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chanandlersstuff · 2 months ago

Text

Sunshine and Loverboy

Pairing: Hayden Christensen x Reader.

Summary: The timeline of how Hayden gradually fell in love with her until he was madly in love, to the point of no returning.

Word count: 8.639

Warnings: Not much actually, age-gap and emotions and lots of feelings.

Author’s note: Hiii, thanks a lot for the love I've been reciving for the series and the nice messages.

It's been a while, but not that long, time it to perfection to be a month.

I hope this is what you wanted to read after the last part, after the rough path between them. And I want to say that I would gladly made them suffer more, but I didn't want you all to hate me so I fast forward right to the part we all wanted.

With that being said, enjoy, there's more to come about those two and I hope you enjoy it. Lots of love, ME.

gif credit @hayden-christensen

← Previous part

May 2022. This is what you came for.

Months had passed. Quiet ones. Months of polite distance, of sterile texts. A "Happy Holidays" here, a “Congrats on the trailer drop” there. Nothing like what it used to be. Nothing close to warmth.

They’d both thought the time apart might heal things. Soften the edges. Drown the ache. Maybe time would do what neither of them could, make it easier to let go.

But the second they saw each other again, it all came crashing back. The longing, the weight of everything unsaid, the quiet ache blooming behind their ribs like something alive.

For Hayden, it was like the sun had finally broken through months of grey skies, like something inside him, something starved, was finally warm again, like something in his chest uncoiled all at once, then immediately twisted again, tighter than before.

For her, it was like remembering how to breathe and hating herself for how much she missed it. Her heart slammed against her chest like it wanted to break free, like it wanted to jump out her chest and run to the person who it belonged to.

They saw each other across a sea of people. Publicists, fans, cameras, executives, handlers, stylists, all of them blurring into white noise.

Hayden stood still, rooted to the floor in his black tailored jacket, hands stopped mid air, eyes only on her. Like the room had tilted. Like the lights and sounds and flashes had vanished and the noise disappeared.

It was just her.

She walked slowly, trying not to rush. She had no right to, not after the silence, not after that night. But her body betrayed her, it always did around him. Her smile faltered for the first time that day.

God, he looks good.

Hair swept back, eyes lit from within, the curve of a smile he was trying hard to hide. Not perfect. Just…Hayden.

People moved between them. Camera crews. Assistants. Disney PR. She gave a practiced smile. He nodded to someone saying his name.

But they were walking towards the other, slowly, tentatively. One moment there they were, the other they were close. Too close.

She looked up, timid and unsure, the way she had the very first time they met in person, like she was bracing for impact, and Hayden’s body was moving before his brain could catch up. Stepping forward and hugging her.

Not a staged hug. Not a half-press of bodies for the sake of polite industry affection. No, his arms wrapped around her like he’d been waiting a lifetime to do it again.

She froze for a second, caught off guard. Her breath hitched, but then her body remembered too. Quickly easing in his arms, inhaling deeply so he could invade all her senses, her hands gently curled at his back softly.

But the hug was over far too fast, ripped away by reality. By flashes. By movement. By all the eyes watching.

They stepped back and it was like it never happened. But it did. It so fucking did.

His heart was still racing. Her perfume clung to the fabric of his jacket.

She looked at him, blinking the daze out of her eyes, a hand still hovering like it didn’t know where to fall.

Hayden found his voice first. Croaky. Thin. Meaning every word.

“You look good.”

God, you look incredible.

She smiled, small, timid, but he knew it was a real one. Her eyes flicked up to meet his. “So do you.”

Because he never didn’t look good.

She wanted to say more and he wanted to hold her again, but then a handler’s voice cut through the moment. He was needed for a press stop while she was needed for photos, which put a slight look on her face, which was quickly gone, but he noticed.

And just like that, they were being pulled apart again. Looking over their shoulders briefly before they were gone.

Back into the crowd, back into orbit, apart, once again, and God, it hurt more than before.

Because even after all this time, touching her still felt like home and letting her go still felt like hell.

Along the day, they were ushered here and there, photo lines, interviews, press booths. They barely had time to breathe, let alone talk and maybe that was a mercy because they wouldn't have known where to start.

They kept looking just past the other, like they were pretending, like it didn’t ache. But the tension grew. Every time she caught a glimpse of him, her pulse skipped. Every time he heard her laugh from across the room, he looked without meaning to.

They were orbiting again. Two moons caught in the same gravity, doomed to circle without ever colliding. Close, but never quite touching.

When she found a second to breathe, a moment of peace, she slipped into the panel crowd, as if she was just another fan. Because before she was a director, she was a fan.

She texted Ewan as she found a spot at the side of the crowd, watching as the room swelled with anticipation.

Just bumped into the cutest looking boy dressed as you Might’ve found my favorite Obi-Wan

You’re in the panel?

Yeah

Don’t get lost in the crowd We need you

You’re going to do fine You’re more used to the reflector than me

I'll be fine Your lover boy on the other hand…

He's going to be fine too The people love him He just has to believe it

You love him too?

You’re about to be presented Good luck

You didn’t answer, so I’m taking that as a yes

She didn’t reply, just stared at the stage as the lights dimmed and the host’s voice boomed through the space, echoes of excitement curling in the air.

Minutes after, with a great song in the background, the pair walked in sync to the big couch in the middle of the stage and, as the fan girl she was, she cheered and applauded for them. It took five solid minutes for the crowd to stop making noise, encouraged by the older of the pair of course while he looked around.

She watched Hayden in all his glory. The shy smile on his lips, how he waved to the crowd with that unsure, sweet energy that only made them scream louder, the way he manspread with those legs long, one hand casually on his knee, his hair was swept behind his ears. He was mesmerising to her eyes, he always had been and always will be. The black suited him perfectly.

Hayden was trying not to look nervous, but she knew him. Too well.

The typical questions were asked, how it felt to come back, how it was feeling to be back, how excited they were to be there. Normal, routine questions. The interviewer asked him a question, but he praised the crowd, making them go wild again. While the crowd died down he looked among the ground, her cheer was the one that was heard, and she almost passed out from embarrassment, but it was like they had some kind of pull towards the other because the second she opened her eyes big, he found her and an immense smile plastered across his face, unfiltered, real.

They called his name but he kept watching her way. He couldn’t look away, didn’t want to, not for a second. Even in a room full of adoration, it was her he looked for. Her he wanted to impress. Her approval he still needed like oxygen.

The flashbulbs didn’t bother him. Only her silence did numbers on him.

He was seated in the middle of the stage, people calling his name, but he could feel her. A whole sea of people between them, and he felt her. Always.

It took a little nudge from his friend and the interviewer calling his name again to take him back to the present. “I’m sorry what?” Hayden said with a smile.

The crowd and the interview laughed and his friend took the chance to lean in and whispered something to his ear. “I take by the look on your face that you found her, lover boy.” Ewan leant back on his seat and enjoyed how his friend rolled his eyes but a blushed appeared in his cheeks.

The interview went back to normal, back and forth with question and answers and the crowd shouting how much they loved them, they laughed and smiled the whole time. While he wasn’t answering questions, and Ewan was, Hayden kept glancing to where she was and then looked around, to not be too obvious, like he was afraid he might get caught wanting her.

“You know, I had to bridge a gap between my last work as Obi-Wan and then Alec Guinness in the New Hope and we just sort of brainstormed what we thought about it. The film was going to be a movie at one point and it turned into a series. Thank God Miss Director became our director because she's splendid.” The people cheered and she smiled, not only at the nickname but at the kind words. “My god she's so good, she's so talented and because she directed all of the episodes it's got her singular vision throughout.” The praise of Ewan, an actor with so much experience in his career, someone who she admired, made her blushed and smile like crazy. “And yeah, you'll see where he's at,” he finished with a cheeky smile.

“And Hayden, how about you?” The interviewer looked at him. “I mean obviously you are, you were, playing Anakin and now you're kind of playing Vader and so, how are we seeing these changes happen? What are we seeing from Anakin now or are we seeing Vader?” They all were excited for the answer.

Hayden sat straight and smiled. “That's what makes this character so compelling, that duality, that inner conflict of self-identity.” The crowd cheered. “It's just been such a thrill to get to come back and continue my journey with the character and to get to explore Darth Vader at this point in the timeline has been huge.” They applauded. “But more than that, it’s been a gift to do it under the guidance of someone so capable.” He paused and looked her way again, but this time, he didn’t look away. “Ewan said, Miss Director, as we like to call her…” His smile softened, sincerity bleeding into every word. “She’s incredibly, the best out there. She’s so intelligent and cool and creative.”

Hearing those words from his lips made her blushed like a teenage girl all over again.

“She did an amazing job showing these characters at their best. For the fans. For all of us.” The people cheered again and he nodded. “Let’s get an applause for her, she’s amazing,” Hayden said.

And before anyone could react, he started clapping. Loud. First. Proud. Ewan joined in, then the rest of the stage, then the room, making her freeze in her stop.

A sea of people cheering, clapping, and yet, he was watching her. And she was watching him too, because she always did.

The press photos were chaos in slow motion, shouts from photographers layered over one another like crashing waves.

“This way, Ewan!” “Hayden, eyes to your left!” “Miss Director, chin up, beautiful!”

Flash.

They were all lined up, grinning like professionals, rotating in and out of different formations, cast group shots, duo shots, solo poses. Everyone playing their part in the well-oiled, red-carpet machine.

And she? She was luminous in the storm, blinding. To the point Hayden could barely breathe. Staring like a young boy, breath snagging behind his ribs.

How is her face not plastered across every screen in the world? How are there not statues built in her image? How has the world not fallen in love with her already?

She looked like she belonged in another dimension entirely. Her suit was plum-purple, almost like the stains she had on her lips on new years, that kissed every curve like it was made just for her. Her heels gave her just enough height to command the space as she moved with subtle confidence, and her silver jewelry sparkled each time she moved under the lights. She was elegant and slightly fidgety in a way only he would notice. She looked like a star who didn’t know she was one. Like something that shouldn’t be real, and yet… here she was.

And the scent. That jasmine warmth that he had memorized since meeting her. It hit him again as she walked past, brushing just close enough that he could feel the hem of her suit against his leg.

God, she was mesmerizing.

Hayden watched her from the opposite end of the lineup, his own face calm and composed for the cameras, but his eyes kept drifting. Even when it wasn’t his turn, even when he should’ve been adjusting his stance, he looked at her.

She looked like a goddess and she didn’t even know it.

And now everyone else would see it too. Everyone else would know what he’d always known. She was splendid. She was brilliant.

Maybe that was how it should be. Maybe he should’ve always been just a witness to her becoming. Still, he missed being part of it.

She laughed, genuine and sudden, and his eyes snapped to her without thinking. Ewan had said something to her. He didn’t know what, he couldn’t hear it over the noise and shutter clicks, but her head tipped back with laughter, hand instinctively brushing Ewan’s arm as she leaned in, her face lit up.

His chest clenched, not with jealousy, but with envy, sharp and cold and familiar. Because once, it would’ve been him.

It should have been me.

Once, he would’ve been the reason she laughed through her nerves. Once, she would’ve leaned into his space like that. Once, she would’ve nudged his side with her elbow. Once, she would’ve looked to him for safety in the chaos. Once, it would’ve been his name that calmed her heart.

But now? Now he just kept stealing glances and swallowing the ache down. Now she stood three people away, and every inch felt like an entire universe. But God, he missed being the one she looked at when she laughed.

How on God’s green Earth you let the center of your universe slip just far enough that you couldn’t reach her?

“Can we get one of Hayden and Miss Director together, please?” a photographer called out, cutting through the noise.

The whole world paused and his stomach twisted.

He would’ve declined, gently, if she hesitated, if she so much as flinched. But she didn’t, instead a smile appeared on her lips. That small, tired, quiet smile, the one she gave when she’d already felt too much that day and was still standing.

She walked toward him, unhurried. Graceful. Controlled and he met her halfway. When their eyes met in the middle, everything went still.

The lights, the cameras, the shouting voices, all of it dissolved into a low hum in the back of his mind, drowned out by the roar of his pulse. Everything in him leaned toward her without moving. Every cell of his body reached.

As soon as her hand found his back, gently, his lungs stopped working, his body stilled, like even breathing might ruin it. Just by a simple touch, steadying, familiar, touch.

For months, he’d only remembered the feel of her touch in memories. Ghosts of her touch. The phantom sensation of her closeness. Now, here she was. Real. Near. And he could barely take it. His body shuddered with restraint.

Her touch seared right through the fabric, right into his skin, right into the ache he’d been carrying since the last time he hugged her, all the way back to September.

He had to physically stop himself from looking at her the whole time, from turning into her the way he used to, like a planet caught in her pull. He looked forward, like he was supposed to, pose, smile, look composed professional and separate, but his jaw was tight from the effort, molars hurting.

Every part of him wanted to turn into her, to lean in, to surrender at her mercy, and the flesh was weak, so he looked at her. Because he couldn’t not and it wrecked him.

The makeup was soft and flattering, but it was her eyes that did the most damage, sparkling, alive, present. And, God those lips. Parted ever so slightly, the corner twitching with nerves or humor or both. They were the kind of soft that invited sin. The kind that made him forget every vow of distance, every plan to hold back. Hayden almost crumbled at her feets.

His body screamed to lean in and kiss her. To close the space that never should have existed between them.

God, he wanted to kiss her. He needed to kiss her. Because this, she, was gravity and he’d been floating, lost, for far too long.

He wanted to bury his hands in her hair and taste every month he’d spent without her. He wanted to tell her that every reason he’d had in July, every wall he’d built, felt just a little less solid now.

But he didn’t have the right.

He could have kissed her then. But he didn’t. He could have chosen her. But he pulled away. He could have kept choosing her. But he was a coward.

Even if he still believed it was the right choice, believed it had protected her, protected them both. Standing next to her, her hand on his back, his name being shouted by strangers, he wasn’t so sure anymore. All reasoning shook, it shook hard. And in its place, in its cracks, bloomed something else: Regret. Bone-deep, breath-stealing, regret. Because he still ached in every place she had once loved him and he still loved her in every place that could not speak it aloud.

Then he noticed it, the tiny tells of her anxiety.

The way her fingers curled slightly against his blazer. The way her shoulders looked perfect to everyone else but were just a little too tight. The way she held her smile like it was painted on.

So he leaned in, subtly, and his hand lifted slowly, gently, brushing across her back in a barely-there caress, meant only for her.

His voice was low, only for her ears. “Just breathe and smile,” he said, tenderly, every syllable feather-soft. “You’re a natural. Everyone here loves you.”

She looked at him, just a flick of her gaze, but it was enough.

“You got this, Bubble,” he reassured her.

The nickname fell from his lips like it had been waiting there the whole time. Like it had been sitting just behind his teeth for months, desperate for permission to breathe.

It was effortless. Natural. Home. A real one. And she smiled, looking at him and Hayden did too, making the cameras click for a few seconds before they looked up to the front.

He was almost certain it was the only photo from the entire day where his smile touched his eyes. Born from her touch. Her warmth. Her nearness.

Because of her. Always because of her.

And as the flashbulbs went off, as they stepped away with professionalism still wrapped around them like armor, he wondered if she could feel it too—that unspoken thing lingering in the space between their hands.

That thing that still lived. That never stopped living.

Backstage was a hive of movement, headsets crackling, clipboards flipping, assistants whispering frantic directions, stage lights flickered behind curtains, the final checks were happening. The crowd outside was already thunderous, laughter, cheers, the sound of anticipation about to break, the bass from the stage thumping low against the concrete beneath their feet.

She stood near the back wall, near the emergency exit light, which she was about to use to escape, hidden from the bustle, just far enough from everyone to look like she needed space. Not close enough for anyone to really see her.

But he saw her.

Hayden had been looking over his shoulder every few seconds, completely ignoring what one of the cast was saying, eyes glue to her.

Because he knew.

Knew from the way her hand gripped her own arm like a lifeline, from the way her eyes stared out at nothing, from the way she bit down on her bottom lip, too hard, too long. Panic. The familiar threat of it. Coursing under her skin like a storm waiting to break.

He didn’t think, nor ask and just walked up, quiet and slow, and stopped a breath away.

“Hey,” he said softly.

She didn’t answer. Didn’t need to.

He stepped in a little closer, cautious, like approaching a skittish bird. “You with me?”

She gave the smallest nod, fragile, like it took everything she had.

“I can’t breathe,” she admitted. The whisper of it cracked something in his chest. “I can’t—I don’t think I can do this.”

His chest ached. “Okay,” he said, voice a thread. “Okay. Just look at me, alright?”

He didn’t say “you’ll be fine” or “you always pull through”, because this wasn’t about reassurance. It was about holding her there, right in that breath, and keeping her grounded.

So he stepped closer and her eyes lifted, wide and shiny, fragile. And he stood in front of her, not blocking, but shielding. Like a wall. Like a harbor. Like a man who would keep the rest of the world at bay if it meant she could breathe.

With his 6’0” frame towering over her, broad shoulders cutting her off from the crowd behind them, he dipped his head until they were eye level. Until the world shrank to just the two of them.

And reached for her hands without hesitation, took them in his like they belonged there. His thumbs brushed gently over her knuckles.

“Just here,” he whispered. “Just me and you. Nothing else.”

Her icy fingers tightened around his warm ones. It was too soft, too much, but it was also all she had.

She blinked up at him then, eyes glassy with panic, lips parted in the way they always were when she was trying not to cry.

“Hey,” he said again, softer this time. “Just breathe, alright? Just with me.”

She inhaled, shaky. Then again.

“I shouldn’t be here,” she whispered. “I don’t—I’m not—”

He knew the words before she said them, because he knew the script. Impostor syndrome was a familiar ghost. But it had no place in her.

So he brought one hand up to her cheek, warm hand to her cold skin, and tilted her face gently upward, brushing the edge of her jaw with his thumb, just enough to catch her eyes. His other brought her trembling hand to his chest, right over his heart, and pressed it there, warm and solid beneath her palm, grounding her.

“Don’t do that,” he said, and his voice cracked, just a little. “Don’t say you’re not supposed to be here. You made this. All of this.”

She looked like she might break, so he stepped in closer, closer than he should have. Close enough that her forehead could rest against his chest if she leaned forward even an inch.

His heartbeat was so steady, grounding, strong enough to borrow, and her forehead slowly leaned forward and rested her forehead just below his collarbone, eyes fluttering closed.

And he couldn’t not hold her, so he did. She hadn’t realized how close she was to falling apart until he wrapped one strong arm around her, pulling her gently against him, securely. As if he’d done it a thousand times, because he had, because this was muscle memory. Because this was them and she let herself be folded into him like a breath finding its place again.

He tucked her gently beneath his chin, letting her rest against the warmth of him, his taller frame folding around her protectively. Hayden pressed her into him with just the right amount of pressure, not too tight, not too loose. Just right. Just enough to remind her that she wasn’t alone.

She melted into his hold, like her body knew exactly where it belonged. Her breath started to even out. The noise outside faded into background static. Her heart beat slower. His scent calmed every frantic nerve.

Leaning down just enough to the point his lips brushed against her temple, his hand came up, slowly, reverently, to stroke through her hair, soft and steady. The way you touch something sacred.

“Remember what I told you the first time we met in person?” he asked, voice a whisper only she could hear, wrapped in warmth and memory.

She shook her head against his chest.

He smiled, barely. “I told you… If they chose you to be here, it’s because you’re the best.”

Hayden pulled back just enough to look at her, his hand now on the side of her neck, thumb brushing lightly under her jaw. His eyes cathing how her lower lip quivered, her eyes glossy.

“It’s true,” he said again, firmer this time. “So don’t let your head play games with you.”

Her chin dropped as she nodded, and a single tear slipped down her cheek before she could stop it.

And Hayden, God, he wanted to wipe it away with his hands, to brush it aside with his lips, with his soul, with every part of himself he’d been keeping quiet for months. He wanted to hold her face, kiss the panic out of her skin, give her peace in a way only he ever could.

But he didn’t and instead just held her closer, anchored her there to him.

“Just breathe with me,” he murmured, low and gentle. A prayer. “Just me and you. Nothing else.”

And so they did.

Inhale. Exhale. Together.

Her forehead rested against his chest for the briefest second, her hand still over his heart, his arm still anchoring in place. Their chests rising and falling in sync. The rest of the world kept moving, but they didn’t. They stayed.

It was torture and home at the same time.

“You’re not alone,” he whispered into the space between them, just for her. “Not tonight.”

Not ever.

She smiled, barely. Broken but grateful. “You always say the right thing,” she said, the words catching in her throat.

“I don’t.” His lips curved, eyes lowering, heavy with everything he never said. “Not usually.” Not with you. “But I know you and that helps.”

She let out a soft breath of a laugh, shaky but real. Because yes, he did. Better than anyone ever had.

He looked at her then, really looked at her. Eyes searching every inch of her face like it was the last time he’d be allowed to memorize her.

He wanted to say something. Anything. But the right words still lived somewhere between his throat and his chest, and neither would give them up. So they stayed there, stuck and heavy.

A call came from the stage crew, they were about to be introduced and the curtain was about to be lifted.

She pulled back gently, smoothing her jacket with a shaky breath. “Thanks.”

And he nodded, jaw tight. “Anytime you need me.”

Then she gave him a small smile, tight, brave, and walked past him, her perfume trailing behind like the memory of a dream he never got to finish and he stared after her, fists clenched at his sides.

They couldn’t keep doing this. They wouldn’t. Not after tonight.

They still hadn’t really spoken, but it wasn’t necessary because their silence had learned to carry volumes.

All day they had been pushed and pulled, spun like planets around a dying star, and still, the second they laid eyes on each other again, they remembered everything. Every laugh. Every almost. Every smile. The goodbyes. And it was still too much.

And the tension? The ache? It hadn’t faded with time, it had evolved, becoming something deeper, quieter, unshakable.

The road was quiet, almost eerily so after the storm of energy that had been the convention. The soft hum of the highway filled the silence around him, headlights stretching into the dark as Anaheim faded behind him.

His shirt had the first couple of buttons undone, sleeves folded almost to his elbows, suit jacket thrown in the passenger seat, and one arm resting on the door.

The adrenaline started to wear off, leaving only the low ache of exhaustion mixed with the buzz from earlier in his bones. His mind was elsewhere, like usually lately, and a constant hum in his chest that had started since he saw her again.

His phone rang once, a smile appeared on his lips as soon as he saw the name of the caller and pressed the button on the dash. “Hey, sweetheart.”

“Hi, Daddy!” Her voice was bright and sweet, like it always was.

It always made something in him settle, no matter how loud his world got. No matter how heavy.

“Did you talk about the show today?”

“Yeah,” he chuckled. “We had a big panel. Lots of people. A lot.”

“Did you wear that dark shirt you look cool in?”

“I did,” he laughed. “You always know what I’m wearing, huh?”

“Because I know you,” she said simply, as if that explained everything. “And I saw the panel on Youtube.”

“Did you now?”

She hummed. “They were so loud, when you and Ewan walked out” she commented.

“Yeah,” he nodded, despite the fact that she couldn't see him.

“And they screamed and clapped so loud when you talked about Bubble too,” she sounded happy.

He smiled, chest aching in the best way.

“You looked like a total nerd in love, daddy.”

Hayden’s hand tightened on the wheel. “Did I now?”

“You did.” She giggled. “Everyone in the comments said you were ‘down bad.’ I didn’t know what that meant, but I do now.”

He grinned. “I’m gonna have to talk to your mom about your internet access.”

“Too late.” She said it like a challenge, then softened. “Did she look pretty?”

His smile softened too. “More than pretty.”

“Did you say that?”

“No,” he admitted, voice small now. “Not with those words.”

“Why not?”

And there it was, that tiny dagger of truth.

“I don’t know,” he whispered. “I guess I got scared.”

“Of what?”

He blinked. “It’s not that simple, bug.”

“Why not?” Her voice tilted up. “Do you love her?”

The words hit harder than expected, not because they were new, but because they were true.

He exhaled. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Yeah, I do.”

There was a long pause on the other end. He could hear her thinking.

“Like…movie love?” she asked, and he could hear her climbing into bed on the other side of the phone. “Like when the boy looks at the girl and knows he wants to be in her movie forever?”

He smiled, painfully. “Yeah. Just like that.”

There was a rustling of sheets.

Then, soft and serious: “Then why haven’t you told her yet?”

He didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know how to explain fear and timing and guilt and almosts.

“I think you should tell her,” Briar said firmly. “Because if you love her like that, and you don’t say it, then… she won’t know she’s in your story.”

He blinked up at the ceiling.

“And I was watching Anastasia again today,” she added, her voice dreamy now, “and remember how Dimitri gave her the music box and said he didn't know he was in love with her until he wasn’t with her anymore?”

He smiled, heart squeezing. “I remember.”

“And he almost let her go,” she whispered, “but then he didn’t.”

Hayden swallowed hard.

“You’re my brave Daddy, right?”

He cleared his throat. “Right.”

“Then don’t be like the boys who are scared. Be like Dimitri. Say it. Or else you’re gonna be sad. And I don’t want that.”

He sat in silence for a moment, tears stinging the corners of his eyes. “I don’t want that either,” he said.

“You love her,” she said again, like it was the most obvious thing in the universe. “So go tell her.”

And suddenly, everything settled.

It was a truth settled into him like a stone finding its place at the bottom of a lake. Because she was right.

Not that he didn’t know he loved her, because he had known it for a long time. But hearing it out loud, from the voice that mattered most in his world… it struck him differently.

It solidified the truth.

Now it was clear. Solid. Unshakeable.

He loved her. Loved her and he had to tell her with honesty, with himself, with every truth he’d held back since July. He had to tell her, not next time, not if it comes up.

Hayde you have to tell her now.

Because she deserved to know she was his story, she’d always been. And maybe… maybe it wasn’t too late.

“Okay,” he whispered.

“Okay what?” she asked sleepily.

“I’ll tell her.”

A pause.

Then her quiet little voice again, already half-asleep: “Good. You always sound happier when she’s around.”

It’s been a long time coming.

The street was quiet. That kind of quiet that only lived between midnight and dawn, where even the wind seemed to whisper.

Hayden parked outside her house, headlights dimmed. The dashboard lights glowed soft orange, casting shadows across his face. The dash clock blinked back at him, the numbers meaningless, his breath fogging faint against the window. He sat there, hands gripping the steering wheel like it might anchor him.

His chest was tight. Breath shallow. A wild, restless energy alive in every inch of him.

What are you doing, Hayden?

He stared at the house. At her house. Lights still on inside, a flicker of warmth behind the curtains. Her world. Her quiet. It looked warm inside, safe. It looked like her.

He closed his eyes. Briar’s voice still echoed in his chest like gospel. “You love her, so go tell her.”

