, a new fitness program.”

“Ah,” Hermann says. “I suppose that explains that, then, doesn’t it?” He points at the dusty exercise bike. Newt watches his gaze move from that, to the barren leather couch, to the short staircase which leads to Newt’s shut bedroom door. Newt can practically see the gears working in his head. “Will—ah, what was their name, that little flight of fancy of yours—a dalliance, one might say—will they be, ah, joining the two of us?” He looks at Newt out of the corner of his eye. “Alice, was it?”

“Who?” Newt says, blankly.

Hermann breaks out in a broad grin, which he quickly tries, very badly, to turn into a sympathetic frown. He pats Newt’s arm. “There’s the spirit, then, Newton! All in the past, I presume? Hardly any use in dwelling on a broken heart. Then again—it’s not as if you were together long enough to warrant those sorts of dramatics, were you?” he says, cheerily. “What I mean is—certainly it wasn’t as if you had any sort of deep or emotional connection with—?—oh, I’ve forgotten the name again.”

“Uh,” Newt says. He’s not really sure who Hermann’s talking about, but just based on that fact alone, he would assume Hermann is right. “I guess not?”

“Precisely as I expected,” Hermann says, with a satisfied nod. “Rotten grounds for a relati—for a fling. You deserve far better, Newton.” Hermann touches Newt’s arm again, and this time, he doesn’t move his hand. It makes Newt’s skin prickle pleasantly. “You look well these days, though I admit it’s a bit of a shock to see you without your glasses,” Hermann continues, flicking his eyes up and down Newt twice. He lingers on Newt’s left hand, over the bare spot where—until this morning, when he suddenly realized how stupid it looked and yanked it off—he was wearing that Elvis ring. “Ending things must be treating you kindly. I don’t suppose I could dash to your loo?”

“Loo?” Newt says. “Oh, right. Yeah, it’s that door there, right off the living room.” He drops down onto the leather couch. “Knock yourself out. I’ll be right here.”

Hermann disappears into Newt’s bathroom, and comes back out three minutes later with combed hair, a straightened collar, and the vague smell of cologne. He’s tucking a small bottle into his top pocket. “I found a box of hair dye in your medicine cabinet,” he declares, smugly. “I knew there was no bloody way that was natural. Though I’m not surprised it fooled Alice.” He rests his cane against the glass coffee table and sits down next to Newt. Right next to Newt. The whole sofa to pick from, and he’d rather their thighs touch. Newt doesn’t mind—actually, the contact is strangely grounding, like Hermann’s hand on his arm had been earlier. He’s here, in his living room, with Hermann, his friend Hermann, his colleague Hermann, his—well, question mark—Hermann.

“Hermann, can I ask you something?” he says. “Something important?”

“By all means,” Hermann says, leaning in and fluttering his eyelashes. Even over the cologne, Newt can still make out that mothball-chalk-smoke smell.

“Do you take your coffee with sugar?” he says.

Hermann laughs. “Do I—what?”

Newt repeats the question. The smile slips off Hermann’s face, and he draws away, furrowing his eyebrows. “Well,” he says, “yes, usually, only I’m not sure what—”

“Sugar, and some milk,” Newt says. “It was the same with your tea. And you had a mug that you would use—you wouldn’t use any other. It was blue, and it said—” He exhales through his nose. “It said TU Berlin. That’s where you got your PhD.”

After Newt sent Hermann a text about dinner last night, he sat down with a pen and pad of paper and made a list of everything he could remember about Hermann. He started with what Hermann looks like, and who Hermann is, and then moved into the harder stuff like what Hermann likes and the sort of things Hermann used to do. He stayed up all night doing it, until his hand cramped and his head hurt even more than it had that morning, and then recited it over and over to himself in a whisper as he fell asleep. Hermann has brown eyes. Hermann likes blackberry jam on his toast. Hermann wears little glasses on a chain. Hermann uses a cane with a tiny little nick in the brass of the handle. The list is in his pocket now; it makes Newt feel calm, and even calmer when he reaches into his pocket and touches it. He exhales again, hard, and then inhales. “We were together,” he says. “When we closed the Breach, you told me you loved me.”

“I did,” Hermann says, quietly.

“I said it back,” Newt says.

Hermann nods.

Slowly, Newt reaches out and puts his hand over Hermann’s. Hermann makes a strange noise in the back of his throat—like a sigh, or maybe a groan. His pulse twitches erratically under Newt’s fingertips. “I bought chalk,” Newt says.

“You—” Hermann echoes, his voice choked. “You bought chalk?”

“It reminded me of you,” Newt says.

He’s not surprised when Hermann kisses him, but he is surprised at his knee-jerk reaction: to pull away, or push Hermann away, and to order him to get out of his apartment. He’s surprised, because those aren’t his thoughts. He doesn’t want Hermann to leave—he wants Hermann to stay longer, and kiss him more, and help him remember more. “Oh, Newton,” Hermann says. “Newton, Newton—” He moves his mouth to Newt’s neck, kissing, breathing, and whispering his name, and Newt shuts his eyes and forces himself to remember his list.

“Tell me things about you,” Newt begs. “I want to remember you.”

Hermann’s laughter, hesitant and confused, comes out in a puff of hot air against his skin. “Remember me?” he says. “I’m not sure— Are we not a bit—?”

“Hermann,” Newt says.

He grips the back of Hermann’s sweater, digging his nails in Hermann’s skin through the layers of fabric. Hermann must hear the urgency in his voice, because he shakes his head with another laugh, kisses Newt’s jaw, and says, “Well, alright. What am I even meant to tell you?”

“Your favorite color,” Newt says. Hermann kisses his chin. “Your favorite song. No, wait—” He nudges Hermann away from him, just enough so that Hermann can see him smile. “Tell me what you like about me.”

“Feeling rather egotistical tonight, aren’t we?” Hermann teases. He reaches out and brushes his fingers through the side of Newt’s hair. One of the spots Newt dyed—it was too grey. He catches Hermann’s hand by the wrist and pulls it away gently, but only to press himself up against Hermann’s chest instead. He can feel Hermann’s heartbeat. “I like—hm,” Hermann says. “I like your stubbornness. I like your passion. I like…”

His voice vibrates in his throat—Newt can feel that, too. He listens.

#newmann #maria's fanfiction tag #if Alice was a real person her picture would be on Hermann's dartboard #it probably is anyway #Anonymous

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belovasangel · 3 years

Text

Kintsugi

Pairing: Peter Parker x Stark!GN!Reader

WC: 1641

Summary: Peter needs a push to help an old ally.

Warnings: Swearing, ANGST, hopeful ending

A/N: First off, thank you for reading this. I haven’t written in maybe a year so this might be not the best. I want to shout out Polaroid15 for inspiring me to write. Something else in this fic I should mention, Peter’s identity isn’t exposed and in the Blip he aged according to current-time (so in this he is 18-19)

“In Japanese culture, Kintsugi is the reformative art to repair broken pottery. The shattered pieces are taken and glued back together with a binding agency and gold paint. There is a metaphor between each crack and gold stroke, as the meaning is deeper than restoring a pot. It’s meant to give hope and to empower those who are deemed ‘broken.’ The point is to tell people to embrace their insecurities and you will be okay in the end.”

Peter Parker rolled his eyes and looked back at his notes. The background film of his art history course droned on, as the school stuck the Blipped students into a course to graduate faster. He began to doodle along the sides of the pages, drawing the Spider-Man suit and a few webs. He thought of Ned, sitting on his MIT campus, working on his computer engineering software, and hoped he was thinking of Peter as well. Him and Ned made a pact back in freshman year to attend MIT together and when the Blip hit, Ned kept his promise. And at this rate, Peter will be in their dorm room by March.

He looked back up at the lecture briefly to watch the credits roll, only to notice afterwards the teacher had fallen asleep at the desk. The other students got the same idea to pack up and leave for the weekend early. Peter began stuffing his notes in his backpack and stood to walk out, only to bump into a fast body.

“Hey-”

Peter looked up, his backpack falling to the floor in a heavy heap. He looked up angrily, fully expecting Flash to be staring back, however he saw the red-faced (Y/N) staring back with doe eyes. “Peter, I am so sorry...”

He huffed and shoved (Y/N) back with his shoulder to grab his stuff. “You can leave, ya know? Don’t need to watch me pick up the mess you made.” He audibly heard them gulp and quicken their breathing. With a quick shuffle, they walked out of the class. Peter stood quickly and recalled the events leading to their icy encounter. He can feel sympathetic towards them, as Mr. Stark passed away tragically about a year ago. While Peter has come to terms painfully with his death, he can tell (Y/N) still is struggling. He knows they had a plan to attend Yale or Stanford after this, but those plans have derailed fully. Peter knew (Y/N) wasn’t fully ready to accept they need to grow up and move on. He wouldn’t be the one to put gasoline on an already erupting fire. Hopefully Pepper can say something

He began walking down the halls of the school, remembering the small memories along the halls. Lifting the lockers during Homecoming to get his suit, him and Ned discussing the plans to build the Death Star, and even when MJ first opened her locker next to the two (and immediately asked, “what are you two losers looking at?”). Fond, fond memories.

Peter hopped on the subway, getting minorly excited to begin patrolling the city. May has plans tonight, he hopes it’s a date so he can spy once or twice, but overall it’s sitting on buildings and eating those amazing subs. The moment Peter stepped into the apartment, May was on him. “Hey, my beautiful boy genius, how was school?”

He laughed as she kissed and pinched his cheeks. “Hey May. It was fine, boring. How are you, need any date prep?” She turned bright red and looked back to the newspaper. “Peter, I told you it’s not a date. Happy and I are-”

“Your date is with Happy?” Peter popped his backpack to the floor with a quick thump. May gave a sheepish look, fully expecting this from him. “Peter I promise you, Happy is super kind and is going to treat me great tonight.”

He sighed, pulling at his hair minorly. “Do I need to chaperone you?” She laughed and shook her head, “we’ll be fine Pete. Anyways, to change the subject, Pepper called you earlier and asked for you to swing by the Tower when you get a chance.” Peter nodded, head still foggy with holy fuck, Happy is going to get with my Aunt.

He gave her a quick kiss on the forehead and ran to his room, changing into his suit and flopping out the window. Within the first few hours, Peter stopped three guys from breaking into cars, saved a cat from a tree and rescued an old lady from oncoming traffic. As the sun was setting, and Peter got to enjoy the sunset with his sub, he decided to call Pepper.

“Hey Pep, what’s going on?”

He could hear her sigh on the other side, and he took a bite in anticipation. “I need your help Peter. And I know you won’t like it.” With a mouthful of spinach, salami and bread, he said muffled, “you can count on me.”

“I need you to help (Y/N).” Peter promptly spit his sub out of his mouth with a sharp cough and inhale. “What? What’s wrong?” Pepper sighed again. “(Y/N) isn’t okay. They’re only leaving their room for school and that’s it. I deliver them breakfast and dinner, we barely talk between the doors. Plus they come home late every night and I need to know what’s going on.”

Peter bit his inner cheek. Of course (Y/N) is being selfish towards Pepper, seems about right. Peter felt like this was a sign, to finally see what’s going on and help Pepper reconnect with her kid. Yet, Peter didn’t want to give (Y/N) any slack. They’re being rude and not grateful for what they have. “Of course, Pepper. I’ll keep you posted. Does K.A.R.E.N. have her location?”

“No, she turned off her location a while ago. Thank you Peter.” He nodded, knowing she couldn’t see. With a quick end, he threw the mask on and dove off the crane. He searched every alley in all of Queens, ever corner store, checked every rooftop and park and bridge and under every car. He found a huge ass tree and even climbed it. Peter didn’t want to let Pepper down, even if he felt more and more annoyed with (Y/N). He knew they wouldn’t leave the city, but this was getting ridiculous. Eventually, around 11:30 P.M., he found them sitting in front of a large mural of Tony. There were flowers along the painting, along with lit candles and teddy bears. Peter felt his blood boiling, knowing they could have had their location on this whole time.

“What the fuck are you doing (Y/N)? Pepper is besides herself worried. You’re being so fucking selfish, leaving her alone every damn night. She is suffering, wondering why her own child won’t talk to her while you’re out here hiding! What are you scared of? Why can’t you grow up? He died! Get over it!”

Peter creeped up closer and closer to them, not listening to the sniffling and heaving breaths of (Y/N). As he reached them, he saw they were hunched over and panting. “What’s wrong? Get up,” Peter sneered as he pulled their shoulder back. He let out a gasp and let go, in complete shock of what he saw. Their face was littered with bruises and cuts. Their right eye was completely swollen and the under eye bags were as dark as the sky. “Are you okay?”

They scoffed and pushed away Peter’s hand, and struggled to get off the ground. Many groans and gasps were shed as they stood slouched. Peter quickly noticed the large gash on their side, and he could tell they were severely injured. “We need to get you to the tower right now, c’mon.”

As he got closer, (Y/N) stumbled back to avoid his touch. Peter scoffed and tried to reach again, but with the same result. “Stop being stupid and let me help you.” They stopped and let out a large laugh. “Now you fucking care about me, when it will make you look good. I can just imagine Pepper telling me how great and caring you are, and how brave you were to go searching for their lost child. Fuck off with this savior complex, Peter, you can’t save everyone! Some people were meant to suffer and burn and fucking die in the end.”

Peter had never felt so confused in his life. He tried reaching out for the third time and was shut down. They began to walk towards him, fire and tears in their eyes. “Do you have any idea how much fucking pain I feel every day? When my father died, Pepper and I were so shattered, but instead of staying with family she decided to work with you, the great and friendly Spider-Man! Why help your own kin when the prodigy is doing just as bad? I am so sick of living in your shadow Peter! It’s like the universe is telling me I was a mistake! You ruined my life. You are the reason my father is dead. You are the reason I wish it was me instead!”

They fell to their knees in agony, letting out screaming sobs and pained sounds. He quickly recovered, wiping his own tears to comfort them. “I am so sorry (Y/N), I am so so sorry.” Peter put his hands under their arms and lifted them into his arms, as fast as he could go to avoid another lash out. He began to swing them back, and in a quiet voice, (Y/N) whispered into his neck. “Why wasn’t it me, Peter?”

And in that moment, Peter realized that some people need help being put back together. Maybe Kintsugi isn’t so dumb after all.

#peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker imagine #peter parker imagines #peter x reader #spider-man #peter parker x gender neutral #peter parker gender neutral #my fic

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nymphigeon · 4 years

Text

Someone you love(d) || KTH

• Pairing: Taehyung x Reader(f)

• Genre: break up au, angst with a happy ending, fluff? (just a lil' bit at the end :))

• Rating: PG

• Words: 7.2k

• Warnings: swearing, mention of weight, they kiss like once, if you don't like cheesy things....skip this one lmao

• Summary: You thought he loved you, you really did, but the way he left told you something else.

Or alternatively;

Taehyung is an emotionally constipated idiot who doesn't know how to deal with his feelings.

• A/N: Okay it took me waaay too long to write this, I'm so sorry T_T I really wanted to get this out earlier, but well things happened....

I only proofread this like once and had some trouble getting everything into the post properly so I'm sorry if there are any mistakes! Please let me know if you find any so I can fix them asap.

Thank you for the request @mytaetaey! I hope it matches your expectations!!!

It honestly hasn't even been that long since the day he showed up at my house.

"Let’s break up."

Although I really wouldn't be able to tell you how much time had truly passed.

"W-wait why?"

Days felt like weeks, weeks felt like months. Everything just seemed to last a lot longer than it should have.

"Did I do something wrong? I-I can fix it, just tell me!"

It might have happened last week, or the week before that. Wasn't it three weeks ago?

"No, no you didn't do anything wrong y/n. I'm sorry this just isn't working out."

Bottom line is, the passing of time hasn't really been on my mind. Any day without him is a day lost, a day to forget about.

"What do you mean this isn’t working out? I thought we were doing well together..."

I remember the confusion that went through me. All of a sudden the four years we spent together seemed to have disappeared.

“You thought wrong.”

He had been acting weird for a while, never quite getting close to telling me what was going through his mind. I hadn’t anticipated it ever ending like this though.

“Not everything you believe is a fact.”

The years I had to get to know him ended too soon. They went by so fast, they might as well have been non-existent.

"I... why? I don’t understand…

This all came too sudden. Just a few days before he had been laying on my bed, smiling as I told him about my day.

"I just don't feel the same anymore."

I just needed a little more time. A little more time to adore him. A little more time to say goodbye.

"I don't love you anymore."

But I still did do. He didn’t seem to care though. After he took care of me for a while, he decided I’m not worth it. Not even as someone who he just passes by.

"It's best if we don't see each other anymore."

If you cherish what you have you'll never be left unsatisfied.

"Goodbye."

I did. And it broke me.

“Y/n? Helloooo?”

My daydreams get interrupted by a waving hand in front of my face, followed by a harsh flick against my forehead.

“Ouch! Mina that was too hard!” Both my hands shoot up to the stinging spot between my eyes, one to prevent the evil hand from handing out another flick, the other one to rub at the red spot forming.

“Class ended a few minutes ago, you should probably pack up. Really, did you just stare off into space for the entire class?” Spotting my close to empty notebook, Mina sighs and shakes her head. She’s trying to look disappointed, but under the scolding exterior she’s putting on, there is a hint of pity.

It’s not the first time this week that not a single word has made it into my notes. Each time again the pages are either filled with lazy doodles and meaningless scribbles, or a space of absolute nothingness, not even a drop of ink staining the white paper.

“I’m sorry, I really did try to pay attention, but you know I hate his classes with a passion.” We both know that’s not the reason for my absentness, and neither of us speaks up about it. It’s what I requested myself, not being able to cope with the sadness I was causing my friends to feel. They care too much, I don’t want to burden them for too long.

“I know sweetheart, you did do your best. I’ll send my notes later, if you want I’ll help you understand them too.” Though no matter how hard I try, I still rely on them. They keep convincing me to, their kind souls not being able to leave me alone. “If you could I’d really appreciate it.”

A sweet smile appears on Mina’s lips as I accept her offer, being more than happy to help me. She has always been the type to give more than she received, and despite me believing she deserves more than she gets, I adore her for it. “Of course, any time.”

I finish packing my belongings into my backpack, first making sure I didn’t leave anything behind before leaving the classroom with Mina close to my side. She talks about everything and nothing as we roam the spacious hallways filled with tired looking students. I wouldn’t be surprised if more than half of them slept until the end of their lectures.

Most of Mina’s words fall on deaf ears as I think back to the thoughts that occupied my mind the entire time my teacher was trying to explain the principle of quantum mechanics. I wouldn’t have understood it regardless of whether I was paying attention or not by the way.

“Ah you don’t have any more classes today, do you?” An unannounced weight falls on my left side as Mina whines into my shoulder, effectively bringing me back down to earth. Some brabbles about life being unfair escape the muffled sounds she produces, clearly not looking forward to the rest of her day.

“I’m going to be so lonely, me and Daeun aren’t allowed to sit next to each other anymore.” Mina raises her head to catch some air, her hands still clinging to the fabric of my shirt. The scowl on her face isn’t hard to miss, as she isn’t doing much to hide it.

“I was just going to head home straight away.” On any other day I would’ve probably teased her, wishing her good luck while I go and enjoy the free life. Today however, I don’t. My face stays in it’s boring resting position, even as Mina waits for the non-existent twist at the end.