He could have waited for the “right time”, but having her in his arms again at the convention had opened the floodgates, and he couldn’t live behind the dam anymore.

He couldn’t go another night pretending he was fine, because holding it in hurt more than the fear of being turned away. He’d already wasted enough time.

“Fuck it,” he muttered, shoving the door open.

The night air hit him like a wave, cold, honest as he walked up the front steps, heart hammering like it wanted to tear through his ribs. Like if he didn’t knock right now, he’d stay lost in the almost.

He knocked. Once. Twice. And then the door opened.

She stood there, hair down, wrapped in a worn hoodie, barefoot on the wooden floor, glasses sliding down her nose. And still the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“Hi,” he breathed.

Her brows furrowed, surprised. “Hayden?”

His name in her mouth was soft. Questioning. A little stunned.

“I know,” he said quickly, hands up like he might stop her from closing the door. “I know. It’s late. I’m sorry, I just—”

He looked at her, really looked at her. Her tired eyes. The way she held the door with one hand, like she wasn’t sure if she should let him in.

So he stood in the glow of her porch light and let it spill.

“I was an idiot,” he said, voice thick. “I’ve been an idiot. Since July. Maybe longer. I’ve been walking around pretending I’m okay, that I made the right call. But I didn’t. I’ve been so, madly, in love with you, and I didn’t say it. I let you walk away from me with a broken heart.”

She didn’t speak. Didn’t blink. Just breathed.

He kept going.

“I meant what I said back then. About the risk. About wanting to protect you. But I should’ve told you the rest. The part where I—” he swallowed, rough and sharp, “—I wake up thinking about you. All the time.”

His voice dropped, like he was afraid of how big the truth felt, but he ached with it.

“Where your laugh is one of my favorite sounds. Where every time I see jasmines I think of you. Where I want to know what you think about my outfits because you are one of the most stylish person I know.”

Her eyes softened, just a little. And it kept pouring out.

“Where breakfast with you is one of my favorite moments and I want them with you, every day. Where I want to stay up until four in the morning watching musicals with you, even though I’ll complain and secretly love every minute. I want to kiss you in the morning, and fight over what coffee brand to buy. I want all of it. I want everything with you.”

He stepped closer, just enough for the light from inside to touch his face.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “For everything. For being a coward. For hurting you. For not choosing you when I should’ve.”

A pause. A breath.

He let his hands fall to his sides, itching to touch her, completely open, completely bare.

“I didn’t plan this,” he admitted. “I didn’t expect you. But I can’t pretend I don’t feel it anymore.”

He looked at her, eyes burning, and stepped forward. One more inch. One more heartbeat closer.

“I think about you. Constantly.”

A moment of silence. Then he breathed, like it might be his last chance.

“Maybe it’s late. Maybe I missed my moment. But I’m here now. I’m not afraid. I’m just—”

He gave a quiet, broken laugh. Shook his head.

“I’m just a man, standing in front of the woman he loves, asking if there’s still a chance.” His voice came out all raw and wrecked.

She stared at him and he thought maybe his heart would stop from the weight of it all.

Her lips parted. Her chest rose. But no words came.

“I know I hurt you,” Hayden whispered, every word cracking under the weight of it. “I know I did. But I had to say it, because if I loved you less… I might be able to talk about it more.”

Her eyes shimmered in the porchlight. The night bent around them like the first verse of a love song that had taken too long to write. There he stood, on her porch, his heart in her hands, chest crack open, waiting, hoping

And she… folded her arms, leaning in the doorway, she tilted her head, full of grace. The quiet stretched between them, tight as thread.

“Can I talk now?”

Hayden’s chest nearly caved in. “Yeah,” he breathed, almost afraid to move.

And that was all she needed to let it bleed.

Not a scream, not anger, just truth, cutting, clean, honest. The kind of truth that struck like lightning and still tasted like honey.

“You broke my heart, Hayden,” she said, her voice trembling but steady. “You shattered it. And not all at once. Not loudly. You did it slowly. Quietly. With every look you didn’t give me, with every word you didn’t say, with every time you chose fear over me, with every time you said half the truth and left the rest buried in your chest.”

His throat tightened, but he didn’t speak because she needed to say this. He needed her to say it.

“But the worst part?” she said, taking a step closer, voice trembling with the kind of love that never left even when it should have. “I kept being in love with you, through all of it, even when it hurt. I kept being in love with you when you left. I kept being in love with you in the quiet. I was still in love with you even when I hated myself for it, even when I told myself to move on.”

Every word from her lips hit him like scripture. Like prophecy. Like truth. He took them in like they were breath and his lungs were on fire.

“I waited and waited, smiling through it.” Her voice cracked, barely. “Telling myself it didn’t matter. That the series was enough. That my work would be enough. But it wasn’t. You were supposed to be enough too.”

He tried to speak, she raised a finger, silencing him like a queen.

“And don’t you dare show up here, in the house, in the place you look like you belong in, just to tell me all the things I begged to hear months ago. Don’t you dare to say all that if you’re not ready to stay.”

A tear fell, glowing silver on her cheek.

“But,” she breathed, voice faltering, just a note, then rising again like a crescendo, “if you mean it, if you’re here, not to borrow me but to choose me, then yes. There’s a chance.”

Her arms dropped and stepped forward then. Just one step. But it was everything.

“I still want it all. The breakfasts. The arguments about which movie to watch. The inside jokes. The midnights watching storms. The faint cigarette smoke on my clothes. The laughing until I can’t breathe. The way your hand finds mine without looking. I want all of it, mundane and the extraordinary.”

Another tiny step closer, her hand founding the front of his shirt.

“But I’m not giving you pieces of me this time, Hayden,” she said, looking straight into him. “It’s everything. Or it’s nothing at all.”

“Everything,” he breathed out, somehow.

She nodded and grabbed his collar, pulling him down into her like gravity was a myth.

And the kiss?

God.

It wasn’t a kiss. It was a collapse, a wildfire. The moment when the orchestra explodes and everything the story has been building toward finally hits.

It was messy and wild and impossibly right. It was months of longing and regret and aching hope, poured into mouths that had waited too long.

Her hands tangled in his curls, pulling, grounding, owning him. His hands were everywhere, her waist, her back, the curve of her jaw, like he was trying to memorize every inch he'd lost, like she might vanish again if he wasn’t careful.

She tasted like tears and relief and forever.

And he kissed her like he was dying and she was breath. Like he knew every second they’d been apart and wasn’t wasting a single one more. Like he had been dead, hollow, since July and a kiss, not any kiss, her kiss, brought him back to life. Like she restarted his heart and somehow, she did.

Their bodies molded, their hearts crashed. It was too much and still not enough.

She clung to him like he was the anchor and the storm, arms wrapped around his middle, fists curling into his shirt, anchoring herself like she belonged there, because she did. And he held her like she was the place all the compasses had been pointing to, gripping her like she was the only thing tethering him to the earth.

When they broke apart, barely, breathing heavy, foreheads pressed together like a prayer, she whispered:

“Don’t leave again.”

And he didn’t even hesitate.

His voice was steady, full of wonder and worship and the kind of love you only admit once you’ve nearly lost it all.

“Not unless it’s with you.”

And right then, under the porchlight, they stopped being an almost and became the always.

The morning light spilled like melted gold across her bedroom, stretching over linen sheets, dipping into the soft curve of her neck where her head rested on his chest.

Hayden lay still, one arm around her back, the other resting loosely on her thigh where her leg tangled with his, her bare foot resting against his calf. Her breath rose and fell against him in even rhythms, like the tide.

Familiar. Soothing. Home.

He wasn’t sure what woke him first, her warmth or the way his heart felt like it had finally stopped holding its breath.

He tilted his head, slowly, carefully, and brushed a few strands of hair out of her face. His fingers were gentle, reverent. She looked like something out of a dream he never wanted to wake from. He could’ve stayed there forever, watching the sunlight kiss her cheeks, memorizing the softness of her lips, the flutter of her lashes.

He could have, but he had a better idea.

Pressing a soft kiss to the crown of her head, he whispered, “Back soon,” though she was too deep in sleep to hear.

And then he slipped quietly out of bed.

When she woke, the scent of him still clinging to the pillow beside her, on her skin, in the room, and a smile appeared on her lips. But she didn’t feel him and her sleep-heavy brain whispered that she’d imagined it, that last night had been a dream, one of the ones she never dared to hope for.

But then, she opened her eyes slowly, adjusting to the warm light, and reached to the other side of the bed and it was still warm and the sound of soft clinks and muffled humming drifted in from the kitchen.

She sat up slowly, blinking sleep from her eyes, hair wild from the night, hoodie slipping off one shoulder. Barefoot, she padded toward the kitchen, the cool floor grounding her as she rounded the corner.

And then she saw him.

Hayden. Barefoot too, in the hoodie that was his but she never gave back, sleeves pushed up as he stood at the stove, humming lowly to himself while he scrambled eggs and coffee brewing while toast popping.

Sunlight poured across the floor like it was showing off for him. As if it was leading her to him.

Her knees buckled a little and a smile stretched wide across her face, slow and stunned.

She walked toward him, slow and light, and slipped her hands under his hoodie from behind, wrapping her arms around his waist, cheek pressed to the warm curve of his back.

“Morning,” she murmured.

He hissed softly at the cold of her fingers. “Jesus,” he laughed, hand instinctively finding hers, warm and steady. “Morning, sunshine.”

“Whatcha doing?” she asked, peeking around his arm.

“Breakfast,” he hummed, as if it were obvious, as if it weren’t the single most romantic thing she’d ever witnessed at 7AM.

Giving him a light kiss on his back, she climbed onto the counter, legs swinging lightly as she watched him move, comfortable and easy like they’d always been this way.

He turned back to the eggs, but her presence kept tugging at his attention. She looked too cute there, hair messy, hoodie swallowing her whole, eyes sleepy and still full of love. So damn dreamlike that in between buttering toast, he leaned in and almost stole a kiss.

But before his lips could meet hers, her eyes flew wide and she jerked her head back. “No!”

He blinked, stunned. “What—?”

“I didn’t brush my teeth!” she cried, already hopping down from the counter like a woman on a mission.

And with that, she bolted down the hall, bare feet thumping against the floor, disappearing toward the bathroom.

Hayden laughed, really laughed, head back, shaking his head like she’d just told the best joke of his life. He couldn’t have given a bigger damn about morning breath or bed hair. She was her. She was his. And that was all that mattered.

A few minutes later, she padded back into the kitchen, lips freshly minty, hoodie sleeves pulled down over her hands and hair tied in a half bun.

She tried to walk past him on her way back to the counter, but his hand found the back of her neck as she passed, warm and firm.

He tugged gently. “Now give me my kiss,” he said, voice husky with sleep and something deeper. Something that made stars appear in her eyes and her knees falter a little. “Please,” he added, caressing her nose with the tip of his.

She leaned in and he met her halfway.

This time, it was slow. Sure. Devastating.

He kissed her like a man who had every intention of doing this every morning for the rest of his life. His hands cradled her face, guiding her, owning the moment, and she gave in gladly, letting him lead, letting herself fall.

When they broke apart, barely, she tilted her chin up, fingers weaving into his curls like they belonged there. With a breathless smile, she pulled him into a kiss, not urgent, not hungry, but slow and reverent. A kiss laced in sunlight, a kiss that was a promise.

She sighed into his mouth, the softest moan slipping from her lips, something so small and yet it lit every nerve ending in his body on fire. His free hand slid down, steady and sure, wrapping around her waist and pulling her flush against him like the only place she was ever meant to be was right there.

They didn’t part when the kiss ended, not truly. Their foreheads rested together, breaths mingling in the space between them. Her arms stayed looped around his neck, caressing the hairs at the nape of his neck and his hands held her like she was something he’d dreamed into reality.

She was looking up at him, not just with affection, but with awe too, like he was something celestial, like she couldn’t believe he was real.

He exhaled slowly and lifted one hand to her face, and with a kind of touch that could only be born from deep, aching love, he traced her features.

The soft arc of her brow, the curve of her nose, the swell of her lips, still pink from him, and she let him, totally entranced.

Her face rested in the cradle of his hands, her eyes sparkled, lips curved into the faintest smile as if the joy inside her was too big to stay hidden but too sacred to shout and he couldn’t stop smiling too

“What?” he whispered, like anything louder might shatter the spell.

Her lashes fluttered. “I’m mentally recording this moment.”

His chest stuttered. His heart roared.

“Are you…” he swallowed, breath catching, “utterly, incandescently happy?”

She just nodded, slowly, surely, and smiled so impossibly wide that it made the corners of her eyes scrunch, made his knees go weak, made every regret he'd ever known disappear like morning mist.

“Good,” he breathed, voice catching in his throat. “Me too.”

Then he leaned in and kissed her again, softly and sweetly. Like a prayer answered. Like they had all the time in the world and he would spend every second kissing her just like that.

When they parted, their foreheads still touched, she leaned into his palm. Her eyes closed, feeling peaceful and full.

And he could not stop looking at her, and didn't want to stop either. He let his eyes memorize her all over again.

The way the morning light kissed her skin. The baby hairs that curled against her temple. The way her breath caught when he brushed his thumb beneath her eye. The way her lips curved, still tingling from his. The way she looked, so radiant, so his, in the quiet haven of their morning.

He memorized every single detail all over again, because he knew that after losing her once, he’d never survive it again, he was never letting go again. And more to his satisfaction, she didn’t want to let go either, she was happy right where she was, in his arms.

Next Part →

TAGLIST: @frommywindow17 // @lillianacristina // @shyartisanvoidwagon // @watersquirtpewpewboomm // @yomommaandyogranny // @shqwqrma // @florence-vikander // @bryjohn98 // @its-sappho-biotch // @mysardencut // @fan-goddess // @weallhaveadestiny // @hueanhdang // @ittybitty-rt // @fromasgardandback // @mmb-09 // @elisamoons // @harryisacuties // @little-diable // @angie2274 // @fallinlovewithevil // @mrsmikaelsxn // @naginithemage // @maleahcastro3 // @gwendolyngonzalez // @drawingdroid // @darkestnite // @ooostarwarsfandom501st // @lonelywitchv2 // @chixnugg22 // @moni-cah // @hesvoid34 // @princessvader15 // @nevess // @ilovenarrystoran4ever // @mecrazybish // @blueeyedbesson // @syko-juice // @thetinylittlebird // @b4b3tte // @lily-strnlo // @leahdrads // @niclove // @bloatedandalone04 // @dream-this-nightmare-overnightmareover // @lonelyreadergirl // @sweetcheesecakesblog // @risas-bajo-el-arcoiris // @xangelicangel // @hannis93 // @vikilinda // @ohamilton614 // @tiffsbagels // @nutellanja // @myede // @dessxoxsworld // @kollover24 // @freyagallileaevans // @nostappenn // @tammyjackson50-blog // @4-everm-0-re // @qualitynerdbouquetstuff // @tired-ass-show-girl

#Hayden Christensen #Hayden Christensen x reader #Hayden Christensen x you #Hayden Christensen x y/n #anakin skywalker #anakin skywalker x female reader #anakin skywalker x you #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker imagine #anakin skywalker imagines #director!reader

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peasack · 17 days ago

Note

I love your work!!! I was wondering if you'd write a teen!reader headcanon for them struggling with mental health, needing help with homework, coming out or getting bullied please? I especially love how you write Ava (she's my favourite character) and you manage to nail the Alexis voice

Absolutely adore this request.

I chose to write about the mental health, since I all of them (obviously) know how to deal with that. But I'll definitely put the other suggestions on my list!

Thunderbolts x Gn!Teen!Reader

✦ Thunderbolts Mental Health Support Headcanons ✦

∗ ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ ∗∗ ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ ∗∗ ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ ∗

✦ Ava Starr

The quiet protector. Ava’s not the type to talk circles around you or push you to open up. Instead, she watches. She notices the changes in your behaviorthe silence, the distance, the fake smiles and instead of asking a million questions, she simply shows up. She’ll quietly sit next to you, maybe reading or scrolling on her phone, just so you know she’s there without overwhelming you.

Understands isolation deeply. After everything with her phasing, Ava knows what it’s like to feel broken, like you're a burden, like no one could possibly understand. So when you isolate, she doesn’t take it personally. She just leaves a small trail for you to follow when you’re ready a text, a post-it note, a granola bar on your desk. Tiny signs that say you’re not forgotten.

Soft but firm boundaries. If you try to shut her out completely or brush her off with a fake “I’m fine,” Ava will tilt her head at you with this deadpan look and go, “Try again.” Not mean, not angry. Just “I see through you. You’re not fine. But I’ll wait for you to be ready.” She never lets you disappear completely.

Takes you on quiet, low-pressure ‘missions.’ She’ll invite you on drives, walks, or errands that sound boring but feel safe. “Come with me to pick up supplies. No talking necessary.” It’s her way of offering you company without forcing conversation. These small moments help you reconnect to the world without overwhelming you.

Gentle about scars and history. When she finds out about your past or your scars, she doesn’t freak out. She doesn’t lecture. She just softly says, “You’ve survived a lot. You don’t have to survive it alone anymore.” And that’s it. She holds it like a secret you entrusted her with.

Fiercely protective in her own silent way. If anyone triggers you, bullies you, or drags you down—Ava will quietly, ruthlessly remove that threat from your life. No one knows how, but that person suddenly just leaves you alone. Ava doesn’t need credit or thanks. She just protects you. Always.

✦ Alexei Shostakov

Not the best with words, but man does he show up. Alexei might not always know what to say, but he makes sure you know you’re not alone. He’ll randomly sit with you, bring you snacks, or drag you into the living room to watch terrible old Soviet movies with him, just to keep you company.

Overcompensates with physical comfort. He’s big on hugs and ruffling your hair, and you get the sense he’s constantly making sure you’re still there, still safe. He’s the kind of guy who will pat your back so hard you almost fall over—but you feel a little better afterward.

Terrible at hiding his concern. He’ll blurt out things like, "You are not allowed to disappear, okay? I will find you. I will find whoever made you sad. I will crush them like beetle."

Secretly keeps an eye on your routines. He notices if you’re skipping meals, missing sleep, or isolating. He’s not subtle—he’ll straight up drag you out of bed and be like, “We are going for silly little walk. It is non-negotiable.”

Panics when you cry. He immediately calls for backup (usually Yelena) like he’s reporting a code red. But he stays. Always. Even when he’s unsure what to do, he refuses to leave your side.

✦ Yelena Belova

The calm-in-a-storm type. When you’re spiraling, Yelena doesn’t flinch. She sits next to you, quietly, like, "Okay. We are sad now. I will be sad with you." She doesn’t try to fix you. She just holds space.

Violently protective of your mental space. If someone at school or even in the team says something that hurts you, she’s on it like a hawk. “Tell me who. I just want to talk.” (She does not just want to talk.)

Talks about her own issues openly. She’ll casually drop lines like, "Yeah, I have bad days too. I usually throw knives to feel better." She tries to normalize it so you never feel broken.

Pulls you into little missions or tasks when you isolate. "Come help me spy on Alexei. It will be fun." It’s her way of reconnecting you with the world.

Terrible with cheesy comfort phrases. Instead, you get blunt affection. "You are not allowed to give up. You are my family. You do not get to leave me. I will be annoying forever, so you must stay to suffer me."

✦ Bucky Barnes

The king of quiet understanding. He never pushes. Never demands you explain. Just sits next to you, offers a cup of tea, and sometimes just says, "I’ve been there. You don’t have to talk, but I get it."

Not great with open emotional convos but will listen all night if you need. He doesn’t always know what advice to give, but he will nod along, let you ramble, and toss in dry little jokes to keep you grounded.

Gives you space but always checks in. Leaves little notes on your door like "I’m making food. You better eat." Or sends you a text: "Still breathing? Cool. Come hang when you’re ready."

Gets quietly, intensely protective if anyone makes you feel worse. He won’t make a scene but will 100% have a quiet, terrifying “chat” with the person responsible.

Teaches you small things to help. Like how to box when you’re angry, or how to breathe when you’re spiraling. He’s the type to hand you coping tools instead of empty comfort.

✦ Bob Reynolds

So, so soft about it. Bob is super emotionally tuned in and probably notices you’re struggling before you say anything. He gets this gentle, concerned tone like, "Hey, kid… you doing okay?"

Overthinks and worries a lot. He’s scared of saying the wrong thing or making you worse, but he wants to help. He’ll sit with you, make you tea, or put on your favorite show just to be near you.

Big on distraction days. He’ll offer to play games, watch movies, even sit and listen to music together, anything to help you breathe and not be stuck in your head.

Sassy comfort. Once you’re closer, he’ll throw in playful sass to make you smile when you’re down. "Look, you’re stuck with me now. Can’t get rid of me. I’m like emotional gum on your shoe."

If you cry in front of him, he crumbles. He holds you so carefully like you might break, and his voice drops to the softest whisper like, "Hey… hey, you’re safe. I’ve got you, okay? I’ve got you.”

✦ John Walker

Awkward but fiercely loyal. John’s not super in touch with his own emotions, but the moment he sees you’re struggling, he’s locked in. He just… doesn’t always know how to handle it. "You, uh, wanna… I dunno. Wanna hit something? Or get ice cream? Or whatever helps?"

Overprepares. Starts reading up on mental health resources, making checklists in his phone like "Things To Help The Kid When They're Sad" because he genuinely wants to be good at this.

Dad-mode activated. He’ll randomly show up with snacks, your favorite drink, or movie nights without making a big deal out of it. If you try to thank him, he waves it off like, "Don’t worry about it, kid. It’s what I’m here for."

Gets super angry at anyone who hurts you. Like, full-on clenched fists, ready-to-throw-down angry. But he channels it quietly—he just gets very, very protective from a distance.

Awkward comfort, but real. Might pat your back stiffly and mutter, "Look… I might not always get it. But I care about you, okay? You’re family. You’re my kid now. Deal with it."

∗ ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ ∗∗ ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ ∗∗ ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ ∗

Hope this was alright, it's a little more detailed on Ava’s part since, of course, the request was for her.

If you guys have more requests please leave them in my inbox! <3

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heeseungiez · 2 months ago

Text

crushology 101 | part 1

synopsis! after a bad breakup with a guy you didn’t even find attractive leaves you reeling, you vow never to date anyone you don’t actually find hot… problem is, somehow, you ended up with five of them in your life, all at once?

featuring! tomorrow x together and many other idols (for like 3 seconds)

pairings! ot5 x gn!reader

genre! college au, fluff, inspired by crushology 101 (the kdrama) and the og work bunny and her oppas by nieun!

word count! 8k

a/n! to be completely honest, i initially wanted this to be a one-shot? but then i thought it might be more fun to cut it off where i did. i can also post it now instead of waiting longer yano... soooooo enjoy this silly little realistically unrealistic college au with tubatu

check out my masterlist!

part 1 | part 2

Choi Yeonjun. Choi Soobin. Choi Beomgyu. Kang Taehyun. Huening Kai.

Five guys, each more handsome than the other. All of them vying for your attention. How did you end up here? Well… the story isn’t exactly short. But there is enough time to at least get into the important parts.

So, where shall we begin?

Right…

A year ago, a few months after you started your first year at university, you found a boyfriend. However, he wasn’t exactly conventionally attractive. You told yourself that it didn’t matter though, as long as your boyfriend genuinely liked you. And he was so nice, or at least he seemed to be.

Your friends, Emma and Chloe, weren’t very convinced of his act and judged him harshly. Back then, you thought it was because they just didn’t find him attractive, so all of his faults were all the more obvious to them. But it wasn’t his looks that were the problem.

The son of a bitch dated you for months, only to try to prove to his friends that you were easy. Jokes on him, because you were nowhere near that. He didn’t get into your pants even after months of his stupid act, and you ended up nursing a broken heart over what? A scumbag who wasn’t even all that.

And he had the nerve to say you — YOU — were out of his league. Honestly… you might not be a top model, but when a man who is three steps away from being an incel says that about you… it does hurt. (And you hurt him back, though beating up your boyfriend turned ex did no good things for your reputation.)

From that point forward, you promised yourself to only date men that you found attractive. At least, so you can cry over someone other people won’t call a rat, or would sympathise with you rather than give you judgy looks.

Yet your best solution for the following semester was to just… not date at all. It was easy too, when people remembered you as the crazy ex who managed to break a guy’s rib.

So you didn’t date. You lived your life in sweet, sweet peace all the way until the summer semester of your second year. Until he appeared in your life. The first of five…

It’s a regular day for you as you go to class. Your first day of a new semester and a new subject for credits. Everyone you know from the upper years has had only great things to say about the professor teaching it, so you couldn’t miss out on the opportunity to register for it and witness the teachings of Professor Lee himself.

Not to mention it’s actually incredibly hard to get into the class since it has a limit of twenty students per semester, and prioritizes both speed and overall grades when signing up for the course. So being first to sign up doesn’t mean you’re in, but having a perfect score but signing up late also doesn’t guarantee it. Which also means none of your friends got into the subject.

You enter the class, entirely oblivious to your surroundings as you scroll through your playlist, music blasting in your headphones. A bag with your laptop hangs on your shoulder, and thinking back to it, you should’ve paid attention.

Colliding with a student who was busy talking to someone was certainly not on your itinerary. Even worse, your loosely slung bag falls off your shoulder, the loud thud of your laptop and other belongings almost reminiscent of the dip your heart makes.

Every piece of work you have ever made is on that laptop. Sure, the most important bits are saved on external drivers and the cloud but the small things, the seemingly unimportant things, the ones waiting to be used, those will never see the light of day if your laptop breaks.

“Fuck, no, no…” You instantly crouch to check the state of your laptop. Is it intact? Yes. Will it boot? You can’t say for sure until you open it.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” The person you bumped into apologizes, though you don’t blame him at all. His hands reach for the other items that spread across the floor while you check the state of your laptop. “I can pay for repairs if it’s not—”

His voice dies down when your laptop boots, and you let out a huge sigh of relief at the device’s tenacity. Finally, you can look up at the man that nearly caused you a heart attack by practically blocking the entrance.

And your heart actually stops.

One of the most beautiful faces you have ever seen graces your vision, and your eyes widen in disbelief. He has the kind of look that reminds you of summer, of full fields of colorful flowers, and running through meadows under the bright sun in the middle of July. It’s the boyish kind of look your teenage self would most certainly write heartbreaking love songs about, imagining an infinite amount of “what if” scenarios.

“I know you,” the guy breaks your daydream, a smile appearing on his pouty lips. “Y/N, right? I’ve seen you around a lot.”

“I—” you can’t believe a man like this knows who you are. Mainly because you don’t know who he is, and you swear you would remember him if you met him before.

He chuckles at your flustered state, understanding the situation easily. “I’m Yeonjun. Choi Yeonjun,” he introduces himself casually, as if it made all the sense in the world that you don’t know him, but he knows you. “I was wondering if you’d take the class this semester.” He grins like he’s happy to know that you are taking it.

The more he speaks, the more confused you get. You stare at him like he’s grown a second head, and he chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck in the most captivating way possible. His T-shirt rides up the slightest bit, revealing a toned torso that you did not need to catch a glimpse of.

“Why would you—”

“Well, you’re a music major, right? Most people want to get into Mr. Lee’s class.”

“But you’re not a music major,” you say plainly, because you would remember, okay? You would know if this man shared your major.

“No.” The corner of his lips rises in a soft smirk. “I’m a dance major, actually, but I’m really interested in producing, so I signed up and got in.”

“Oh.”

“Oh.” Yeonjun repeats with a soft grin. “You here alone? Wanna join me and—” He points toward a row of seats with a bunch of people you are familiar with. Like Seo Changbin, a third year music major. “Well, them.”

“Uh, sure. Yeah, I guess I can do that,” you stutter out, internally freaking out. Not only is this beautiful man asking you to sit with him and his friends, but one of those friends is also among the top students in your major.

“I promise not to bite.” Yeonjun winks at you, and your entire world stops again, processing the whole interaction.

He laughs. “Come sit with us. We plan to grab lunch after class, too, so you can join us.”

“Me?” You point at yourself quizzically, looking around. But everyone is already diligently seated, so it’s only you and Yeonjun at the entrance.

“Well, unless there’s a really stunning spirit I can’t see standing next to you, then you are definitely the person I’m asking.”

You meet the second of five on the same day as Yeonjun. Because people tend to forget about the music room at campus, you use it for your own benefit quite often. Today is no different as you take advantage of the community instruments to work on one of your many projects. With headphones on your ears as you strum on the bass, trying to figure out the notes, you don’t notice anyone entering the room.

And he doesn’t notice you at first, either. He types away on his phone as he walks forward, completely unaware of his surroundings until his foot catches on one of the many scattered cables on the ground. He stumbles, and although he doesn’t fall, the phone in his hands does escape his hold, landing practically on your lap. Not before it hits you in the head, of course, to make the experience even worse.

“Oh, my gosh, I am so sorry! I didn’t mean to!” The guy runs up to you immediately, inspecting you from head to toe as if the phone were a weapon that could cause you internal bleeding and a concussion.

And maybe it did, because when you look up into the face of the guy who is practically on his knees, begging for your forgiveness, your eyes make angel wings sprout from his back, and a halo levitates just above his golden hair.

He makes you think of the fresh spring air, walking through a cherry blossom path. He would catch a petal from the air for you, only to notice that there are already many of them stuck in your hair, and he would laugh so softly, with such affection in his eyes, that it would make your heart burst with love and adoration.

“Are you okay?” He asks softly, hand hesitantly reaching for the spot where his phone hit you. “Did I hurt you?”

You reach out for his hand, stopping him before he could touch you. It’s warm, his hand, and with the redness of his cheeks, you assume it’s from the slight embarrassment he currently feels. With your lips pressed tight together, you shake your head.

“I’m fine,” you reply simply. “What happened anyway? Did you throw your phone at me or something?”

“Oh… you didn’t see?” he asks, tilting his head to the side, but your confused expression tells him enough to let out a breath of relief. It means he didn’t embarrass himself more than he thought he did. “In that case, I’d rather not disclose that information.”

“Fair enough.” You nod, ready to go back to your work. But the guy lingers by your side rather than leaving you alone. “Do you need anything else?”

“I’m Huening Kai,” he introduces himself with a smile. “You’re Y/N, right? I’ve seen you around campus a bunch of times.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. And I really like some of your projects. Professor Min has a habit of throwing around a lot of praise when it comes to you,” Kai shares the information with a grin, standing back up. He towers over you now, and you have to crane your head to see his face. “I think we’re in his class together this semester.”

“Oh, that’s great. We’ll see each other every week, then.” And your eyes will be blessed with the sight of one of the most good-looking creatures to ever exist on this earth — but you leave out that part, of course.

“And if you don’t have anyone to work on group projects with, then you can have me,” he adds light-heartedly, but the idea of working alongside someone as striking as Huening Kai sounds almost absurd to you. This is the second handsome guy suggesting to either sit or work with you in a class. And the phrasing? You can have me. Someone save your poor heart because it might explode.

What the hell is going on?

“You’re not just trying to get a ride on my back, are you?” You raise a brow at him suspiciously, and he laughs, shaking his head.

“I’d never!” He raises his arms in defence. “I just… kinda don’t really have friends.”

“What!?” you spit out in disbelief, staring at the boy.

“I mean I do have friends. It’s just that I don’t share any classes with them because they’re in different majors. That’s what I mean.” He chuckles nervously, looking away from you.

“Right… That makes sense.” You nod to yourself. “Sure, though, I wouldn’t mind working with you if there are any group projects.”

“That’s great.” Kai grins. “By the way, do you mind if I share the space with you? To be honest, I thought nobody’s gonna be here.”

“No problem. I come here for the exact same reason anyway.” You smile at him.

The two of you spend hours inside the music room in silence aside from the occasional question here and there. Huening Kai does make a habit of stealing glances at you quite often, and you’re not any different when it comes to watching him work.

You meet the third of five at the bus stop. It’s late at night because you completely forgot about the time, and Huening Kai was no help either. The only reason both of you realized how late it had gotten was because Kai got a call from his younger sister about missing dinner with their parents.

Usually, at this late hour, nobody sits at the bus stop. But today, a guy stands tall, leaning against the frame of the bus schedule, scrolling mindlessly through his phone.

Even from here, you can see he’s handsome. And uninterested too, which makes today somewhat easier as compared to what you experienced with Yeonjun and Huening Kai.

The guy glances at you only when you walk toward him, stopping next to him to wait for the bus. His brows furrow as something catches his attention.

Before you know it, his attention is fully on you, a huge grin adorning his lips. “Are you listening to KARA?” he asks, pointing at your headphones. You had no idea that your music was that loud.

“Yeah…” you reply.

“I love KARA!” the guy exclaims.

“They got me into music.” You smile at the memory and shrug. “I like to take inspiration from their songs when I’m working on my projects.”

“Oh? A music major?” the guy asks, and when you nod, he adds: “My friends study music at Yein University nearby, are you by chance—”

“Yeah.” You nod again. “And you?”

“I go to Batu University for media management, but it kind of goes hand in hand with the other guys… I’m Soobin, by the way. Choi Soobin.” He offers you his hand.

“Y/N,” you say with a smile.

The bus arrives then, but as you both pleasantly find out, the two of you live in the same street and are practically neighbors. So after exchanging numbers, you promise to see each other at a normal hour of the day, too.

You bump into the fourth boy in the library. Unfortunately, studying at university as a music major doesn’t actually mean that it revolves around playing instruments, singing and making the music itself. Sometimes you do have to bury your head deep into textbooks and learn about the history and theory of it all, so you can either take inspiration, or learn from your predecessor’s mistakes in order to create a new generation.

And sometimes, it’s simply a consequence of a terrible choice when it came to elective — entirely unoptionally optional — courses.

You tend to not pay much attention to your surroundings when you study at the campus library. With headphones on your head, music blasting loudly, but at a healthy level, you lose yourself in a world of words that make sense on their own but lose their meaning once they’re strung together in a ludicrous line of academic bullshit.

Today is different though. Because despite your desire to cram at least a few names into your brain and what they entail, your phone keeps blowing up with messages from your friend group chat, or either of the three boys you have met so far. Even when you put the phone on do not disturb, it’s as if your brain still catches the waves of each blocked notification on the device.

To make matters worse, you can’t shake the feeling of somebody staring at you. But when you look around yourself, there is no one. Or, well, there are people — obviously, you are sitting in a crowded and very shared area for students — but none of them are interested in you any more than they are in the books they pretend to read.

You decide to give up studying after two hours of sitting and barely three lines of notes in your notebook.

The chair creaks as you stand up, but your peers ignore the sound, disregarding it with sympathy because the thoughts of giving themselves a break are probably floating in their heads, too.

Leaving the library is a freedom you allow yourself only because you’re barely one week into the new semester.

You did not expect to step on a pair of glasses on your way outside of the library. But here you are, listening to the loud crack of glass and plastic under the rubber sole of your shoe. Your eyes widen as you look down, noting the expensive looking frames, and fairly thick lenses.

“Has anyone seen my glasses?” A voice asks nearby, and your heart drops into your stomach, knowing that you probably ruined this person’s only pair of glasses and completely disrupted their way of life until they get new ones.

You pick them up despite yourself, a huge frown appearing on your lips as you assess the damage.

Spoiler alert: it’s bad.

“I think I found them,” you say regardless, turning in the general direction of where the voice had come from.

To your relief, you think, the person is already wearing a pair of glasses. He’s pretty, in a good way, you’d say. With dark hair falling into his eyes in styled waves. Quite tall, too. He’s what people would call the resident cute nerd, someone who you’d want to tutor you when you pretend to be dumber than you truly are.

“Fuck. I knew I’d dropped them,” he curses under his breath, not even considering the fact that you stepped on them and it’s entirely your fault they’re ruined. “I always carry spares in case,” he adds and points to the glasses already sitting on his nose. “Blessings of a minus five vision, I guess. Can’t function without either glasses or contacts.”

“I’m so sorry. I can pay for a new pair,” is the first thing that leaves your mouth when the guy approaches you, and he shakes his head.

“No, it’s not on you,” he says, looking at you sympathetically. “I dropped them here, it’s my fault. They could’ve gotten stolen too, and nothing much would change.” His nonchalance throws you off guard because the pair truly seems expensive.

“I have dozens more at home if it puts you at ease,” he adds as if he could hear your thoughts, his words seemingly leaving his mouth at a mile per hour. “You could say I have a record of being reckless with my glasses, but contacts tend to irritate my eyes.”

“Oh…” you don’t know what to say.

“I’m sorry. Uh, I’m Choi Beomgyu,” he introduces himself to you. “I didn’t mean to randomly talk your ear off, it’s just a self-defence mechanism in embarrassing situations.”

“I feel like I should be the one embarrassed and apologetic,” you say, a soft smile making its way to your lips. “I’m Y/N.”

“Well, if you really feel apologetic, would you mind giving me your number?” Beomgyu asks.

“What?”

The boy simply grins as if it’s a completely normal situation. “I’m easy to please, really. If you treat me to a cold beer, everything can be easily forgotten and forgiven.”

“Is that what it is?” You raise a brow at him. “A ploy to get free beer?”

“Well, I didn’t plan for my glasses to get broken today, but if I can get your number and a free beer, I will be very satisfied.”

“Truly a man with simple needs.”

“Never needed to be anything more.”

You met Kang Taehyun on a completely random Tuesday. Walking through campus, you mind your own business until a commotion catches your attention by the basketball court available mainly to P.E. majors.

Normally, you would disregard the situation because why would you care about a bunch of sweaty boys playing with a ball? But then you catch sight of three familiar faces — guys from your major — all playing against one man, and losing. Which piques your curiosity to the max.

“Hey, what’s going on?” you ask someone on your left, when you make it to the tiny crowd, and the person turns to you with an excited grin.

“They made a bet to play three on one. If Kang Taehyun loses—” the person points at the only guy you don’t recognize— “then the third year P.E. majors gotta buy a feast for the music majors. If those guys lose, they buy for Taehyun and his friends.”

“Isn’t that a bit unfair?” You furrow your brows, but the person merely shrugs.

“Well, it seems not,” they say, clapping when Kang Taehyun scores another point against the three fumbling music majors. “That’s 5 to 1 for Taehyun,”

You glance at a group of more familiar faces standing back and merely laughing at their friends’ misery rather than helping them out. Rolling your eyes, you step onto the small court. With your luck, one of the music majors throws the ball in your direction rather than his teammates, and you catch it with ease, tilting your head to the side.

“You guys made a bet and can’t even play this game properly?” you ask with a raised brow. Then you turn toward the crowd, your gaze firm on who you want to play with. “Heeseung, stop laughing your ass off and get here. And you too, Nicholas!” you call the two guys you’ve known for years. They’re what you would call your occasional friends — and also the people that used to play competitive basketball in high school.

“Hey, what do you think you’re doing? This is between us and the—”

“Music majors, right? Well, we’re also music majors,” you say confidently, staring down the guys trying to stop you. “How about we do a fair game of 3 to 3 with a change of players and same stakes, since you guys believe in your basketball skills so much?”

Kang Taehyun, the one who’s been playing the whole time walks up to you with big enough eyes to fell a tree out of sheer cuteness, though it does not fit the way his lips form a determined smirk.

“I’d get just changing players, but also trying to make this fair puts you at another disadvantage,” says one of Kang Taehyun’s friends because it doesn’t seem that he’s the overly talkative type.

The corner of your lips rises in a challenging smirk. “Might be.”

But Heeseung and Nicholas are already standing by your side, matching the height of the P.E. majors. “You sure about this, Y/N?” Heeseung asks.

“Do you want to have at least a sliver of a chance at free food?”

“Fair argument.”

In short: you lost. However, the difference in score was not as embarrassing as the original trio going against just one.

“Not bad,” Kang Taehyun speaks up for the first time since you saw him. His voice is slightly deeper and much quieter than you would expect it to be. “Almost had us in the end.”

“We haven’t played in a few years.” Nicholas shakes his head at the compliment, throwing his arm around your shoulder. “A little heads up next time would be appreciated.”

“I’m a spontaneous person.” You shrug, though in reality, you don’t know why you did this. You aren’t the kind of person to try and outshine someone — let alone go against the P.E. majors out of the blue. Yet your eyes always end up at one place: on Kang Taehyun.

The man seems both absolutely oblivious to the outside world and acutely aware of everything that happens around him. Like he wants people to disregard him, but knows to keep distance regardless. What might act as a repellent to others, is like a magnet to you.

“Well, if you guys are ever bored, we’re always looking for more people to play with us,” one of the older guys says, Fuma, you heard him be called at one point. He puts his hands on Taehyun’s shoulders as if to massage him and grins.

“Don’t you have a whole faculty just for that?” Heeseung questions, amused.

“They suck.” Concise, straight to the point — that is Kang Taehyun. He doesn’t speak unless necessary, and he never says anything he doesn’t mean. To other people, it might seem like he’s cold, aloof, and doesn’t care about anything or anyone but himself, but getting to know him and slowly peeling off layers of armor that was never truly there is a reward in itself.

“So, just a question, but we’re not the ones buying food, right? It’s still them?” Heeseung points toward the original trio that made a bet with zero skills to back it up.

“Nah, forget it. We appreciate a good game,” says the tallest of the three P.E. guys, you heard Fuma call him Kei during the game. He high-fives Heeseung with a grin.

“I wouldn’t mind buying you a coffee, though.” Taehyun’s voice nearly startles you, especially because he’s speaking to you. Staring at you. With a hint of expectancy in his big brown eyes.

“Hm?” Your brain stutters. Heeseung and Nicholas laugh at you, nudging your arms from each side as if you were kids in middle school, watching somebody confess their feelings.

“You’re entitled to say no, but I just thought I’d give it a shot.” Taehyun’s voice is nonchalant, but the way his lips twitch and his expression slightly changes with the anxiety of possibly being rejected, you can tell it would hurt his pride.

“You might need to raincheck, because vocal training starts in ten.” Heeseung, as helpful as ever, destroys the moment by checking the time on his phone. “Aaand we’re on the wrong side of the campus because we just spent our break playing basketball instead.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah.”

“Uh, I’d love to get coffee sometime, but it’ll have to wait. So sorry.” You barely manage to get out your apology before Heeseung has you by the wrist and is dragging you along in his sprint, so you can make it to vocal training in time.

“Dude! You never do this kind of thing?” Kei hits Taehyun’s arm with an amazed smirk, staring at him with wide eyes.

Taehyun hides his hands in the pockets of his jeans, shrugging. “I just like people who aren’t afraid to stand up for themselves.”

“I don’t even remember their name,” Fuma notes, running a hand through his head. “But they played well.”

“It’s Y/N,” Taehyun says, liking the way the name sounds on his lips.

You could sense Yeonjun’s staring from a mile away. Except he’s not even six feet away. He’s sitting right next to you, disrupting your work flow as you try to write down every single piece of information that leaves Professor Lee’s mouth.

It’s almost impossible to breathe with his annoyingly handsome face glued to your side, a smile gracing his lips as he doesn’t even bother to hide the fact that his attention is purely on you. It’s to a point where it irritates you more than it flusters you, because how can he just not pay attention to what Professor Lee says when his class is generally the hardest to get into in the whole faculty?

“Do you want to fail this class so badly?” you ask under your breath, most of your attention still on the front because you could not bear looking at Yeonjun.

The warm sound of his chuckle sends shivers down your spine and sets butterflies off in your stomach. It’s quite maddening because there is no way in hell that someone like Choi Yeonjun would actually like you.

Yet he never misses the chance to include you in anything group related, nor does he ever stop inviting you to hang outs and campus events that you would normally miss out on to work on your many unfinished projects. When you keep declining his offers, he doesn’t even seem to be any less determined if not more motivated. But you’ve seen the way people generally gravitate toward Yeonjun, so you can never fully understand — why would it be you?

“You’re so cute when you worry about me,” he remarks, eyes never leaving your face. “But Changbin’s actually voice-recording all classes, so I have no need to listen when I have you right next to me.”

“Flirting is a really bad habit for you.” Shaking your head, you dare to glance at Yeonjun from the corner of your eye. He grins at you as if he won at life. But the small voice in your head still doubts — if your ex-boyfriend had secretly been an asshole, what if Yeonjun’s intentions were even worse? What if this is simply an elaborate joke between him and his friends? Just another plot to break your heart.

You could not give in.

Not again.

“I don’t flirt,” he replies, a pout forming on his lips.

“Maybe that’s the problem.”

Yeonjun follows you even after class, almost like a stray cat who got attached to the first person it came across. “You don’t trust me,” he says eventually, hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans while you’re trying to pick out an appropriate lunch in the campus cafeteria.

Eyes follow him wherever he goes, because if there is anything Choi Yeonjun does, it’s drawing attention to himself without even trying. It isn’t something you can fault him for, but it makes you even more suspicious.

For one, he doesn’t let you pay for lunch. Two, he’s friendly with everyone who dares to greet him. And three, Choi Yeonjun isn’t the only good-looking man in the world.

Your phone lights up with a notification. A message from KARA lunatic popping up.

[12:54] KARA lunatic: Next time you forget something at my place, make sure it’s valuable, so I can sell it later. [2 attached photos]

The photos include a scrunchie you’ve been trying to find the whole day, and a photo of Soobin wearing it around his wrist to remember that he should return it.

Between the two of you, a tacit agreement of sorts formed last week. Sometimes, when either of your roommates decide to have visitors over, you simply remove yourself from the situation by going over to Soobin’s place, which is practically three steps away. And Soobin lets you stay, as long as you don’t disrupt his personal space.

And then another message finds its way to your phone from a contact named friendless guy.

[12:55] friendless guy: professor min approved the changes we made for the spring festival theme! yayyyy [1 photo attached]

Huening Kai doesn’t fail to send a selfie of himself doing thumbs up.

You smile to yourself, reading the messages. It makes Yeonjun straighten in his seat across from you, elbows leaning on the table as he narrows his eyes at you.

“Am I that bad?” he questions, sporting that damned adorable pout. “I’m really sorry if I did anything to offend you, Y/N, I’m just—”

“You did nothing to offend me, Yeonjun.” You shake your head, setting your phone down. Staring him in the eyes, you don’t believe they belong to those of a liar. But he is right; you cannot trust him. Not yet. “But you’re so— you. And I’m… me.”

“Stunning?”

You laugh in his face. Not at him, obviously, but at his words. He is calling you stunning? When your ex-boyfriend said you were out of his league? It just feels like one strange, elaborate joke from fate itself.

“This campus is full of people that already adore you, Yeonjun. So why—”

“Because,” Yeonjun says, a smile forming on his lips. He never breaks eye contact with you, gazing at you as if you hung the stars in the sky.

“Because?”

“Because.”

Despite your skepticism, Yeonjun doesn’t waver. Instead, he seems to appreciate that you don’t instantly jump at his feet, ready to do whatever he asks of you. It makes you all the more real to him — a genuine person. (And he likes you so much more for it.)

“What would you say to a casual hang out then? As friends, let’s say. You, me, and some of my other friends.”

“When? I have work to do, Yeonjun…”

“Not now, obviously. But I’d let you know.” And he attempts to wink at you, but both of his eyes close instead, and you can’t help but giggle at the action. It’s adorable, and entirely uncharacteristic of his otherwise perfect, flirty image.

“Okay,” you sigh. “I can do that.”

“Really?” Yeonjun barely contains his excitement, attracting the attention of a few students. Their sour expressions turn into ones of pure awe when they realize it’s Choi Yeonjun they were about to scold, though.

“Really.”

“You won’t regret it!”

Working in a pair is strangely comforting. You smile to yourself as you listen to the faint buzzing of speakers and Huening Kai’s scribbling against the paper. He writes down notes as they come to him, while you work on a mix of sounds to get a melody that’s been stuck on your mind the whole day out of your head.

The two of you have gotten comfortable around each other quickly. In the same way you find solace in Soobin’s presence and apartment on nights when you need it, Kai is your sanctuary during the day when there is nothing much to do on campus.

“What would you think if I said I want to start a band?” Kai asks rhetorically, humming to himself. The sound of a pencil scratching against paper stops as Kai turns to look at you. “I saw this poster, you know, that said the school will hold a competition during the spring festival.”

“So you want to start a band to join this competition?”

“The prize money is really good,” Kai says, nodding. “And we get free coffee in the campus café for the rest of the year.”

Your eyes widen. “I can… see the appeal.”

“Would you join?”

“Your band?”

Kai nods.

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

“I just didn’t want to assume.” Kai shrugs a smile forming on his lips. “But if I’m on the drums and you’re on the bass, we might still need a good deal of people.”

“Just guitar and piano probably,” you say without much worry. “Those are the most common among music majors anyway… and I kinda have ideas.”

“You do?”

“Well, for guitar, I’d try asking Park Jongseong. He’s really good. Or Choi Taeyang. Maybe both. And piano… I guess, Kim Jungsu?”

“You know a lot of people in our major,” Kai remarks, turning in his place to look at you.

“I participate in way too many events, I guess.” You bite the inside of your cheek, eyeing Kai from the corner of your eye. “But you don’t, since I didn’t know about you…”

Kai chuckles, running a hand through his hair. “I prefer avoiding public events. And when I do, I only keep to my friends or myself.”

“Fair enough,” you say, grinning. “I hope you’re ready to let the world know that Huening Kai exists, though. Because you’re not gonna be left alone after that.”

“I’ll just use you as my shield.”

“Damn. Can’t wait.”

Kai laughs softly, and you relish the sound, subconsciously recording it to tuck away in a corner of your mind for later.

The restaurant near campus buzzes with life as people file in and out for a quick lunch between classes.

You are not an exception to the rule, entering with an excited grin on your face.

“Y/N!” The sound of your name makes your head turn, and a squeal leaves your lips at the sight of your friends, Emma and Chloe. You haven’t seen them in ages, although you attend the same university. But being in different faculties complicates your ability to meet up.

“It’s been so long!” you exclaim as you practically run to them.

They envelop you in a tight hug, smiles plastered on their faces.

“Too long.” Chloe frowns. “I was starting to forget what you look like.” She dramatically places a hand over her forehead before her eyes set on you, scanning every part of you like a hawk.

“We’ll take lots of pictures later,” Emma says, giggling. “But you’re doing okay, right? I heard you’re working on the spring festival’s soundtrack.”

“Yeah! It’s actually going really well. Main theme being love and all, it’s pretty easy to satisfy the masses.”

“Anything light and upbeat would probably do.”

“Exactly. The expectations are so low that it’s easy to exceed them.” You smirk, proud of the tiny reference that you haven’t given up since your childhood. “But anyways, can we get something to eat first? I’m starving.”

“You’re reading my mind.”

The three of you spend an hour catching up and eating your lunch. Chloe rants about linguistics classes, while Emma shares information about her upcoming performance at the local theater.

“By the way, do you guys know Choi Yeonjun?” Emma asks with a slightly raised brow, leaning her elbows on the table, because she is about to share vital gossip.

“Duhh,” Chloe responds, rolling her eyes. “Everyone knows Choi Yeonjun. Dude’s campus famous.”

You don’t say anything. All you can do is purse your lips in thought and nod solemnly. Knowing Choi Yeonjun is certainly one way to put it. Thinking about it, you probably have a few unread messages from him on your phone right now.

“Well, someone found out who one of his exes is!” Emma exclaims, pulling out her phone to search something up. “Look. That’s literally him and the Karina, cozying up together on campus.”

“Damn. How old is that photo?” Chloe questions, and Emma shrugs in response.

“Like two years back maybe. They were campus sweethearts in their first year. Before she, you know, dropped out and became famous and all that stuff.”

“Why’s that important anyway?” You don’t want to sound jealous, because you’re not— you shouldn’t be. You have zero reasons to be jealous over a past relationship from a guy who doesn’t have to be anything more but your friend.

“Karina’s coming back to our faculty. Dance major, obviously. To finish her studies.”

“Wait. You’re telling me Karina is going to be breathing the same air as me? Walking the same paths as me? Living around the same campus as me?” Chloe freaks out, while you lef out a breathy, amused laugh. “And she’s Choi Yeonjun’s ex. That is insane news.”

“For you, maybe.” You shake your head, feigning ignorance rather than acknowledging the fact that once Karina is back on campus, Yeonjun’s attention will probably divert back to her.

And the idea of it totally doesn’t upset you.

Chloe and Emma both look at you with raised brows, eyes piercing through you as they try to read your body language and grasp at all the words that are left unsaid.

“How do you know Choi Yeonjun?” Emma asks after a minute of awkward silence, finally coming to her own conclusion.

“He attends Professor Lee’s classes,” you don’t lie. “We have a few group projects together.”

“And you haven’t said a thing?” Chloe sounds appalled, expression bemused.

“It’s not that important.” You try to brush it off, but the girls are already on you, grabbing your phone off the table.

Not only does it show a long thread of messages from Yeonjun, however, it also contains Beomgyu’s rant about baroque music, Soobin’s invitation to have fried chicken near your apartments, and Kai’s list of things the two of you have to work on before the spring festival.

Their mouths drop to the ground in disbelief as they look through them, eyes glued to the profile pictures of each boy.

“Holy shit.”

“There’s no way.”

“Our child is actually growing up.” Chloe feigns a tear, glancing at you. “I was scared you were letting your ex ruin every possible relationship you could have in the future.”

“Those are my friends,” you say, crossing your arms.

“Not when they’re this hot.” Emma shakes her head. Knowing your passcode and having full access to your phone, she opens Soobin’s contact first, his picture taking over the whole display.