It doesn’t take long before she finally sees I’m not poking fun at her. The moment of realization is clear, her whiny expression disappearing and her hands falling back to her sides. “Oh.”

“Well since it’s Friday how about I come hang out at your place when I’m done here? I’ll drag Daeun along with me too.” Mina’s voice is unsure, scared that I’ll reject her offer. A thick tension hangs in the air as we both wait for my reply.

I want to be alone. I want to be able to overthink in peace without others insisting that my mind is wrong. Though on the other side, I do know that I’ve been pushing them away. All the more reason for them to worry about me.

“Yeah sure.” I manage to convince myself to decide on the option I’d like the least. Somewhere I may be hoping that I’ve been missing out on a distraction I needed. I will never know until I experience it.

“Great! I’ll bring snacks too, let’s make it a movie night!” And off she goes, not waiting for any kind of confirmation from my side. Most likely it’s a way to keep me from refusing, forcing me into a situation that’s best for me, according to her.

I might not be looking forward to the events to come, but even I can’t deny the dull blossoming of my heart. The corners of my lips tug up, together with a hand to wave the girl off.

Yeah, perhaps, just maybe, I’m excited to spend some time with them.

I wasted a lot of time trying to figure out what’s wrong with me. Did I gain too much weight? Did I not text him enough? Was I going down the wrong path?

No matter what I wrote down, which new question I thought of, it didn’t seem right. Crumpled up paper balls and clothes littering the apartment show of the frustration occupying my mind.

No aspect of me changed for the worse. I’m still the same healthy weight, we texted almost every day, and I’m running up the path to a successful career. There is nothing wrong with me, so why am I blaming myself so heavily?

Because for some reason I believe that if I had done things differently the outcome would have been better. Because maybe he would’ve changed his mind if I reacted differently. Because it could never be him who was in the wrong.

A knock on the door and the pen I had been holding drops. Focussing on the paper in front of me once more, the harsh worded sentences ending in large written question marks stand out. I’m yearning for answers to questions I don’t even understand myself and it’s terrifying.

Three knocks on the door this time and I’m up, quickly discarding all the papers littering around. Some I tear to pieces, making sure none of the written sentences are visible anymore, others simply get hidden.

The door creaks as it opens, broadcasting it’s old age to the world. I should probably replace it sometime before someone decides to break in. Not that there’s anything worth taking here, I am a student after all.

“Hey dea- Oh no you look horrible.” A slight gasp interrupts Daeun’s cheery greeting when she notices the birds nest that is my hair. After having acted out all my annoyance on the poor strands, they’ve taken to each other for comfort, gladly intertwining. To my dismay, of course.

“I feel horrible. Come in.” The chuckle meant to lighten the statement doesn’t do it’s job properly. Both don’t say anything more as they enter the tiny apartment I call home, but they might as well have been screaming ‘I feel sorry for you.’” If they won’t do it, their faces definitely will.

“I won’t let any of you chose a movie tonight, I’ve got way too many good ideas.” Mina drops the overfilled bags she was holding on the dinner table while she talks. From the few items that stick out it’s safe to deduce that they’re filled with snacks to the brim.

“Also I was thinking we could order some pizza for dinner. All on me, I just got payed.” Like she owns the place, Mina reaches for several bowls high up in the cupboards of the kitchen. “We’ll use these tonight..” She says it more so to herself than to anyone else, not bothering to ask me anything. Not that it was really needed, I would have given her permission anyway.

“How was your day?” Sitting down next to Daeun, who has made herself comfortable on the couch after walking in, I try to start a basic conversation. Even though I’m not particularly in the mood for anything, I decide it’s probably best to try before I ruin the fun.

“You shouldn’t have to pretend that everything is okay, you know.” My question is completely ignored, switched for a statement that sets a heavy atmosphere in the room. The little excitement I had for their visit disappears. Instead, irritation starts taking over.

“Look Daeun, I-”

“I know you don’t want to talk about it, but this is not the way to cope with whatever may be happening inside you right now.” The tone she uses tells me she isn’t about to back out anytime soon. I hate it, hate how she feels like she can tell me what’s best for me.

“If this is what you came here for then I think it’s best that you leave. I’m not playing around here.” I turn away from the both of them, showing my back instead. This was supposed to be a fun evening to get my mind off him. Turns out, it’s the exact opposite.

“She’s right y/n.” It didn’t sound like Mina initially wanted to talk about this. She has always been unsure of when and how to address things, usually rather staying silent. With the right help however, Mina too will spill her words.

“This will always be a part of your life now, no matter how hard you try to erase it, you can’t. I know you’re hurting, and you’re allowed to feel hurt, we just want to help you. We’ll distract you all you like later, but for now, just confide in us please?”

It’s the way I feel both of their eyes burning into my back, the way she isn’t exactly sure how to convey her thoughts, though has the best intentions, the way a gentle hand softly lands on my shoulder. Sooner or later the dam would have broken. Apparently that time has come.

“I gave up so much for that guy! I moved to a more expensive apartment closer to his so we could see each other more, I started working more hours so he wouldn’t need to pay every time we went out together,” I never really got the chance to complain about the negative side to the changes I made, always feeling like it should be worth it, since I did it for him.

“I studied late into the night just so I had time during the day to hang out with him, do you know how much sleep I lost? I couldn’t even go home to my parents regularly anymore, for the distance was too much.”

Not exactly having expected me to rant so much, the two girls seated next to me stare in surprise. Never have I expressed any discomfort with what I was doing, always plastering a smile on my face.

“I don’t even mind that he broke up with me, I mean I do, but he was so cold! I had done my best to keep things going between us and he just gives me an ‘oh I don’t like you anymore’ like it’s common sense. I didn’t even get a thank you for all those years or a sorry for breaking it off! I just wish he’d…”

I take in a deep breath after having forgotten to breathe for the past minute, all the tears I kept in finally making an appearance as my anger get replaced by the same sadness I felt all those days ago.

“I just wished he’d at least given me reassurance I hadn’t been a waste of his time.”

The volume in which I spoke had drastically lowered, coming out in an almost-whisper. All the objects in front of me blurred as a non-stop stream of tears made it’s way out, my cries just mere silent sobs.

The hand resting on my shoulder becomes an arm pulling me into her side, the rough material of her shirt revealing her identity. Daeun doesn’t say anything as her other hand strokes through the strands of my hair, detangling any knots on the way.

For a moment I feel guilty about the tears wetting her shirt. It’s when she pulls me against her a little tighter that the feeling disappears, giving me the opportunity to fully bask in her embrace.

“I’m so sorry sweetheart.” Feeling left out, Mina pats my thigh and breaks the silence. “You worked hard didn’t you? Because you loved him.” I can hear her clothes rustling first, before her arms too wrap around the space Daeun left.

“I still do.” No matter how much I try to forget about him, I can’t seem to do it. He has engraved himself into my mind, forever stuck. If he’d ever leave is a mystery, though for now, it seems impossible.

You know what? Fuck you Kim Taehyung.

“Dude, what do you want for your birthday?” It’s Jungkook who has slammed down my door and completely disturbed my peace.

“Huh? Nothing in particular really.” Despite the rude entrance, I don’t look up from my tv screen, having already gotten used to the lack of announcements before he comes in.

“Didn’t you ask me that already two days ago?” Once again ignoring any form of politeness, the younger one makes grabby hands towards the bag of potato chips laying next to me. I don’t make any move to stop him, knowing very well I can’t win from him in a fight, ever.

“Yeah because I thought maybe you changed your mind. Usually you’re so excited for your birthday, but you just seem so… Unenthusiastic?” There is almost no way to take him seriously when he’s scarfing down my dear food like it’s water. Surely when were out next time I’ll make him get me a new bag.

“Well yeah that’s because…” What exactly was I going to say?

Finally grabbing his full attention, Jungkook puts down the bag of chips and lets himself fall down next to me. “Because?”

There is no mistaking his smirk for a smile, although he does his damn best to hide it. He knows exactly what I was about to say, and I’m not about to admit anything.

“Because I realized it’s nothing to be overly excited about. That’s it.” Challenging Jungkook to prove me wrong I stare right back at him, not planning on chickening out any time soon. It seems to have worked, as he looks away first.

“Ah is that so? I’ll just see if I can find something you’ll like myself in that case.” The boy who has silently admitted defeat removes himself from the couch, moving to his room at the other side of our apartment. “Good luck buddy.”

No longer having to pay attention to him, I rewind the movie I was watching back. That muscle bunny just made me miss the absolute best part.

“So why exactly are you dragging me to town again?”

It’s not too busy today, which should have been a given as it’s a normal weekday. Everyone is either yawning behind a desk or running around in circles depending on their career choices. Compared to them, I’m making the worst possible choice by letting my best friend convince me to skip class for a reason I wasn’t even familiar with.

“I’m having none of this ‘I don’t care what you get me’ nonsense. We’re going to find something you like, and that’s why we’re here.” Jimin takes a pause from pulling me along by hand to put both of his on his waist like a proud toddler.

“So in other words, we’re here so I can choose my own birthday gift?” Slowly I begin to understand how much of a waste of my time this is. I could’ve been doing fine trying to understand whatever Mrs. Wilson wanted to go over today, but instead I’m going to be reminded of my ex all day. Great.

Well, if she was still here it wouldn’t have mattered whether I knew what I wanted or not, she always had something great for me, and I always looked forward to it. Once she jokingly told me how she felt pressured, having to live up to my expectations. Though honestly there was nothing for her to live up to, I liked her gifts because she gave them to me. Because she always managed to make each and every birthday a fun one.

“Any ideas yet? Jewellery, clothes, games… Wait, nothing too expensive, I’ll go broke!” Jimin’s sudden panic manages to bubble up a chuckle in me. He doesn’t really seem to appreciate it though, as he scowls at the sound. “What? Your taste is too expensive!”

He knows me well it seems. Not that it was ever a real secret. When the contents of your closet is worth more than someone’s rent several times anybody would want to show that off right? Well so do I.

We walk into several stores for inspiration. No real shopping haul, just a quick in and out with Jimin trying to get a reaction out of me by stuffing things he thinks I like into my face. So far no real success, my only reaction being something along the lines of ‘ah yes that looks nice’ at everything he proposes.

It’s not like I’m purposefully trying not to find something I truly like, but more that honestly nothing catches my interest. And I promise it’s not even the price, some of my most prized possessions are the cheapest things I own. This just isn’t doing it for me.

After having been pulled into the what feels like the hundredth store, my stomach decides to make the loudest noise known to mankind. “Can we like, maybe take a break?” There is no doubt that my face is bright red at this moment, instantly heating up when Jimin laughs equally as loud.

“If you were hungry you should’ve just said so. Let’s go find something to eat.” Is probably the only sentence he said today that I’ve fully agreed on.

It sounded so easy, just find somewhere to buy food. Unfortunately, getting our tummies filled wasn’t written in our future so soon. No matter where we look, everything is either closed or completely full with customers. Who knew so many other people were hungry at this moment. Not like it’s close to dinner time or anything.

Eventually, I manage to convince Jimin to eat at a small fancy restaurant down the street on my expense. Despite him agreeing after a few attempts, a set pout is still present on his face, which doesn’t seem to be leaving anytime soon. Together with some murmurs about how this isn’t fair, he makes himself look incredibly adorable.

Soon however, I would come to regret my decision. The fancy tablecloths and nicely plated food wouldn’t be looking so appealing anymore. Because even if I had convinced my mind of the truth my constant lies hold, there was simply no way for me to convince my heart too.

“Hey isn’t that y/n and… I don’t think I know him.”

The male opposite her had somehow won her over with that stupid perfect smile he wore, his eyes an annoyingly beautiful ocean deep blue and his blonde hair styled in an awfully neat way. Everything about the sight annoys the heck out of me, including the way she was smiling back at him. Why does she look so happy? When was the last time I saw her like that?

“Oh are they… I’m sorry Tae.”

I was the one who broke up with her. I was the one who walked out with a load haven fallen off of my shoulders. I was the one who ran even though she cried. There is no reason for me not to be completely fine.

“I don’t care, she can do whatever she wants now.”

So then why am I the one hurting this much?

It came sooner than expected, my birthday. Just sort of snuck up on me. After the restaurant incident Jimin himself magically decided to end the shopping trip and go home to eat. Nobody ever mentioned my birthday again in the following days.

It was pretty clear that someone had told the others about what happened, although none of them spoke about it. That someone obviously being Jimin.

“Soooo… any plans for the day?”

The question comes from Jungkook, who is fidgeting with the hem of his oversized hoodie. He stands quietly in the doorway to my room, waiting for an answer he already knows.

“Go to class and study after.”

“You’re not going out of the house? No party planned?” The suffocating nervosity radiates off of him in waves, displayed by the still ongoing fidgeting and his eyes that can’t seem to focus on one thing at a time.

“Nope, no other plans.” I sit up in bed, slowly coming to terms with the fact that I won’t be getting any more sleep. Despite him looking like he’s scared I’m going to get mad, he doesn’t actually give up, which isn’t appreciated on my part.

“Well the boys thought we could maybe go out together, get a few drinks.” On any other day besides my birthday I would’ve most likely agreed to the plan. Today however, I can’t help but relate every proposition to my birthday, which I, in case you hadn’t noticed yet, want to forget about as soon as possible.

I had already given him enough opportunities to stop. All it would take was leaving me alone. His constant persistence ends up getting to me, successfully causing me to snap at the younger boy. If he expected an outburst, he’s getting it.

“Why the fuck does everyone expect me to celebrate today? If my birthday is the day on which I can do whatever shit I want then let me do whatever I want!” It wasn’t meant to come out that way, and the guilt sets in the moment I realize it, but I don’t have time to apologize.

“Dude, you seriously need to do something about your feelings for y/n.” He sighs the words as he casually leans against the wall, his arms crossed. In an instant the awkward energy around him disappears, replaced by a very prominent eye roll. It’s not hard to guess that this has been on his mind for a while.

“Don’t mention her. This has nothing to do with her.”

“This has everything to do with her and you know it.”

I don’t have anything to say against that. We both know it’s the truth, though only one of us is trying to deny it. The dumb one.

“You know what I think? You spent your past 6 birthdays with the girl of your dreams and now that you pushed her away you have no idea what to do. Am I right?”

He is. I don’t say anything as my head lowers, slowly realizing there is no hiding anything from him. She’s still on my mind. I still wonder what she’s doing, where she is, if she’s safe. I still care. “You’re right.”

I broke up with who I considered my other half, convincing myself that I didn’t need her anymore. Who exactly was I trying to protect?

“I had to, I’ll hurt her.” I already did.

“And suddenly breaking up with her is supposed to make her happy?” I was hoping it would in the long run.

“You’re not the same as him.” Though I am. The same parents, the same group of friends growing up, the same sense of humour. We got along so well. What if we still do?

“He’s my brother Kook. We were so alike. You know he once too adored her.” We don’t talk anymore, I’m disappointed in him. He would’ve been too. I don’t understand what changed.

“He used her, nobody saw it coming. The signs were there, he just hid them too well.” Jungkook leaves his spot against to wall to comfort me, tucking my head into his neck.

“You’re not him and he isn’t you. The fact that you no longer want to be associated with him proves everything. He didn’t care about Hyeon.” So he can look straight at me, he pushes me away with his hands on my shoulders. The expression on his face tells me he’s serious.

“You love her, and you’ve got to fix this mess.”

I don’t like agreeing with him, but once again, he’s right.

As soon as I open the door I want to slam it right back into his face. Or I might want to run into his arms, I can’t decide yet. Regardless, I wasn’t expecting Taehyung to be standing on the other side when the doorbell went off.

“Umm… Hi?” All the words that have been building up in my personal dictionary seem to disappear the moment I lay my eyes on him. He still looks as good as the last time I saw him, even though the circumstances were heart-breaking.

“Hey, um I’m sorry I showed up unannounced. I didn’t really think this through…” Everything about him screams awkward. From the way his feet are pointed slightly more inwards than normally, to the way he doesn’t seem to be able to smile naturally. Instead there is this weird, tight expression on his face.

“Oh um… Would you like to come in though?” I don’t wait for an answer as I step aside, my memory helping me remind that nine out of ten times the answer to that question is ‘yes’. “Oh yeah, thank you.”

“Do you want anything to drink?” Not really having anything to say I cycle through the set few sentences I usually need when I have someone over. I’m not happy that he’s here, but I’m not the type to lash out at people.

“Ah no, I’m okay. Look I’m just going to get straight to the point, I messed up big time. I got insecure and closed myself off to everyone including you and I’m so fucking sorry that I did.”

My lack of reaction surprises me. Sure, my insides are doing somersaults, but I don’t feel the need to express any of it. Like an unused sheet of paper, my face stays blank. “And now you’re here to win me back I presume?”

Somewhere in between his statement and mine, the tables shifted. Slowly, I’m gaining the confidence he is losing.

“Well, not really, I mean yes, but-”

He catches himself rambling, shutting his mouth before any real nonsense can make it out. Taking a deep breath helps, the words coming out more fluently after. Not a great start, but it’s okay. I have patience. Sometimes.

“I just wanted to let you know that the words I shot at you that day weren’t true. I hurt you and I didn’t want those words to roam your mind not knowing they weren’t even close to what I was feeling.”

The deep breath he drew in earlier escapes in a deep sigh, followed by his mouth opening and closing a few times without any sounds making it out. “And?” It was meant as a way to encourage him to continue. Sadly, it came out rather rude.

“I do still care about you, damn I still love you more every day. If there is anything I can do to make it up to you please let me know, I don’t want to have to live in a world where my last words to you made you cry. Obviously I would want a second chance at being the proper lover you deserve, but you’re in charge here. If you want me to walk out the door I will.”

There’s a hopeful look in his eyes making my heart beat erratically. In the past I would’ve instantly dropped to my knees, making sure every wish of his came true. I am no longer that girl.

“Tae it’s been months, you can’t just suddenly drop by and tell me you’re sorry. I spent days wondering why you broke up with me, wailing over the fact that you suddenly just didn’t care anymore, and even now you’re not giving me an answer. Why did you suddenly turn your back on me? Why did you not talk to me about whatever was bothering you? Even now you’re making me feel like you couldn’t trust me. Fuck, you just left me there like I was a piece of trash!”

What was once a hopeful look in his eyes, turned into defeat. He won’t give me an answer.

“You can’t just come in here exclaiming to love me after I’ve worked so hard to get myself over you. You can’t just come in here trying to steal my heart when I’m learning to give it to somebody else.”

“The blonde haired dude?”

Perhaps I shouldn’t feel a sense of accomplishment at the clear jealousy in his voice. However, this man did break my heart in two for apparently no reason. Is it weird I would want to get back at him a little?

“His name is Yejun and he’s a great guy. Look, just leave please. I have nothing more to say or hear. We’re done.” Turning away from him I mark the end of this conversation. It takes a while before there is any movement behind me. Slow steps make their way to the front door before pausing.

“I hope he treats you well, but I’m not going to simply give up on you like that.”

And secretly, I was hoping he wouldn’t.

Two, three four days, before I realize it it has been an entire week since I last saw him. Some part of me is scared, scared that he has decided otherwise and I will never hear from him again.

I had told myself getting over him would be easy when I finally accepted the help of my friends, and for a while it was. Or so I thought, because the moment he walked in here I was right back to square one.