“Oh, this is insane.” Chloe and Emma join their heads together as they scroll through your private messages, but you let them. Perhaps you should’ve updated them at least a tiny bit about what’s been going on in your life.

Someone clears their throat near you.

“Hope I’m not interrupting anything important.” The voice makes your eyes widen, head snapping in the direction of Kang Taehyun. You were beginning to think you might never see him again.

Chloe and Emma ignore him, too absorbed in your phone to pay attention. You leave them be, and smile at Taehyun instead, shaking your head.

“Not at all. I—”

“You never got the chance to give me your number,” Taehyun says, hiding his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “And my offer for the coffee still stands.”

“Really?”

“Really.” He nods, the corner of his lips lifting in a smile. You watch him take his phone out, offering it to you, so you can put your number in.

When you give his phone back, you watch him type in a name for you, and you’re certain it was not your name he wrote in there. “I will text you to figure out when we both have time, then.”

“Okay.” You nod, and Taehyun grins. Departing before your two friends can even notice that he was ever there.

Or, before he texts your phone number, reverting their attention back to you.

“Who is this guy asking you to save his number?” They question, opening up Taehyun’s profile. “He’s—”

“Good-looking?” you ask, well aware of the fact. Obviously, you’re not blind, so you know that each of the boys you have come across these past few weeks are incredibly attractive. But…

There is a line you shouldn’t cross with either of them.

Yeonjun scheduled the hangout with his friends for Friday. Which you were not opposed to. You didn’t have any plans, and all you really cared about these past few days was the song you and Kai have been trying to finish for the spring festival, so he can focus on starting his band.

“I think if we layer our voices a bit more, it will come out great,” you point out, playing through the current demo.

“Okay. We can do that.”

Kai leans over your shoulder to stare at the screen of your laptop, his breath tingling the back of your neck. You do your best to ignore the way your heart speeds up in his vicinity, and the way he places his arm on the desk, caging you in from one side.

“I think we should also remove some of the riffs. It makes the song sound too heavy for something spring-themed,” he adds, biting the inside of his cheek in thought. “It’s about love that blooms slowly over time, not a fast-paced summer fling.”

Humming, you nod. “I guess you’re right.”

“I think we could finish this by Friday, and then we can start working on recruiting band members.”

“That sounds great, but I’m only free until four on Friday.”

“Me too, actually. To support a friend. Apparently, I gotta meet and I quote: the love of his life. Said he needs it to be casual or something.”

“Probably doesn’t want to come off too strong on the love of his life.” You imitate Kai’s voice as you say the last part, and the boy chuckles, nodding.

“I’ll be honest, though, I’ve never seen him be this excited about a person. Not since his last breakup, at least,” Kai shares, smiling to himself. There is a glint of happiness for his friend in his eye as he looks at you.

Forgetting how close he is to you, you make the mistake of turning your head in his direction, meeting his gaze from barely a few centimeters. His eyes briefly flicker to your lips, but it happens in a matter of seconds that make you wonder if you haven’t made it up.

“What about you?” you ask, your attention back on the screen of your laptop.

“What do you mean?” Kai tilts his head, brows furrowed.

“Don’t you have any exes you’re trying to get over?” you question a bit too eagerly, but Kai doesn’t seem to notice. Instead, he chuckles dismissively and shakes his head.

“God, no,” he replies. “I’ve never dated anyone before. And I think it’s for the better.”

“Really? You never liked someone?” You fight the urge to look Kai in the eye because he has yet to move back, and you cannot handle staring down at him from such a close distance again.

“I mean… it’s not that I didn’t want to. I guess it just never felt right, you know?” Kai shrugs, finally stepping back from you, giving you the space to properly breathe. “I’ve had people confess to me before, but I’m not exactly someone who’d go for it just because someone showed interest. I can’t do it if my heart isn’t in it.”

Biting the inside of your cheek, you keep quiet. He isn’t wrong. You completely understand his point because that is exactly what you think as well. Though it doesn’t change the fact that you didn’t have this mindset before, and swore off dating because of it, too. Why are you still getting affected by something an asshole had done ages ago?

You should’ve been able to move on by now. But it’s so hard to trust people.

“Are you okay?” Kai asks after a minute of silence.

“What?” You blink. “Oh, yes, I’m fine. I was just… thinking, I guess. Sorry.”

“Thinking about what?” Kai laughs softly, an unidentifiable emotion flashing in his eyes.

“Just… that you’re not wrong.” You press your lips together, running a hand through your hair. “Dating someone you don’t actually like is not a good idea.” You should never have given in to your ex-boyfriend just because he was persistently chasing you.

“So I’m guessing you are dealing with an ex,” Kai says, his tone reassuring. “That bad, huh?”

“If pretending to like me for months just to get to fuck me is bad then yes, you could say that.”

“What.” Kai’s eyes widened, disgusted shock contorting his features. “Did—”

“No, actually. That’s the funny part, I guess,” you reply, a self-deprecating laugh escaping your lips. “I shouldn’t be so hung up on a guy I wasn’t even that interested in, right? Like, I was just entertaining him because he said he liked me.”

“Man, that’s insane.” Kai sighs in disbelief, running a hand through his hair before you feel both his hands on your shoulders, squeezing reassuringly. “That can totally mess with your trust.”

A smile forms on your lips. The way Kai understands spreads warmth through your chest, and you lean back, more into his touch — into him.

“If I’d known you earlier, I would totally teach that guy a lesson,” he says under his breath, and you giggle quietly, your hand reaching up to rest on the top of his on one of your shoulders.

“Thanks,” you say softly. “But I may have roughed him up a bit myself when I found out…” you admit, averting your gaze to the ground.

“Good!” Kai exclaims, another low chuckle leaving his lips. “Wait… you’re the ex who broke some music major’s ribs!” The realization comes to him slowly, eyes crinkling with sheer amusement at the thought. “I always knew there was a story behind it.”

“Yeah…” You nod, biting your lip. “That is me, I guess. The crazy ex. Yay.”

“I don’t think you’re crazy,” Kai says, his hands still a heavy weight on your shoulders. “I never thought you were crazy since I first heard about it, anyway. And now I think you just had a reasonable reaction to finding out that someone you chose to trust betrayed it…”

[14:24] KARA lunatic: MAN [14:24] KARA lunatic: this is so messed up [14:24] you: what is? [14:25] KARA lunatic: t1’s playing against g2 today and i can’t watch [14:25] KARA lunatic: this is HELLL [14:25] KARA lunatic: what sins am i being punished for [14:26] you: why can’t you watch? [14:28] KARA lunatic: i’m being forced into society tonight [14:28] KARA lunatic: pray for me [14:30] you: you’re so dramatic

The finished song sounds better than you expected. It’s calm, yet energetic, capturing the beginning of a slow, yet powerful love story. In a way, it is exactly the type of song you would associate with Kai, so it only makes sense that he was the one helping you make it.

“What time is it?” he asks when you finally click the send button, sharing the song file with your professor.

Checking the clock, it seems to be about time to start packing up for your meet with Yeonjun. “We’ll have to go, I think,” you say, pursing your lips.

“I thought so. Where are you heading? Maybe I can walk you before I have to make an appearance with my friends,” Kai suggests, crossing the music room to grab his denim jacket.

“The Chinese restaurant near campus. Not that far away, so I’ll be fine.” You wave your hand dismissively, but Kai stops mid-putting-on his jacket, tilting his head to the side.

“I’m actually also heading there, though.”

“Oh.”

“Oh.” Kai smiles, shrugging on the jacket. “So I get to walk you regardless.”

“I suppose that’s how fate wants it.” You chuckle, throwing your laptop inside your shoulder bag.

“Is your friend the punctual kind?” you ask in front of the restaurant.

Kai shrugs in response. “Not usually. But I think he might be for this one.” Rubbing the back of his neck, he’s not entirely sure if he likes the idea of you meeting up with another guy — someone he doesn’t know. But at least he’ll be in the same restaurant.

“Alright then.”

Nodding, you walk inside the restaurant together. Choi Yeonjun sits inside a booth with two other guys, their backs facing you. Spotting him inside the packed restaurant is far too easy, and you hate the way your heart skips a beat when you see him laugh at something his friend has said.

“Oh, I see my friend,” Kai says, just as Yeonjun stands up because he noticed you. “Yeon–”

“Y/N!” Yeonjun exclaims giddily, waving you over. Though his excitement quickly turns into confusion once he notices Kai standing next to you, his brows furrowing.

You glance at Kai. “Don’t tell me—”

“Yeonjun is the guy you’re meeting?”

“Yeonjun is the guy who said I’m the love of his life?”

Kai faces you, nodding slowly. But when you look back at Yeonjun, it only gets worse. His two friends have stood up, too, and when they turn, you recognize both of them, too.

Choi Beomgyu.

Kang Taehyun.

And then someone rushes inside the restaurant, nearly body-slamming into you because he’s busy staring at his phone.

“Soobin?” Your lips part as you gape at the tall guy.

“Y/N?” He looks at you. Then his eyes fly over to the boy standing next to you. “Kai?”

“You know each other?” Both boys question with their eyes wide while they stare between you and the other.

“Holy shit,” you murmur.

tags: @moonpri @addictedtohobi @dainsleif-when-playable @cloverwalker @ttaesoob @ivvees-blog @semi-wife @starrias @yunjica @lun4mizuka

feel free to ask to be tagged!

#txt x reader #txt fic #txt angst #txt fluff #yeonjun x reader #soobin x reader #beomgyu x reader #taehyun x reader #huening kai x reader

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miriunknown · 3 months ago

Text

Our Love story could be kinda Gory 🧠 [pt. 1]

Zombie!Jinx x F!reader

Summary: an outbreak of a virus flooded the streets of Zaun, Piltover following soon after. You were one of the few people that still lived, while searching for food you catch the eye of certain blue haired zombie.

Warnings: Mentions of blood, Zombies, this is gonna have multiple parts, jinx, proofread but I probably missed some things, very obvious references,

Divider credits: @bernardsbendystraws

Pt. 2

It happened so suddenly— it began in Zaun, people attacking each other in the streets. Seemingly agitated at anything that moved or made noise, it started by one person then soon most of Zaun was infected and Piltover quickly followed suit. No one knew why and no one knew who caused it, it spread quickly one bite is all it took, one small bite barely breaking the skin and it was over. The infection would spread through your body quickly, turning you within a day, morphing you into a mindless zombie muttering bouts of gibberish and broken english. After the initial shockwave of zombies, it died down, zombies were less frequent. But that didn't make it any less dangerous.

Most of Zaun was infected as was Piltover, survivors were scarce if there were really any at all. You were one of the few "lucky" ones that actually survived this, you didn't know of any survivors nor did you care if there were— you only wanted to survive. Food was very scarce and hard to come by, most food was rotten and the ones that weren't tasted like dish water. The streets were quiet, unusually so but it brought you an advantage if anything so you quietly maneuvered the bare streets. You found yourself infront of a old food stall, the sign was worn and torn and you couldn't make out the name, looking around you made your way around the counter you began rummaging through the stall quietly turning over pots, bowls and old containers but there was nothing.

You groaned lowly before turning around walking back out of the stall, your feet dragging against the ground caught the attention of something — someone. it was still quiet, you didn't think of anything though you still made sure to be alert. You thought you were safe, little did you know someone was watching you right at this very moment— her pink eye trained on you as you maneuvered through the piles of trash and metal that littered the street. Her blue matted braids swaying lightly as she moved to follow you closely, her sight was trained on you she felt drawn to you; for whatever reason it might be.

Her footsteps were quiet as she followed you silently, if you would've known she was there you would've been disturbed. She didn't make a noise, no babbling like most zombies or loud footsteps from dragging her feet, no she was quiet. Her feet were light as she stepped, her mouth practically glued shut making sure no grunts or groans escaped her dead lips. The only sound she made was the light jingle and thud from her shoes. You felt eyes on you as you made your way through the city, your head was on a constant swivel trying to catch the person or thing that was watching you but to no avail, she was hidden.

As you turned a corner a zombie jumped out at you, "mus... ust... Ea...ughhh.." it groaned as you jumped back catching you off guard. You went to reached for your gun but before you could a shot rang out, the zombies brains scattered against the wall. You stepped back, you half expected to see another survivor but no, it was another Zombie. She stood there her arm extended holding her gun still pointed at the zombie, but her eye was trained at you. You knew who she was; everyone did. She was Silco's daughter, Zauns savior— or she was. Her hair was still in twin braids yet they were matted and pieces of flesh and blood stained them in certain places. She was missing a eye, as well as her middle finger.

You just stood there staring at her, you were dumbfounded, unsure of what just happened. You shook your was forcing yourself to snap out of it you, grabbed your gun pointing it at her she didn't move even with the barrel of your gun pointed at her forehead. She simply lowered her gun still keeping her eye on you, you were about to pull the trigger but there was something about the way she looked at you. There was a sort of passion burning in her eye, as she stared at you, you dropped your guard lowering your gun— you decided to let her keep her head, she didn't seem hostile— if she was she would've most definitely attacked you by now. You turned to walk away, She quickly followed behind you, 'why is she following me?' you thought as you continued to make your way back to your apartment, with her in tow.

She didn't make a sound, she just kept her eye on you as she followed you closely, no noises escaped her lips as she followed adding to your unnerved feeling. The only sound you heard from her was the sound of her shoe hitting the ground as well as the slight jingle. You moved through the alleyways swiftly in an attempt to lose her, but she was hot on your trail. She was oddly fast for a Zombie, most of them were slow limping usually and crawling on occasion, but she seemed abnormally fast. Everytime you'd turn around to see if you've lost her she'd be only a few steps behind. It was unsettling. She didn't do anything, she made no sounds, no trying to bite you, she just followed you intently. Her eye was watching your every movement, she didn't look away from you.

You made a sharp turn and started running, jumping over trash and rubble that were scattered about. You finally reached the small balcony outside of your apartment, you whipped your head around keeping an eye out before you hurriedly grabbed one of the ladders trying to quietly pull it down but you noticed something moving in the darkness, then you heard it. "Ma..ughh..ma...." Your blood ran cold as you tried to pull the ladder down quickly not caring how much noise you made anymore you just wanted to get out of there. A little girl appeared out of the darkness, she was in ragged clothes and her hair was matted and dirty from all the dirt and blood. She lunged at you making you step back and brace yourself, but someone grabbed her, it was Jinx. She grabbed her pulling her out of the alleyway and walking off. You were stunned unsure of what just happened; you stood there for a good few seconds before you snapped out of it giving the ladder a few good tugs and it finally fell down, the sound of metal clanking hitting the ground rang out throughout the alley way causing you to whip your head around to make sure it didn't attract anything.

You hoisted yourself up onto the small balcony, pulling the ladder up once you got good footing, you sighed from the stress rubbing your face with your hands of the thought that you could've been bitten— before she saved you. You opened the window to your apartment sighing as you stepped inside. It was dark, old food containers were struin about from nights of instant noodles for breakfast, lunch and dinner. You quickly closed the window drawing the curtains and setting your backpack on the floor as you flopped onto your bed, you could smell the faint scent of vanilla on your sheets from your body spray which seemed to lull you to sleep as you quickly drifted off, the tiredness of the day finally washing over you.

You woke up in the middle of the night, you looked at your clock; 2:45, it read you as you laid there wondering why you woke up but then you heard it— tapping at your window. *tap tap tap,* "he... Hel..ooo..." your heart nearly stopped beating realizing what was outside your window, you grabbed a bat that was leaning up against your wall as you approached the window. You carefully peaked through the curtain slightly, to see familiar matted blue hair. You sighed, *tap tap tap,* this time it was persistent, irritated even.

You didn't want to open the window, even if she didn't attack you before she could snap and attack now. The taps just got louder, eventually the taps turned into banging, which turned into her trying to pry your window open. You just gave up on trying to ignore her and approached the window flinging the curtains open giving her a tired glare, she just stared at you, but you swear you could see a smirk appear on her face. *Tap, tap* "ooohh....pe-..nnn..." She grunted behind the glass of the window that separated the two of you. You were tired, you just wanted sleep, yet this random zombie girl wouldn't leave you alone.

She just looked at you, a sweet look on her face— she looked innocent, you knew she wasn't. But that didn't mean you didn't give in and open your window for her. She smiled a crooked smile at you as she stalked her way inside your apartment, her head was practically spinning how quickly she was turning her head to look around at all your decorations and rations. "What do you want?" You asked her; forgetting she can't exactly tell you. She walked towards you, slowly to where she was only inches away from your face. The smell of rotting flesh and blood invaded your nostrils but you tried not to flinch at the smell, she stood there for a few minutes just observing your face, taking in any little detail from the smallest wrinkle to the large bags under your eyes from restless nights.

There it was— you noticed it again, that look in her eye she had when she looked at you. It was the same look you had noticed when you first locked eyes with her only a few hours prior. You couldn't make out what it was, hunger? Curiosity? Lust? You were unsure, she brought her hand to your face sweeping some hair out of your face as she admired you. Your breath hitched at her sudden movement, your body became tense as the anxiety of having a zombie a mere 5 inches from your face crashed down on you, and suddenly you felt that pit in your stomach the one that made you feel nervous beyond belief.

Her brows furrowed as she noticed how you tensed against her touch, stepping back she continued looking around your room. She was silent, the silence only made your anxiety worse you felt the pit in your stomach grow as you watched her walk around your room occasionally running her fingers along framed photos or posters you still had on your wall from before the outbreak.

She turned back to you just watching, "what's with you?" You muttered, she tilted her head at your question unsure of what you meant. She opened her mouth in an attempt to speak but only broken up words and grunts escaped, she covered her mouth with her hand brows furrowing as she became increasingly frustrated with how she's borderline mute at the moment. You thought of something, your legs moved from beneath you as you approached your nightstand reaching into one of the various drawers and pulling out a old notebook. The girl watched you; curiosity etched onto her face as she observed your moving figure. You looked around your room for a pen— a pencil, anything you could use to write.

Finally finding an old worn out pen you tested it on the paper, the ink spelling out a long line against the white paper. Your eyes found your way back to hers, she was sitting on a chair by your desk still watching you. You shrunk under her gaze but you approached her anyhow, "can you write? Write what you want to say?" You told her, holding the notebook and pen out for her to take, her eyes glanced at the items in your hands but quickly looked back at your face. She took them still maintaining eye contact with you as she turned to set the notebook on your desk.

She began writing quickly and messily, you let her write in peace while peaking out of your window to make sure no other zombies were out there, before closing the window— making sure to leave it unlocked in case your guest decided to get bitey. When you turned back to her she was already holding out the notebook to you, waiting expectingly for you to take it. You hesitantly reached for it, nervous that she was going to bite your hand off as you grabbed it; but she didn't she just lightly smiles at you as your eyes landed on the page. "Your interesting" was all that was written out besides a lopsided smiley face that was written beside the text. "I'm interesting? What the hell does that mean?" You asked completely puzzled at her written statement. She just shrugged getting up from the chair and opening up the window, she looked back at you as she swung her legs over the window sill, her eyes never leaving yours before winking- or maybe she just blinked it's hard to tell with her having one eye- and jumping out the window closing it behind her and walking off into the night, you were dumbfounded. Of all the things that could happen you never expected this,

A zombie that was obsessed with you.

I'll make sure to link the next part here so you can find it easier, it might take a while for me to write it though 😥

#MiriUnknownᯓ★#jinx x fem reader #Jinx x reader #zombie!jinx #zombie au #zombie #zombie!jinx x f!reader #jinx arcane #arcane #jinx

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writerbugg · 11 months ago

Text

Good Luck

Chapter # 6 Foggy Fears

Platonic Yandere Dc x reincarnated Reader

Wattpad

Prologue, Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6 (You are here)

I realized at that moment that there are some whose dread of human beings is so morbid they yearn to see monsters of ever more horrible shapes.

- Junji Ito

(Once again, this chapter was changed quite a bit.)

!!TW!! Death, Blood, Car accident, Sudden switch from first person to second person.

*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*

'Dinner was too quiet.' Louis thought as she picked up the plates from the table, slowly bringing them to the sink.

'How could I have missed it?' She thought as she began to scrub the plate in her hand. 'She's my daughter. How could I have not seen it?'

Her grip tightened on the plate, her acrylic nails painfully dug into the plate. 'Am I such a horrible mother that I couldn't even notice my daughter ███ █████ ██?'

Snap

Louis looks down at her broken nail, a stinging pain accompanying the sudden loss of her red nail.

"Mom?"

Louis jumps, quickly turning her head and letting out a sigh of relief when she sees Jon. Placing a hand on her chest, she gives Jon a shaky smile, "Oh, Jon, be careful you almost gave your mother a heart attack."

Jon simply nods, as if not hearing his mother, "Um, Conner is... here." He muttered.

Louis's smile drops briefly before returning with a strained one, "Oh? Really? Well invite him in, it's been forever since he's come to visit."

Giving his mother a concerned look, Jon makes his way back out of the kitchen.

Louis sighs as soon as Jon leaves, running a hand through her hair.

"It's all my fault," She whispered, "It's all my fault..."

──●◎●──

The movie had ended, though Y/n barely noticed. All she could think about was how... ѳЧҭ ѳf ҁћӓГӓҁҭЭГ Clark had acted during the car ride. This wasn't the calm, happy-go-lucky superhero Y/n grew up with in the comics, he seemed so different. More stressed and less stable the Clark Kent from the comics. It all led to one thought;

If he's like this, how would he react if he found out about her reincarnation?

'I just want to go home.' Y/n ran a hand through her hair, her thoughts made her feel guilty, was she being ungrateful? Was Y/n even really Y/n? What if she just took over this Y/n's body? Was it her fault Clark's 'daughter' was gone?

What if he found out-

"Y/n? Are you ok? The credits ended a while ago." Clark's hand on Y/n's shoulder felt like fire. "Let's get going, okay?" Clark said softly, dipping his head down to look into Y/n's eyes. "I'm sure Bruce (the prick) is anxious to have you back at the manor."

With a hesitant nod, Y/n stands up slowly. "Yeah... You're right, we should go." Clark smiles warmly, complete 180 from earlier. "Before that, I was hoping we could stop by the store on our way back." Clark rubs the back of his neck bashfully, "I might have promised your mother to get groceries while I was out, and the market is on the way to Bruces Mansion." His eyes seem to light up, "Oh! They might even have that snack you like so much! We can pick it up as well."

Y/n nods, "Yeah, I don't mind,"

Clark's smile widens, "Great! Let's get going then!"

Sighing, Y/n follows Clark to his car,

'DC has Walmarts?' Y/n thought as she followed Clark into the supermarket.

The Walmart looked normal for the most part, there didn't seem to be too many people (probably because it was relatively late and this was still Gotham). Clark grabs a cart before heading into the supermarket, Y/n following closely behind, immediately he heads over to the dairy section browsing the milk and cream aisle.

"What's your favorite creamer?"

Looking over to Clark, Y/n raises a bow "Hmm?" she hums confused. Clark smiles, "I figured I could get some while we're here for when you go back to Bruce."

An 'ooh' escapes Y/n's mouth before turning to get a better look at the creamers. In Y/n old life, she honestly preferred sweet things and would often put way too much creamer in her coffee, but as of late she's been enjoying less sweet things.

"Mmm, I think I'm good for now," Y/n responded, not missing the way Clark frowned.

"Oh."

Clark grabs a few things before leaving, and you awkwardly follow behind him.

The rest of the shopping trip continues like this, Y/n felt like tearing her hair out, it was just so awkward and uncomfortable. Eventually, the pair ended up in the electronic section of the store.

"- game you really like!" Clark's voice bleeds into existence, breaking Y/n's train of thought. Glancing over, Y/n sees Clark holding a bootleg version of Minecraft. "Y/n? Did you hear me?" Clark frowns a bit, his eye's losing that spark again. "Y/n. I know you have a lot on your mind, but you-"

"AAHHHHHHH!!!"

You and Clark jump at the sudden scream, Clark's eyes quickly scan the store for the source of the screaming.

"OH GOD-"

"GET AWAY FROM ME!"

"THEY'RE IN MY HEAD, MAKE THEM STOP!"

More and more screams start popping up, Clark quickly pulls you close to him and you can feel your heart pounding. What was going on??

"MY SKIN IS BURNING, I'M BURNING ALIVE!"

"I'M FALLING, I CAN'T STOP FALLING!"

"SPIDERS!"

A mist seems to slowly cover the ground, screams of desperation continue to fill the air, only growing more and more unsettling.

"Shit," Clark mutters, he grips your shoulders and swiftly turns you around to face him.

"Y/n. You need you listen to me." His voice was serious, "No matter what you see, it's not real. Do you understand? It's. Not. Real."

Y/n's eyes widen, Fear Gas, the mist was fear gas! This was bad! Very very bad! Unlike Clark, Y/n wasn't immune which meant Y/n was about to experience the full effect of the gas.

"Y/n! Y/n just remember! It's not real- it- ot- rea-"

The world seems to blur as a burning sensation enters Y/n's lungs.

You sigh tiredly as you walk along the worn-down sidewalk, comic book in hand. It had been a long day, and all you wanted to do was go home and rest. Stopping at the crosswalk, you take a few glances from side to side, you never know when a truck could just barrel through you because you didn't look.

You step onto the asphalt road.

Your heart was pounding for some strange reason, it suddenly became really hard to breathe. A loud honk rings in the air. Looking to your left, you see a dark blue truck heading towards you, its headlights illuminating a path where you were dead center.

The vehicle's driving was so erratic, you didn't know which way to run. Ultimately, whichever direction you chose didn't matter. The result would undoubtedly have been the same.

The impact was fast, you didn't feel anything at first.

It didn't last very long, though.

You lay on the asphalt road, gasping for air, trying to gain back all the air knocked out of you. That didn't do so well for your broken ribs, of course. The taste of blood indicates that some of your teeth might be missing, based on your guess.

You can't see much of your surroundings either. Aside from that dark blue truck's headlights blinding you, your vision was growing dark.

For a brief moment, you could see the man step out of his truck and go over to you. Then, everything in the world went dark.

"-waking up! She's waking up!" a boyish voice rings in Y/n's ear. A pounding headache seems to accompany her as she slowly sits up in her bed.

A few seconds after Clark enters her room. He looked around until he spotted the suitcase next to her closet, he went over and started to put her belongings in it.

"We are leaving." Clark states firmly, "And tomorrow you and I will be having a talk about what you saw." He seemed upset, extremely upset.

Clark... where are we going?" Y/n asked, though she already knew his answer.

"It's dad, not Clark, Y/n." That was all Clark said as he dragged you downstairs towards the manor's doors.

Bruce was standing by the door with a perplexed look on his face. He seemed stressed and a bit frustrated. Looking over, Bruce glared at Clark, quickly walking in front of him as if to intercept him, but Clark just pushed him aside.

"Clark put her down, we need to talk about this! Her condition could get worse!" Clark ignored him and walked out the door to his car, Bruce hot on his tail.

"I don't need a man who puts his children through hell and back to lecture me or tell me how to parent my kid Bruce." Clark and put you in the car with the suitcase. Then he got in himself and started the car.

"How about you start focusing on how not to kill your own kids before you start worrying about mine"

──●◎●──

Jon gasps. This... this couldn't be right. It was... no it was impossible! But... it was, it was here and it was possible. This changes everything...

──●◎●──

𝚆𝚎𝚕𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚝𝚘 𝚁𝚎𝙶𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚒𝚜 𝙴𝚡𝚙𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝙸𝚗𝚌. 𝚆𝚎 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚏𝚞𝚕 𝚝𝚘 𝚒𝚗𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚖 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚍.

𝚂𝙾𝙼𝙴 𝙾𝙽𝙴 𝙺𝙽𝙾𝚆𝚂!!!

█████ 𝙺𝙽𝙾𝚆𝚂!

*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*

TagList - @blublock404 @no-sleep-for-insomniacs @rosecentury

#batfam #platonic yandere #yandere batman #yandere bruce wayne #yandere clark kent #yandere damian wayne #yandere dc #yandere dick grayson #yandere jason todd #yandere justice league #yandere tim drake #jon kent #platonic yandere batfam

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zablife · 1 year ago

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Missing You

Benny Cross x gf reader

Summary: After a wreck puts you in the hospital, Benny takes off. Will he return or leave you with more than just a broken leg?

Warnings: hospital setting, injury, brief mention of motorcycle accident, fear of abandonment, angst with fluffy ending

A/N: My first fic for The Bikeriders, pls be kind! Comments are love so leave me some 💕 No spoilers here!

Divider credit @firefly-graphics

Benny Cross Masterlist

You turned in the narrow hospital bed, head throbbing from the pain and the bright overhead light in your eyes. "Benny," you mumbled, head fuzzy and mouth feeling as though it were stuffed with cotton.

"Isn't there anyone else we could call?" a tired voice asked from far away. "A relative? Parents?"

There was a shuffle and whispering that sounded like a passing cloud over your head. "No one...she doesn't speak to...don't make it worse, please. He'll be back."

You tried to sit up to see what was happening, but you felt a wave a nausea which stopped you suddenly. Screwing your eyes shut to will it away, the gentle rocking only continued, making you whimper.

"Shhh, lie back, honey," a warm voice instructed, pressing you down into the soft pillows. You felt the warmth of a hand encasing yours as reassuring words poured over you like honey. "They put you under to fix that busted leg, but you're gonna be fine now. Just need a little rest, that's all."

You blinked slowly and opened your eyes once more, fixing your gaze on Johnny's wife, Betty. She gave you a small smile and you felt yourself relax at the sight of her kind eyes. Much like Johnny had for Benny, she had become a role model for you, teaching you how to make a life with the Vandals. Now she was more of a mother to you than your flesh and blood.

"Wh-where's Benny?" you asked, a bit more coherently than you'd managed before.

Betty busied herself pouring some water into a cup for you and your heart began to race, wondering if she was stalling. The memories were coming back to you in full force now, Benny carrying you into the hospital after the crash, yelling at the nurses and doctors. Had he abandoned you then because of the trouble or later when he learned of the care you'd require? You felt hot tears welling in your lash line as you realized this might be the end.

As she turned back to you with the cup, Betty's face fell. Sighing gently, she confirmed your worst fears. "He's not coming back tonight, Y/n."

You couldn't stop the sobs that wracked your body, shoulders shaking and chest heaving with the weight of her words. She allowed you a moment of despair, a hand stroking down your back in soothing circles. When that didn't seem to comfort you, she asked, "Don't you remember the nurses asking Benny to leave?"

Stifling a cry, you sniffed, "No, what are you talking about?"

"I thought you knew."

"Benny stayed?"

"Sure he did, paced all night. Got himself so worked up, he punched a hole in the wall over there! They told him he had to show himself the door or the cops would," Betty explained, the rush of words leaving her mouth so quickly you barely comprehended it all.

You inhaled a deep breath, feeling lightheaded from the relief. "He still wants me?" you mumbled to yourself. There had always been a deep fear coursing through you that someday Benny would take off and never come back. You'd been warned many times he was a man who liked his freedom.

"He still what?" Betty asked, looking at you in confusion. "Sweetie it's none of my business, but I think you should try to sleep now."

Nodding in agreement, you sunk beneath the hospital blankets, exhaustion quickly overtaking your tired mind.

When your eyes reopened, sunlight was pouring through the blinds. A lazy smile spread across your face as you realized your head was no longer pounding with the incessant pain from yesterday. Though your leg now ached in its place and an irritating itch inside your cast was nagging you, somehow you had a good feeling about the day ahead. Stretching your arms above your head, you startled at the sound of a familiar, deep voice.

"Hi baby."

Your heart caught in your chest, too afraid to look if it was actually him.

"Ain't you gonna say hello?" Benny asked, his handsome face hovering over you like a blue eyed angel.

"Oh, Benny," you whimpered, eyes filling with tears.

"Hey, hey...don't cry," he urged, sweeping your hair away for a cautious kiss. You strained to meet the soft press of his full lips against yours, leaning into the gentle touch of his fingertips lacing through your hair. He kept his weight from you, careful not to worsen the bruising he knew you'd sustained to your ribs.

As his beard brushed your cheek, the gravel in his voice rumbled into your chest along with the words you'd longed to hear, "I missed my girl."

"I missed you. What the hell happened?"

Benny chuckled, his teeth shining in that mischievous grin he wore when he knew he'd been caught. His gaze turned toward the crumbling plaster he'd left in the wake of his anger, straightening his denim jacket as he confessed, "Mighta made some trouble."

"I heard," you said, crossing your arms over your chest. "Betty told me, but she didn't say why," you prodded with a raised eyebrow.

Benny pulled up a chair, taking your hand between his large calloused palms. "Listen, I want you to know somethin."

You furrowed your brow uncertain where he was headed.

He rubbed his thumb over the back of your hand as he spoke, his speech slow and tender as you'd never heard him before. A man of few words you weren't prepared for what came next. "I know you don't have kin...kin that claim you anyway." You stared down at his rings, watching them glimmer in the light as he chewed his lip in concentration, choosing his next words carefully. "We been riding together a couple of years now and you gotta know by now that I'll never leave you behind."

Swallowing a lump in your throat, you realized how wrong you'd been, misjudging your boyfriend in a moment of fear. The reputation Benny had as a loner who only looked out for himself simply wasn't true. The love you felt for each other was real, he was telling you so right now. The thought stirred butterflies in your stomach the likes of which you hadn't felt since you met.

Reaching for his face, you cupped his blonde scruff as you proclaimed, "I want to be with you too."

His eyes fell to the floor, thick lashes downcast as he was overcome by a sudden rush of shyness. Perhaps he'd already said too much, revealed a part of himself he kept hidden for fear of exposing weakness. However, you were reveling in it, especially when he raised his head to add another word of praise just for you.

"I was proud of you when we went down. Took it like a champ, you know?"

It was your turn to look away, blush creeping up your neck as you shook your head in vehement denial.

"No, I mean it. The first thing you asked when they got you in here was when you was gonna ride again!" he chuckled at the memory.

"What?" you asked incredulously.

"Yeah, the nurses all thought you were crazy. Said so too," he recalled, bitterness rolling off his tongue. He sighed heavily as he admitted, "That's why I punched the wall."

Staring up at the ceiling, you finally connected all the pieces and let out a little huff. It was soon followed by a snort, then a rolling wave of laughter as you were unable to contain your amusement at your boyfriend's classic impulsiveness. All the hurt and pain melted away as you realized it had all been a wayward attempt to defend you.

"M glad you think it's funny I almost got arrested," he protested.

"And I got a broken leg, Benny!" you countered sternly.

"You win," he conceded with a grin.

Looking down at the cast you turned sullen. "Can't ride with you now."

"Says who?" he asked, drawing close to you. His bright eyes danced with spirited challenge, daring you to defy him.

"I just thought..." you stumbled, feeling all willpower leave your body. When Benny asked something of you, the only answer was yes.

"You go where I go. We make trouble together, remember?" he said, sliding an arm over your waist and pulling you into him for another slow, sensual kiss.

"Sure do, don't we?" you agreed, moving in unison with him. Clutching onto his jacket you asked, "We going home now? I'm done missing you."

#the bikeriders #Austin Butler #the bikeriders fanfiction #the bikeriders imagine #Benny Cross x reader #Benny Cross x you #Benny Cross x y/n #Benny Cross fan fiction #Benny Cross imagine

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drarryspecificrecs · 11 days ago

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2025.06 ~ Top 18 longest fics posted on AO3

1. The Azkaban Letters by @romaine2424 [E, 357k]

Harry and Draco’s lives are headed in two different directions. One is destined for death or glory, while the other is going to Azkaban. Harry needs answers, and he goes to visit his Slytherin nemesis while being held for trial. The meetings in a barren, white cell changes Harry’s life. He learns the beginnings of his rich family history that had been denied him. And that there's much more to fight for than just ridding the world of Voldemort.

2. broken merry go round by cordelai [T, 235k]

When Harry is 10, Death visits, leaving behind memories of what things would've been like without intervention. What will change with this new knowledge? Everything.

3. The Shape of What's Missing by @fergordie [M, 223k]

The summer after losing Sirius, Harry is lonelier than ever. In a moment of impulsivity, he learns things about himself that he isn’t sure how to handle. Back at Hogwarts, Harry has to deal with a new school year–a new potions professor, Occlumency lessons, trying to keep up with friends who seem to forget about him, and, as always, Draco Malfoy. But beneath it all, there’s something else. The feeling that there's something deeply wrong with him. As war looms closer, Harry has to learn what to hold onto and what to let go.

4. Harry Potter and the Masked Murderer by @wayofthemagicbean [M, 201k]

Harry Potter and the Golden Trio find themselves once again at Hogwarts, this time as eighth year students. Harry sneaks around the castle, gets himself and others caught up in dark magic, becomes an animagus, and once again finds himself in the center of another dark wizard's attention - someone who is perhaps more deadly and terrifying than even Lord Voldemort.

5. The Form We Take by UnfortunatelyNonFiction [?, 149k]

In the wake of Voldemort’s defeat, as the lines between justice and vengeance begin to blur across the magical community, Draco returns for his eighth and final year at Hogwarts under the terms and conditions of his probation. With nothing left but determination and a sneer, Draco resolves to pass his NEWTs and make a future for himself that he’ll never be ashamed of. Then students start taking their own revenge, the Weasel is set to go off at any moment, and an angry, haunted Potter begins stalking him again. In all of the madness of nightmares and dueling rooms, auras and side effects, Patronus charms and starry lights, Draco finally learns that the only thing more difficult than facing who you’ve become, is becoming who you are.

6. In Your Dreams by JStevens [M, 139k]

Harry had only returned to Hogwarts for Eighth Year because he was no longer sure he wanted to spend his entire life fighting bad guys—or at least not without a little breather since the last time he’d marched off to his own death to save the world. [...] He had NOT come back to be stuck with Draco Malfoy for another year. So how the hell had he ended up sharing dreams with the bastard every night?

7. Fragile Contents by Velvet_Riptide [T, 136k]

Harry is at his wit's end, trying to find a therapist that suits him. With some help from Minerva, he settles on the unassuming, hard-hitting Dr. Ashford--the same therapist, interestingly enough, Draco Malfoy visits. Brought together once more, Harry finds an unlikely companion in Draco, in between sessions. Draco, whose glare has softened. Draco, who no longer relies on his name to get by. Draco, who might know Harry's struggles a little better than Harry gives him credit for.

8. Wix Ever After by Year_ofthe_Rabbit [?, 134k]

The newly launched MAGE TV, the wizarding world's first broadcast network, has the chance to cement themselves as the future of Wizard entertainment. The one and only Harry Potter, seven time Witch Weekly most eligible bachelor, will star in their hit new show Wix Ever After, where fifteen eligible Wix will compete for the chance of marriage with the Boy (now hot, hunky man) who lived. [...]

9. Warlock's Heart by @madriddler [M, 123k]

Wanting a better life and to keep their remaining family safe, James and Regulus Potter decided to leave the Order of the Phoenix and escape the war by moving to America. Everything was going for the Potters until the Ministry found them, they were dragged back to England, and Harry was forced to go to Hogwarts. Housed in Slytherin, Harry now faces a new school with new problems and new boys. Especially Draco Malfoy. Hier to the Malfoy Family, and a snobbish prick who is unfairly devilishly handsome. How will Harry survive such challenges? And why is the Boy Who Lived so interested in him?

10. Just scratching an itch by VanessaCG [E, 118k]

After leaving his job as an Auror after twelve years, Harry finds himself presented with an opportunity he had never considered. When McGonagall offers him the post of Defence Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts, it seems like a crazy proposition at first. But sometimes life throws a few curveballs, and the thought of coming home to Hogwarts is unexpectedly tempting. Still, adjusting to life as a professor would have been a lot easier if his former nemesis Draco Malfoy wasn't on the staff. [...]

11. Nine Lives by @xx-thedarklord-xx [E, 113k]

The first time Draco’s life was saved he didn’t think anything of it—miracles happen. Only, it kept happening. Over and over his life was spared by the same person, and Death wasn’t happy about it. Will he be saved once again when Death finally comes to collect? Or will his nine lives have run out?

12. Draco Malfoy and the Second Chance by dreamofroses [E, 97k]

When Draco and Harry are hit by a spell that sends them back ten years to Harry's eleventh birthday, they try desperately to get home before they damage the timeline too much. As it becomes apparent, however, that there is no way home, they must decide how they will spend the years they must relive. The more they change, the less they'll be able to predict. Lives are on the line, as is the fate of the Wizarding world.

13. Albus Potter and the Summer at Malfoy Manor by @cak3fictions [E, 95k]

Albus Severus Potter's life was changed by three letters all written by his dad. The first was about his parents' divorce. The second came telling about his dad's new marriage. And even then, the third was the bomb which brought the fact that he was going to spend his summer holiday with Dad and Dad's new husband at the Malfoy Manor. Albus already had a complicated relationship with Harry, and this new family dynamic just made everything all the more complicated.

14. I Feel Better by @jungatheart [E, 88k]

Draco Malfoy is not losing his mind, thank you very much. He’s just... hearing voices.

15. Take My Shame to The Grave by queerbonafide [E, 65k]

Muggles suddenly start tattooing the Dark Mark on their forearms. Harry Potter discovers that his ex-nemesis - Draco Malfoy, after disappearing from the wizarding world, is pursuing a career as a singer. When Malfoy unexpectedly asks him to join him on his European tour, Harry knows the decision will affect the rest of his life.

16. This Ache in My Bones by Gently_into_that_Good_Night [E, 60k]

Fleeing the aftermath of the Second Wizarding War, Draco Malfoy finds himself hiding out in 12 Grimmauld Place, a Black family ancestral home. However, the house no longer belongs to the Black family, and only a few days into his exile, Draco finds himself with an unwelcome roommate. For what it's worth, Draco is also unwelcome, and Harry has half a mind to throw him out when he finds him camping out in his godfather's home. [...]

17. Switching Alliance by @hufflepuffromantic & Jess_eklom [T, 44k]

During the war, whilst on the run, Harry, Ron and Hermione get captured by snatchers and brought to Malfoy Manor. From there things go a little differently. Ron and Hermione escape and Harry is left behind. He manages to escape too but when he does he's not as alone as he thinks… Harry ends up with a rather surprising companion who he very quickly has to learn to trust. Will they manage to work together to end the war?

18. The Shadow Child by Polly_Flint [T, 42k]

Everything changes that day, this child shows up at the Ministry of Magic and asks for help. A child claiming his father is Draco Malfoy. Draco Malfoy, who disappeared without a trace more than six years ago. A case that the Auror Harry Potter has never been able to solve. But the more Harry tries to find out, the more he gets caught up in a web of lies and unspoken secrets. Who is Scorpius Malfoy? And what will happen to Harry's life when the truth is revealed?

—

※ Word count: 1k ~ 15k

※ Word count: 15k ~ 40k

Cherries by the Sea by aberthknox [?, 20k]

Cherry by @itsphantasmagoria [E, 33k]

Dumb Luck by @amandarin-orange721 [E, 17k]

The Finlays Portrait by Zellgalette [M, 19k]

Harry Frankenstein by raspberrybalm [E, 36k]

I'm in a Better Place, Except for a Thousand Mistakes by @elusiveclownbox [E, 37k]

This Unholy Notion by togepip [E, 28k]

XXIX by @toomuchplor [E, 19k]

—

Ongoing Fest/Exchange

※ Fics would be listed elsewhere.

We Heart Draco Fest 2025 | @weheartdracofest

DCC Mini Birthday Bang

Eternal Kinkfest! (1)

HP Daddy Knows Best 2025 | @hpdaddyknowsbest (1)

Just Unrequited Exchange 2025 (1)

Wizarding World Writers Side Quest: Draco Malfoy’s Birthday Bash (1)

#drarry #drarry fanfic #drarry fic rec #harry potter #draco malfoy #monthly review #2025

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fallen-gravity · 7 months ago

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some thoughts on the moana 2 novelization, as threatened promised <3 under a readmore for spoilers and also because I don't trust myself to keep it short

(friendly reminder that I do not ship Maui and Moana! you can rb, but don't be weird about it)

Genuinely right off the bat I can't get over how loving Moana is described to be? She just loves others so much. She always describes Pua and HeiHei as her friends rather than her pets because of how much she cares about them!! it's so stupid cute that not only does she refer to Pua as her "loyal, adorable friend", but it's also implied that she handmade the little satchel he likes to ride in just for him. It eats me up inside!! She cares so much!!

The center island she's looking for is spelled as Motufetū!! I always love getting confirmation for these things, it makes things so much easier as a fic writer.

One of the souveniers she takes back with her alongside the broken pottery is a "massive clam". hello???? foreshadowing??? did everyone know about the giant clam guardian??

"For a man who had once forbidden her from going beyond the reef, he now spent quite a lot of time beyond it himself." AUUWHAAHHH THAT LINE KILLED ME WE LOVE TO SEE GROWTH FROM TRAUMA

"He loved her enthusiasm, but she seemed overexcited, and she was still his daughter, and he wanted to take care of her" MOANA!!! IS!!! SO LOVED!!!!

Loto's tool is called an adze! also she's apparently only 17?? two years younger than Moana?? not at all what I would've pegged her as, honestly

The storytelling tapestries are called siapos!!! more terminology!!!

"Her eyes darted to the image of Maui carved into the wall. She hadn't seen him since her return to Motunui, and she missed him. Not that she would admit it out loud" STRANGLING YOU STRANGLING YOU STRANGLING YOU

"Humans, were in fact, why he was here now, in this unknown realm of the gods looking at the pinkish white ball in front of him. At least, he thought that might be why he's here. These missions to benefit humans didn't always come with clear instructions" immediately followed by thinking about the trip to Te Fiti with Moana. What a dumbass <3 "I'm doing it for them and I don't know why? totally unrelated note haha that trip to Te Fiti with Moana was fun :)"

Never saw any of that journey coming, never could brute force his way through it, worth every second. Only considers getting the hook back as an afterthougt, ougghhhhhhh

Homeboy sucks at pretending that he doesn't care about Moana. He's talking to Matangi for all of two seconds and he's all "I'm a changed person! For um. no particular reason! It was definitely because of the thousand year isolation and nothing else whatsoever!"

There's no finite explanation for why Maui's there, but he credits Moana for making him a better person for being the reason. Something about breaking the curse? It's never made clear, even in the book.

Mini Maui selling him out for bullshitting about hating Moana is even funnier in the book, like Maui goes "yeah lol that girl was just a tool I uused to get my hook back" and Mini Maui starts pounding on him. Homeboy Moana can't even hear you and you're still mad at Maui for bullshitting, it kills me. Maui tries shooting him down. "Mini Maui wasn't convinced" has me in stitches

Maui's internal dialogue shifting to "oh wait, yeah, I wanted to surprise her with a visit. Oops." while he's tied up also has me in stitches. ffs, maui, get your priorities straight

"He refused to let Moana be hurt or threatened" I am on the floor

Every time Tui calls Moana "my dear" it adds ten years to my lifespan

The siapo of Maui in the storytelling fale is so lifelike that "it's as if he were about to jump off the fabric at any moment and start teasing her." that's so stupid cute!!!! also so stupid sad that she probably talks to it a lot hoping that it'll work someday. ough.

"Maui was having a bad day. Actually, he was having a lot of bad days"." feels like it was pulled right from a fic I would've written in 2018, I'm screaming

"I don't need her to save me...again" swallowing the earth as we speak

Curly still being the default nickname is also taking me out I need to be given financial compensation asap

There's a parallel that got lost in translation from page to movie, there's the bit where Moana's like "I'm sure Maui's off doing important demigod stuff, wherever he is", but there's also a bit of internal monologue where Maui's like "I hope Moana's faring better than I am, wherever she is" I'm gonna conk their heads together y'all need to communicate

The book directly mentions Moana and her crew passing Te Fiti. Did I miss that from the movie? Did they show Te Fiti, or is this a book-exclusive detail?

Their little Kakamora buddy has a name!! Kotu we don't deserve you. Also he's the Chief Kakamora's son! I just thought he was second in command. That's a whole baby

Maui knows who Pua is, somehow! He sees Pua waddling around and his first thought is "okay, this is weird, why do these people have Moana's pig with them?". Doesn't even remotely click that she could be with them. He's actually about to leave until HeiHei shows face and boy is he absolutely mortified. It eats me up inside. Instant shift of "goodbyeeeeee random humans I don't liiiike!!!" to oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, where is she????

Incredibly suspicious that Moana is the human that has all the gods talking. Something too about Maui having to force himself not to care about her. Did someone do a little too much bragging about his favorite human?

"I thought you'd be...more." okay a) I def think Maui's been overhyping her and b) haha More callback we love to see it

Also, Matangi's just a demigoddess! Not a goddess at all. interesting, interesting, interesting

Moana also sucks at priorities, one single mention of Maui and she instantly shifts to oh, oh my god, is he here? is he nearby? where is he?

Moana recognizes the Portal of the Gods as similar to the entrance to Lalotai...does that mean Lalotai is connected to the Realm of the Gods, in some way? are they the same place under a different name? also all :') that the dance she does to open the portal is specifically meant to be a copy of the haka that Maui did in the first movie.

You know, I think you need her just as much as she needs you. WHAT DOES IT MEAAAN? WHAT DOES IT MEAN? WHAT DOES IT MEAN??? WHERE DID THAT COME FROM???? YOU NEED EACH OTHER??? WHY DO THE GODS KNOW?? WHY DO THE GODS KNOW????

The first thing Moana does when she's back on her canoe is look for Maui because she thinks he's gone 🥹 wants to go back and look for him until she realizes he's the reason she's dangling in the air. Did he stop her from falling off the canoe? ough, I'm deceased

I can't get over Moana assuming he just wants to catch up, they are both such chronic babblers.

"His expression was both happy and annoyed." I'm losing my shit.

"But yeah, it is good to see you again" 🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹.

"The fire in the sky lead us to you" can we stop with the written in the stars stuff. can we stop. my poor heart can't take it. platonic soulmates fr. "maybe we're supposed to do this together." THE GODS KNOW!!!! THEY KNOW!!!

"Maui bit back a smile." kill me. kill me. i'm dead on the spot. kill me.

Ohhhhh, I always love seeing what they do in place of the songs and the replacement for "Can I Get a Chee-Hoo?" kills me most of all, I think. Maui still goes to sit with her, but when Moana starts talking about all the people she's gonna let down, he comes to a screeching halt when she mentions Simea.

"If anyone should be upset, it should be me. Since when do you have a sister?"

"You would've met her, if you ever came to visit me." OUCH! OUCH! OUCH!!! She's trying to tease him but there's a tinge of hurt in her voice, like she feels like he doesn't care enough about her to take the time for her!! You need her as much as she needs you!!!!!

"Three years is a blip to me, princess," says the liar who thought about her on a near-daily basis!!!!

"Empathy wasn't Maui's strong suit. But he seemed to be trying- for her. and that dulled the pain a little" i am in my grave. i am in my grave.

"Why are you even here?" -> "Because...because I've been low before, and I couldn't see my path. And someone came along who I underestimated and she lifted me up. Someone I don't want to underestimate herself right now." THROWING UP!!!!!

"Wow, you're the worst at this." -> "Maui pretended to look offended" conking their heads together as we speak they are so SWEET!!!!!

Maui giving her all the credit for being the one to defeat Nalo!!! not himself!!!! her!!!!!!!

"Maui said he was better for knowing her. That had to count for something" 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

It still destroys me that Maui's entire priority is keeping Moana safe!!! He's not just diving in to fight, he keeps going back to make sure they're all safe!!! that's all that matters to him!!!

God their little exchanges are so stupid they're killing me. "Nalo doesn't care about you!" "Yes he does! I'm Maui!!" "THAT'S NOT WHAT I MEANT!!!" dumbasses <3

oooh he really doesn't want to separate, his eyes keep going back and forth between Moana and the monster storm :')

Okay. okay. okay. listen. there's a lot more to Maui's goodbye in the book than in the movie. In the book it's an apology. It's a rushed explanation on why he hadn't gone back to visit her prior. He lied about not having the time for her. All his time has been about and for her.

The reason I didn't visit...was 'cause you made me want to be better. You deserve the whole ocean...I wanted you to have it. Watch yourself out there. I could pull up millions of islands, but if you're not there to land on them, what's the point?

FOR!!!! HER!!!!! EVERYTHING!!!! IS!!!!! FOR!!!!! HER!!!!!

He hated leaving Moana and her crew behind,

He trusted her.

God, coud you imagine? First movie Maui, getting his hook destroyed? Those three words hold more power than anything. He trusted her. If anyone can do this it's her. He trusts her. He trusts her.

His thoughts kept drifting back to Moana. Nothing else matters!!! He could be all full of himself and think about how heroic he's being for The Humans (other) and all he's thinking about is his Favorite Human.

The thought of failing her pushed on him as the weight of the water grew heavy.

WHO WROTE THIS!!!! WHO READ OUR FANFICS!!!!! WHO KNEW!!!!!

His tattoos glowing with the power of the gods the first time he tries lifting Motufetū.....were there other gods that were helping him? are there gods who know?? Te Fiti if you're out there,,,,,,,,,

Moana rushing to protect Maui when lightning barely misses him the first time is.........destroying me?? taking me out??? imagine being protective over a demigod literally pulling an island out of the sea. imagine trying to take many hits for him. using her conch shell to call out to the storm to hit her instead? Maui yelling at her to Not do that? probably because it's breaking his own heart to watch?? ough.