I’m in the middle of working on a new project when the doorbell rings. Standing up, I go to open the door wondering who it could be. If he had come back for me after all. Too bad I would soon be disappointed, as the man standing in front of my door was just an ordinary mailman.

“Umm I didn’t order anything?” My eyes fall on almost gigantic package behind the man. If I ordered some furniture I would’ve surely remembered right?

“Are you not y/f/n y/l/n?”

“No I am.”

“It clearly has your name and address on it miss.”

The building up confusion hasn’t left my head yet, but knowing there is nothing else I can do I decide to accept the package. After thanking the courier I close the door and carefully carry the big box into my living room.

The moment I open the big thing up, a bunch of big balloons float up to my low ceiling. There’s a transparent one with little hearts bouncing around inside, one that’s just one big heart itself, another one has the words ‘I love you’ written on it in a neat font. If I hadn’t checked my calendar this morning I would’ve thought it was valentine’s day.

Diving deeper into the box I find a relatively big fluffy teddy bear, hugging what seems to be a letter in a white envelope.

‘When I was 16 a miracle happened, I met the most beautiful girl. Me not being able to contain myself I immediately introduced myself to her. She said he name was y/n. I think it was back then that I decided her voice was my favourite. I was too much of a coward to ask her out at the time. I eventually did, though looking back I wish I did so sooner. There was never a boring day with her by my side.’

That’s all there is. Just a few words on an otherwise empty piece of paper. No signature at the bottom, no name, and still I knew exactly who wrote it.

The next day another package came in. This time a different set of balloons, a different stuffed animal, but the exact same white envelope.

‘When I was 22 my brother and his fiancée broke it off. Just like the piece of shit I have to call my dad he betrayed his partner’s trust, cheating on her without a second thought. My mother heard about it and accused both of us as being just like our father. You know after a while, I really started believing her.’

Each day a new box would come in, always containing a present with a letter attached.

‘I was terrified of hurting you, terrified of you seeing me the way my mom did, so I hid everything from you. I should’ve known that I can’t hide anything, you know me too well. I panicked and left you, the biggest mistake I could ever make. One that made everything that was already happening so much worse. I tried telling myself I didn’t need you, but I just couldn’t.’

I believed him, believed in the words he wrote down.

‘I’m so fucking sorry for everything I put you through. It’s all my fault and I’ll spend forever owning up to my mistakes. I love you and I don’t want to live without you. Please just give me one more chance to prove myself to you. One is all I need.’

I’m sorry Yejun, I can’t forget about him after all.

Actually he should be the one who is nervous, and well maybe he is, but I’m the one standing on his front porch with my knees shaking and my heart beating right out of my chest. At one point I was even scared he would be able to hear me through the door.

Shaking my head I gather all the courage I can to knock on his door before I turn around and run back in the direction I came from. However, when I hear the sound of my fist on the hard wood I briefly still consider hiding somewhere.

Luckily I don’t get the chance to. While still going back and forth between the options staying or coming back some other time, the door creaks. I stiffly force my hands to stay still at my sides. The time it takes for the door to actually open seems like an entirety. If you were to count the passing seconds it would at most be like 5, which doesn’t sound like much, it feels like much.

“y/n?” His stance looks like a ‘what are you doing here?’, but his eyes give more of a ‘please say you’re here to forgive me’. Well, the latter would be right. “Can I come in?”

“Y-yeah of course.”

It’s not hard to notice that he is uncertain of his actions. It pleases me on one hand, as it gives me some sort of confirmation that he doesn’t want to make any more mistakes around me. On the other hand, I don’t like seeing him uptight around me. I wish he was more comfortable when I’m near.

“I received the letters you wrote.” He knows I received his letters, he was the one who wrote them and sent them out. Surprisingly though, he almost audibly swallows at the information like he did something bad.

“Why couldn’t you tell me in person?” It takes me back to the day he suddenly landed on my doorstep. Even when I explicitly asked for it, he gave me nothing.

“I was scared, I couldn’t get the words out. I wasn’t at all prepared.” He takes a pause before continuing. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, I just didn’t know what else to believe at that point.”

Carefully, I reach out my hand to place on top of his laying on his lap. I don’t touch his skin yet, patiently waiting for him to give me some sort of consent. It comes in the form of him softly raising his hand to meet mine.

“I know, we all have our insecure times. You’re not obligated to tell me anything. I can’t and shouldn’t force you to. I’m sorry I doubted you. I was only upset about the way you left.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I thought that if your last memory of me was a bad one you’d forget me faster.”

It didn’t work the way he wanted it to, but he already knows. Already having been hit with that fact multiple times, I decide to spare him. I don’t mention it again.

“Did you ever stop loving me?” At the time it seemed like he did. Like he wasn’t simply acting, like those harsh words were what he truly felt. “Be honest please.” I don’t want any more lies. I’ll accept whatever comes out, even if it throws me right back to where I started.

“I-I don’t know… I really thought my mother was right. That what I had for you wasn’t what it seemed to be.” His gaze briefly drifts to the ground, before focussing on our touching hands. Like magic, the uncomfortableness he was feeling seems to shift. “No matter what she or I tried to convince myself of, something was always missing. I couldn’t put a mask over my own hurting and guilt anymore.”

He spoke the truth. Well at least I think he did. And so I accepted it.

“Okay, thank you for telling me.”

This talk was long overdue. Something we both needed and completely missed. No screaming, no crying, no accusing. If only it went this way from the start. We’re not all perfect though. Even if someone out there is, I’m not, he isn’t. They must be laughing at us.

“Your letters were cheesy. The gifts too.” I’m not sure if this is me trying to lighten the mood, or if I’m just stating facts. Regardless, it makes the both of us smile.

“I know. But you love cheesy things, like the roses I buy you on special occasions.” When he looks back at me I have to resist the urge to jump on him. The smile he wears look good on him. It’s been a while since I’ve seen it. “You know me too well.”

“Well did they work?”

I had already made up my mind a few days back. While staring at the floating balloons occupying my living room I had decided for myself that he’s worth it. He is.

Tilting my head up like I’m still thinking, I make clear ‘hmm’ sound. I had thought that the answer is quite obvious, seeing as I came to him myself, but when doubt takes away his smile I drop the act. I’ve been through enough. We’ve both been through enough.

“Yeah, yeah it did.”

Unlike myself, he doesn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around me. Burying his head in the crook of my neck like he used to do, he lets out a few low ‘thank you’s’. It doesn’t take me long to return the hug, feeling just as safe with him as I used to.

“What about.. Ah I forgot his name.” It’s not hard to guess who he’s hinting at, the sourness in his voice giving him away. I understand, I wouldn’t like it either.

“I ended things.” His answer just comes in the for of a small nod. There is no need for anything more.

“I honestly thought you were going to reject me again.” He ends his sentence with a chuckle and completely relaxes in my hold. Now that the tension is gone, we can go back to where we left off, slowly rebuilding what was lost.

“I was just playing with you, I’m sorry. But no more being an asshole okay? I promise I will kick your ass.” My giggling might undermine the threat a little to others. Luckily, he knows I’m serious.

“I will give you full permission to, but you’ll never have to. I’m going to dump so much love on you that you’ll regret ever even thinking about taking me back. You’re stuck with me now though, so you better be prepared.”

Pulling himself back a little, he plants a gentle kiss on my lips. And then another one, a second one, three more, each kiss more passionate than the last. A fire spreads throughout my body, burning away the few doubts I had left with success. Eventually, to my dismay, I have to pull back for air. Damn humans for needing oxygen.

“Oh? I’d like to see you try.”

Just in case you were wondering, I never did regret it.

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radioactivepeasant · 4 years

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Fic Prompts: Free Day Thursday

(Full disclosure, this is a chunk of a toshinko fic I wrote a few years ago purely for my own amusement. I may upload it someday, but I haven't decided on that front yet)

She almost turned his offer to escort her home down on the grounds that she was a Nobody and he was going to get swarmed with people asking weird questions.

She didn’t turn him down in the end.

Forever after, neither of them were sure how they’d fallen into discussing personal matters, especially when under normal circumstances neither would be caught dead pouring out their heart to a stranger. Perhaps she’d just needed the catharsis. Perhaps he'd needed the human connection. When they reached her little apartment at last -- at least Hisashi had stayed long enough to help her move -- All Might handed her the umbrella.

“Wh- no I can’t take- what about you?” Inko sputtered.

“Ahaha no worries! I’ll be right as rain!” All Might flashed a peace sign, then broke into muffled giggles. “Wow. That was horrible. I’m so sorry.”

Inko laughed, and All Might jumped away, and that should have been the end of it.

But it wasn’t.

[[MORE]]

A few weeks later Inko found a note taped to her door in the unmistakable handwriting of All Might.

Hoping there have been a few less rainy days in your life lately! :D

There was even a small doodle of an umbrella with his distinctive eyebrows and smile.

After taking an hour or two to get over the sheer shock of All Might remembering her -- let alone where she lived -- Inko found herself sticking the note to her refrigerator.

Second-guessing herself the whole way, Inko taped a note of her own on her door, a short and sweet heartfelt thanks for him going out of his way to make sure she was alright, and listening to her complaining. After a moment’s hesitation, she added a doodle of her own. A rainbow with his smile.

The note stayed on her door for two days and Inko tried not to be disappointed. Logically she knew it was extremely unlikely that a hero of his caliber would even be in her city, let alone on this end of town, and even if he was, he’d be far too busy for social visits. (Why was she expecting All Might to make social visits?!)

On day three the note was gone and something else was in its place.

It wasn’t carefully written on blank paper this time. It was hastily done, as if on the spot, and on the back of what looked like a grocery list. Still, it was fairly obvious who it was from.

It was no trouble at all, please don’t worry about it! Truthfully, it was nice to get to just talk with someone like that. Actually, I don’t get to do that very often! :D

Wishing you and the baby the best! - AM :D :D

Oh lord. The baby. That’s right, she was pregnant. She was literally constructing a human being from scratch!

...okay, it sounded kind of metal when she thought of it like that.

Inko shuffled back inside to make a stiff cup of chamomile and figure out how to organize the very bizarre amount of money Hisashi had sent her. He was as broke as she was, probably, going to that exclusive medical school. But he'd somehow managed to scrape up enough in mismatched bills to cover at least two doctors' visits. And he'd sent a pack of pacifiers?

Bless his heart, but Fujioka Hisashi didn't know much about babies. Inko taped his "sorry I'm an idiot, can we still be friends" note up on the fridge. Then, after a moment's pause, she added the second note from All Might.

Somehow, the notes became a regular thing after that. He started slipping them through the mail slot rather than taping them to the door, which was probably safer in the long run. And she started hiding hers under the mat, in a plastic bag.

She probably could have just sent the notes to his agency, like every other fan, but she worried that it would be lost among the hundreds of thousands of other letters.

Short “how are you” notes became mid-length “fought an umbrella themed villain today and thought of you, how are you?” notes. Sometimes Inko left letters about everything and nothing, talking about how she saw a flower blooming in a place it shouldn’t have been and it looked so hopeful there that she felt like everything was going to be alright. Sometimes she sent a favorite poem.

Once, about two months in, she’d just barely referenced rent and a doctor’s bill coming at the same time and within a week he’d sent her an envelope with a check to cover both. She’d been horribly embarrassed, and there was an awkward tension in the letters for a week or two until they settled the fact that she wasn’t looking for charity and he only wanted to help.

Three months of letters and Inko had begun to feel as though she knew the Symbol of Peace. Actually knew him. Oh, it was just a silly fantasy, of course, it had to be. No doubt he was barely sharing anything about himself, and he probably did this with other fans too. Or at least, she’d thought that until one of his letters questioned a mention of Mitsuki asking why she was happy all the time now and her not knowing how to answer. Hadn’t she told anyone about the letters?

No, actually, I never told anyone, Inko had written back, I’m not sure why. I’m sure this is a normal thing you do, since you’re so kind, but I can’t help worrying that some people will say nasty things about you if they find out you’re penpals with a pregnant lady.

The response had come on the same day, a post-it note on her door in the space between getting off the couch and walking to the door. She’d just missed him, evidently.

Had to run, sorry for shortness, it said, But you’re the only one I write to.

Inko had needed to sit down after that.

The following morning there was a three page letter resting on the floor just under the mail slot. It was handwritten, as all the others had been, and expanded on the post-it note. All Might was writing to say that while he did try to personally answer fanmail, this wasn’t fanmail. This was a correspondence with a friend (at least, he hoped it was, he was pretty sure it was, he wasn’t trying to overstep any boundaries or anything--). That he felt that he’d come to know her as a person in the last three months, that he looked forward to getting her notes every week. That he didn’t want to make her uncomfortable, not ever, but perhaps it would be best if at some point they could meet and discuss things in person so there were fewer chances of misunderstandings?

Inko had to read it six times before it sunk in that All Might was asking to meet her. All Might was asking to meet her! She was in a daze all through her commute to work and most of the way through her workday. Her boss was forgiving enough to chalk it up to pregnancy and simply remind her to actually answer the phones when they rang. When her lunch break came, Inko wandered down to a small grocery store on the same street as her office -- much better prices than the one in her neighborhood, but an hour was a long trip just for groceries so she tended to use the other store. Still in a bit of a fog, Inko didn’t notice until too late that the canned fruit she was looking for was on a shelf much much higher than she could actually reach.

She could’ve just used her quirk to get it down, but...well, unlicensed public quirk use was illegal, no matter how impractical that was. Inko stretched up with one hand, keeping the other hand on her stomach. The baby apparently disapproved of this sudden movement and was rolling around. He liked it when she was walking, not so much when she was stretching. (And still she hadn’t picked a name for him. She’d tried a few, but nothing seemed to stick.)

“Here, let me-!”

Someone reached up over her head and brought down the can. At first glance, out of the corner of her eye, Inko almost mistook him for All Might. But that was ridiculous, right? His hair was wild and curly, all save two long bangs he’d sort of let flop loose in front of his face. And while he was definitely muscular, he didn’t quite seem to have the same level of definition as All Might. Very close, though. Inko realized she was staring at him and blushed bright red.

“S-sorry! You didn’t have to do that!” she stammered as he handed her the can.

“Well I didn’t want you to get hurt,” the man said with surprising sincerity, “Sorry if that was awkward haha I’m...bad at social things.”

And that was Inko’s introduction to Yagi Toshinori. He’d clumsily introduced himself and then dashed off blushing the moment her back was turned. Odd fellow. There’d been something strangely familiar about his eyes, though, and she just couldn’t place it. They looked almost like...nah. Couldn’t be.

Four weeks later, one of her neighbors asked her about “the buff American-looking guy” who slipped letters through her door at weird hours and Inko had an epiphany. If it was All Might, they’d have seen All Might. And probably called the presses. But the things in the letters were things that only All Might would know unless someone else had been reading her letters. With shaking hands, she wrote her next letter and slipped it under the mat.

If I met you while you were off the clock, would I still recognize you?

If she hadn’t been sore and unwilling to move from the couch, she would have waited by the door to see if she could catch her mystery penpal. She fell asleep there, waiting, and didn’t wake up again until her phone alarm went off the next morning to tell her to get ready for work. Grumbling, Inko showered, changed, and managed some form of breakfast. The baby really really hated miso and natto, so she’d been sticking to things like eggs and yogurt and citrus.

“Come on kid, I miss soup,” Inko groaned as she shoved an orange into her purse for later and bolted. She almost stepped on the folded piece of paper at the door. Already running late, she stuck it into her purse and didn’t even look at it until hours later that day.

Well, you would now, was all it said.

#free day thursday #bnha au #bnha #toshinko #toshinori yagi #yagi toshinori #midoriya inko #inko midoriya #Izuku isn't born yet #self-indulgent au is self-indulgent and i make no apologies #pen pals #Toshi is like 'this is safer than texting right?'#somewhere Gran Torino is having a conniption #fic excerpt #fic prompts #writing prompts #long post

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bjy-on-ao3 · 4 years

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Fic Friday: Helping Hand

(As usual, you can find the AO3 version of all my uploads [and some things I don’t post here to tumblr] via my Masterlist blog page.)

This story feels like fan content-ception to me, as it spawned from some NSFW art I made featuring Izaya, which was made from doodles to start with. Still scheming, but a lot more simple than my other fics with Izaya. Leaving this one a little open-ended in case I came back to it for Izaya returning the favor as he suggested. Not currently decided for sure though. I recently got my first request for Izaya and am brewing that, though it could be some time before I can get something down. It should be pretty fun though and spicier than this. (Note: Apologies for no cut - I am not sure how I add a cut with the new editor :/) Summary Invited over to Izaya’s apartment, Reader arrives too early and interrupts the informant’s alone time. And unfortunately (or fortunately), Izaya has no qualms about asking for a little help. Tags/Warnings Blowjobs, Come Swallowing, Hand Jobs, Oral Sex, Reader-Insert, Shameless Smut

Helping Hand (F! Reader/Izaya Orihara)

Arriving at the non-descript door in the hall of the impressive-looking apartment building, you hesitated. A few quick glances confirmed the numbers by the door matched up with the information listed in your phone’s address book. A few times before you had been to the apartment, but you hadn’t memorized everything about the address. All things considered, it was surprising you weren’t late this time, as you had been each time in the past. Maybe you were improving a little.

You raised a fist and drummed it against the door, starting light and polite. Nothing. You rapped harder. Surely that was loud enough to be heard? Your assumption was disproved when all that met you was silence, leaving you alone still in the hallway. You frowned in frustration and impatience. You knocked a third time, waiting a minute, wondering if he was preoccupied or just enjoying making you wait. When all remained quiet again, your frown deepened.

You looked back down at your phone, silently navigating to the texting feature and typing you a message irritably.

(X:XX PM): I’m here. I knocked, but I guess you didn’t hear it.

You didn’t need to wait more than fifteen seconds before your phone buzzed in reply. Two words met your gaze, followed after a moment by a second slightly longer message.

Izaya (X:XX PM): You’re early.

Izaya (X:XX PM): I’m a little busy right now.

You paused, your scowl becoming confusion, and you scrolled back up through the conversation. The log confirmed the time you had been told and the one in the corner of your phone matched. ‘ Early? Right. Don’t tell me Izaya of all people forgot.’

(X:XX PM): I checked and either I’m on time or you screwed up and sent me the wrong time.

Arguing with him wouldn’t do you any good one way or another; Izaya wasn’t one to genuinely apologize for any inconveniences he caused others. But correcting him made you feel a little better and somewhat less cross at least.

Izaya (X:XX PM): Oh, did I?

Izaya (X:XX PM): Well, if you don’t like waiting, you can just come in. Door’s unlocked.

Your face twisted again, now into a skeptical surprise. Izaya just left his door unlocked? Izaya Orihara, the man who had probably as many enemies as he had clients, decided it was smart to let whoever wanted to waltz right in. Yeah, that made sense. You wondered if he enjoyed the excitement of the potential danger.

(X:XX PM): Hardly seems like a good idea for YOU to leave your door unlocked, but whatever.

With a dismissive shrug, you tucked your phone into your pocket and reached for the knob. Pushing it open, you stepped inside quickly and closed it gently behind you. You took a step away before pausing, turning back and locking the door as an afterthought. Izaya could endanger himself all he wanted, but you would rather there be at least some kind of barrier between whatever messy trouble came looking for him.