"It went against every instinct, but Moana knew she had to listen to him." THAT'S ALSO GROWTH!!! KEEPING THEM BOTH SAFE BY NOT PUSHING HERSELF FROWARD!!!! GROWTH!!!!!

Maui getting hit by three strikes of lightning, and he uses what he thinks are his last dying moments to say goodbye to Moana. He locks eyes with her, gives her a sad smile, and yells Find your way, kid. Just to her. Just loud enough that she's the only one who can hear. and oh boy is this book brutal about that fourth and "fatal" lightning strike. It's strong enough to fry him. It launches him up so high in the air that Moana can't even see him

So, uh...fun fact! The reason Moana doesn't instantly dive in the water to go after him is because she thinks she's too late and that he's dead on impact. She doesn't even see him hit the water.

"Moana gasped as she felt her necklace pop open and her shell- Simea's shell- toppled out. Frantically,she reached for it, ignoring the danger around her. She couldn't lose that shell. She had already lost so much."

She thinks of everyone she loves when she's about to dive into the water and reach for Motufetū herself and Maui's among them right alongside her family. God. If there were ever a more indirect found family confirmation............

Lightning flashed, illuminating the sky and filtering through the water. Moana hoped that her crew was okay. That Maui had somehow survived. RIGHT!!! FROM!!!! THE FICS!!!! I SWEAR THIS IS PULLED RIGHT FROM THE OLD FICS!!!

His hook was missing, but he didn't care. He dove in after Moana. Hi, yes, 2018-era me is screaming out from inside me. She's clawing her way out of my chest. This is everything she's ever needed.

Fun fact part two! I don't remember how it was in the movie, but Maui watches Moana die too!! I think in the movie he just sees her still body on the surface of Motufetū, but in the book he dives under the water just a moment sooner and helplessly watches the lightning strike through her body. He watches her go still and sink towards the ocean floor :) Now they both have the trauma of watching each other die! :) :)

He tries desperately to catch her before she hits the floor but there are multiple instances of him being knocked back by a shockwave :') The gods sure have found his weakness!!!

He pushed through it. Nothing was stopping him from reaching Moana.

The grieving!!! The grieving is so fierce!!

Isn't it fun?? He practically has a burial ceremony for her! He catches her before her body hits the floor, and he places her gently on the surface of the island so she can fulfill her story! God! I'm unwell! He places Simea's little shell next to her body so Moana can be close to her sister one final time!

Then, kneeling next to her, he put his hand to his heart. It rested on the tattoo of Moana that had appeared after their last adventure. It had been his constant reminder in the three years since how strong a human could be. 🥹🥹🥹😭😭😭😭😭😭🥹😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

It's just...he doesn't even realize the ocean is creating a dome around them! He's that grief-striken!!

The ocean knows them. It knows what they need. He calls it Moana's. Moana's ocean. aUGGHHHHHH.

Hey so all of that talk about Maui not allowing himself to let the gods know that Moana's his friend and then he's begging them. He's begging the gods and her (her? his? huamnity in general?) ancestors to save her because she deserves more than this. she deserves better. If any of the gods knew nothing of the two of them they sure as hell did now, ohhhhhh boy is that gonna screw him over later :')

So the book never explicitly states she's a demigoddess either! It very ominously states that She'll never be the same.

Moana gets to see her ancestors this time! I can't remember if she woke up before they disappeared in the movie, but when she wakes up her thought process goes wait, where am I? to oh, shit, MAUI?!?!? to TAUTAI VASA? TALA?? HELLO??? someone please invent therapy already she's gonna need it pretty desperately

god imagine if she thought maui was also dead?? she doesn't but ohhhh. ohhhhhh the angst potential of her thinking they're all there to see her off. god.

Shock and awe. That's all Moana can get out of Maui's expression when she catches him staring.

Mini Maui, the more accurate voice, is bawling his little eyes out when he sees that Moana's okay

Moana understands the implications instantly. and she knows that she's only alive now because Maui prayed for her

"Arching an eyebrow, she nodded over her shoulder. It was time they raised an island- togehter". SICK!!! TO!!! MY!!! STOMACH!!!

"She saw Maui, a familiar comfort in this uncharted territory" [AGGRESIVE TABLE SLAMMING] THAT'S FOUND FAMILY BAYBEEEEE

:') there's a big group hug with Moana's crew and Maui tries to wiggle his way to the center. That's almost shot for shot a scene from one of the first Moana fics I ever wrote back in December of 2017 :') turning into a little lizard and skittering into the center of the hug where Moana is because he wants a proper hug too :')

Okay so I definitely know for sure that when it says the villagers of Motunui are shocked Maui's there because they've heard so many stories about him that it's just the regular old legacy stories. but listen. let me be deluisional. it's because Moana always tells stories and Moana's like. known around the island as his best friend. so it's like!!! oh!!! there he is!!! Tautai Moana's best friend!!!! :')

He calls Simea Mini Moana!!!! weeping and sobbing

Simea's big brown eyes familiar. He Also calls Simea tugging on his ear Very Familiar. That's so stupid cute. I wonder if he ever visited when Moana was out voyaging and he ran into Simea if he'd be able to tell that she was her little sister? :') also hilarious because I'm sure it implies Moana told him Simea wanted to yell at him and he went "yeah okay that's fair"

(still lowkey sad Maui never gets included in the family hugs. Ohhhh if they ever found out what he did to save her they'd pull him straight in for sure)

MAUI STAYS!!! CONFIRMATION THAT HE STAYS!!!!

He stays long enough for things to calm down. He and Moana head out by themselves to help their little Kakamora buddy reunite with his family (cough cough)

Moana goes from "that kid" to his "dear friend." cherished. beloved. it's not even relelvant to the plot. He just smiles at her and goes "where to now?" and it's just. that's his dear friend!!! god!!!! so beloved!!! that feels like it holds even more weight than best friend!!!

god. god. I really gotta write a fic where they talk about watching each other die

good shit!!! gooood shit!!! I'm gonna be screaming about this forever. god.

#moana #moana 2 #moana 2 novelization #team bun buddies #seablings

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big-poppa23 · 2 months ago

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The Silence That Speaks

synapse: the moment she falls in love with kang dae-ho, the boy who learned sign language for her in just one day(one shot based off ‘echoes of silence’/part two to ‘a promise’).

pairing: kang dae-ho x deaf!reader

contains: reader is deaf, fluff, takes place outside the games/a scenario where they all voted O and left

A Promise (the prequel)

. . .

The sun was beginning its descent, casting golden rays across the park as Dae-ho laid out the checkered blanket beneath the tall sycamore tree. Y/N knelt beside him, setting down the basket she’d packed—a mix of traditional Korean snacks and a few Western treats she thought might fit the “movie under the stars” theme.

Couples, families, and friends had already begun filling the open space near the outdoor screen. The hum of soft chatter floated in the air, along with the occasional bark of a dog or pop of a soda can. It was peaceful—unlike anything they’d experienced together before.

Dae-ho handed her a bottle of water and watched her settle down beside him, her face glowing under the evening light. He didn’t need to say it out loud—she looked beautiful, and part of him still couldn’t believe he was lucky enough to be here, with her.

Y/N leaned her head against his shoulder, signing playfully, ‘You better not fall asleep before the movie even starts.’

Dae-ho chuckled, signing back as he spoke, “I’m more worried about you stealing all the snacks.”

They talked for a while—well, signed mostly—and laughed over shared memories. When she brought out a small notepad and doodled a little sketch of the two of them on a picnic, he chuckled, pointing at the exaggerated hair she gave him.

As the screen flickered to life with the title card of the upcoming classic—Y/N turned toward it, her hands folded neatly in her lap. Dae-ho watched her for a moment, then leaned close.

“I’ll be right back,” he whispered, signing quickly before standing up and slipping away through the growing crowd.

Y/N watched him leave, confusion furrowing her brow, but she didn’t follow. Instead, she waited, her eyes scanning the crowd, the rising tension in her chest something she couldn’t quite explain.

Minutes passed. Then the screen suddenly flickered again. This time, beneath the classic black-and-white imagery, clear white subtitles appeared.

She stared at them in disbelief.

Then she saw Dae-ho returning, breathless and smiling widely, a little smug. “They agreed,” he said, lowering himself back beside her. “I asked the projection guy if they could turn on subtitles…for you.”

Her eyes widened, lips parting, stunned. He gently touched her wrist to get her attention again.

“I didn’t want you to miss a single word,” he added, signing each motion slowly and deliberately. “Not tonight. Not with me.”

She stared at him for a long moment, her heart full and her throat tight. Then she smiled, wide and genuine, her eyes glistening under the stars.

Without a word, she leaned forward, kissing his cheek softly before signing, ‘Thank you. No one’s ever done something like that for me before.’

Dae-ho flushed, rubbing the back of his neck with a grin. “Well…get used to it.”

They nestled closer on the blanket as the opening credits rolled, her head resting lightly on his shoulder, their hands intertwined. And under the fading light of the sky, with laughter, subtitles, and old movie magic surrounding them, it felt—for the first time in a long time—like maybe the world wasn’t so broken after all.

. . .

About halfway through the film, the sky had turned a deep indigo, stars beginning to poke through the blanket of night. The soft hum of dialogue and music from the old movie played through the speakers, and the warm breeze carried the scent of grass and popcorn from the nearby vendors.

Y/N had shifted positions, now laying down across the blanket with her head gently resting on Dae-ho’s thigh. Her fingers still loosely held his, but her grip had softened.

Dae-ho glanced down when he felt her breathing slow, her eyelids fluttering a little longer between blinks.

A small, knowing smile crept across his lips. He leaned down slightly, brushing a few strands of hair away from her face.

“You’re falling asleep,” he whispered, signing the words gently so as not to startle her.

She cracked one eye open, clearly fighting a losing battle. ‘I’m not,’ she signed lazily, fingers sluggish.

He chuckled softly, not buying it for a second. “Liar.”

She gave a faint smile but said nothing more, just nuzzled slightly into his leg as if to get more comfortable.

Minutes passed, and by the time the movie was nearing its emotional final act, Dae-ho felt the full weight of her sleep settle in. Her chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, completely out. His hand rested protectively on her shoulder, fingers tracing slow, absentminded circles.

When the end credits began to roll, the crowd started clapping and shuffling to their feet. Dae-ho leaned down again, gently tapping her arm.

“Y/N… hey,” he said softly, signing as he spoke. “The movie’s over.”

She stirred slowly, blinking up at him in a daze. Her expression turned sheepish as she sat up, rubbing at one eye. ‘Sorry…’ she signed, a faint pink tint blooming on her cheeks.

He shook his head. “Don’t be. You looked peaceful.”

After a pause, her hands moved again, slower this time. ‘I haven’t slept well… not really. Not since the Games.’

His expression softened, and he reached for her hand again, holding it carefully. “Don’t apologize. I’m glad you felt safe enough to sleep here. With me.”

She looked at him, that quiet vulnerability surfacing again in her expression. She signed slowly, ‘You’re comfort to me.’

Dae-ho smiled gently, thumb brushing over her knuckles. “You are to me too.”

And in that quiet moment, surrounded by the fading buzz of the crowd and the glow of the city lights, it didn’t matter that the world had nearly broken them once.

Because right then, they were whole—together.

. . .

The drive home was quiet but peaceful. Y/N had the passenger seat reclined slightly, her eyes heavy with sleep as Dae-ho focused on the road. He glanced at her every so often, a small smile tugging at his lips as he drove her car through the sleepy streets.

When they finally pulled up to her apartment, he turned off the engine and looked over at her. “We’re here,” he said softly, giving her hand a gentle squeeze to wake her.

She stirred, stretching and blinking slowly. Her body felt warm and relaxed, like she hadn’t felt in months. Dae-ho unbuckled her seatbelt for her, helping her out of the car before walking with her up to her front door.

As she unlocked it and stepped inside, he scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. “So, uh…” He gave a sheepish smile as he signed. “I just realized… since you picked me up, I guess I’m walking home.”

Y/N froze mid-step, turning to look at him with a raised brow before immediately shaking her head. ‘You’re not walking home, it’s late.’

He chuckled. “It’s okay, really. I don’t mind. It’s not that far.”

‘No,’ she signed firmly, leaving no room for argument. ‘You’re staying here tonight. Guest room. I’ll drive you home in the morning.’

Dae-ho blinked, surprised. “Are you sure?”

She nodded, already heading toward the hall, signing over her shoulder with a tired smile, ‘You drove. It’s the least I can do. Plus… I kinda like having you around.’

He stood in the doorway for a second, heart doing a strange fluttering thing in his chest. Then he followed her inside, a soft laugh escaping him. “Guess I’m not arguing with that.”

Y/N handed him a pair of folded sweatpants and a t-shirt from a basket by the hallway closet. ‘They’re big, but they should fit you okay.’

He took them, grateful, his smile never fading. “Thanks.”

She pointed to the guest room. ‘Go change. I’ll set up some blankets.’

As he stepped into the room, the weight of the day settled over him—but not in a bad way. For the first time in a long time, the ache in his chest wasn’t loneliness. It was something softer. Warmer.

Shortly, Dae-ho stepped out of the guest room, freshly changed into the oversized shirt and sweatpants she’d lent him, he found Y/N standing in the kitchen, her hair pulled up and a mug of tea in her hands.

She looked over at him, a sleepy smile on her lips, and gestured for him to come closer. When he did, she set her mug down and began signing slowly, deliberately, with that soft, vulnerable look in her eyes. ‘I had a really good time tonight… The kind I didn’t think was possible after the Games. I felt happy. Safe. With you.’

Dae-ho stood still for a moment, letting the words sink in. Then he reached for her hands, holding them gently before signing back, slowly, carefully—his fingers shaky but sure. ‘Being with you tonight felt like living again. Like I wasn’t just surviving anymore. I’ve never felt this kind of peace with anyone but you.’

Her eyes shined, and for a moment, they just looked at each other—unspoken emotion suspended in the stillness of the quiet apartment.

Then, without hesitation, she leaned in and pressed her lips to his.

It was soft at first—tentative, warm, careful—as if both of them were afraid to break whatever fragile thing had bloomed between them. But as his hand came up to cradle the side of her face and she melted into the kiss, it deepened, steady and full of meaning.

When they finally pulled apart, her forehead rested lightly against his, their breath mingling in the quiet space between them.

He grinned, eyes still closed as he signed and said, “So… we’re definitely doing Friday again, right?”

She laughed, nodding as she signed, ‘Definitely.’

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mybworlds · 13 days ago

Text

Broken Roots

Pairing: Oberyn Martell x f!reader

Summary: You must marry the Prince of Dorne. He respects you, but he doesn't want you. Years later, things change, but something disturbs and upsets your serenity; so it's up to you to reveal the secrets and lies that threaten to disturb you forever.

TW: arranged marriage, Oberyn is older than you, use of female pronouns and reference to female features of the main character, use of you, Oberyn likes men and women like in the books/TV series, death, violence, smut. I will mark chapters with a warning if there are descriptions that might trigger you.

credits: divider created by @zaldritzosrose

MASTERLIST

You always knew who you were, but when that day came you weren't quite ready...

Before all the events overwhelmed you like a stormy sea, your life was peaceful. You got up early in the morning, you baked bread with your father, you sold it with him, came back home and took care of the housework with your mother.

The war that was raging in the south of Westeros had not touched your family, fortunately. Your father was too old to bear the burden of such a long war, so he tried in his own way to make himself useful to the few men left in your village. So you helped both your father and your mother.

To be honest, they are not your real parents, but they are the only people who have ever really been your parents. Your friends were the peasants, the merchants, the bakers, the poor of the village. You grew up in a poor family, but rich in values.

You grew up with Cole too, he arrived a few days after you in the village and was adopted by your same foster family. You loved him right away, you grew and changed with him, and as you grew up a deep affection was born between you.

As for your father, he handed you over to the farmers a few days after your birth. Your mother died giving birth to you. You miss her a lot, you always missed her, you always wondered what she was like, if you were like her, if your character was similar to hers, if she too always had this deep desire to be free, strong and independent; nevertheless, you had a lot of love, affection and understanding. Your father never came, every now and then he sent a man to ask if you were okay and if you needed anything, but everything you asked for was for others, never for yourself.

Over time the farmers became your father and mother, and you were fine.

You were happy. Your life was...

Then, one winter night, everything changed.

You were preparing the dough for the next morning, when someone knocked on the door. A hooded, dripping man handed your father a letter and disappeared again into the stormy night.

“Father, who was he? Who sent it?” you asked as he turned the letter over in his hands, then noticed the seal and turned a concerned look to the woman sitting by the fire.

“Time has come, daughter” your dad said in a heavy voice, handing you the letter.

It was your house seal. It was a letter from your father.

Maybe this time it was him who was giving you news of the war, perhaps this time he did not send messengers as he usually did to inform the wives and mothers of the village of what was happening to their husbands and sons in King's Landing, but as you read your expression darkened, your father claimed you as if you were his property and expected you to show him obedience without question.

That night no one slept, neither you nor your father kneaded the bread. There was only a long, dull and impenetrable silence.

You didn't want to cry, but the mere thought of having to go to a place you've been away since birth made you nervous. You imagined the reason why your father wanted you back with him and it was certainly not to be a family or for the desire to know you. You were well aware of the role of the role that the woman had, especially among the nobles.

There wasn't even Cole to console you. Cole had not been summoned to battle because he was judged too weak to even make the journey. In fact, his health had always been very poor and, if it had not been for you who now provided him with herbs, now with food, he would probably already be dead.

Cole had gone out to graze the sheep at that time. He has always been a very intelligent boy, full of wit, capable. If only he could study, you know he could do great things!

“My little girl,” your mother said sitting on the bed, “you know that... well, you will always be our daughter for us. It doesn't matter that you are not a daughter of blood, we love you anyway. Wherever we are, even if we are divided, we will always be a family." she reassured you, or at least she tried.

You were worried. Your roots, so firmly rooted in that earth, were about to be torn out.

“Mommy,” you said, throwing your arms around her neck, “no matter what happens, no matter what, you will always be my mother. The love, the closeness, the protection, the care that you gave me... well, no other person will ever be able to give it like you did.”

“Oh.” she moaned softly as she held you close to her “And you will always be my sweetie, it doesn't matter that I didn't bring you into this world, you are and always will be my little one.”

You stood there hugging each other in silence for a while, then she said to you, “My daughter, I know you're confused. I mean, yes, you've always known about your origins, but we... well, we raised you in a way that was perhaps different from what is required in the your birthplace.”

You released the hug and began to stare at your hands in your lap, “I know. But… I don’t want to leave here. You, Dad, Cole, and the whole village are my family. I don’t know any other.”

“I told you, we will always be a family. It doesn't matter if we are far away, we will always be there in your hearts.” she said, tenderly stroking your hair.

You held Cole close as you confided everything in him. You wanted to escape, you wanted to run away from your obligations, from this man who after years of total absence was claiming you.

No one else will ever be able to call himself your father — you told Cole — except the only man who truly was your dad and who truly loved you and taught you what work is, the importance of sacrifice and patience, the importance of always being yourself even if sometimes it's so difficult to be yourself without being judged.

You had no interest in knowing him.

Cole held you tightly in his arms trying to calm you down.

“I don’t want to go away.” you whispered to him.

“Let’s run away. Let’s go away together.” Cole proposed to you We will go beyond the Narrow Sea, I have friends in Meereen. Maybe the climate is a little different than here, but at least we will be free to do and be what we want!”

Oh, that all sounded so beautiful! The thought of being free and happy with Cole filled your heart.

“Do you think I’ll spend time with that man?” you asked, nervous at the thought of being away from everyone you care about and the idea of having to meet this man who had rejected you and sent you away.

“Maybe it won't be so bad!” he tried to reassure.

You sighed, staring at the horizon, “Maybe. But in two days now, I won't be the same. I don't know what to expect, who will be there waiting for me.”

Cole squeezed your hand tightly, intertwining his fingers with yours, “I’m sure everything will be okay.” he paused for a moment. “Write to me if you ever need any help.”

“Promise me one thing, promise me you’ll study. You’re a very smart person, and even though we grew up like this, I know you can do it.”

He shook your hand gently, “I am a farmer, no one will ever allow me..”

“I'll help you. I will always help you, don’t forget that.”

He smiled, “I love you. You are one of the bravest women I’ve ever met.”

“I’ll miss you.” you confided in him.

“This is not a goodbye. I promise you, I will come and get you and we will be happy.”

You rested your head on his shoulder sighing at the idea of not having to give up all hope and that sooner or later you would have been happy with Cole.

You also have a cousin, the son of your father's brother, Baeron. He lived with his mother in your father's castle, he grew up with your parent who probably would have liked to have a boy instead of a girl. Baelor's father died when he was ten years old, leaving him and his mother in miserable conditions, so your father generously welcomed them into the walls of his fortress.

You and Baelor must have seen each other a couple of times by then.

You had no idea that Baelor was lurking nearby and had heard everything and that in a few hours he would warn your father of the plan you and Cole had in mind.

Two days later, returning from the market, there was a carriage and some soldiers in front of your house. You immediately ran inside worried about your mother, “Mother!” you called her.

Luckily, she immediately answered you, “Come.”

When you entered, you immediately saw your mother sitting at the table and a middle-aged man with slightly long grayish hair with his back to the door.

“‘morning.” you greeted and the man turned to you. The man's gaze seemed astonished, he looked at your face and then looked you up and down as if he had seen a ghost.

He stood up and faced you, his chin up as if to intimidate you. You looked at him, surprised by his strange attitude.

“You raised her like a savage!” he exclaimed, turning to your mother who looked down in chagrin.

It was then that you realized that this man was your father. However, he had no right to address your mother in that way, he might not agree with your upbringing, but he couldn't allow himself to offend her.

“Sir, you may not agree with my education and upbringing but please do not offend my mother. She is a simple person, it’s true, but endowed with great values, so please respect her.”

The room went silent. The man before you smiled as if amused by your words, then he became serious again and said in a peremptory tone, “Don't you ever dare address me that way again. I know how to address my subordinates. You too would do well to learn when to speak and when to keep quiet.”

You looked down for a second, but then quickly looked up again, “No.”

The man in front of you widened his eyes, completely astonished by your ready retort, "I was hoping that the rumors I heard about you were wrong. Now I have proof that I must take you away from this place and its people immediately.”

“Rumors? What rumors have you heard about me if you never cared about me my whole life?” you dare to ask him and he slaps you in response. A sound of surprise rather than pain escapes your lips.

“Don’t you ever dare address your father like that again,” he thunders.

“No.” your voice trembles “You are not. You will never be. And I will never follow you, you will have to force me.” you continue taking a couple of steps back and then go out despite his peremptory tone and your mother inviting you to come back.

You ran away.

When you were far enough away from the village, you stopped and caught your breath.

But how dare that man behave like this? You are not his. He rejected you when you were a baby and now? You are of marriageable age and he claims you for his dirty work.

There had to be a way to escape all this!

As you stood there thinking about what to do, someone came up beside you. You hadn't seen him in a while, but you would have no trouble recognizing your cousin Baelor.

“And what are you doing here?” you ask him annoyed. “I thought you despised this land!”

The look he gave you was cold, “Yes, indeed. I merely accompanied your father to this... place that you call home.” He sighed, “He’s right to want to sell it.”

“What? What are you talking about?” you asked him, disconcerted.

He couldn't do it...

“It's time your father got rid of some useless land and made some money out of it. You know, whoever wants to buy it intends to use it in a completely revolutionary way.” he informed you, but you knew that your cousin did not care at all about this land or your father.

“You don’t care about anything here, the important thing is that you earn some money from it, whether it’s a positive or an unpleasant event!” you spat, looking at him with anger in your eyes.

“Your wicked tongue is going to get you in trouble! Who taught you to talk like that? Your so-called ragged family or that guy... what's his name? Cole, right?”

“Leave them alone. They had nothing to do with it. If anyone is to blame, it's me.” You immediately retorted, fearing that they might be harmed because of you.

“Then be more cooperative. It's for everyone's good.” He smiled, but his eyes remained cold.

You had no choice but to do as that man, your father, wanted. You would go with them, but on one condition.

When you arrived home, what had been your home until then, he was still there. You approach him, “I will follow you, but on one condition.” The man's look is decidedly annoyed. “This land remains with the farmers who will take care of it and keep you earning.”

“It's not possible!” he replied immediately “I already sold it.” Your parents exchanged a worried look.

“And what happens to them all? Many will have nowhere to go.”

“This is none of my business. I will give them twenty pieces of silver as compensation, but then I will not care about it anymore,” said that rich lord who in one fell swoop was destroying your life and that of many others.

“Then, I'm not coming with you at all,” you said, turning your back on him.

“If you don't do it, that farmer will end up in prison!” you widened your eyes and looked back at him "Yes, I’ll make sure that he’s charged with theft or murder. He will end up in prison and then it will not be long before he’s sentenced to death."

His was real blackmail.

“Every choice has its consequences, remember. What’s gonna be yours?”

“No.” Your voice shook. “I don’t have a choice.”

That man gave your parents a lot, a lot of money, the expression on your face was regretful, broken with grief. You hugged your parents tightly without saying a word, there was no need to say anything: all three of you knew how much love you had felt and still feel for each other.

You were in the carriage when you heard your name being called, you looked out the carriage window. It was Cole, running as fast as he could, his face pale from the effort.

“Cole, Cole!” you looked at your father and then at your cousin “Stop the carriage!” the men looked away completely ignoring your words, you looked out again, screaming his name, feeling the tears running down your cheeks.

Cole stopped at one point, as the carriage continued on its way. You felt your heart break. All the people you loved, the places you explored and welcomed you slowly drifted further and further away. Eventually everything was reduced to a tiny black dot.

Now you are headed to a foreign land whose laws already frighten you.

54 notes · View notes

loveanddeephistory · 3 months ago

Text

Trowels and Feathers: Sylus x Archaeologist! Reader

On Ao3

About: A heist at your latest excavation has you taking matters into your own hands. You're no Indiana Jones, you can't go in guns blazing. But a little birdy told you that the most notable artifact from the site might end up being auctioned off at The Nest. So you pull some strings, show up, and land yourself in a web much larger you had ever anticipated. Lucky you, a little birdy was watching your back.

Spoilers for: Sylus's anecdote

Content warnings/heads up: Reader is implied to be female or feminine due references to misogyny within the field of archaeology that the reader has faced, Sylus is a bit intimidating at first (as per usual), mentions of being drugged (not by Sylus), swearing

Word Count: 12k

A/N: Happy birthday to our favorite repatriating space pirate! I told my younger sibling about Sylus's anecdote and they just asked me "what the fuck kind of otome is this". We love him, though <3. I'll be updating Trowels and Scales with the tag "Trowels Series" since all the guys will have at the very least a one shot!