Walking past the foyer, you expected to see him perched on his chair, clacking noisily away at his keyboard, fixed on the screens of his computers and cellphones or something of the sort. The chair was empty though, turned away from the screens. You scanned the area for the ever-frustrating information broker. Quickly, you noticed him tucked away in the corner of the dark-colored leather section, his back facing you. His head rested against the couch, one long arm lying curled over its back. For someone supposedly busy, Izaya looked pretty relaxed from where you were standing.

“You don’t look real busy to me,” you accused once you spotted him.

Izaya shifted, tilting his head further back to glance over his outstretched arm at you. “Oh, I am, I assure you.” He looked and sounded as collected as ever, as if nothing could or should trouble him. Except… was it just you, or did his face seem a bit red? “But I’ll be just a few minutes. Feel free to wait for me there,” Izaya suggested. There was something off as well about the quality of his voice you couldn’t place.

“Uh huh,” you said, unsure if you felt unsettled or just irritated still. Maybe a little of both.

He had told you to wait, yet your curiosity nagged at you viciously, demanding to see what exactly preoccupied him. Or maybe it was indignation needing to see what was so pressing he couldn’t remember the time he had told you. You took a few steps, intending to round the recessed floor area and the sectional to see what he was doing.

“You really should wait over there,” he warned you casually, the strange tone of his voice sounding stronger, but still indecipherable.

You scoffed, ignoring the warning and carrying on. When you swept around the corner of the area though, what you saw stopped you dead in your tracks, poised on the lip of the steps down. At first the strangled squeak that burst from your mouth didn’t quite register, nor did the immediate hot flush that fell across your face.

Izaya looked very comfortable where he sat, leaning back into the plush cushions. From the top-down, at first he looked perfectly normal, if a little flushed, one of his usual ‘v’-neck shirts tantalizing displaying a bit of his delicate-looking collarbones. Though the picture grew more suspect the further you went. The hem of his shirt was lifted, askew and higher on one side than the other, exposing his lean torso. That wasn’t nearly so scandalous though, as even further down.

He sat nude from the waist down, his pants and belt pooled around his ankles. His cock stood prominently between his splayed legs, a flushed tone to match the rosy tint in cheeks and leaking pre-cum. As if walking on Izaya with his pants literally down wasn’t mortifying enough, one hand was wrapped leisurely around his cock. Obviously he had been in the process of jerking off, and still was, having not bothered to stop even once you had caught him in the act.

What you were looking at hit you all at once, and a stream of half-finished sentences exploded out. “I’I’m sorry, I-- But what are you--? Why would let me come in if that’s what you’re busy doing?! You began in an apologetic voice, though your apology quickly turned to indignation at the fact Izaya’d had plenty of time to put himself away before you came in. Before he invited you, for example, and then before he greeted you.

“Well, I did warn you.” Izaya’s speech held no hint of apology. The shameless, steady stroke of his hand up and down confirmed he was not bothered whatsoever. “Besides, you’re the one who wanted to show up early and be nosy, darling.”

At last you recognized the tone in his voice you hadn’t been able to place before. Something husky and thick, a silky accent to his already smooth voice. You felt stupid not being able to put two-and-two together from his voice and face.

“I’m not early! I-it’s not my fault you told me the wrong time,” you tried to hide the shakiness in your voice with anger, though you knew Izaya was a master at seeing through masks.

You wanted to turn, to look away, but you found yours glued to the sight of him, stunned like a deer in headlights. Maybe it was his audacity that was truly so stunning. I’m just gonna go and come back later,” you ground out through teeth after you tore your eyes away from the enticingly lewd scene.

“Oh? But like I said, I’ll only be a little bit.” You nearly choked again from Izaya’s boldness. He really expected you to just wait around while he jacked off like it was nothing? For someone who claimed to love humans and all their emotions and behaviors so much, you really wondered how much he really understood them sometimes. “You know, if you wanted to lend a hand, it might be even sooner.”

You made another embarrassing noise, your eyes snapping back around and fixing on his own. The expression in his sharp brown eyes told you he wasn’t just you or making some inappropriate joke, not completely. Izaya was dead serious suggesting you ‘lend him a hand’ with his current ‘business’. You should have been mad. You should have been uncomfortable. You should have walked away then. But something else was creeping up and up, suppressing what you should have done, leaving behind the sense that you didn’t quite hate the idea.

You weren’t ready to give in completely, though, not yet. “Was that your plan when you invited me over?” You tried to deflect once more, but your angry speech was half-hearted.

He gave a small shrug, still languorously pumping his hand up and down, smearing a new bead of pre-cum along the head of his dick. You licked your lips, and you weren’t sure whether it was from nerves or hunger. “Who knows? Maybe, maybe not.” Of course Izaya would give you a nonsense answered that told you nothing.

“Can you just put your pants on, please?” You tried weakly, a last ditch effort to squish down the hot feeling suffusing you and to call his bluff. But Izaya wouldn’t be moved.

“Weren’t you leaving though?” He questioned calmly. “So why should I? Then I can’t take care of this.” You groaned mentally at his ‘logic’ that amounted to his typical games. “So, what’s stopping you?”

You didn’t speak, listening only to the slick sound of Izaya stroking himself, as if trying to come up with an appropriate excuse. But there was none. You were still there because you wanted to be. You sputtered some nonsense at first, before sighing in defeat.

“I...I just… fine,” you mumbled, unable to meet his cutting gaze when you agreed.

He didn’t seem bothered or surprised by your admission, and when you looked back up, he was smirking widely, as if he had expected you to crumble and play right into his hands. “Well, what are you waiting for then?”

You nearly scowled at the impatience of the question, but shook your head. You approached quickly, stopping once you stood in front of him. You licked your lips again and swallowed thickly, kneeling between his legs. Up close and personal with his cock, it you for real the favor you had submitted yourself to. It made your stomach twist in a way that was pleasantly hot, but with a nervous flutter. But even if he would probably let you, there was no back down now. You had dug your hole and you intended to stay in it.

Feeling Izaya’s eyes burning down onto you, you lifted a hand tentatively, more intimidated than you would have admitted. You nearly jumped when the hand he had been pleasuring himself with seized yours. Your face was on fire as he guided your hand over his shaft, helping you wrap it around the heated skin. He made a small sound in the back of his throat at the contact, his palm lingering over your hand. Gingerly, you shifted your hand up and down, mimicking him, the skin hot and velvety under your fingers.

“There, just like that,” Izaya cooed, his hips rocking up into your touch. His hand left yours to bury itself in the cushion beside him.

You chanced a subtle glance up, past his exposed torso and up his chest. His head lolled back against the sofa back, and his chest rose and fell deeply in more noticeable, pleasured breaths as you stroked. He seemed more than willing to sit back and fully indulge in your touch, apparently a far more exhilarating experience than his own.

“What a good girl,” he praised as your grip tightened you pumped his cock more surely, enjoying the noises that vibrated up his chest. They were low and smooth, containing all the richness of his speaking voice, yet none of the frustrating teasing or condescension. “Mmph, a little hard, don’t be shy,” he coaxed, giving a particularly eager buck of his hips, a new drop of pre-cum beading on the head of his dick.

You did as instructed, and the sound of his breathing deepened more, the small, pleasant sounds morphing into longer, bawdy groans. “How’s that?” you prompted, the confidence from watching him come slowly undone steadying your voice, the sheer arousal in it surprising you.

“Mm, good, keep going.”

You stuck to the steady rhythm you had set, your tongue wetting suddenly dry lips again as you alternated between watching Izaya’s blissful form above you and his throbbing cock in front of you. You moved your idle hand up, cradling his balls in your palm and rubbing gently, rewarded with even more erotic noises. You weren’t sure whether you were more turned on by the eroticism of the sounds themselves, or the fact you were hardly ever heard Izaya sound so unrestrained.

Your gaze stopped, lingering on his cock, and you decided if you were going to help out, you may as well have a little more fun, as well as satisfy the hunger building in you. You bent forward, your breath fanning over the head hotly, and you barely caught a shiver roll through Izaya. You leaned closer, opening your mouth and licking coyly at the flushed head, the bitter taste of pre-cum flooding your senses.

“ Oh .” The word was surprised, excited almost, made even more so by the breathiness that carried it. “I didn’t even have to ask you to do that.” Your faced burned with embarrassment you fought to ignore, letting your lips wrap around the head, swirling your tongue along the underside. “More eager than you let on, I see. But I’m not complaining.”

Izaya relaxed more limply against the cushions, save for the rhythmic roll of his hips meeting the hot, wet touch of your mouth. You sank down on his cock more, slowly, trying to account for the motion of his hips to not choke yourself on his length. Fortunately, though it was steady, his pace was languid, letting you adjust easily. You took as much as you could without inciting your gag reflex, shifting between dancing your tongue along his skin or pressing flat against the underside or teasing the head where it connected to his shaft.

Above you, Izaya’s dulcet chorus of groans and mumbled words escalated and his fingers met the top of your head. They curled loosely, massaging methodically, neither forcing you down or adjust to a new pace.

“Hmm, and they say I’ve got a talented tongue,” Izaya hummed huskily and you couldn’t stifle a low moan in answer, the sound shooting through Izaya and making his hips stutter. “Sure seems like you know to use yours though,” he praised again, and you could make out the teasing tone you were so used to among his lusty, strained voice.

Izaya fell silent for a time, or at least he fell wordless, panting and groaning his pleasure, the sounds accentuated by the wet noises you made while you sucked him off. But Izaya’s was a mouth that couldn’t stand staying silent for long. “You can take a little more, can’t you?” He asked insistently, his fingers tightening their loose hold. He thrust his hips more roughly into your mouth as you sank down again, as if punctuating his question.

Tears stung at your eyes for an instant as the tip of his dick touched your throat and you inhaled deeply to relax it. You took in even more of his cock, noticing the roll of his hips slow, as if accommodating you to take his length more easily. When you pulled back, his hand only let you go so far, effectively keeping you from pulling away. You indulged him, satisfied with the even more ragged breaths replacing his words and more of the salty fluid leaking from him.

Your jaw was beginning to ache, but you ached elsewhere as well, and it urged you to continue. With your mouth wrapped around him so intimately, you could tell Izaya was getting very close to cumming, from the increasing cant of his hips to the harsh pitch of his breath to the way his cock twitched, even more hard.

“Mm, that’s it. Almost there.” Izaya confirmed your suspicions, the lustiness of his tone adding to the urgency. “If you don’t want a mouthful, you might want to stop,” he warned you, surprisingly considerate in the moment.

Your eyes flickered up, but you didn’t stop, trying to hum your acknowledgement around a mouthful of his dick, working him even more eagerly.

“Oh, shit, you’re more obscene than I thought. If that’s how you want it,” His excitement pierced his arousal again, as if he hadn’t expected you to be so wrapped up in servicing him.

Thrusting into your mouth more desperately, his hips finally stuttered as he finished, filling your mouth with hot ropes of thick that you swallowed as soon as the bitter taste swept over your tongue. Several especially long, feral moans drifted from Izaya’s lips as you drank him down, until at last he was spent and there was nothing left for you to swallow. You drew away, wiping a smear of drool and some stray cum from your mouth with the back of your hand and resting back on your knees.

“There, that’s taken care of,” you said, your attempt to sound level and collected ruined by your own arousal making your voice overly breathy. “Now did you actually have a reason for inviting me over?”

Izaya laughed breathlessly, as if amused by your change of pace, lying boneless against the sectional. “Of course, my dear,” he answered when his laughter died, tipping his head forward to look at you. “I wouldn’t lie to your like that. Though, if you’d like, I can return the favor. It sounds like you need it.”

#izaya orihara #durarara!!#writing #fanfiction #ao3 #archive of our own #reader-insert #fic friday #nsft #n/s/f/w/#drrr!!

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fireblogger · 4 years

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Tips to Reduce Spending

I’ve never had a problem with my monthly budget, mainly because it doesn’t exist. I naturally spend less than I make, therefore there’s always some money for the bills and rarely some time spent managing my money. It’s not a good situation to be in, it’s not the worse by any means, but if you want to build your savings and retire earlier you need to be deliberate with your spending and savings choices.

This is traditionally done with a budget. Now I’m not going to lie, I’m terrible at budgets. I can create them no problem, but remembering to actually follow them? Good luck.

1. The first step to create a budget is to document your expenses. If you don’t know how much you tend to spend then it will be very difficult to create an effective budget. If most of your transactions are on debit and credit cards, then you can go back through previous months to track your spending. Or you can start tracking today so you have a better idea in the future.

2. Once you have a good idea of how much money you tend to spend on various categories you can start building the budget itself. (Don’t forget about annual or semi-annual expenses like car insurance). Make sure you are aware of the differences between needs and wants when you are budgeting.

3. Once you have a budget you aren’t done, you should continue to track your expenses and adjust the budget as needed.

So, now you have a budget. How does that translate to actually spending less money? Here are some behavioral tips to help spend less money:

· Now that you know about how much you spend on things start paying for them in cash. When you go to a grocery store with a $100 bill (or a $100 gift card) you are forced to spend less than that $100. You can’t go over, but if you had a debit card a $112 bill would approve even though it was $12 over your budget.

· Change your daily habits to avoid temptation. Does your route to or from home pass by a fast-food restaurant that you just love? Did you just notice that you actually spend $50 a month there on coffee and French fries? Try taking a side street so you never see the sign. Do you habitually order delivery through your handy-dandy phone? Try deleting the apps, not seeing them on the phone can reduce temptation and the extra step of needing to redownload every time can slow you down when you’re thinking about ordering. Even if you don’t want to delete the app you can hide in somewhere in the back folders of your phone so you don’t see the icon and thing huh, think imma get myself some pizza.

· If there’s a consistent ‘treat’ you like to get, think about low-cost alternatives. For example, I love pizza. Like, it’s not healthy, neither is my solution but we’re talking about money not fitness. I will often keep some tortilla shells, a cheese blend, and a bag of pepperonis on site. Then if I’m craving pizza, I can make myself a 400 calories pizza roll that costs less than 50 cents instead of spending the minimum of $10 (to deliver) which usually ends up being a $12 order which also has a delivery charge, tax, and tip and becomes something closer to $20 for a single craving?

· Consider how your spending habits change when you’re emotional, are you more likely to buy yourself a treat and how much does that treat cost a month? Make the decision before-hand to redirect emotional buying to other positive behaviors instead. Things like working out, calling a friend, drawing a doodle of whoever pissed you off then burning it in the sink, or meditating. Whatever you do, don’t open up Amazon.

· Ask yourself if you need something or want something before you buy it. Do you need those new shoes? Or do you want them? Taking the time to add one more mental step before actually spending the money can help reduce impulse purchases. My No Spend Year | Michelle McGagh | TEDxManchester is a great TED Talk on this topic.

· Forget trends. Don’t even bother trying to keep up with all the newest fads. And if a fad looks really cool? Take a step back and ask yourself if you really think that this new item is actually useful and will add joy to your life, or if you just think it is because of herd mentality.

· Don’t go into debt to buy things. This mainly applies to credit-card debt and doesn’t really apply to houses (especially if you plan on getting a duplex and renting out of it). If there’s something that’s really cool, it will still be really cool when you have the money saved up to buy it in cash. It might even be really cool and cheaper if a new model comes out in the meantime.

Pay down your debts. This is less advice to reduce immediate spending and more advice to avoid future spending on interest payments. There are two main schools of thought when it comes to paying down debt:

1. Start with the high interest debt. This makes the most logical sense as high-interest debt will end up costing you more in the long run.

2. Start with the lowest balance, regardless of debt: This makes the most emotional sense. People are human, and they like to see progress on their goals. The feeling of success when you pay off a debt completely can help spur you on to tackle the next debt.

Starting with the high interest debt is my preference. I want to save every penny possible, and that’s the way to do it. But if you know that you may have difficulty sticking to a plan, or if you want the satisfaction of paying off your debt then the second option is a fine one to take.

Changing your behavior and paying down debt are some of the harder steps to take when trying to spend less money overall. Here are some simpler, practical, pieces of advice:

· Buy in bulk. When you go grocery shopping do some meal planning first and buy in bulk. If you have a larger family then stores like Costco or Sam’s Club can be very useful to get some discounted prices. However, if you’re like me and live in a very small household then buying some items in bulk at a local cheap grocery store can be just as effective without cluttering up limited storage space.

· Explore secondhand shops for new appliances, clothes, furniture, etc. Online marketplaces like Craigslist and Facebook Marketplace can be great places to get good deals. There’s no need to spend $50 on a waffle iron when the Youth Ranch down the street or Bob around the corner is selling one for $5.

· Price-shop. Amazon won’t always have the cheapest prices, and while convenience is nice they aren’t the only home delivery store. Shop around to see where you can get the best price for your purchases.

· Don’t buy as much stuff, borrow it if you can. If anyone knows me then know how much I love books. I used to have multiple bookcase that I would move about once a year when I switched apartments. Over time I forced myself to give away or sell most of them, and now check the local library for my next read. And by now I mean pre-COVID-19. But post Covid I’m sure I’ll be back at it!

· Look for long lasting, high-quality versions of products. A nice pair of shoes can last you five years or more in my experience. If you can, save up for the longer lasting versions so you don’t have to replace them as often.

· Reduce any monthly bills that you can. If you consistently have rollover data that may mean that you should pay less for less data. If you’re going to the gym just to use the treadmill, consider walking around the block a few times instead. Decide if you really need all those streaming services that you pay for.

· Adjust the thermostat, especially if your home isn’t especially energy efficient. Keep the apartment a little colder in the winter and a little warmer in the summer for power savings.

Finally, this is all well and good. But how do you actually follow through? The best person to answer this is yourself, but here are a few options:

1. Get an accountability partner. You can go through each other’s finances to make sure you are hitting your goals. Having an extra set of eyes can be incredibly useful to not only spot places where expenses can be curbed, but to make sure that what’s on paper matches what you wanted there to be.

2. Pay for everything in cash. This is reminiscent of Dave Ramsey’s cash budget. But if you have an envelope of cash labeled food, and that’s all the fast food and grocery money you have for the month it will be difficult to go over the limit. There’s also something more visceral in giving up cash as opposed to sliding a card that may make you think twice about going through with your purchase.

3. Feel broke to be rich. Try opening a second bank account for your paycheck and bills, then set up a recurring transfer to your main checking account. If you never see the bulk of your money, and if your bank balance looks low every time you open the app to check it may be easier to avoid spending money. This isn’t a mindset that everyone wants to be in, but I’ve found that constantly feeling broke means I am far less likely to spend money on frivolities.

If you have more ideas on how to save money on a daily basis leave a comment below!

#fireblogger #money #money tips #save money #how to save #how to save money #budget #advice #money advice

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takingcourage · 4 years

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Miscalculations: A Witness AU

Chapter Five

Catch up here: Prologue, Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Four

Pairing: M!Cassian x MC

Word Count: 3,350

Series Summary: After years apart, fate brings Kellen and Cassian together a third time. Can they learn from the mistakes of the past, or are they destined to repeat them once more?

Note: I hope to keep posting chapters twice a week until this series is finished, but there’s a possibility that some future installments may be a little late. The summer course I’m teaching begins Tuesday, and grading student work doesn’t always leave me in the best frame of mind for writing fiction. At the very least, I intend to have a new chapter up each Sunday. Thanks for your patience!

Three weeks and as many park visits later, Kellen still didn’t know what to make of Cassian’s return.

Each Sunday, he’d been waiting on the bench to meet them, eager to follow Owen’s whims for as long as she let him. The two of them had tested out the monkey bars, played with trucks, and even attempted leaf jumping with a small pile of leaves that they’d cobbled together in the grass. She’d spent the better part of Owen’s bath time that evening picking tiny foliage particles out of his hair, but his happiness had made the chore completely worthwhile.

With every visit, she found herself stepping back and letting Cassian take the lead more often. It was never a conscious decision, but her gut suggested he was earning back her trust. In light of everything he’d missed, some moments alone with the boy felt like the least she could offer.

He hadn’t pushed for anything else, yet she knew him well enough to read the questions that furrowed his brow when Owen couldn’t see.

Kellen’s eyes swung to the bed, where her son was making a railroad track out of the lines of stitching in her duvet. She continued steaming the lapels of tomorrow’s blazer, though her focus was more on the child than the task before her.

So far, her fears of Owen’s life being turned upside down had been unfounded. As she’d predicted, he and Cassian had become fast friends, but their friendship hadn’t compromised any of her rules. Perhaps it was time to relax them and move beyond their weekly park excursions.

A sudden vibration from her back pocket signaled the perfect opportunity for her to test the waters further. As she read over the text she’d received, a plan began to formulate.

Am I really doing this? she questioned, scrolling through her contacts for Cassian’s number. But her hesitation disappeared as quickly as it had come. She mashed the green call icon and held the phone to her ear, the head of her steamer still dangling from her other hand.

He answered on the second ring. “Kellen? Everything okay?”

Her pulse hammered, though she wasn’t sure if it was in anticipation of her question or just at the sound of his voice. “It’s fine. Look, I know it’s only been a couple hours since we’ve seen you, but I have a quick question about tomorrow. According to the schedule you sent me, you’ve got the day off?”

“I do.”

“How would you feel about watching Owen while I’m at work? I just got a message from his daycare. They had a pipe burst this weekend, and I’m going to have to keep him home until they get everything cleaned up. I can take the time off, but I thought you might be interested since you’re off anyway.”

“I’d love to,” he confirmed, his eagerness almost as audible as his smile. “And I can watch him more than just tomorrow if you’d like. I’ve got a few weeks banked, and I don’t have any plans for --”

“It’s fine,” she broke in, but thought better of the interruption. “Sorry. What I meant to say is that they should have it fixed within a day or two. But thanks for offering,” she added as an afterthought. “It’s probably easiest for you to come over to the apartment, if that works.”

“Whatever you think is best. What time should I show up tomorrow?”

Blood rushed to her ears as they finished making arrangements. This doesn’t mean he’s back in your life for good she chided, somewhat startled when the thought was met with a pang of disappointment. But if things go well...

Even as the thought evaporated, optimism fluttered in her breast.

_____

Kellen’s excitement only grew the following morning when he appeared on her doorstep. Her son had spent his first waking hour creating a pile of all the toys he wanted to show “Mr. Keane,” and Cassian had come laden with bags of his own. Their matching grins had been nearly enough to make her rethink her plans of going to work.

By comparison, the office was deadly dull. Even with Harika’s impertinent questions and the handful of messages she exchanged with Cassian to check in, the day felt like it would never end.

When she finally made it home that evening, she was met with the enticing aroma of garlic and onions. She couldn’t discern any other hints about the contents of her stove or oven, but the scent alone left her salivating. Looking through to the small dining area beyond the kitchen, she found the two boys occupying a single chair.

Having traded his booster seat for Cassian’s lap, Owen gripped a pair of crayons intently, doodling abstract circles along the sheet of paper before him. Cassian held him with an arm around his waist and colored with the child’s cast offs, his own paper a sunny display of yellows and golds.

“Hey, Kellen.”

“Mama!”

As Owen began squirming, Cassian pushed back from the table to let him down. “There you go, a stór. Go tell her hello.” Though the term he used was unfamiliar, the fondness in the exchange was clear. He looked to her when he’d finished speaking, and she almost shivered at the intensity in his green eyes.

Did he know how nice it felt to come home to something other than an empty house?

Forcing her gaze away, she bent to pick up her son. “Hey there, big guy! How was your day?” The toddler’s spirited chatter soon took her attention. Though she hardly kept up with it all, it was evident that the time spent with his father had been thoroughly enjoyed.

Cassian quickly collected the crayons, then crossed to the pot on the stove. At a lull in Owen’s babbling, he spoke. “How was work?”

“Good, but I’m happy to be home. How have things been here?”

“First rate. I took the liberty of making you dinner. I hope that’s all right.”

“Sounds great,” she acknowledged, setting the fidgeting toddler back on the floor. He ran off to his bedroom, but Kellen stayed behind for a moment longer. “We do a lot of takeout and delivery, so something homemade will be a nice change of pace.”

“I gathered as much from the state of your fridge. But I brought over what I needed, and you’ll have enough for leftovers too.”

“You’re planning to join us, aren’t you?”

The corner of his lip turned up at the invitation, and she felt immediately self-conscious. Was it obvious that she wasn’t quite ready to let him go?

“I didn’t want to impose.”

“Staying to eat the dinner you made is hardly imposing.”

Wordless, he nodded and tested something in the pot with a fork. “Then I’d love to join you.”

“Great,” she said in answer, turning to follow Owen so that Cassian couldn’t see the width of her grin.

Before crossing into the boy’s bedroom, she stole another glance toward the kitchen. He was still at the stove, adding seasoning to the pot before giving it a stir with one of her cooking spoons. A strange noise carried through the hall, and her brow wrinkled slightly before realizing that he unaccustomed sound was his humming. Cheeks flushed with pleasure, she stepped into her son’s room.

For the past month, she’d worried that letting him into her home again would feel risky or uncomfortable, but now that he was here, it seemed like the most natural thing in the world. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so valued and cared for, nor a time when Owen had been in such good spirits after they’d spent the day apart. If this is how things are after a single day...

Kellen buried the thought before it could lead anywhere too dangerous.

_____

After they’d eaten, Cassian had insisted on clearing up from dinner while she caught up with Owen. By the time the boy was bathed, the only signs left from their meal were the set of pans in her sink and the dishrag in Cassian’s hand.

Kellen carried the pajama-clad boy back through the hallway, stopping just before they reached the kitchen tile.

“Owen has something he’d like to tell you before he goes to bed,” she announced, relaxing her hold so that the boy could lean further in Cassian’s direction.

“Has he now?” Seeing the joyful spark as he secured the child’s gaze, she knew the promise he’d made during their first park visit had been true: it was utterly impossible to imagine him leaving them again.

“He wanted to say thank you,” she led, ignoring the tingling sensation that rose in her chest. The boy parroted back the syllables, though more to her than to Cassian.

“You’re welcome. Thanks for spending the day with me, Owen.”

“And since it’s nearly his bedtime, we’re also here to tell you good night.” The second attempt suffered much the same fate as the first, though Cassian didn’t seem to mind. The child’s dulcet voice made up for his lack of attentiveness and enunciation.

“Books?”

“I haven’t forgotten. We’ll read before bed.” The boy’s response sounded suspiciously like Mr. Keane.

Cassian laughed, chucking the boy under the chin. “We did read, didn’t we? Let your ma read to you tonight.”

“You’re welcome to join us you want to,” Kellen offered. “I don’t mean to keep you, but you can read with us if you’d like.” She knew he’d take her up on the arrangement even before opening her mouth to inquire.

“I was hoping to finish up with those pans anyway. Let’s go read some books while they soak.”

The trio read for nearly half an hour -- much longer than their customary three-book habit. But the minutes passed quickly, especially after Cassian succumbed to Owen’s continued requests.

Kellen supposed she should have felt jealous that he was taking over her nightly role, but she couldn’t find it in herself to be upset by the circumstance. Cassian was a competent and engaging reader, bringing so much life into the little stories that she found a new appreciation for what she’d often regarded as very bland prose.

But at the first sign of heavy eyelids, he snuck out of the room to leave them alone, sensing that his presence might do more harm than good when it came to putting the child to sleep.

He was still scrubbing the pans when she returned to the kitchen a short while later.

“You must have worn him out today. He was out like a light.”

Cassian turned from the sink with a deep-throated laugh. “That’ll be me as soon as I get home. I forgot that toddlers could be so exhausting.”

Kellen snatched the flour-sack towel from the oven door and stepped up to the counter beside him. “I always think I’ll have time to catch up on sleep over the weekend, but it never works out that way.”

“I can imagine. He’s got a lot of energy; I think he must get that from you. The child is never still.”

She bristled happily at the teasing lilt in his voice. “He seemed pretty content to sit on your lap earlier.” Remembering the sight of them together, curiosity got the better of her. “What was it that you called him when I got back? Was it in Irish?”

Cassian craned his head over his shoulder to look at her. “Something my Ma used to call me when I was a boy.”

The revelation warmed her down to her toes. Gathering her long hair behind her shoulders, she started in on the pans he’d finished.

“You’re helping with dishes now? You really have changed since Nantucket.” He paused rinsing to raise an approving eyebrow. With his curls askew and his wrists covered in sink water, he still managed to be unforgivably handsome.

“Told ya so.” Under the weight of his gaze, Kellen was struck with a stark reality: she’d be willing to pull dish duty for the rest of her life if it meant he'd keep looking at her like that.

When did I start thinking that way? She nudged the thought away and carried on drying.

“I think I like this new Kellen,” he admitted, turning off the water and shaking the excess liquid from his hands.

As he reached for a paper towel, the hem of his shirt rode up to reveal toned muscle and skin. It was all she could do to keep her grip on the lid she was drying. Setting both the lid and the towel beside the sink, she hopped onto the counter and gave her full attention to the man across from her.

Their eyes met, the electricity between them almost palpable.

“You and me alone in a kitchen?” she breathed, “Tell me this isn’t bringing back a ton of memories.” Even after all this time, their cadence of flirting came as easily as breathing.

As he balled up the towel, he allowed his eye to wander over her form. It was impossible not to notice the heat of desire in that gaze. “I remember them all.”

“Care to show me?”

He nearly choked at her sudden boldness, but he didn’t back down. Eyes locked on hers, he took one step closer. Kellen noted with a thrum of longing that her power over him was still very much intact -- a circumstance which was only fair considering the immense hold he had on her. The years apart had done nothing to dull how attracted she was to him, and though wariness may have slowed her reactions, it hadn’t left her blind.

She heard the catch in his breath as she eliminated the space between them.

It took her a moment to get the hang of kissing him -- kissing anyone -- again. His lips were fervent against her own, his tongue beseeching her to grant him entry. She complied willingly, swallowing his groan as their tongues met.

Kiss deepening, her hands skated under his shirt to clutch the warmth of his skin. He shivered against the touch and took another step, so close that she was able to hook her ankles behind his back.

“What are we doing, Kellen?” he sighed when they parted for air.

She halted, taking a series of shallow breaths. It was clear what her heart and body wanted, regardless of the arguments forming in her mind. “Making up for lost time.”

He stared down at her with a yearning that threatened to turn her insides to jelly. From that look, it was clear that nothing had changed in the way he felt toward her. He opened his mouth, presumably to tell her as much, but she couldn’t bring herself to hear it. “Please just kiss me, Cassian.”

He followed her request earnestly, lifting her off the counter so that he could carry her to the couch.

By the time they made it there, she’d already relieved him of his shirt between kisses, her hands roving the expanse of his chest with great relish. She delighted in finding that certain touches still made him gasp, that his skin was as feverish as her own, that his abs were every bit as perfect and defined as she’d remembered...

But not everything tallied with her memory. Her lips slowed as she slid over an abstract mound of skin at his shoulder. Sitting back on his thighs, she blinked to see the scar beneath her fingertips. Reducing the pressure of her touch, she circled the area, tentative, as her eyes sought his for answers.

“I got shot. Was laid up in a hospital for weeks afterward.”

Her skin turned to ice. She’d always known that his work had the potential to turn dangerous, but this was the first time she’d seen evidence of that danger on his body. Stomach churning at the revelation, her desire for him was quickly consumed by fearful uncertainty.

Cassian recognized her hesitance, even if he didn’t know the reason for it. “I should have warned you. It doesn’t make for a very nice surprise, does it?”

She gathered another breath and slipped onto the cushion beside him. In the lull, she was vaguely aware of him taking his shirt from the arm of the couch and tugging it back over his body.

“That’s one of the reasons I’m back in Boston,” he continued. “I’ll be training and working behind a desk more often than not.”

“Oh.” Finally finding her equilibrium, she felt she owed him some kind of explanation. “I’m sorry for reacting that way. I wasn’t expecting it -- that’s all.” Mouth still burning from the sensation of his kisses, her tongue turned to ash as she uttered the lie.

“There’s no reason to apologize. It’s probably for the best anyway. I think we were on the verge of letting ourselves get carried away.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time...”

Offering her a half smile, he leaned forward to wipe a smudge of lipstick from her lower lip. “No, it wouldn’t.”

For an instant, she allowed herself to relax into the intimate gesture. He’d offered an explanation; the chances of him getting hurt again in the future would be slim. And though the that knowledge provided her some comfort, it wasn’t enough to override the panic that had seeped into her skin.

“I don’t... “ she started, uncertain where the sentence was heading as she tried to make sense of her thoughts. “I don’t know if this is a good idea.”

His pained expression was almost enough to make her regret the words, but she had to think about her son. Surely not knowing his father at all was a better fate than losing him. At this stage, there was still hope that Owen could move on from this none the wiser. If Cassian became a fixture in their lives and then something happened to him…

That was another story altogether.

Kellen bit her tongue to keep from taking the words back. She hadn’t meant to hurt Cassian, but she had to protect her son.

“What is it?” His eyes beseeched her, desperate to come to an understanding. “Please let me in. I know there’s still a lot for us to figure out, but it’s been more than a month. I thought that…” he drifted off, but it was easy to read his implication.

You thought that everything was back on track, Kellen inferred. For a moment, she’d thought so too. “This is all just happening too fast,” she offered with a sigh. “I need more time.”

He trailed a hand along his forehead, and she was grateful that he didn’t seek her eyes when he spoke again. The contact would have been too much for her to bear.

“You can all the time as you need. Just please don’t keep me from my son in the meanwhile. I know you’re all he’s had for most of his life, but he means a lot to me too, Kellen. I’d do anything for him.”

There was no doubting the sincerity in his voice. She’d been right to believe that he would never leave them of his own volition, but that assurance no longer seemed like enough. “Thanks,” was all she could stand to say.

“I guess I should head home,” he attempted, breaking the awkward silence that had come between them. “Thanks for today. I’d love to do it again sometime.”

Still quiet, she was vaguely aware of the kiss Cassian pressed to the top of her head before he left her. “Goodbye, Kellen.”

She managed a quiet farewell before sinking fully into her thoughts.

She wanted a future with him. This night together had only shown her how much. But she’d be damned if she let that desire get in the way of what was best for her son.

For now, there were too many variables -- too much emotion and room for human error -- for her to evaluate exactly what best was. Perhaps she’d reach a conclusion someday, but for now, the need for caution outweighed all else.

#playchoices #playchoices fanfiction #witness: a bodyguard romance #cassian keane #cassian x mc

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artificialqueens · 4 years

Text

Galactica, Chapter 5 (Group Fic) - TheDane/Veronica

A/N: Since we’re on a roll and impatient as fuck, we decided to up our posting rate! Hope you enjoy! Click here if you’re looking for previous chapters (or here if you’d rather read on AO3). 💫

Last Chapter: Violet gave Trixie a heads-up about Fame’s dislike of the new collection, and moved into her new apartment--where she found some very welcoming neighbors.

This Chapter: All hands on deck as Fame demands a complete reconceptualization of their Spring collection.

***

Fame swept into the office on Monday, all business, barely looking Violet in the eye as she rattled off a waterfall of orders.

Fame pulled off her coat and dropped it, nearly letting it fall on the floor before Violet dove forward to catch it.

“Have you taken care of the messages I left you over the weekend?”

Fame seemed almost frantic, her energy all over the place.

“I’m almost done Miss,” Violet folded her coat over her arm, holding out her hand for Fame’s bag. “I just need to confirm wit-”

“Good.” Fame hung her bag on Violet’s wrist, the weight almost toppling Violet over if it hadn’t been for her hours at the gym. “Have you ordered the new fabrics I talked about?”

Violet nodded. “They are on their wa-”

“And what about my new assistant?”

“Yes-” Violet reached for her desk, a stack of resumes already printed out. “I’m starting the pre-interviews tomorrow-”

“Wonderful.” Fame completely ignored Violet and the papers she was holding out, instead walking towards her office. Violet quickly disposed of Fame’s coat and bag, putting both down on her desk so she could grab Fame’s coffee and the letters for the day before she followed her.

“Remember, only perfection is accepted,” Fame instructed, settling down at her desk.

“Yes, Miss.” Violet handed her the coffee, which Fame took a single sip of before she scrunched her nose and handed it back to Violet.

“I’d like a new latte and a medium fruit salad, no pineapple.”

“Yes Miss.”

“Is that the schedule for the day?”

Violet nodded and handed her the paper.

“Also, before you go. Get Raja up here. I need to discuss the collection. That’s all,” Fame said, turning to her computer.

It wasn’t for a few minutes that Violet realized how serious Fame was about the collection change. She was standing in line at the coffee shop, checking her email, when she saw that Fame had sent one to the entire senior management team.

Subject: URGENT

All hands on deck meeting at 3 pm today to discuss a complete re-conceptualization of our Spring collection. Bring your best ideas, ready to discuss, along with samples and visual aids. Be prepared to work late.

Violet gulped, forwarding the email to all of the applicable assistants, when another one ticked in.

Subject: Violet - Get me Pearl

***

“This is interesting, try to get a sample of the skirt done ASAP and then spruce up the sketch,” Trixie said.

Trixie had been walking around the busy design floor, checking out what his team had come up with over the weekend. Ever since getting Violet’s text last Friday, he had a sinking feeling in his stomach that Fame was about to bring down a hammer, and so they needed to be prepared with new ideas.

Half of the team was working on changes and additions to their current collection. Half of them were working on entirely new concepts and ideas.

‘Remember guys,’ he’d said before they left on Friday. ‘This is a spaghetti against the wall situation. No bad ideas, time to explore everything. If it’s unique and innovative, that’s a plus. Pull out your passion projects.’

The truth was, Trixie had no idea what to expect. Fame had been silent all weekend, which made him even more nervous. Usually she’d send at least a few texts or emails. Ideas that popped into her head. A doodle on a notepad. Image references. But now, when she was allegedly questioning their whole collection? Nada.

Trixie walked over to where April was draping out an ornate sample dress in multiple shades of blue, telling her to carry on. Then he moved on to Alexis, scrutinizing the sketches on her desk with a critical eye.

“Some of these shapes are interesting, but I need you to redo them with different colors and fabrics,” he told her. “Remember, the color story is apparently the thing she’s most ambivalent about.”

“Got it,” Alexis said with a good-natured sigh, picking up a fresh pad.

“Um, Trixie?” Kandy looked up, a terrified look on her face as she hung up the phone.

“Yes?”

“Raja says to check your emails, don’t panic, and that she’s coming down to fill you in,” Kandy said.

Trixie pulled out his phone, stomach lurching as he read the email from Miss Fame, face going pale.