Divider credit: @thecutestgrotto

Never waste a Friday night on a first date. Never waste a night off on a place you don't want to be in. Don't do anything stupid. And if you do have to do something stupid, don't get caught. And if you do get caught, aim for the groin.

All sound advice your many mentors had given you. Through undergrad, grad school, field experiences, and even as a seasoned professional. From dating advice, to life advice, to street smarts. These people had taught you everything. And yet here you are, throwing all of their words out the damn window. Here you are, dolled up in clothes you'd never wear, shoes you'd never wear, in a place you shouldn't be in, glistening with sweat as low music bumps through the club. The main event would begin soon. You lean your back against the bar, eyes trained on the room before you. You had already been approached for protocore sales. For smuggling, for illegal weapons. You turn them all down with an impassive, slow once over and a slow eyebrow raise.

You were lucky. Most public information about you featured a picture of you all gunked up, covered in dirt, sweat, and bug bites. Your professional photos reserved for resumes and CVs that would never come across the desk of any of these kinds of people. You were unrecognizable. What a blessing to be in disguise.

You slowly drink on your mocktail, eyes scanning the room once again as the music slowly came to an end. Being inebriated would not be in your best interests, you figured you'd be safer with something that looked like alcohol but wasn't. You spotted an odd man with purple hair side eyeing you before silently slipping out a side door. A blond man was hunched over a table in the corner, speaking in hushed tones with someone else. Until finally, finally, the real show began.

A large man came to the stage. Six foot something or other, heavy set, with a wide grin missing a few teeth. The lights brightened on the stage so everyone around could see him. He was handed a microphone, and two armored guards came to the stage with a box.

"Ladies and gentleman, so wonderful to see you all at The Nest once again. I hope everyone had a good hunt last time." He chuckled, raising a glass to the patrons in the room. You silently raise yours in turn along with those present. "Tonight we have the fortune of hosting an auction. I and some other generous benefactors found this pretty little trinket off in the jungle somewhere." The box was opened. An ancient, beautiful necklace was revealed. Glittering with gemstones ten times the age of everyone in this room combines. You run your tongue over your teeth, desperately suppressing a scowl.

Thieves. Disgusting thieves.

Others in the room chuckled at the unspoken joke in the man's words. Found. Hardly. You found it. You were the one excavating the ancient trash site. What was thought to be a place where broken things would come to rest. But hidden, squirreled away, was a cache of the most beautiful local work you had ever seen. You remember it like it was yesterday.

You gently scrape with the edge of your trowel over a layer of mud after the most recent rain. While you had secured the site as best you could the downpour was stronger than anticipated. The locals warned you, all of you. But your higher ups insisted that the normal way to cover the site would be just fine. Of course, he was wrong. Like he usually was. You roll your eyes to yourself, working quietly with your partner on this unit of the trench while others worked on other one by one meter units to your right and left.

Usually, you all would be chattering away. Taking notes, discussing soil, or sharing personal stories of friends, family, and other excavations. But this dig was different. You couldn't remember the last time you worked for someone so chauvinistic. The entire team was quiet. Too quiet. The women on the team would speak up for themselves and each other, but were too often silenced. The men on the team would step in and speak up, only to be threatened anyway. No one was safe with this guy. So you made a silent vow with the whole crew. As soon as you were all safely away from him, every single one of you would report him to his superiors. And if that didn't work, taking things public would be necessary.

You dump a trowel full of mud into your bucket, sighing. "My turn to screen." But before you could get up your partner does, flashing you a smile.

"You pitched in with clean up after dinner last night, I think I can spare the time to screen for you." She stands up, grabbing both your bucket and her own. You watch as she carries them to the three metal poles holding up a mesh screen situated in a square wooden frame. The wires inside of the wooden frame created a fine mesh grid. She pours the sediment on top and grabs the handles, beginning to vigorously shake the sediment through while any notable artifacts remained on top. You flash her an appreciative but weary smile, bending back down. You continue to gently scrape along with your trowel. Until something shiny catches your eye.

A few specks of metal dated to be a few centuries old had been found here. That was why this excavation was opened. Shattered pottery, household goods, and animals bones indicated this was a trash site for the local village n some centuries ago. You and a few colleagues immediately reached out. Luckily, quite a few of them had some information from elders dating centuries back. It wasn't much, but it did give you some context to the area. You squint, focusing on the shiny thing you found, switching to a brush as you gently swiped away mud and debris. But in the back of your mind, an older woman's words rang in your mind.

An old legend, passed down by elders for years. A young woman from a noble family had been married in this town. But robbers came in the night, and tried to take her wedding jewels. She managed to escape, and buried her wedding jewelry in a trash heap. She settled in the village with her husband and forgot the jewels, her husband and growing family more important. The old woman asked you to find the wedding jewels, that they would be inscribed with the family name. The woman had pleaded, clinging to your sleeve.

You had been taught to be wary of stories. But oral traditions had its place. You didn't want to make assumptions. But you gently wiped away millimeter after millimeter. Keeping the unit level. Clipping roots, shooing away bugs. And slowly, that tiny glimmer got bigger. And bigger. And bigger. You sat in slack jawed shock. Silent. With steady but weary hands, you gently lifted the artifact from the ground. You pull out a handkerchief and gingerly wipe away the packed on mud. There, clear as day, was the family name of the elderly woman. You feel the gaze of your fellow archaeologists, to your left and right. There were no gasps. No fanfare. But the excitement was tangible. You gently tilt the necklace, and it caught in the light in the most hypnotizing way.

You don't say a word. No one else does. No one needs to. A young man to your right stands up, fetching an artifact bag. He labels it with your unit and the date, and what level the necklace was in. He opens it and you gingerly slide it in. Even covered in mud and muck, you all knew it was the most beautiful thing you had ever laid eyes on. An ancient necklace buried deep in the ground, revealed due to the multiple monsoons of the past few years.

You take the moment to smile wearily. You wipe your forehead with the clean(ish) side of your handkerchief, the low glow of pride washing over you once more. It had been dampened by your horrific supervisor, but he could never take the joy of a discovery away from you. Especially one tied to local lore. You could only imagine the glee that woman and her family will feel. The village, with all of its history, had a local museum. This piece would be perfect there, right where it belongs. Away from the robbers of old, it was finally safe to be seen by the world once more.

The following night proved you horrifically wrong.

There had been a safe location allocated by the company that had been contracted for this excavation. Somewhere to store equipment and any notable finds. But you woke up the following morning to a horrifying scene. Equipment broken. Some missing. The safe housing the more significant finds, like the necklace, with a hole in it and all of the contents gone. Soil samples? Thrown on the ground and mixed together. Documentation? Ripped to shreds. This wasn't meant to be some high profile theft.

This was an outright massacre.

You and your team called an emergency meeting with the officials and elders of the village. The chaos that ensued broke your heart. The very elderly woman who had held your sleeve, begging you to believe her, was openly weeping when told the necklace had been stolen. The village was traditional- the only place with cameras was the museum itself, and even they were long overdue for upgraded equipment. No one was awake. No one saw or heard anything.

The artifacts were gone. Just... gone.

The excavation ended the very next day. The site had been too far compromised. The excavation site itself had not been discovered by the thieves, yet, so local law enforcement set up a watch. You and the others immediately replaced the sediment, and come next rainfall all evidence of your presence will be erased from this place.

It gnawed at you. The image of the village elders weeping, or yelling. Begging, asking who did this, who could have done this. And none of you knew.

You returned to Linkon. But sleepless nights stared at you. You had other jobs. You were paid in full for the last one given that this kind of thing was entirely out of your control. There was a museum that was wanting to hire you for some consulting. And a science journal was looking at one of your proposals, and you felt pretty confident about it. Not to mention you and a few buddies had applied for a grant in your preferred field of study. But that necklace. It ate away at you, and with each passing day you felt like less of a person not knowing what had happened.

Feeling like you had failed them.

One of those sleepless nights you lay there, pressing the heels of your hands against your eyes. Trying to will yourself to sleep. But your phone vibrated before you could. You grumpily snatch your phone, about to put it on do not disturb. But it was an old friend in the field, a fellow archaeologists' mentor. Hannah Capek, or Dr. C as she was affectionately referred to.

It was an article about the prolific illegal antiquities trade in the N109 zone. You skim the article, feeling your blood boil even more with every word you read. The article claimed that a solid 87% of stolen or missing artifacts ended up in the N109 zone for this very trade. Auctions would be held at various auction houses or underground bars, sometimes in broad daylight. It was a lawless wasteland. Trying to follow up to retrieve the stolen good was a suicide mission. As soon as the artifact crossed that border, you're likely never going to see it again. Before you can stew in your own anger for too long Hannah sends a follow up text.

Dr. Hannah Capek: Don't beat yourself up, kiddo. You did the best you could. These statistics aren't great, but it shows it had nothing to do with you. You did everything right. Please don't lose any more sleep than you already have. This isn't your fault.

You stare at her message, tears stinging in your eyes. The weight of your own perceived failure crushing you in your bed. You open the article again, eyes skimming over some of the finer details. One hyperlink caught your eye. A wiki link. About Abyssal Chaos.

Abyssal Chaos. One of the most infamous portions of the dark web. People would pay others for any number of things, tasks, information... And it was one of the best sources of information for all things illegal. Of course, getting your foot in the door was nearly impossible. It was encrypted to high hell, and those who do manage to get in are subject to all kinds of cyber attacks, people finding their home address, stalking, doxxing... It was the wild west out there. The wiki had multiple stories of the horrific fates of a few users. But the more you skimmed through it, the more you felt intrigued.

You take a screenshot and send it to an old friend from high school. He was bullied pretty bad, but you stuck up for him. He always promised you that if you needed anything, call him. He's a techy guy now, makes some good money.

But he got you exactly what you needed.

You sit up a little straighter. They had cleaned up the necklace beautifully. The detail work on the cleaning had the marks of a professional. The metal shone in the light as bright as it did on the day of its owner's wedding. As the man held up the necklace, you could see the back. The engraving of the family's name was still there.

"This one of a kind beauty was found out in the jungle in a trash heap. Local legend says a pretty little bride almost got mugged and hid them away." The man snickered, and a few other patrons laughed. "So some scientists dug them up again, and all these years later they got taken anyway. Oh well, beats them going to some foreign museum where they get written off as some exotic beauty, impossibly forged by the natives." Your grip around your glass tightens. You want to shout. No, that wasn't what was going to happen, you'd never allow it. They aren't exotic. It wasn't impossible for the local village all those years ago to know how to do such beautiful work. You're clenching your jaw so hard you can feel a muscle twitch.

Out of the corner of your eye you notice motion in your drink. You wait a few seconds before putting it down. You won't be taking another sip of it for the rest of the night. Instead you give the stage your full attention again. You tune out your anger and tune in to the man finally getting to the point. The auction. Everyone participating had a paddle. Like a professional, the man on stage began to call out numbers. Starting low, in the thousands. If you had to put a number on an artifact like this it would be somewhere in the millions due to its age, but in reality the history was what made it utterly priceless. You can't stop this from happening. You knew ahead of time calling in a tip on The Nest would get you on a hit list. So instead, you opted to come and get a good description of the thieves and potentially the buyer. If they had property or assets in Linkon or anywhere else outside of the N109 zone, then you could submit a real tip. And even if the necklace vanished, you could still achieve justice.

"Twenty-five hundred, I got twenty-five hundred can I get thirty, can I get thirty," The rapid fire words attempted to rile the crowd up. In spite of his best efforts, the crowd didn't seem all that impressed. Conversations struck back up among powerhouse couples. Lower crime lords went back to attempting to haggle a protocore smuggler for his wares. The man on stage kept looking to two others in the audience. They were close enough to the stage for the light to fall on their faces. They looked nervous.

Ah ha.

You lift your hand to your mouth to hide a hint of a smirk. Bingo. Three thieves. The three must be in on it together one way or another. You drink in their appearances, every scar, every mole. Every easily notable body mark that would identify them. Steadily, the room returned to the murmur it had been in when you first arrived. No one was giving the man on stage the time of day. And it was beginning to make him sweat.

Good. You lean back, an impassive audience to his humiliation as a low voice rang out.

"Five million."

Your shoulders tense. Your eyes widen. You look around, hoping you didn't just blow your cover. But lucky you, everyone in the room had the same reaction as you. Eyes and bodies slowly turned towards the newcomer, emerging from the shadows with slow, unhurried footsteps. He was tall, taller than the man on the stage. Broad shoulders. Strong, a fighter's build. You focus back towards the stage and the thieves in the front row. They were grinning but trying to hide them, smacking each other's arms in disbelief.

You've seen enough. You swivel back around in your seat, paying for your drink in a generous wad of cash. The bartender nods and takes the sizable offer, pocketing whatever wasn't needed for the drink. You stand up, weaving your way through the growing crowd who was staring at the intimidating figure now on stage. His silver hair caught in the light, but you couldn't make out anything more since his back was to you. But you don't need to. You have enough. Even if the necklace vanishes, you have enough to turn in the thieves themselves. It won't return the necklace to its rightful home but it'll be one less group to cause these kinds of problems.

You slip into an alleyway, finally taking a deep breath as you escaped the suffocating atmosphere of The Nest. The low lights, the lingering haze, the scent of smoke and sin lingered in that place. It clung to your clothes and your hair. You'd need a shower after this. You pull out your phone texting your old friend on an encrypted service.

You: Done. Thanks for the assist.

Anonymous: Ur welcome. Be careful, don't go straight home, just in case.

You turn off your phone and pocket it. You slowly begin to walk, heading towards the back of the building before deciding to go to Azure Square. But as you quieted your footfalls, moving quickly but quietly, a slow, gnawing sense of dread crawled up. From the heels of your feet. To the back of your knees. Slithering up to your thighs. Hips. Waist.

Slowly, this sense of dread coiled up your spine. Goosebumps erupted all over your skin, and you turn your head. Your eyes widen and a scream bubbles up in your throat as a black mist coiled around your mouth. Your scream is muffled. You lose control over your body as you're knocked over, dragged back into the alleyway as you struggle violently. But with each twitch, kick, and squirm the intangible shackles around you only tightened. You're pulled into the darkness of the alley once more when that deep, rich voice from earlier called out.

"I've never seen you at The Nest before." His voice was low. He spoke slowly, languidly. Like he could do this all day. Like you were in a game of cat and mouse, and he had already caught his prey. ”Don’t think I didn’t see you eyeing these new jewels, sweetie.” That same low, baritone voice from the auction caught your attention. The black mist around your mouth vanished as the man slowly walked towards you. In a flash of light you can barely make out red eyes that had an otherworldly glow. But he remained in the shadows, not letting you see his full face. "What are you?" He cocked his head.

You know better. You do. You recall the advice of all your mentors. Don't do anything stupid. If you must, don't get caught. You've already failed both. And with your legs still bound you couldn't enact the last of their advice. You lick your lips, eyeing the man as you lay on the ground. You scoffed, looking away from him. “Just the person who found those jewels.”

“This isn’t finders, keepers, sweetie. I paid for these fair and square.” He approaches, still just barely out of view from the shadows. He tilted your chin up to face him again with the toe of his shoe. His right eye began to glow a deeper red. You suck in a breath, your head suddenly pounding in pain. It felt like someone had dug their fingers into your brain directly through your eyes. The probing was unwelcome and made your stomach churn.

“And those thieves that pawned them off to you stole them from an archaeological site! Those belong to their proper community.” You spat back. “I don’t want them. I want them to go back to where they do belong.” You say it without a second's hesitation. But it wasn't because of this probing. The sensation stopped for a second. The glow dimmed, before surging back. The prodding became less intense, but it still felt like someone was actively in your head. The mist around your wrists vanished, allowing you to slowly hoist yourself into a sitting position on the ground. He didn't speak. Neither did you. You swallow. Your legs were still bound in a black and red mist, but it didn't hurt. It was just a bizarre pressure. You slowly rub your wrists, waiting.

”I didn’t realize your kind were so… altruistic nowadays.” You scoffed at his response, looking away. He must've put two and two together. Your heart rate picked up. You just blew your cover to someone very powerful. So much for don't do anything stupid.

"Times have changed." You respond. "That doesn't belong to you, or me, or those thieves. You're right. This isn't finders keepers. We're not children." You look back down at your legs. The mist was slowly abating, retreating back to the man still standing in the shadows. He looks down at the necklace in his hands, and your gaze follows. His eye glowed for just a moment more, but with a soft hum you felt his presence leave your mind. You had never heard of anyone with an evol who could do such a thing. A shudder rips through you, from head to toe, and finally he turns on his heel.

"Times have changed, yes." He confirms, the steady footfalls from his dress shoes slowly fading into the distance as he returns to The Nest. You watch. You wait. And as soon as you knew he was gone, you scramble to your feet. Without another word, without another glance, you turn and run as fast as your legs will allow. Every single one of your old professors, mentors, colleagues... all of them would smack you upside the head for doing something so ballsy and stupid.

But favor and fortune shone down on you that night. You survived. You escaped. And now you can file an anonymous police report. For the sake of preserving your own life you decide on a whim to omit the presence of the man with silver hair. At this point, it wasn't fully about the necklace. It was about the principle, it was about the thieves. About justice.

That necklace didn't belong to you. Or him. Or the thieves, or the archaeologists.

It belonged to its home village. One you hoped it would survive to return home to.

Bzzt.

BZZT.

You slowly open your eyes, the constant vibrating from your phone drawing you out of slumber. It was five in the morning, and only the first few rays of light from the sun were breaching your window. You were tempted to put your phone on do not disturb and go back to sleep. You snatch it off your nightstand, ready to do exactly that when the messenger's name caught your eye. A friend you had made in the village you had just been working in. You sit up a little straighter, opening her messages.

The first thing that came up on your phone was a picture of the necklace. All cleaned up and glittering like it had just last night in that odd man's hands. It was in the museum, already in a safe case, with multiple signs in different languages. You exit the picture, hurriedly reading all of her messages. Someone in the middle of the night last night broke in to the museum. But they left the necklace. No note, no identification, nothing. As you were reading through her texts another text appeared on your screen. Hannah Capek.

You switch to her text. It was a news article.

Breaking News: Artifact Smugglers Apprehended in the Night

Dr. Hannah Capek: Justice has been served! Sleep a little easier, okay? Some good samaritan ratted them out.

You tap on the link. Unable to believe your eyes. But Hannah's words rung true. The article had been released only an hour ago from a journalist who worked at night. Three artifact smugglers had been turned in at the Evol Police's doorstep in the middle of the night, all three confessing to their many crimes in near tears. It was clear someone had scared them, but the confessions matched multiple recent robberies and smuggling operations documented all over the region. These guys were professionals. The police took them into custody and would be launching an investigation to verify what they said.

You sit up, your covers sliding off your body as you reread the article once. Twice. Thrice. No. No way.

You run your fingers through your hair, absolutely bamboozled by this change in events. You forward the pictures and context from your friend to Dr. Hannah, and then forward the link from Dr. Hannah to your friend. She immediately texts back. Gleeful, thanking you. You sit up straighter and rapidly text her not to. This wasn't your doing. You had nothing to do with those thieves showing up at the police department. You had nothing to do with the necklace reappearing. You wouldn't be able to even get there in a night!

Who could have done this? The man who bought it? He seemed the most likely suspect. But he paid five million for it, why would he turn around and give it back to the village? He said it himself, this isn't finder's keepers. You swing your legs over the side of your bed, standing up. You walk over to the curtains, peeking out beyond them. The sun was just rising. Whoever did this did it in the night, likely only a few hours ago. All of this was breaking news. Brand new. Something you hadn't seen in your career, or your lifetime.

Just who was that man?

It started with a blur just outside your peripheral vision.

You were sure you were just paranoid after visiting The Nest. Exposing yourself on Abyssal Chaos and showing up in person at a well known information hub wasn't the brightest idea in hindsight. And yet, somehow, it got you the exact end results you were hoping for. You found yourself constantly looking over your shoulder for the next few weeks as you went about everyday life. And every once in a while, you would catch a black blur just out of line of sight. It was fast.

And finally, one day, you catch the bird in action.

You had left the window open just a crack to get some fresh air. It was a beautiful day, so you might as well give your home a refresh. You come out of your bedroom, trash bag in hand, and catch the culprit red handed. A red and black crow was sitting on your balcony, pecking at the window, as if trying to open it. You drop the bag. The crow stops. It's a stare off.

Neither of you move. You stare at the bird. The bird stares at you. An uncomfortable silence falls before you slowly reach for your phone. The bird cocks its head. Was- was its eyes glowing? You take a single step towards it, and it doesn't fly off. You open your phone and do a quick search. Or three.

Crow meaning omen

Crow safe foods

What do crows like to eat

You keep looking up an at the crow, who was still staring you down. Cocking its head. You find a list of crow safe foods and move to your kitchen. You fetch a small bowl and fill it with an assortment of small bits of food approved by bird professionals. You turn back around and find the crow still staring at you. The closer you got the more you saw of its robotic nature.

"Poor thing." You murmur. You lift the window with one hand, reaching out onto your balcony before resting the bowl against a chair. "Here. It's not much, but it's something. You scared me, I thought someone was following me around all this time." Every time you saw something, it was up high, and quickly moved out of sight. It made perfect sense for it to be a bird. Nothing nefarious at all. "Did someone fix you up after a car hit you, or something?" You sit in your window sill, eyes trained on the bird. It cocks its head from side to side. Before slowly crooning at you. It hops over to the bowl provided and began to pick through the assortment.

"I'll take that as a thank you. You're welcome." You nod, leaning back against the window frame. You scootch yourself in, pretzeling yourself into the window frame separating your apartment from your balcony. The crow seemed used to people and didn't bat an eye at your antics. You take the moment to admire the bird. The sheen of his feathers in the light revealed so many more colors than what was originally visible. "Pretty bird" You hum. The crow pops its head up, squawking in surprise. It was almost like it was flustered by the compliment. You can't help it, you cover your mouth as you laugh at him. The crow only grew more indignant. It cawed at you, sharp and raspy.

"Hey! It's a compliment, take it!" You try to encourage it through your laughter, but the bird only seems more irritated. If a bird could scowl it certainly would. It grew tired of your antics and took off, diving off your balcony and flying away. You don't have a moment more to protest. Your eyes trail after the crow as it vanishes into the city, flying off and away. You reach out to the bowl, which only had a few things missing, and bring it back inside. "Oh well. There goes my dreams of being a Disney princess." You laugh to yourself, shutting the window behind you.

You figured that would be your first and last interaction with it. But you were pleasantly surprised.

Once a week, every week, the crow would return.

It became a routine. A habit. It would knock on your window with its beak, and you would join it on the balcony or in the window with a bowl of food. You eventually got good at recognizing its patterns and you would leave a little dish of water and food out before joining it. The first three weeks you sat in comfortable silence.

But the fourth, a month in to this strange situation, the crow brought you something.

Its caw was muffled. It held two items in its beak. You extend your hand slowly and the bird dropped the items in your hand before diving into the food. It had brought you a shiny twist tie, likely just some piece of trash, and a piece of paper. You had read that crows might bring gifts if befriended, so you immediately tie the twist tie around a finger like a ring. The bird lifted its head as you did so, and you extended your hand to show off the twist tie.

"You have a good eye." You compliment, smiling cheekily. "I accept this proposal of friendship. Thank you for your generous gift." The crow cawed in affirmation, or you were interpreting it like that at the very least, and went back to eating. You turn your attention to the piece of paper. You unfold it. Mephisto. You look at the crow.

"Mephisto?" It immediately looked up again, mid nibble on a nut, and crooned. "Oh. That's your name, is it? Mephisto?" Mephisto bobbed his head. You laugh, looking down at the paper in awe. "Mephisto... Short for Mephistopheles. Whoever named you knows their Faustian mythology. And has nice handwriting." You pocket the paper, the crow bobbing his head again. "Well, Mephisto. It's nice to finally have your name. Guess I owe you mine." You lean in, whispering your name to the crow as if it was a precious secret only for the two of you to know. You pull back, grinning at the bird. Perhaps you shouldn't have discounted your disney princess dreams yet. "I've been enjoying seeing you every week, Mephie, but I'll be out of town starting next week." Mephisto squawked.

In a flurry of feathers he flew right at you. You hold up a hand and he settles on your fingers, chattering at you in protest. "Caw! Caw caw caw-"

"Mephisto- Mephie! I'm sorry, I have an excavation to go on. I can't just skip it." You try to assure the bird. "I'll be back. I promise, I'll come back." While crows were smart as could be, you weren't sure how much he could understand. You lift your free hand, not moving too fast, slowly approaching his head. The bird shut his eyes and headbutt your hand. You chuckle, stroking his feathers gently and carefully. "I promise, Mephie, I will come back. I'll be in the mountains for an excavation, that's all. It's for a month, I'll be back after that. I trust you can look after yourself, along with whoever else is caring for you." The crow crooned again, still protesting your incoming absence.

"Hey." You coo. "I'll bring your ring you gave me. That way I'll have something to look at and think about you while I'm gone, okay?" You murmur, showing him the twist tie he had just given you. Mephisto slowly opened his eyes, crooning mournfully once more. "Yeah, I'll be back. I'll be here next week for our weekly meet up. I just didn't want to spring this on you." You add, and he just looked at you. He clacked his beak, still balancing on your fingers. He flapped his wings a few times, and you extend your hand to give him space to spread them out. He cawed and released your fingers. As he flapped his wings, he made his way to the banister of your balcony. He tilts his head at you. You smile. He always does this. "Goodbye, Mephisto. I'll see you next week." You nod to him. With a caw, he turns and takes to the skies.

Mephisto didn't appear the next week. You waited in the windowsill for hours, but he never appeared. You couldn't deny your disappointment, but you figured it was for the best. You focused on packing, and the next day you were gone.

This excavation was situated in the mountains. Though, luckily, your excavation was in a convenient clearing. After conducting a brief walking survey you and your crew got to work. You were lucky enough to have one of your colleagues from the last excavation on your team, so the two of you partnered up. You worked on your one meter by one meter unit together, worked with the total station, and he helped with bagging and tagging artifacts. He was always one of the guys who was quiet when your last supervisor was being a misogynistic piece of shit, but he was much more vocal at this one. Talkative, always wanting your attention. This excavation was much older than even your last one, and from context clues you and your team were thinking of it as a frequent place people stopped crossing the mountains for trade. Beads of various precious stones were found, and a few pieces of jewelry were still in tact.