His worst fear had just come true: they were facing a complete reconceptualization. He looked up, forcing a smile in order to not terrify the design team even more.

“Okay,” he said, attempting to keep his voice light. “New plan...Blu, Jovan, Gia? Forget about the adjustments you were working on. We’re looking for fresh ideas, anything that you think could be a new signature piece. Everyone: the deadline is today at 3 pm.”

A small gasp rippled through the team as they realized how soon that was.

“Three pm?” Blu asked, the Irish designer looking like she might burst into tears.

“Yeah.” Trixie scanned the room again, hating the anxiety that he saw on everyone’s face, which he knew full well was not conducive to innovation. “And try to have fun. Remember, this is fashion, not heart surgery. No one’s gonna die.”

“We might die,” Jovan muttered under his breath, ripping his current piece out of a sewing machine and tossing it onto the ground.

“It’ll be okay,” Trixie put a hand on Jovan’s shoulder. He was his oddest worker, the wrinkly brain he had coming up with the most beautiful, crazy, intricate ideas when he was left to his own devices. “I promise.” Trixie squeezed, trying to put as much conviction behind his words as he could. “Just do your best.”

***

Pearl had just settled into her chair, ready to see if anything exciting had happened on Twitter while she had been by the design department to give Trixie his lunch.

It wasn’t something she normally did, but Katya had been near heartbroken when she saw that Trixie had forgotten the lunchbox she had made him that morning, and since Pearl was a pretty damn good roommate in her own opinion, she had volunteered to deliver it.

Katya had given her a kiss and a hug as thanks before she hurried out the door, two tote bags and canvas under both arms. If Pearl didn’t love her so much, she’d be almost disgusted with how good of a human being Katya was, spending her summer as a volunteer art teacher at a community center in the Bronx.

Her beating heart was however also the reason that Pearl hadn’t been kicked out of the apartment she shared with her Trixie when he and Katya had started dating, so who was she to complain?

A polite cough came from the door just as Pearl was catching up on Olivier Rousteing’s Instagram. She turned around and came face to face with Violet.

Pearl smiled; it was always a joy to see Violet, the other always a sight for sore eyes with her almost impeccable beauty.

It was always fun to see what Violet would wear, the woman almost vintage in her style.

“Is that Gabbana?”

“Of course it’s Gabbana” Violet smoothed down her skirt, and Pearl smiled. She was the only person who Pearl knew that could wear a button up, and still look like someone begging to get fucked.

“You’re late.”

“Am I?” Pearl smirked. Violet was fun to rile up, but Fame was her favorite, one of her very best days at work happening because she had agitated her boss on purpose.

“Is this about the collection? Trixie told me Fame has officially freaked.”

Violet didn’t say anything, and Pearl almost wanted to roll her eyes.

“I’ll take that silence as a yes.”

Violet was an annoyingly good assistant, never saying a word against Fame, always holding her tongue even when it would have been more than fair to complain.

“She wants you in her office in 10.”

“So I’m not actually late?” Pearl turned around to her iMac, seeing that the small email icon on her screen was blinking red. “Ah.”

Pearl realized that Violet had just saved her from Fame’s disappointment, but there was no way she was going to let the other know of her gratitude.

It was too early in the game for that.

“Sorry for helping you.” Violet huffed, rolling her eyes. “Here-” Violet put a folder down on Pearl’s desk. “In case you want to actually prepare-”

“Thanks Vivi.”

“Don’t call me that.”

***

“Shit.” Trixie exhaled a groan of frustration as he dumped down in his chair. He had known the email was coming, but it had still felt like a punch to the gut when he’d actually seen it.

Raja had come straight from a meeting with Fame, and Trixie had known it was bad, real bad, when he had seen how Raja’s normally ice cold exterior was chipped.

Trixie sighed, burrowing his head in his hands for a minute. He hated having to push his designers, hated forcing them to deliver in extreme conditions. A few of them thrived on it, Betty always delivering excellent work, while Aiden almost always buckled when he didn’t have time to pay attention to his details.

Trixie reached into his mini-fridge, taking the lunch Pearl had stopped by to drop off for him. It was only 10:30, but he unpacked it anyway. Katya had packed two pieces of carrot cake, a can of diet coke and as Trixie opened the metal container, the lovely smell of Katya’s best mushroom and cheese blinis greeted him.

He opened his drawer, pulling out a fork as he turned his computer on, the promise of carrot cake the only thing getting him through the avalanche of worried emails he knew was waiting for him.

***

Raja heaved a sigh as she stepped off the elevator. She’d been trying to give Trixie a warning about Fame’s current state of mind without causing the EVP of Design to freak out, but couldn’t shake the notion that she’d failed, seeing the crease in his forehead deepen the more she spoke, until she’d finally just left him with a firm pat on the back. She entered her own suite, the rich fabrics and warm colors immediately soothing her, although her relief was short-lived, since Jaida was perched on Ivy’s desk, a stern look on her face.

“I need to talk to you.”

Jaida was the most recent addition to their management team. The bright, resourceful CFO joined them almost two years ago, when Patrick stepped away from the day to day financial management to focus on his own firm. She’d truly been a godsend—immediately understanding the need for creative flexibility in their budgets, and helping to streamline the company’s organization in a way that was incredibly effective even as they grew by leaps and bounds.

But now, Jaida’s beautiful face was about the last one that Raja wanted to see. She was well-aware that Fame’s email had caused mass panic, and Jaida’s mind was probably already spinning in 100 different directions, thinking about how their timelines would now completely change the budget for Fashion Week beyond the normal contingency plan.

Raja gestured to her office, resigned to have this conversation now, and Jaida immediately sailed in, settling on the forest green velvet couch that Raven had picked out. Raja turned to Ivy, requesting some herbal tea, before joining her.

“So, Jaida, what are you brightening my day with?”

“An entire reconceptualization, Raja?”

“I’m aware that-”

“Has she completely lost it? Can’t you talk to her?” Jaida implored.

“Fame has made up her mind.”

“Ughhh!” Jaida’s hand fell into her hands.

“What a mature response-”

Raja was cut off when Shangela burst into the office. One of their longest and most loyal employees, the Director of Operations usually never panicked, taking on every challenge with an almost annoying amount of enthusiastic joy.

It was possible, Raja supposed, that she was extra annoyed by Shangela because of their failed relationship, but she liked to tell herself that that was besides the point.

“There you are! I’ve been looking all over for you!” Shangela exclaimed, taking a seat across from Jaida.

“I was stalking Ms. Gemini here.” Jaida pointed with her thumb.

“Shangela, you’re in my office-” Raja began.

“Listen. I just want to make sure everyone understands the situation at hand. Bendela is already asking to double the staff in the tailoring department through September, and Alyssa says that this is going to potentially triple the budget for the media campaigns, and-”

“I know! It’s a shit show!” Jaida exclaimed.

Raja closed her eyes. Where the fuck was Ivy with her tea?

“I hear your concerns, however, we haven’t even had the creative meeting yet, so don’t you think we’re getting a little ahead of ourselves?”

“But Bendela says-”

“Of course she does, Shangela.” Raja sighed. Shangela was always so dramatic, but she was irritatingly good at her job.

“Bendela’s been requesting to hire more tailors for months now. That doesn’t mean that her estimate is accurate and if she truly sticks to her guns, Trixie just interviewed potential interns. I’m sure some of them can be assigned to tailoring.”

Ivy pushed her way through the door, a tray with coffee and tea for everyone in her hands.

“Right, okay, but what about-”

“We’re going to get through today, listen to what Fame has to say, what ideas everyone comes up with, and then reconvene tomorrow morning,” Raja said, gratefully accepting the tea that Ivy handed over.

“Fine,” Jaida said. “But if I were you, I’d convince Miss Fame that the current collection is brilliant.”

“You don’t think I tried that?” Raja laughed.

“Fair enough,” Jaida replied, finally letting a small giggle escape.

“Another day in paradise,” Shangela added, rising up from the couch.

#rpdr fanfiction #thedane #veronica #galactica #lesbian au #fashion au #pearlet #violet chachki #miss fame #trixie mattel #pearl liaison #raja gemini #jaida essence hall #shangela laquifa wadley

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goldenhemmings · 5 years

Text

When You Love Someone | Streetfighter!Shawn (Part Three)

Here we go, friends!! Thank you so much for sticking with me through the time it took to get this part up and thank you to every single person who has taken the time to read, comment on, and message me about this series. It means the absolute world to me. You can read parts one and two linked in my masterlist, but if you’re all caught up please enjoy just over 7k words of Streetfighter!Shawn. I’d love to hear your feedback, and I hope you like it!! Credit to @/nbaroses on Twitter for the edit and @fourtristattoos for sharing it with me >:-)

Thursday. It had been nearly two weeks since Y/N and Shawn had met and five days since she’d last seen him, but Y/N swore she hadn’t gone a single hour in that time without talking to him. She’d started leaving her ringer on when she studied--something she never did, nor would ever admit to--to ensure that she never missed one of his messages. So, as she sat on the front porch of her house that afternoon studying, there was no exception.

Nose in a textbook, she was twenty minutes deep in a chapter about some economic principle she couldn’t care less about when her phone rang from beside her on the table. She picked it up with cat-like reflexes, immediately answering when she saw Shawn’s name lighting up the screen.

“Hi,” she chirped, and Shawn could hear the smile in her voice. He stared out the large window in the living room of his apartment, locating the light posts from her university’s baseball field towering in the distance. He focused on them as he spoke; it made him feel closer to her.

“What are you doing tonight?”

“Um,” Y/N mused, looking up as she combed through her schedule in her mind. “Just studying, I think. I have a quiz on Monday.”

“Would you be willing to take a night off from all that?”

She laughed, and it made Shawn grin from the other end of the phone. “I don’t know,” she teased, but she was just stringing him along. She was already sold on whatever he had in mind. “Being this bright takes constant work.”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” he scoffed, eliciting a giggle from Y/N. “Let’s pretend like you weren’t born smarter than everyone on this damn planet.” Y/N laughed again, louder this time, and Shawn’s cheeks flushed. There was nothing he wouldn’t give to be able to hear that sound.

“What did you have in mind for my potential night off?” Y/N pressed, absentmindedly biting the corner of her lower lip as she focused on his voice.

“If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise.”

“You never said anything about a surprise.”

“Did I forget to mention that?”

“Yes!” she answered, through the giddy laughter that hadn’t stopped since she’d picked up Shawn’s call.

“Well, I’m mentioning it now. It’s a surprise.”

Y/N was willing to let this go on a bit longer. “What if I’m too busy?”

She could hear Shawn shrug from the other line, though by this point he knew she was only messing with him. “Then I guess you’ll never know.”

“We can’t have that.”

“That’s what I’m saying.”

“What should I wear to this surprise of yours?” Y/N asked, picking up a blue pen to doodle on the corner of the paper she was taking notes on.

“Whatever you want.”

“I need a little more to go off of than that.”

Shawn blew a puff of air out of his cheeks as he thought. He’d really assumed this would be as simple as her immediately agreeing to be ready at seven. “Shit, I don’t know. Jeans?”

“Okay,” Y/N assented, already mentally skimming her closet. “Is this an indoor surprise or an outdoor surprise?”

He loved how careful she was. “Outdoor. Might be a little chilly.”

“Noted.”

“And be ready at seven.”

She grinned. “Also noted. Now let me get my studying done.”

She could practically hear him roll his eyes. “Whatever. See you in a few hours.”

“Bye,” she replied, and (reluctantly) ended the call in favor of turning back to her textbook, although being able to focus was an ambitious goal now that she had something to look forward to.

When 6:30 rolled around, Y/N put a pause on her schoolwork to go inside and change. She traded out her frumpy gray sweater for a denim jacket and exchanged her worn-out Converse for booties that looked a bit nicer with the black jeans she’d slid on. Content with her outfit, Y/N quickly fixed her hair until it looked how she wanted and then swiped her trusty cherry Chapstick over her lips.

She headed back out to the porch to grab her textbooks and bring them inside, and as she finished scooping everything up into her arms she noticed Shawn’s familiar black Jeep turn onto her street. Suddenly hit with a fresh wave of giddiness, she dashed back inside, threw her books haphazardly on her bed, and then raced back out to meet Shawn.

He hopped out of the driver’s seat, smiling at the sight of Y/N coming down the driveway towards him. “Eager, eh?”

“I saw your car pulling up,” she grinned, not bothering to defend herself. He laughed and strode towards her, and she squealed as he unexpectedly looped a leather-clad arm around her waist to lift her up and spin her in a little circle.

“Where are we going?” she asked when he set her down, but he was still stubborn.

“You’re gonna have to wait and see.”

She laughed. “That makes me nervous.”

He shook his head, reaching to open the passenger door for her. “Don’t be nervous. It’s a good surprise.”

Normally, Shawn would find something like where he was planning to take her stupid and cliche, but he was past the point of caring about the trivial things that would usually make him roll his eyes, too focused on Y/N instead. She brought a different energy to his life, perhaps because she was so separated from the world in which he existed. Being with her was like an escape, in a way, from hiding on the other side of the wall that he’d lived his entire life behind. He didn’t have to put up defenses by constantly watching his back or maintaining a tough demeanor when he was around her; he could just be. And while it was a feeling with which he was unfamiliar, he knew he liked it. He liked Y/N.

As they drove, Y/N carefully took in her surroundings in a curious attempt to figure out where they were going before they got there. Shawn couldn’t help but smile to himself as he warded off all of her incorrect guesses, and it took everything he had to keep his eyes on the road as opposed to the adorably focused expression he was sure she was wearing.

“We’re going downtown,” Y/N suddenly remarked, confidently this time, as she began to fully recognize the roads he was taking.

Shawn finally hummed his affirmation, and Y/N’s eagerness grew. “I can’t remember the last time I came out here,” she said, mostly to herself, the memories of familiar buildings and streets beginning to flood back to her. It had likely been a year since she’d been downtown, which was atypical considering how immensely she’d always adored the area. But most of the memories she’d made there were with her ex-boyfriend, and the eventual but necessary end of their relationship had soured her love for what was, in Y/N’s opinion, the best part of the city.

However, the fact that she was now going downtown with Shawn essentially erased all of the bitterness and replaced it with a thrilling feeling of anticipation. Y/N already recognized Shawn as a dangerously exciting presence in her life; uncharted territory that both electrified and frightened her at the same time. He was so unique compared to the people she had always been surrounded with, and the fact that he was a bit rough around the edges only further exhilarated her. He was still almost entirely an enigma, and she never knew what to expect from him or their time together. Structure and preparedness had always been, in Y/N’s eyes, critical; if it were anyone else, Y/N wouldn’t be willing to give that up. But, needless to say, Shawn was clearly not just “anyone,” and Y/N felt as though she deserved to finally feel the excitement that came with venturing into the unknown with him. It was about time she broke free of the structure that she’d always ensured was guiding her life and instead just lived. Without knowing, Shawn was beginning to show her how.

Shawn parallel-parked his Jeep at a meter on the street, adjacent to a fancy hotel that was so tall it seemed to disappear into the sky. Y/N slid out of the car and waited for him to meet her on the sidewalk, her lips curling up in curiosity. Shawn nodded his head in the direction of the hotel’s entrance as a signal for Y/N to follow him, so she wordlessly reached for his hand and trailed after him into the lobby and straight to the elevators.

“What did you do?” she giggled, unsure of whether she was more nervous or excited.

Once inside the elevator, he pressed the button for the floor right below the penthouse. “You’ll see.”

Still flush with anticipation, Y/N allowed Shawn to pull her by the hand off of the elevator once the doors re-opened with a ding. He led her around the corner to a door that read hotel staff only on a gold plaque, ducking over his shoulder to check that the coast was clear before reaching for the handle and pulling her inside. In his experience, the door was rarely locked; the sign alone was usually enough to keep people away.

“Wait,” Y/N whispered, suddenly uneasy. “What are we doing?”

Shawn flicked the light on, simply pointing to a short flight of stairs off to the right that led up to another door labeled roof access. “Are we allowed to be here?” she continued, checking back behind her to make sure the door was fully closed.

“Relax,” Shawn cooed, turning to place his hands on her upper arms. “I come here all the time without getting caught. It’ll be fine, I promise.”

He felt her shoulders rise as she took a deep, calming breath. Y/N had never been keen on breaking rules, and she knew the staff only sign on the door was there for a reason. But she trusted Shawn, and the gleaming look of excitement in his eyes was enticing her to lower her inhibitions for once and just go with it. She sighed, biting back a smile. “Fine.”

Shawn grinned, dashing up the stairs and pulling Y/N, her nerves forgotten, after him. He pushed open the door that led to the roof and held it open for her, allowing her to go out first. An involuntary gasp slipped from her mouth as she stepped out onto the roof of the hotel.

“Holy shit,” she mumbled, eyes wide as she took in the view before her. They were on a rooftop that towered above the city, offering 360-degree visuals of the skyline laid out in front of them. City lights glistened from all angles, casting a dim light by which they could see. Y/N looked all around her, her face surely showing just how awestruck she was by the view and how beautiful the city truly was from above. She couldn’t believe a place like this existed.

Meanwhile, as he watched Y/N wondrously take in the scenery, Shawn began to feel a slight nervousness bubbling up in his stomach. For most of his life, this had always been his spot. He came here all the time when he needed to be alone, and sometimes when he was just plain bored. He’d never shared it with anyone--until now, at least. It would never be exclusively his spot again, and he was beginning to grapple with this idea. But then Y/N turned back to look at him with a light in her eyes that made his head spin, and suddenly he no longer cared. He remembered how badly he wanted to share his rooftop with her, how he wanted it to be hers just as much as it was his.

“How do you know about this place?” Y/N beamed, her face cloaked in shadow due to the fact that the only source of light was from the city down below and the waxing moon in the sky.

“I’ve been coming up here for years,” Shawn replied, avoiding her question, but Y/N decided to temporarily let it go in favor of walking closer to the wall at the edge of the roof to take in the skyline. Her features lit up so beautifully that Shawn swore it made the city lights cower in comparison.

She stared out at the city a little while longer, until her curiosity once again got the better of her. “Seriously, how did you find this place?”

Shawn cleared his throat, trying to decide just how much he was willing to share with Y/N. He hated talking about his past and his own life, that much was clear, but he had a desire to be honest with Y/N; to tell her the things he’d never spoken aloud. She compelled him so strongly to let his guard down, though he knew it would only come piece by piece. He sighed. “One of the owners of this hotel lived next-door to my family when I was younger. She was awesome. Used to let me come stay here sometimes as a kid, and she’s the one that showed me this place. I still come up here all the time when I need to think.”

He left out the explanation of why she would let him spend nights at the hotel, but was relieved by the fact that Y/N didn’t seem focused on that. “That’s amazing. I wish I’d had somewhere like this growing up,” she mused softly, stepping over to lean against the thick, shoulder-high wall that bordered the perimeter of the rooftop. She watched with a mesmerized gaze as the city lights danced before her, and was so caught up in the beauty of the scene that Shawn moving to stand next to her was almost startling.

“Do you see that dark region over there?” he rasped, but Y/N��s eyes couldn’t locate it.

“Where?” she asked, hoping for clarity, but getting so much more than she’d bargained for when Shawn moved to stand directly behind her, extending his hand over her shoulder to point at the area. Her eyes followed the length of his arm until they found what they were looking for.

“There,” he answered, his breath hot against her ear. She was painfully aware of his chest pressing against her back and effectively pinning her between him and the wall. She swallowed hard as he finally lowered his hand and stepped away from her, and she felt like she could breathe again. Shawn smirked to himself at the way she sucked a breath through her parted lips.

“I see it now.”

He studied her face; wanted to memorize every detail of it. “That’s where Dynamite is. Where I have my fights.”

“I remember,” Y/N smiled, looking up at him. “Why is that area so dark?”

“It’s not very developed over there,” he shrugged. “Most of the buildings around Dynamite are abandoned. That’s part of why it’s safe to fight there.”

Y/N nodded, then hesitantly posed a question. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” Shawn replied, reaching up to move a strand of hair that the breeze had blown into her eyes. Y/N’s skin burned under his touch.

“Why do you fight?”

Shawn took in a breath. “I’ve told you that,” he mumbled, but they both knew it wasn’t true.

Y/N sighed, turning to look back at the city in time to see a distant stoplight turn from red to green. “You don’t have to tell me if it makes you uncomfortable, but I hope it’s not because you don’t trust me. Because you know that you can.”

He shrugged, running his hands through his hair. “I know, sweetheart, I just—I don’t know why, honestly. I’ve just been fighting for so long that it’s a part of my life now.”

Y/N gnawed on the side of her lower lip, thinking. “How long?”

“I’ve been streetfighting since, like, my last year of high school, but I had a thing for fighting in general long before then.”

Y/N felt her stomach twist at his words, but she still wanted to know more despite how unsettled it made her feel. “What do you mean you ‘had a thing’ for it?”

Shawn huffed, reaching a hand up to scrub at the underside of his jaw. He was quiet, staring off into space as though he hadn’t heard Y/N’s question. “It’s okay,” she continued after a prolonged silence. “I shouldn’t have asked. You don’t have to tell me.”

“No, no,” Shawn interjected, turning to look at her with a troubled expression. “I want to tell you, I’m just trying to figure out how.” And, shockingly, he really did find himself wanting to tell her. He paused for a few more seconds as he formed the words in his head, and Y/N waited patiently.

“My parents,” he finally began, looking out at the horizon as he spoke, “never gave me much attention when I was growing up. I have a sister who was born when I was five, and from then on it was pretty much always all about her. My mom and dad never helped me with my homework, never played with me, never did anything that didn’t involve either working or being with my sister. And it fucked me up.” He laughed dryly, shaking his head with his eyes still pointed up. “She was the perfect child, and I just...wasn’t. I felt like I was invisible to them. When I got to be around thirteen or fourteen, I started getting in trouble at school on purpose. It was the only way I could think to get their attention, even if it was bad. And it worked, so I kept doing it. Being loud in class eventually escalated into me picking fights with random kids in the hallway, and after getting caught enough times we just started arranging fights behind the school after hours. Somewhere in there, it stopped being about getting my parents to notice me and more about me just wanting to fight.”

A long silence followed Shawn’s words as Y/N took them in, her heart twisting for the man standing in front of her. She finally spoke. “Do you like fighting?”

“I honestly don’t know,” he sighed, turning to look at her with suddenly red-rimmed eyes. “But it helps me cope with my feelings, in a fucked up way. It’s familiar. And I don’t have much familiarity in my life.”

“It’s made you strong,” she offered. Then, with a playful nudge, “In more ways than one.” Shawn smiled back at her, but it was forced. “You don’t have to be a victim of your circumstances,” she continued, serious this time. “You’ve clearly always been a fighter, and now a part of your life is a physical tribute to that.”

He scoffed, returning his focus to the sky. “I’m not a victim. I never will be.”

“You know that wasn’t what I meant,” she sighed softly, reaching over to take his face between her hands. He resisted her, gently tugging her wrists away, but she wasn’t going to give into his stubbornness. She pushed off the wall and walked to the other side of him, delicately placing her hands to rest on his abdomen, and suddenly she knew the reason he had refused to look at her: He was trying not to cry.

“Hey,” she murmured, moving her hands from his biceps to his face. “What’s going on?” He cleared his throat, taking a breath and pinching his thumb and index finger on the bridge of his nose. His eyes were squeezed shut, and Y/N delicately and silently ran a finger over each of his eyebrows to relieve the tension in his face.

“It’s all just fucked up,” he eventually mumbled. “Hate talking about it. ‘S why I never do.”

“Then don’t,” she sympathized, moving to place her hands on the leather jacket covering his upper arms because she didn’t know what else to do. This certainly hadn’t been a turn she’d expected the night to take. “You don’t have to.”

Shawn simply nodded, finally opening his pained eyes. He grabbed at her jacket, pulling her into his chest and resting his chin on top of her head. They stayed like that for quite a while, Y/N staring out at the city while Shawn just held her until his breathing returned to normal. Her head moved with his broad chest as it expanded with a sudden, deep intake of breath.

“Tell anyone that I actually have feelings and I’ll kill you.”

Y/N giggled softly at Shawn’s abrupt outburst, pulling away from him to be met with a small smile that didn’t quite touch his eyes. “You wouldn’t,” she joked quietly, feigning offense.

Shawn sucked in a breath of air through his teeth, teasing. “I don’t know. I’ve got a reputation to uphold.”

“I can imagine,” she retorted, extending the joke. “But I see right through you, Mendes.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm. You’re not all intense and tough like you appear.”

He raised his eyebrows, conveying his dissent in regard to her claim. “I’m not tough?” he challenged, immediately reaching for Y/N’s hand. He curled her fingers into a fist and pressed them against his chest, which was--as Y/N could have guessed--rock solid. “Tell me I’m not tough one more time,” he smirked. “I dare you.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” she laughed, tugging her hand away and rolling her eyes as though her cheeks weren’t suddenly burning. “Arrogant much?”

“Defending my honor,” Shawn corrected, but he was joking by this point, too. “You’re so honest with me,” he continued, his eyes glued to the first face that had ever made him feel physically weak. “No one ever is.”

“It’s that reputation of yours,” she mocked. “Someone says the wrong thing and suddenly the patterns from your rings are imprinted on the side of their head.”

She was only messing with him, but Shawn was suddenly stoic. “You know that’s not how I do things.” Her smile faltered a little as she took in his serious expression, but a mischievous glint soon came into his eye. “I’d take the rings off first.”

“You’re bad,” she laughed, and Shawn was immediately grinning in response to her joy. “But you don’t intimidate me.”

Shawn chuckled breathily. “You’re probably the only person in the world who I don’t, then.”

Y/N quirked her head to the side, looking up at him curiously. “What makes you say that?”

“Because I’m different when I’m around you,” he answered, still smiling, but Y/N’s intuition told her he wasn’t kidding around anymore. “It’s like my personality split or something when I met you, I don’t know. You’re not intimidated by me because I don’t present myself to you the way I do to everyone else. And I don’t know why that is.”

She breathed in heavily, taken aback by his confession. “Just because the world sees you a certain way doesn’t mean that’s who you really are,” she responded truthfully, noticing his eyes widen ever-so-slightly. “I think it’s all just a front you put up because you’ve been on your own basically your entire life. When you’re constantly thrown into situations where you have to be tough, being tough eventually becomes your reality and you probably forget how to be anything else.” She paused, her eyes cast to the sky as she continued to concentrate on her words. “You said you’re different when you’re around me, but I don’t think I’m changing you, or anything. I don’t think you’ve ever been surrounded by people who cared about you enough to want to know who you actually are, but I do. And I don’t think that this so-called ‘split personality’ is actually separate from you. It’s more like two sides of the same coin; what you see, and what you don’t. It’s just that you’ve always kept people from getting past what they see.”

Shawn tipped his head back, harshly scrubbing both of his hands over his face. “God damn,” he muttered, barely audible, turning to stare her right in the eyes. “What are you doing to me?”

“Can’t answer that,” she answered sheepishly, staring down at her shoes and pretending that her heart wasn’t racing a million miles an hour. “I’m not you.”

He breathed out, focus unmoving from her face. The color of her eyes was his favorite color in the world. “Guess not.”

Y/N turned to look back out at the city, and Shawn stood frozen in place as he studied the side of her face. He didn’t have the strength to tear his gaze away, nor would he want to. Y/N, on the other hand, was burning under the heat of his stare and tried with all her might to act as though she wasn’t.

“What time do you have to be home?”

“Never,” she answered, smiling slyly. He was a fool if he thought she’d be willing to leave him any time soon.

Shawn raised his eyebrows to convey an exaggerated sense of shock. “But it’s a school night.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “I’m a big girl. Plus, my first class tomorrow isn’t until eleven.”

“Okay,” Shawn assented, more thrilled than he’d ever admit about the fact that he’d have more time with her. “Then what should we do now?”

“I want to see Dynamite,” she admitted quickly, though fully expecting him to say no.

Shawn reached up to run a hand through his hair. “Really?”

She nodded. “Just wanna see what it’s like.”

“There’s no fight tonight,” he mused, thinking out loud. “It’s probably empty.”

“Are you okay with taking me there?”

“Would love to,” he answered, and he meant it. There wasn’t any part of his life that he wouldn’t be willing to share with her.

The corners of her lips pulled up. “Seriously?”

She had her answer when he began walking towards the door that had led them onto the roof, and Y/N giggled like a child as she darted after him, reaching to take the hand he’d extended towards her.

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

Shawn parked his Jeep on the street closest to the alley that led through to Dynamite, then raced around to the side of the car to help Y/N slide out. She laughed, not because anything was funny, but because she’d built up so much giddy excitement that she could no longer contain herself. She linked the fingers of her left hand through his right one and followed his lead, eager and nervous all at once to finally be able to see the infamous Dynamite where he spent so much of his time.

“It’s okay,” Shawn said, squeezing Y/N’s hand as though he could sense her anxiousness. “These buildings are all empty. There’s nothing else over here.” Y/N nodded, reaching her free hand up to wrap around Shawn’s arm as though that would provide her with added security. It wasn’t exactly an inviting area, but she was safe with Shawn; she was sure of it.

They reached the familiar courtyard, Shawn letting out a sigh of relief when it appeared to be empty. He turned to Y/N to begin explaining his favorite parts of Dynamite to her, but then he heard a voice that made his blood run cold. The smile dropped from his face.

“Is that you, Sugar?”

There was only one person in the world who called him Sugar, and her tone of voice immediately signaled that she meant trouble. “What are you doing here?” he demanded, his tone rigid. Leave it to Raven to ruin my fucking night.

“I come here when I need to think,” Raven answered, stepping closer to the pair, but then trailed off as she pretended to notice the figure at his side for the first time. “Who’s this?”

“This is my, uh,” Shawn stumbled, reaching a hand up to pull at the front of his hair. “This is Y/N.”

“Y/N,” Raven repeated, the name tinged with a sort of bitterness as it rolled off her tongue.

“Hi,” Y/N greeted, her cheery demeanor a stark contrast to Raven’s sour one. “What did you say your name was?”

“I didn’t,” she spoke, her tongue coming up to run along her top row of teeth. “It’s Raven.” She turned to Shawn, a glint in her eye that told him nothing good was about to come out of her mouth.

“So,” she continued, Shawn’s skin crawling over the way her narrowed eyes stared Y/N down. He instinctively reached over to loop a strong arm around Y/N’s waist, pulling her all the way into his side. She looked up at him, confused, but he just stared straight ahead in anticipation of Raven’s words. She didn’t miss how tightly his jaw was clenched. “This must be the reason you’ve been acting different.”

“No. I’m not doing this,” he spat, the feeling of Y/N curling further into his side no longer enough to make the tension in his chest dissipate. “We’re going somewhere else.”

“No, no!” Raven replied, reaching her hand out as a mocking smile graced her lips. “Don’t leave on my account.” She gestured to Y/N, whose confusion was manifesting itself in her facial expression. “I just cannot believe you went from me to this. Can’t say it makes sense.”

Y/N frowned as her eyes took in Raven’s tall, slender figure and clearly agitated expression. I thought he didn’t date? Confused, she tilted her chin up, only to still be met with Shawn’s profile. “What is she talking about?” she whispered. This was enough to get Shawn to look at her, and his eyes immediately softened.

“I promise I’ll tell you all of it. Let’s just go somewhere else first, okay?” His hands slid from around her waist down to intertwine their fingers, but before he could pull her away the sound of Raven’s witchy laughter cut the air.

“Does she not know, Shawn?” she gasped, feigning shock.

“Know what?” Y/N asked, growing increasingly uncomfortable. “Hey,” she demanded, pulling on Shawn’s hands in an attempt to force him to meet her eyes. “What’s going on?”

But his focus was still laser-sharp on their unwelcome visitor. “I’ve only known her for a few weeks, Raven. And besides, you give yourself too much credit. Sitting around telling people about you is probably the most unbearable thing I could think of doing.”

Raven laughed bitterly, crossing her arms over her chest. “You villainize me because you’re too weak to accept that you’re the one who’s fucked up here.”

“You’re delusional.”

Y/N was beginning to get whiplash from all the back and forth, and quite frankly, it was annoying the hell out of her. Furthermore, she didn’t appreciate being ignored. She broke free of Shawn, pushing her hands into the pockets of her denim jacket. “You know what? I’m just going to wait by the car until you’re done with this,” she cut in, but Shawn was instantly blocking her path.

“You can’t be by yourself this late at night, especially not here,” he stated, his tone of voice much gentler than it had been. His concern brought her back to the night they’d met, which had been extended due to his unwillingness to knowingly let her walk home unaccompanied in the early hours of the morning. Y/N huffed, but stayed put as she muttered a fine under her breath. Shawn turned back to the dark-haired girl staring back at him.

“We’re leaving,” he stated, voice flat but still tinged with an obvious frustration.

“Don’t bother,” Raven smirked. “I’m bored anyways. Have a good night, you two.” With that, she was retreating down the alley towards the street to finally leave Y/N and Shawn alone. Shawn was almost convinced she’d somehow been tipped off to know that they were coming.

“Bitch,” he mumbled, shaking his head in disbelief as Raven sauntered away knowing exactly what she had done. He turned to Y/N, who looked just as small and unnerved as she had when he’d first spoken to her in the bathroom of that bar. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know she’d be here.”

“I thought you didn’t date,” she said quietly, attempting to seem nonchalant despite the bubble of anxiety rising in her chest. She was worried that he’d played her; unleashed his supposed vulnerability to make her feel special by taking advantage of her empathy. It terrified her to think she’d fallen for it.

But Shawn was quick to refute her doubts, though clearly taken aback. “I don’t date. Not before you.”

“So what was that about, then?”

Shawn let out a heavy huff of breath, bringing a hand up to anxiously tug at his hair. “Raven is a complicated story.”

“Tell me,” Y/N implored softly, wrapping her arms around herself for warmth in the chilly night air.

“I was never with her, ever,” Shawn began, shoving his hands into the front pockets of his leather jacket. “But that doesn’t mean I wasn’t...with her.”

Y/N’s eyebrows quirked subtly as she put together his words. “Oh.”

“I never felt anything for her,” he added hurriedly. “I don’t even like her. At all. She’s crazy.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes at him. “How do you have a history with someone you never even liked?”

“Because I’m an asshole,” Shawn quipped, a humorless smile crossing his face. Y/N quirked her head to the side, challenging his answer, but not realizing just how serious Shawn was. “I mean it,” he continued, emphatically. “I knew I was leading her on and I didn’t care. I wish I had a better explanation, but I don’t.”

Y/N exhaled, not knowing how to respond. While his confession concerned her, she knew she wasn’t upset. She was nothing close to it, because she had no reason or right to be; it didn’t involve her. She was, however, suddenly plagued with a wave of insecurity the longer she thought about it. This girl, Raven, was stunning. And confident. And a part of Shawn’s lifestyle. And they obviously had some sort of history together. Moreover, the nonchalance with which Shawn treated that history was off-putting, to say the least. Would he disregard me like that?

Shawn finally speaking pulled her from her thoughts. “Say something,” he pleaded, swallowing hard.

“There’s nothing to say,” Y/N shrugged, batting her eyes at him. “It doesn’t affect me.”

“But it bothers you, anyway,” he deduced. His expression bordered on smug.

“Yeah, a little,” she admitted. She averted her eyes to a piece of fence off to the side. “It doesn’t bother me that you were with her, I just don’t get how you could write it off so easily.”

He was quick to defend himself. “I told you the second time we ever saw each other that I don’t ever get attached to people. Except you, now.”

“Well when did you end things with her?”

“The night after I met you,” he replied immediately, and Y/N’s eyes snapped up. She hadn’t expected that.

“That quickly?”

He nodded, reaching to pull Y/N closer to him. Despite her uneasiness after seeing the side of him Raven brought out, it was impossible for her to be tense when she was close to him. “I’m serious when I say that you’re different to me,” Shawn started, and Y/N really did believe him. “I knew it as soon as I met you. Yes, I’ve been shitty to Raven, and I know that. I’m not trying to excuse it. But I’d never be able to blow you off like that, if that’s what you’re worried about, and that’s a complete promise. You mean something to me. I want you around. I’ve never had that with someone before, especially not with Raven.”

Y/N couldn’t help the smile that came to her face, her body warm all over. But the way his demeanor had shifted so suddenly in Raven’s presence was still weighing on her, and she’d be remiss to not speak her mind. “Can you at least try to be a little nicer to Raven, though?”

“Not if she’s going to keep coming at me like that,” Shawn argued, and Y/N sighed.

“Did you ever think that her aggression might be a defense mechanism to hide the fact that she actually felt something for you?”

Shawn ignored her question. “Why do you care so much?”

Y/N shrugged. “I don’t know. Something tells me she could use a little kindness, that’s all.”

“You sound like a kindergarten teacher.”

She laughed, lightly hitting his chest. “I’m serious!” she emphasized, but her giggles conveyed the opposite. “Just promise that you’ll at least be civil around her.”

“You don’t even know her.”

“Shawn.”

“Fine,” he assented, letting out a dramatic sigh. “But only ‘cause you’re the one asking.”

“Thank you,” she answered, drawing out the ‘u’ sound.

A smirk made its way onto Shawn’s face, and Y/N quirked her head at him in bemusement. “Sure you won’t get jealous?”

She laughed, reaching up to brush a stray curl off of his forehead. “I’m not too worried,” she said, but it wasn’t exactly the truth.

“No reason to be,” he answered, more quietly, reaching to pull her closer by the waist.

Her heart skipped. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Promise.”

His grip tightened around her waist, and she reached up to place her hands on the lapels of his leather jacket. The chill in the air was almost unnoticeable when she was pressed up against him, and Shawn’s poker face was in full effect as he hid how intensely his stomach was fluttering. He couldn’t remember the last time a girl had made him nervous; the last time a girl--or anyone, for that matter--had made him feel anything. Admit it or not, he was wrapped around Y/N’s finger.

The longer Shawn looked at Y/N the more slowed her breathing became, and it stopped altogether when he hesitantly took one of his hands from her waist and brought it up to place gingerly on the side of her face, his thumb resting adjacent to her ear as the rest of his fingers slid back into her hair. Before her racing mind could register what was happening, he was asking if he could kiss her.

She didn’t trust that her voice wouldn’t fail her, so all she could do was helplessly nod. He stared down at her, and the soft smile he wore combined with the look in his dark eyes was enough to have Y/N convinced she’d never breathe properly again. He leaned down, tantalizingly slowly, and finally pressed his lips against hers. The kiss was delicate at first, but it wasn’t long before Y/N was feverishly grabbing at Shawn’s shirt as though it would somehow pull her closer to him. She’d been waiting for this since the night they’d met; the sheer heat of the moment knocked the wind out of her in the best way possible.

The hand of Shawn’s that wasn’t on Y/N’s face slid from the side of her waist around to the small of her back, anchoring her against him as though he were worried she’d float away. He swiped his tongue softly along her lower lip, eliciting the faintest of moans from Y/N that nearly made his knees give out. He finally pulled away to take in a deep breath, his forehead resting on hers.

“I hate to do this right now,” he began, voice low, “but I really should get you home.”

“No,” Y/N panted, still clinging to his shirt.

He frowned, slightly amused. “But it’s late. And you have class tomorrow.”

Is he seriously asking me about this? “I don’t give a shit about class right now, Shawn,” she sassed, moving to link her arms around his neck and reattach her lips with his. He gave in, kissing her back until he reached the point of realizing that if he didn’t stop now, he never would.

“Are you sure?” he questioned, pulling back to fully look at her this time. Her hair was slightly tangled from where his hand had been, parted lips more plump than usual. His cheeks were flushed, and without thinking, Y/N dragged the pad of her thumb along one of them.

She sighed. “If you’re ready to drop me off at me home, that’s fine. But I want to stay with you a little longer.”

“Shit, no I--” he stuttered, so fucked for her he could hardly speak. “I want to stay with you, too. I just don’t want you to miss school because of me.”

She let out a soft laugh. “I never said anything about missing school. And regardless, it’s my decision to make.”

He groaned, burying his face in the crook of her neck. This elicited a laugh from Y/N, who reached a hand up to thread through his hair. “I don’t want to be a bad influence on you.”

“I’ve known you fight people for fun for how long now?” she asked, teasing. “But when I’m staying out late on a school night, then you start to think that you’re a bad influence?”

He let out another groan, muffled from his face being pressed into her neck. He finally picked his head up to look at her, still undecided as to whether or not she was thinking straight. “Are you sure?”

“Stop asking me that!” she cried, eyes wild with anticipation.

He threw his hands up as if to say I surrender, but Y/N was grabbing at them in an instant to place them back on her waist. He grinned. “Okay, well...We could go to my place? I have wine. Shitty, cheap wine, but it’ll still do the trick.”

She giggled, nodding vehemently. “I’d love some cheap wine.”

That was all it took to have him grabbing at her hand, pulling her along with him as they raced back to his Jeep and laughed like little kids along the way. Shawn felt like a different person, and Y/N was all the way up on cloud nine. It was plain to see that each was quickly becoming addicted to the feeling that accompanied being with the other, and a perfect, unstoppable storm of a relationship was undoubtedly brewing.

Thank you endlessly for reading!! Should I continue?? Feedback makes me very happy.

Taglist: (I’m so sorry if it wouldn’t let me tag you! If you’ve changed your username or want to be added/removed from the taglist just shoot me a message.)

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mintchocohip · 5 years

Text

sub!bts experiencing subdrop

𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘥 ‒ headcanons for the members experiencing subdrop.

𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨: member x reader | 𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨: mature | 𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘳𝘦: light angst; fluff

𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 ➢ due the nature of drop, all warnings related to depressive feelings apply! any additional 𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 can be found with each member.

𝘛𝘈𝘌𝘏𝘠𝘜𝘕𝘎

╴ Drop hits Taehyung on a delay. Giggles and woozy smiles fade into silence as playful aftercare sinks in, and the sparkle in Taehyung’s eyes goes dark.

╴ It’s thankfully rare━sometimes, though, that light goes dark in the middle of a scene. When it does, you’re wrapping play up, and kissing Taehyung’s shoulders softly to show him you aren’t disappointed.

╴ Taehyung doesn’t think much of drop. At first, it took him off guard. Now, he remembers that excitement followed by depression doesn’t make exceptions for the happiness and wholeness he felt during play.

╴ Giving Taehyung special attention to help ease him through a harsh subdrop almost makes him balk. Of course, he wants somebody to watch over him, cuddle him, and treat him carefully―but he wants that any time he’s feeling low; not just when it’s tied to kink. There’s almost a jealousy in Taehyung’s quiet. He’s jealous of himself. Treating that disconnect carefully means giving him the affection he needs, but not overwhelming him with love.

╴ Cuddles, candles, and snacks guide you through a few quiet hours, before it’s time to tuck Taehyung into bed, and trust him with himself.

╴ Taehyung gives his mind, body and soul over to play. Even when you help him segue out of it slowly, the notions of the scene linger. Keeping a word-and-doodle journal in his sub voices helps him slowly sort out his headspace.

╴ Your texts of good morning, good afternoon and good night sit between random lines of poetry and cute videos of animals you send Taehyung. You don’t expect Taehyung to respond to any of it. He has ways of taking care of himself. The gestures are appreciated through Taehyung’s silence. If he needed something, he would be asking for it.

╴ When you’re the one who needs the comfort of knowing how Taehyung feels, asking for a selfie that captures his mood answers your questions.

╴ Occasionally, a notification pops up from Taehyung containing whatever punctuation symbol his finger hit first. It means you’re sending him a promise. You’ll meet up as soon as possible. Even if the two of you just sit in silence at a café, nothing heals Taehyung more than having his silence heard.

𝘠𝘖𝘖𝘕𝘎𝘐

╴ “Can you tell me how it felt for you?” Normally, Yoongi’s short doses of subdrop―a few minutes, at most―are cured by answering his questions.“Uplifting. Intoxicating. That was just what I needed, Yoongi.”

╴ Usually, Yoongi likes to hold on to a sliver of alertness through his subbing. Dropping only clings to Yoongi when he lets himself unmoor into subspace helplessly. If he’s letting himself get lost in it, Yoongi is accepting that inevitability.

╴ There are a handful of things you know Yoongi likes. You stick to that routine, and don’t shake things up.

╴ Words barely get through to him. You walk him through everything you’re doing, nonetheless. “There’s water in this cup. You need to rehydrate.” You hold the straw against Yoongi’s lips, and wait for him to take a drink. His lips are clumsy. “I’m leaving to make us cups of decaf coffee. I’ll be back in two minutes.” You hold two of Yoongi’s fingers.

╴ When you return with something to warm Yoongi up, you help him drink his steaming cup. Yoongi is out of it. He looks drunk, he’s acting hungover, and when he slumps against your side for a nap, he’s drooling.

╴ Staying by Yoongi’s side as he naps is the strong, sturdy foundation of the routine. You don’t leave. If a partner disappears once Yoongi’s dropped, disorientation can lead to regret. At worst, it can lead to panic.

╴ Yoongi needs at least a week of rest. He looks forward to text reminders. Questions like Have you done your laundry since the weekend? or Have you stretched in the last hour? slip into his notifications at regular intervals. If his answer is no, he gets a command. They’re reminders to Yoongi that he needs to take care of himself. At their core, they’re reminders that he’s safe, and loved.

╴ Sometimes, Yoongi appreciates meal plans. Yoongi still goes to work―he still goes about the necessary steps of waking up, bathing, and getting dressed―but beyond those rote motions, he isn’t afraid to ask for help, and he isn’t afraid to ask somebody to provide him with measures of control. If he trusts you enough to make him helpless, Yoongi trusts you enough to take care of him.

╴ Yoongi appreciates your help with occasional dashes of guilt. You push that guilt away.

╴ “We wanted to do that scene for months,” you remind him. “This is the least I can do, to thank you for going through that.” The sentiment comforts Yoongi in the moment. Once he’s feeling a little more connected, though, you bring the statement back up―with clarification. “It’s not just about these highs and lows. It’s not just about what you can provide me as a sub.” Dashes of guilt have become shy smiles. “I’m thankful for everything, Yoongi. I’m thankful for everything you are.”

𝘑𝘜𝘕𝘎𝘒𝘖𝘖𝘒

╴ Intense painplay, degradation, dehumanization, or deep dives into baby boy headspace are guaranteed to knock Jungkook over into a long, flat drop.

╴ “It won’t hurt anymore. It’s over. Good boy.” You let him know how amazed you are. “You did so good.” A soft blanket wraps around the parts of Jungkook’s body that aren’t tender. Fuzzy slippers slot onto his feet. You hold Jungkook’s shaking hand, until his eyes dry up.

╴ Long, complete aftercare slows the worst swirls of loneliness, regret and discomfort. When Jungkook cuddles between your legs and you turn on a quiet gameplay playlist or a favorite sequence of breezy movies on his laptop, noise-cancelling headphones over his ears connected to earbuds in yours mean you’re both working through drops―but if Jungkook makes a noise, you’re alert, and ready to listen. By the time you’re soothing a shaving brush over his forehead and throat, Jungkook is falling asleep cradled against you.

╴ Jungkook is a good actor. He doesn’t want you to feel like your efforts during aftercare aren’t enough. Habits of holing up in a dark room, not answering messages, sleeping during the day and spending all night on his computer aren’t unusual. He tells you not to worry. He likes to work his way through days of subdrop by doing his favorite things, and that works best for him.

╴ When Jungkook calls you up one night and says “I need…”―the monotone way he’s pushing out the words is disconcerting. You arrive at his apartment with questions. Your mind is open, and the kit of play and aftercare tools in your backpack is ready for whatever Jungkook asks. The second you walk through the door, you’re wrapping Jungkook’s delayed shivers up in your arms.

╴ Scheduling dates with Jungkook in the days following something deep, dark, or just exhaustive becomes a necessity. It’s over. It’s really over, and there’s nothing he can do to change that. It doesn’t mean he doesn’t need you.

╴ The dates erase time between your moments. Jungkook’s feelings are acknowledged, and protected. He’s sitting between your legs again, and you’re holding his hand. “I need to show you again.” When he whispers those words, you give Jungkook’s hand a squeeze. He needs your voice. “Later. For now, it’s time to rest.”

𝘏𝘖𝘚𝘌𝘖𝘒

╴ “It’s like post-concert depression.” Sprawled out on the bed, Hoseok is mumbling. “The experience was so stunning, everything after it just feels like shit.”

╴ Hoseok has to force himself not to associate subdrop with proof that a session was worth his time. He has to force himself not to seek out harsher and harsher subdrop as a sign that his journey into subspace did something right.

╴ Managing Hoseok’s adrenaline rushes is a slow learning process. Your first lesson is simple: the element of surprise gets him far too high. Even if you try to come down from it gently, Hoseok drops like a stone.

╴ If he drops during a scene, Hoseok becomes listless. He gets itchy all over, and his body twitches with the shivering unease of being too out of it to scratch. “You didn’t have to stop. It’s fine,” Hoseok says, “I don’t mind.” You keep track of Hoseok’s limits, and formulate your own boundaries. Your response is flat. “It might be fine for you. But it’s not fine for me.”

╴ Hoseok isn’t shy about the way rises and dips in hormones affect him. He asks for help with the silence of expectation.

╴ He won’t ask for help with words, because he knows he’ll be taken care of. He thinks of it as your job. If a partner doesn’t provide at least a little perfunctory aftercare, Hoseok’s judgement bottles up deep. Resentment builds.

╴ Usually, a few hours of pampering with gentle pets, letting Hoseok eat you out lazily, easily earned orgasms, and a bowl of dark chocolate chunks served with a hot cup of honey-and-lemon infused tea is enough.

╴ Hoseok doesn’t make himself that vulnerable unless he knows he can take care of himself once aftercare has worked its magic. He has a personal checklist of activities, stuffed toys, songs and friends that always make him happy.

╴ Trusting Hoseok means trusting his smile. The charm is infectious. When he starts smiling again, it means he’s content. It means your work here is done.

𝘑𝘐𝘔𝘐𝘕

╴ Play doesn’t leave much of an imprint on Jimin, once it’s over. Aftercare is easy, sweet, and fluffy. There’s a playlist of videos on his phone that always makes Jimin laugh, and kisses all over that flutter him into sleep. He might be a little needy, but it’s a neediness Jimin embraces happily.

╴ Jimin knows his limits, and he likes to play within them. If a planned session teeters Jimin towards that drop, he lets you know. He understands his levels of physical and emotional tolerance. When he warns you it’s coming, you know you’re in for a long, stressful, night.

╴ “Let’s do that again.” He asks for more, when it’s clear he’s had enough. “This bruise―you made it dark enough, didn’t you?” Hands are asking the questions as much as Jimin’s hoarse whisper, and distant eyes. Jimin’s questions grow needier, and needier. This neediness is different. It’s pained. “Don’t you want more, too? I can see it in your eyes. You want more.”

╴ Knowledge that he should stop wavers Jimin’s attempts at brattiness. Utter delight has been replaced by implacable feelings of emptiness, and frustration.

╴ Jimin becomes wistful, romantic, and dramatic. He’s trying to fill the void left in his soul with something. Once, you thought wrapping Jimin up in a parka and sunglasses to burn off some exhausted energy on the streets was a good idea. It wasn’t. The PDA nightmare that followed made you want to apologize to every unfortunate stranger who had to witness it.

╴ Suddenly, Jimin wants to be alone. You stay. If he’s alone, Jimin will start doing things he regrets the next morning. Subdrop texts are far worse than drunk texts.

╴ If he really tries―really, really tries―Jimin can fight it on his own. There’s no greater relief than knowing he doesn’t have to.

╴ You wait out the mood swings. In an hour or so, they’ll pop. When they do, Jimin disconnects into numbness. A body pillow to hug and soft words of love give him something to wrap around.

╴ Retail therapy with a cause has instantaneous benefits. When Jimin is numb, he wants to feel useful. He’s browsing through charities, and the donation pages of creators he supports. You’re making sure he stays within the predetermined limit he set aside for himself. Feeling like he’s involved in doing something right, and good―it distracts Jimin’s numbness with swells of love.

╴ After a night of rest, you’ll wake up in the morning to find nothing but that love. Clingy demands to pay attention to that love are given the respect they deserve. Careful attention goes both ways, and mixes well with Jimin’s vows to himself. When he asks for more, Jimin’s healing laughter lights up your soul.

𝘕𝘈𝘔𝘑𝘖𝘖𝘕 𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘪𝘢

╴ Subdrop infuses Namjoon’s physicality. He shivers. He goes weak. His hands shake, his limbs are weightless, and he trudges through every movement in slow motion.

╴ He tries to pick himself back up, and put himself back together. He tries to sort through his mind, and be attentive and self-possessed for you.

╴ Guiding Namjoon through his actions and helping him into the warm bath with you means he’s fighting himself, and trying to nod along, give you a few words, or ask you questions when all you’re giving him is hushes. The fog in his mind is clipping every word on his lips, and spilling out non-sequiturs.

╴ A chatter of his teeth fades, as Namjoon warms up. After you’ve dried him off and made sure his litre bottle of warm water has been sipped at least a quarter way down, you help Namjoon change into a bathrobe, and crawl into bed.

╴ You sleep over at his place for the night. He clings to you. Whenever you wake up, Namjoon’s arm is wrapped over you, or his hand is on your wrist.

╴ The first time you slept over at Namjoon’s place, he woke up before you, and tried to fry up something to eat. The burn took weeks to heal. His drop is uncoordinated, and forgetful. Accepting that he has to show his appreciation through means other than romantic gestures is painful in every sense. You set an alarm, prepare Namjoon an easy breakfast, and hold his hand over the table through quiet conversation about the night.

╴ The first time you wake up to an outpouring of texts from Namjoon at 4 A.M. ━I love you. I really appreciate you. Please don’t ever think I take you for granted. Please don’t take me for granted. These moments are so important. The emptiness between them will be closed, soon enough.━you're out the door in minutes.

╴ “It’s not that bad,” Namjoon mutters, more to himself, than to you. “Thank you, though. I appreciate it.” He glances at the hot water you’re boiling for tea, and the decongestants you rattled out of your medicine cabinet for his runny nose. “You can go home. I’ll be fine.” Letting Namjoon know there’s nowhere you’d rather be than here, taking care of him━It leads to more emotion than you were prepared for.

╴ “These paranoid thoughts… normally, for the sake of sleep, I can force myself to go nihilistic. I can tell myself it doesn’t matter. But I can’t. At night. When I try to sleep. My chest is thumping, but I feel like my soul is spinning above my body, and…” Namjoon glances up at you. You nod. “The fear, and the regret. Regret for the past. Regret for the future. The world is always dangerous. The world is always in chaos. So why does it matter tonight, more than any other night?” Two cups of tea settle on the table, and you sit down to listen.

𝘚𝘌𝘖𝘒𝘑𝘐𝘕 𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: 𝘥𝘰𝘮𝘥𝘳𝘰𝘱/𝘵𝘰𝘱𝘥𝘳𝘰𝘱 & 𝘴𝘶𝘣𝘥𝘳𝘰𝘱; 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘪𝘢

╴ Topdrop can take you in the middle of a scene. When the thrill Seokjin gives you is too much; when you’ve come, or just gotten so high that you can’t stop the come down━taking care of Seokjin becomes a matter of duty. Ideas that you can make yourself feel something again by going harder on him have to be balled up, and tossed aside.

╴ Seokjin jumps at everything. You give him a few minutes to realize he’s safe. Fearplay has wound him up into a raw, animalistic vulnerability. Those minutes of his eyes adjusting to the light fade back into darkness. A blindfold slips over his eyes, and the warm, weighted blanket draping over his back helps with the shakes. Their presences relax him enough to get food down. Loose limbs mean he’s staying where you guided him down on the floor.

╴ Seokjin is starved, but very few things taste good. He waits patiently for noodles or tiny bites of barbecued pork that hit just right to drift over his lips. The soft touches you’re trailing over the back of his neck satisfy your possessive instincts. It’s a slow reminder to yourself. At some point, you need to let him go.

╴ Sleep drags you down with deep dreams, and wakes you up in the late afternoon. A quiet day of cuddling Seokjin fades back into exhaustion, and another bout of sleep finds you blurring into another afternoon.

╴ You take care of each other. The exertion of stripping away the world and melting into paradise was temporary, and emotions dug up are given room to breathe. Openness, and power━hurt, and healing. Confinement, and freedom.

╴ Seokjin can’t tense his muscles enough to open a can. It’s impossible to speak. He snaps easily, and he apologizes quickly━and you don’t care. Ignoring his temperament, you help him prepare a picnic basket. He doesn’t want to go. You don’t want to go, either.

╴ Seokjin knows what’s good for him. You know what’s good for you. The benefits of the outdoors and sunshine are inarguable. At first, the two of you tried a city park. Loud noises and passing bicycles made Seokjin tense up, until leaving the park was a miserable, time-stretching trudge of not being able to do more than hold Seokjin’s arm, and help him look more put together than he was.

╴ A secluded trail is the perfect fix. Cloud watching, tearing up grass, fighting off insects for Seokjin, and decorating each other with wildflowers and sticks passes the time. In a few hours, you forget why you ever wanted to stay home. The mood always follows. When it does, rolling together for a little heavy petting under the sunset is a fine reward for responsibility.

#sub!bts #domme!reader #member x reader #ot7 post #sub!taehyung #sub!yoongi #sub!jungkook #sub!hoseok #sub!jimin #sub!namjoon #sub!seokjin #mch #headcanon

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