The rest of the team was pausing for lunch, heading to a separate part of the clearing to overturn buckets and sit down to eat. You volunteered to stay behind and finish up some field notes, so they left you be to do so. You turn over an empty bucket and sit down, scribbling some notes about the recorded depth of trench one, unit six, which had a jade bead and a bracelet with similar beads at a depth of 40 centimeters. You describe your findings, the quality of jade, and the variety of soil present when you heard a rustling. You lift your eyes, expecting to find one of your colleagues coming to ask you something. But no one was there. Your eyebrows furrow, and you lift your eyes a little higher.

In the tree branches a familiar pair of red eyes were watching you. Your pencil and field notes slip out of your hands, hitting the dirt with a dull thud.

"Mephisto?" You call, slowly standing up. He cocks his head, not coming any closer. "What are you doing here? You're far from home." You put your hands on your hips, slowly beginning to tap your foot. "You ghost me the day before I leave but have the ability to come and find me in the mountains." You finally squat to pick up your field notes, tucking your pencil behind your ear. Mephisto doesn't respond. He just cocks his head at you again. He looks down at the baggy at your feet. You follow his gaze and put your foot in front of it. "Nooooo, Mephie, this is one shiny I absolutely cannot allow you to take." You spoke slowly. "Mephisto. No." The crow looks back up at you.

"CAW!" He cawed rather emphatically. Was it a 'no, I'd never!' or a 'come on, please!' kind of caw? You couldn't decide. You put your fingers to your temple, sighing.

"Sorry, Mephisto. I'm gonna have lunch soon. Don't have any food to spare you this time. I'm sure whoever is caring for you is worried, shoo, go home. I'm okay." You reach your hands up and gently shoo the bird away. He caws at you again, crooning once, before giving up. In a flurry of feathers he flies off, one feathers actually drifting towards the ground. You watch him as long as you can, approaching the feather. You pick it up, holding it up to the light to admire it. The sheen was otherworldly, absolutely beautiful. You glance around. No one was around. So you make your way to your bag, carefully tucking the feather in amongst your personal journal's pages.

You hear more rustling, so you look over your shoulder. Your teammate from the last excavation was standing in the treeline, cocking his head.

"Hey, we were getting worried. Didn't think it would take you more than a few minutes to finish up." He tilted his head, leaning on a nearby tree. You grab your lunch bag out of your work bag, nodding your head with a smile.

"Nah, I was just finishing a few things up." You walk back over, picking up the artifacts and carefully adding them to the artifact bucket. "Just was double checking the munsells for the soil. Is the earth slightly more yellow or red, you know?" You chuckle, approaching him with your lunchbox and water bottle. He laughed, walking with you.

"Oh, don't I know it. Debating over the tiniest shift in shade, only for a cloud to move and make it look totally different."

"And you can't put the dirt right beside the reference pictures in the munsell book or you'll ruin it. I'm still trying to find the money to buy a personal copy, but those things are expensive." You shake your head at the thought. Usually a company would ensure your crew had one, but you wanted one for yourself. Living the way you were, however, you couldn't afford to shell out that kind of money. Anwir laughed in agreement

"Oh don't get me started. You wouldn't believe the things I did in undergrad to be able to afford my degree. And even now I'm scraping by. Shit pay, shit benefits, shit coworkers..." He winked at you. "Present company excluded. But hey, we do it for the love of the discipline."

You shake your head at him, but know he had a point. Your own first thought was the awful supervisor from your last excavation. Misogynistic, chauvinistic, all the phobias and istics to make him a nightmare to work with. The field was changing, sure, but you'd still find people like him stubbornly clinging to the good old days of the discipline. "Anwir, remember how our last supervisor kept double guessing me every time I said something about munsell or depth or times? Or... anything?" You laugh again. "Listen, I double guess myself enough, I didn't need him in my ear doing the same." Anwir laughed again.

"Oh, he was the worst, wasn't he? Sorry the excavation ended the way it did, but damn, glad to be away from him." He looked away, off towards where the rest of the crew were already eating and laughing. "He wasn't all bad, but he was still a dick."

"Not all bad? Maybe cause you didn't have to face his wrath." You scoff in return, but stop talking about it as another one of your colleagues offers you a bucket.

You'd enjoy your break while you could.

As soon as everyone was done eating, it was back to work. The rest of the day flew by, and the others found a couple more notable discoveries in the same level. Other items of some value, primarily jewelry. An interesting find, one with some notable implications for the region and the ancient trade route. You pack up and head back to the base provided, before unpacking and handling more paperwork related issues. You shower, change, then work on paperwork and a narrative for the day for your field notes. You find Anwir stepping outside to make a call, but comes straight back since it was his night to cook.

He made a rich, comforting meal that immediately made everyone feel a bit more comfortable and relaxed. Aching muscles and joints calmed down, and everyone got a bit more comfortable.

In theory, it should have been a great night.

But you look at the twist tie you had tied to the pencil sitting on your field notes. The very same Mephisto gave you almost a month ago. The excavation is already drawing to a close, with only one week left to wrap up. Something feels off. Something in your body is twisting and groaning. Not like a stomach ache- but just some soul deep churning, insisting something is wrong.

Your mind is buzzing, but in spite of it all you're exhausted. You and everyone else decide to call it a night early.

During an excavation, you could sleep heavy, or sleep light. It depended on levels of exhaustion, pain, and any lingering thoughts that might leave you tossing and turning. But that night, you slept like a log. You slept like the dead. You slept harder than you ever had on an excavation, and when you did finally wake up with a low groan, it took you a moment for your colleagues' screams to register in your mind.

But as soon as they did, the exhaustion left your bones. You grab the nearest item, lucky you a sharp trowel, and run barefoot to where all the others were. The storage room. There were signs of a struggle- paperwork everywhere, indents in the wood, and a splatter of blood on the floor. The artifact bucket had been noticeably moved, and as you make your way further inside it was clear it had been rifled through. You turn back to your colleagues, doing a headcount.

"Anwir- where's Anwir?" One of the women call out, before dashing down the hall.

"He wasn't here when I woke up!" His roommate called back, quickly following her.

You turn back into the room. It reminded you of the massacre you had found at your last excavation. You slowly walk further in. You shouldn't touch anything. You should call the local authorities and the company sponsoring you, then wait. But one thing stood out among all the mess. The rest of your colleagues ran off, calling for Anwir, asking if the blood on the floor was actually his. But on the desk in the back right beside the artifact bucket, there was a piece of paper.

You look over your shoulder before picking it up, unfolding it.

”Keep your sparkly things under lock and key, I could suggest a few supplies. If you're worried about the other archaeologist, call the local authorities and ask for him yourself. -S"

There, in the same handwriting as the note with Mephisto's name, lay a note clearly left for you. S. S must be Mephisto's owner. You look over your shoulder again, folding the note and tucking it into your pocket before anyone else could come in. You immediately leave, hearing the chaos unfolding among the others. Anwir's roommate called his phone, only to reveal it was still in his room. You instead step forward.

"Let's go ahead and report this to the local authorities, and the company that hired all of us. Excavation should be postponed until we know his whereabouts and safety."

"It's too early to submit a missing person's report." His roommate protested, but he was already dialing the phone number. "Don't know what they can do for him just yet, but yeah, let's get them to look at the artifact room."

When the non-emergency line picked up, your colleague explained the situation to the person on the other end. Whoever was on the phone began to laugh.

"You said his name was Anwir? We had an Anwir dropped off just this morning. He was shaken up pretty bad, he claimed he was a part of an artifact smuggling ring and had attempted to steal some of what you all found yesterday."

The silence that fell over the room was deafening. No one moved and inch.

"Anwir? Anwir was going to steal...?" You murmur, eyes slowly narrowing. The bastard.

"Yes, we're waiting to hear back from our contacts in the big city. He already gave us a few other names, including the names of three others from his ring that had been captured a little over a month ago. He keeps mentioning black mist...?"

Black mist. S. Mephisto.

Your lips set in a thin line, your eyebrows drawing together.

It's all connected.

The chaos unfolding all around you faded to background noise as you retreated inward, trying to piece together the events of the past few months. The excavation with the creepy supervisor, and Anwir. The night at The Nest. This excavation. Mephisto's appearance. The black mist. The man at The Nest, he's probably S himself, if not someone associated with him. Mephisto is likely his bird, you wouldn't be surprised if he was surveillance on you. Surveillance you befriended and gave food to, no less. But he was likely how S knew where you were.

S left you a note. And he dragged off Anwir. And, as icing on the cake, hurt Anwir or got hurt by Anwir? Your eyes slowly drifted to the patch of dried blood on the floor. Whoever this S was, he had a vested interest in keeping these artifacts from the smuggling ring.

"Hey-" You snap out of your thoughts as one of the others gently grabs your shoulder. You inhale sharply but register her presence and calm down. She slowly lets go. "I went ahead and called the higher ups. They want everything on hold until we figure out what happened with Anwir. They're sending someone to take the artifacts to the lab, and they're debating putting the whole thing on hold. Since the last time this happened the thieves destroyed the equipment as well..." She grimaced. "They don't want to end up with stolen stuff and broken gear." You slowly nod.

"Fair enough." You hum. "Good chance to update logs and stuff. Gods, this is the second time..."

The other archaeologist laughed dryly, her amusement not reaching her eyes. "Yeah. Anwir, huh? Wonder if that was why he stepped out to make a phone call last night..." You think back on the dinner and feel your heart drop.

"We all felt really tired after he made dinner last night." You spoke slowly, looking back in the artifact room. "And there was a struggle. That should've woken any one of us up. Did he-?" You look up, meeting her gaze. She understands what you're saying before the words can fully fall out of your mouth. She scowled.

"Bastard." She snarled, whirling around on her heel and pulling out her phone again. "I'm reporting that. We should get hazard pay- and a drug test." As she marched off, calling supervisors and the police, you find yourself once more. Everyone was rushing around, verifying nothing else was touched or taken. You slide your fingers to the pockets of your pajama pants, tentatively tracing the outline of the note.

You push yourself off the doorframe, returning to your room. Alright, S. It's time to show your hand.

You were unsurprised that the company and local authorities agreed and called off the excavation. Clearly there was a break in at the house you were staying at, since Anwir insisted none of the team attacked him. That coupled with his involvement in a smuggling ring and the drugs he laced the food with gave them all ample reason to call it early. It was always disappointing to have to leave early for any reason. For you even more so, having such rotten luck twice in a row. But perhaps this was a blessing in disguise.

The very same day you arrived home to your apartment, you had a familiar guest waiting for you on your balcony.

Mephisto looked quite proud of himself. He perched on the chair, puffed up with his head held high. You can't help but shake your head. You couldn't be mad at him, he was just doing what he was programmed to do. You ignore him, bringing your suitcase to your room. You begin to unpack, tucking your field supplies away in the same corner you always do. You load your hamper with dirty clothes to wash, put away your work boots and everyday shoes, and put a clean pillowcase on your pillow. During all of these mundane 'first day back home' tasks , the caws and pecks on your balcony window grew in frequency and volume.

Mephisto was throwing a tantrum.

You try to ignore it. You were a little irritated with him, after all. Just a little. He was basically surveillance, from what you understood. And you shouldn't be giving this S figure any more information on yourself than you already have. Who knows his true intentions? Maybe he's trying to get you in his debt, to call in some big favor. Or maybe he's a creep. You don't have enough information yet. More research necessary. Typically a comforting phrase, since it kept you in a job. But clearly you signed yourself up for something much bigger than yourself. All you wanted was for that necklace to stay in its cultural context. So many artifacts around the world were not where they belonged- colonialism was the major contributing factor.

But you were determined to be a part of the change. Of the path forward.

You snap out of your thoughts at a particularly loud squawk. You turn on your heel and approach the window to the balcony, sighing.

"Okay, okay, I hear you. I just had to take care of some things." You open the window, and he hops back and forth on the back of the chair cawing at you emphatically.

"CAW! Caw, caw, c a w!"

You weren't sure what he was saying. But you knew he was mad at you for making him wait. You leave the window open, excusing yourself to your kitchen. You pull the same crow mix you had made out, and since everything in it was dried it should still be good. You put some in the bowl and bring it back, offering it to him. He swings his head away.

"Oh you're really mad at me for ignoring you for a few minutes?" You curl into the same spot in the windowsill, crossing your arms over your chest. "I should be the one mad at you, you know. You're working for S, aren't you?" You fish the paper with his note out of your pocket, holding it in front of the bird. He squawked indignantly. But- was that guilt on his face?? "I knew it." You sit up a little straighter. "Okay. You're a cyborg. You've been following me around and keeping tabs on me at home. You're surveillance, aren't you?!" You point at him accusingly. His wings and head slowly drooped. Looking away. He crooned, low and slow. An admission of guilt- you think.

You tuck the paper away again. "Hey, listen." You speak slower, in a softer tone of voice. "I'm not- I'm not mad at you, Mephisto. I'm just worried." Mephisto kept his head lowered. Was this bird guilt tripping you? Honestly, fuck it, stranger things have happened. The world turned topsy turvy ever since the Chronorift Catastrophe. "Ever since I went to The Nest, weird things have been happening. Feeling followed, feeling watched... All I wanted was to ensure more artifacts aren't stolen." You put your chin in your palm, watching the bird. "I mean... look at the British Museum. And other museums like it. I love what I do, honest, but I can't change history. Archaeology is rooted in colonialism, but my generation can be the change. You know? Repatriate the stolen goods, make sure everything goes home as safely as it can." You settle yourself in the window still further, getting as comfortable as you can. Mephisto lifted his head, his red eyes trained on you. Cocking his head back and forth. He crooned. Slowly.

"I'm going to interpret that as you agreeing with me." You smile, reaching out to pat him on his head. He didn't shy away. "Well. Whoever this 'S' figure is, he seems to think the same way. I'm assuming he's the guy at The Nest. Tall, white hair, broad shoulders, ominous glowing right eye?" You describe him, watching as Mephisto began to rummage through the nuts. "Returning the necklace he bought. And even stopping another theft from happening in the first place. I'm honestly impressed, he could've made some money off of all of that, but he didn't." Mephisto looked at you again, crooning low and slow. He paused, lifting his head up in a sudden jerk. He cocked his head one way. Then the other. His eyes grew wider as he stared off into the distance, before sharply returning to the present. He flapped his wings, getting closer to you. You extend two fingers and he perches on them, lifting his wing. He rummages around in his feathers before pulling something shiny out.

A red and black crow pin. He dropped it against your chest. You were taken aback, but figure this must be another gift as a thank you for feeding him. You use your free hand to pick up the brooch, admiring it in the fading evening light. "Wow..." You flip it to look on the back. It had the backing to be converted into a necklace. "Thank you, Mephie..." You look back at the crow, your smile slowly growing wider. He cawed one more time, flapping his wings. "Oh! Do me a favor before you go." You unhook the back of the brooch, pinning it to your top. "I'd like you to pass along a message to S." You lean in, the bird waiting for you.

"Thank you." You whisper. before leaning back. "Maybe one day I can thank him for his assistance in person. But until then, I'll just let you keep playing messenger." Mephisto waited, cocking his head one more time. He crooned, then took off. Carrying your thanks with him as he returned to his master.

There was radio silence for a week. No Mephisto. No excavations. No nothing. It gave you time to edit your field notes, to check how much a new munsell book would cost, and do some basic upkeep on your supplies. But you still needed work, and you needed your next job.

That being said? It’s late. You’re tired. And you’ve been staring at the computer screen far too long.

With a heavy sigh you push yourself away from your desk, standing up while popping your back. You grab your keys and slip on your shoes at the door, hopping down the stairs as you make your way to the building’s entrance. You pull out your earbuds, about to put them in for your walk to the convenience store when a glint in the light caught your attention.

A man sat on a motorcycle in front of your building. His helmet sat in front of him on the seat, one of his hands rested atop it and flexed back and forth. He was dressed in leather protective gear typical of those who ride motorcycles. This was customized, however, with red and white stripes of a lightning-esque design on the arms and chest. He wasn't facing you at first, so you were content to walk by, when a familiar caw caught your attention. Mephisto was contentedly perched on the man's fingers, but his eyes were locked on you. He cawed emphatically a few more times. You opened your mouth to greet the bird when the man finally turned to face you.

He had a smug, almost lazy smile on his face. An aura of danger but an expression of contentment. Like this was always supposed to happen. Like he had been waiting for this.

Your mouth runs dry.

"Hello. sweetie." The man, undoubtedly S, finally spoke. He lifted his two fingers and Mephisto flew towards you, circling you before landing by your feet. He hopped towards you, puffed up with pride. "Mephisto here told me you wanted to speak with me?" He tilted his head. His very aura was threatening, but he remained seated on his motorcycle. Not making any sudden moves towards you.

"I- no, that isn't exactly what I said." You look away, rubbing the back of your neck. As you shifted the street lights caught in the crow brooch you still wore. S's eyes immediately snapped to it, his smug smile widening ever so slightly.

"I see Mephisto delivered my gift." He nodded to it. Finally, he stepped off his bike, leaving his helmet on the seat. He looked massive enough at The Nest, but finally standing toe to toe with him made him look even bigger. The man is built like a brick house. You swallow, standing your ground as he approached, His long fingers lifted, almost as if to graze the brooch. You take half a step back, eyeing him warily.

He paused. His red eyes flickered up to you, and the smile slid off of his face. His eyes bore into yours. Searching for something. His right eye began to glow for just a moment, but when he heard your hitched gasp the glow vanished. S's eyes remained still. Searching your gaze, but not prying into your mind. He was searching for something, anything. But he didn't appear to like what he saw.

"Anwir." His voice dropped. "Anwir was the one involved with the smuggling ring for artifacts. He began when he was in university to make ends meet, but even in his professional career he has continued. He's gone by multiple different names. He and your old supervisor were working together." He stood up to his full height, his eyes finally leaving yours as he looked to the side. "You were right. Believe it or not, I've... had experience in repatriation, I guess you could say."

You watched him in shock. You wanted to protest, ask how he could know that. But it made perfect sense. Anwir himself said he had to do some odd things to make ends meet, and that might explain his dismissive attitude towards the last supervisor. "How would you have experience in repatriation?" You ask him slowly. Mephisto caws, flying up and perching himself on your shoulder. His steady weight felt like a reassurance. In spite of the odd situation, you weren't in any trouble. Not in any danger.

"Let's just say I have my own vendetta against the rich assholes who think they can steal and smuggle precious relics as they please." S leaned down again, a smile reappearing on his face. Well, more like a smirk. "We have similar goals. I'd like to cut a deal."

"Tell me your name first." The words fall out of your mouth before you can stop them. You stand up a little straighter. "I know you've been watching me, so you already know my name. But I need yours if I'm going to trust you." S remained bent down. His eyes trained on yours.

"You don't know it already?"

"No. All I know is 'S'. So tell me your name, S." You watch him closely. There was a flicker of something in his gaze. A hint of hurt. But it was gone as quickly as it had appeared.

He leaned in, breath ghosting over your ears as his voice dropped to a whisper. "Sylus." You stood your ground, not shying away from him. You let him whisper his name into your ear like its a secret he ought to protect. He leaned back to meet your gaze again, before glancing at the crow still perched on your shoulder. "Mephisto, come." his voice dropped, a firm command forcing the bird to comply. He hopped from your shoulder to Sylus's, perching there. But the bird turned back to you, crooning low and slow. In spite of yourself you exhale a soft laugh.

"Good to see you too, buddy." You murmur, extending your hand. Mephisto leaned into your hand, allowing you to pet his head. Sylus shot his bird a side eye before turning his attention back to you. "So. What is this deal you want?"

"I have an interest in some of the other members of your field. Some of them are beginning to work with an enemy of mine, and I need someone in the discipline to help me keep an eye on them. Anwir was one of them." Sylus adjusted how he was standing, crossing his arms over his chest. "Help me keep tabs on these individuals, and in return I will help you in stopping the broader artifact smuggling trade in the N109 zone."

"The N109-" You cut yourself off, eyes wide. "Are you sure? There's no other catches to this, right?" You should be wary of anyone trying to persuade you with connections to the N109 zone. But in spite of it all, even with his intimidating presence, you didn't feel unsafe with him. Something about him felt distantly familiar. "I'm not sure I can get myself involved in something like this. I know I shouldn't have been at The Nest that night. I just-"

"You just didn't want to see history fall into the wrong hands." Sylus finished the thought for you. He sighed, looking away while pinching the bridge of his nose. "Neither do I. But there is something much larger than history going on here. Anwir was a part of a much larger syndicate. You went on two excavations with him, which makes you a potential target for his group, especially since you were at The Nest. You need someone to look after you. This deal is hardly just for my sake. It's for yours."

"Generosity always comes with strings attached." You shoot back. Not angrily, not like that at all. Appraisingly. Testing him, seeing how he'll take resistance. "You wouldn't offer protection without expecting more from me."

"Oh, so you're savvy in business deals now, are you?"

You mimic the way he's standing, head high and with your arms crossed over your chest. "Grants, funding, working with companies... there are always strings attached. Expectations. I need to know the fine print before I agree to anything. Last thing I want is to agree to a deal only for all my hard work to end up tied to the wrong group." Sylus chuckled, low and slow.

"A fair assessment." He shrugged, making Mephisto squawk as he tried to maintain his balance. "Alright, then. Here is what I will expect from you, sweetie. You will go about your normal life in the field, nothing different there. But Mephisto will tail you to act as surveillance on your companions. If I find someone suspicious I will alert you. Or, if you find something or someone suspicious, you will alert me in turn." His lips curled into a smirk. "In return for information and allowing Mephisto to tail you I will ensure your safety and continue to look into the artifact smuggling rings." His eyes lowered to the brooch on your shirt. He lifts his hand again, but doesn't touch it yet. He points at it. "This will act as your connection to me. If you ever need anything and cannot contact me, find Elysium, and ask for the Sweet Evil Trap from the Connoisseur's Menu." He does eventually allow his finger ot graze the brooch, and you do not shy from his touch this time. "The people who matter will know what you mean."

You cock your head, but don't question it. N109 zone folks were odd. You nod your head in confirmation. "I can do that." You agree. In the back of your mind you were taking note of all these things, wondering if you should reach out to your old friend against to see if you could find any information on this Sylus figure from the N109 zone. You wanted to know who you're dealing with and what you just signed yourself up for. "I just hope I'm not making a deal with the devil here."

"The devil?" Sylus laughed. A true, deep laugh. A slight hint of surprise in his voice. "What do you take me for? We were just discussing our mutual, noble ideals of repatriation."

"I'll remind you that the first time we met you dragged me down an alley with black mist and pried into my mind so deep my soul hurt." You shoot back. "That doesn't necessarily instill the most faith in a person."

"Fair." He shrugged, Mephisto again squawking. "Then allow me to demonstrate my willingness to aid you. Consider me... a patron for your discipline."

"... I don't need an academic sugar daddy."

"I didn't say that." Sylus laughed again. "No, no. Simply a patron of the discipline. We have the same end goals. No 'sugar' needed. Unless you're offering, of course." In spite of everything, his tone revealed he truly was joking. You manage to laugh in return, even in the odd circumstances you were presented with.

Stalked, followed, dealing with colleagues going against everything the discipline should stand for and believe in. Here you stand with a criminal, someone you should stay far away from. And yet, right now, it feels like he is the one you can trust most out of all of them.

"Alright." You finally acquiesce. "Fine, we can do this. But I reserve the right to call things off. I'm not stupid, I know I can't report this to the police or anything."

"I won't ask you to. This is your choice." Sylus finally looked to Mephisto. With one look the bird took off, already heading towards the N109 zone. "And I will not hold it against you if you must call it off." He sauntered back to his motorcycle, lifting his helmet. "You will know when you hear from me." He flipped his visor shut, and got onto the motorcycle. You don't know why. But you stay to see him off. As the engine revved to laugh you lifted a hand, waving him off. Before he took off down the dark streets, he glanced at you. Even through the visor of his helmet, you catch a single wink before he took off.

The flirt took you off guard. Your breath hitched again, and watching the bike vanish down the road only left your heart beating a little faster. You couldn't even remember why you really left your apartment. In a slight daze, you turn on your heel, and go back inside.

A few days later, while you were finishing up digitizing some other notes, you received notification that you had a package. You don't think much of it, pausing to stretch and go downstairs. A friend could have sent you something, or it could be some letter from an organization or group you worked for. Or it could be junk. As you hop down the stairs two at a time, your phone vibrates in your pocket. You don't glance at it until you show up to the mailroom. You fetch the package, and only then glance down.

Unknown number: Enjoy, sweetie.

You narrow your eyes. Wrong number? You don't respond at first, returning to your room. You open the text, looking at the number to see if it might be someone you know. You open the package with the sharp edge of your trowel you really know you shouldn't but you had it out so you might as well. You place your tool down, removing the brown paper.

You freeze. You slowly pick the book up, holding it up in the light. You had never see a munsell book so... clean. You open it, looking through the colors of soils. You flip through each page, fingers caressing the page with a care most equipment didn't receive. Your phone buzzes again, and you quickly look down.

Unknown: You could be greedier, you know.

Unknown: A book is nothing. Whatever you need, tell me. I may not be your "academic sugar daddy", but I am your partner.

You put the book down, hurriedly picking up your phone.

You: Sylus????

You: Thank you, I've been wanting to have my own for years

You: This wasn't necessary

Sylus: Don't worry about it, sweetie

Sylus: A book is nothing. You could be greedier. Whatever you need, whatever your heart desires

Sylus: All you need to do is tell me. We have the same goal, don't we? If this will help achieve it, then it is more than worth it

You stand, slack jawed. You look between your phone and the book sitting on the table. Beside it, your trowel. And beside that, your field journal bookmarked with one of Mephisto's feathers. "Partners." You murmur aloud. You gently remove the feather from your field notes, instead tucking it into the munsell book. Your trowel remains beside it. You take your phone, pressing the 'call' button beside your newly added contact for Sylus. You move further into your apartment, putting your phone closer to your ear.

"Hey, partner. I think I'd like to be greedier." A low, tired chuckle came from the other end of the line. It was mid morning, was the man nocturnal?

"Whatever your heart desires."

#lads #loveanddeepspace #lnds #love and deepspace #lads x reader #sylus x reader #lads sylus #love and deepspace sylus #sylus qin #sylus x you #Trowels Series

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getitoutofmymindwrites · 1 year ago

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Something impulsive | joel miller x f!reader x marcus pike, 7.1k

Summary: The distance between you and Joel grows. You decide to give Marcus a chance. A chance encounter shifts the balance between you and the two men.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, image just for aesthetic purposes, reader does not have a description, angst, slow-burn, insecurities, first date nervousness, flirting, sexual thoughts, kissing, Joel still being a prick, Joel still being an idiot (bear with him) dog piss (bear with me, too), as always let me know if I missed anything!

A/N: And here I was, thinking that this time I'll keep it short. Who am I kidding. Thank you for taking the time to read anything I write! Love you all!

P.S.: Credits for the final scene go to @jessthebaker and this hilarious comment that I just had to include in the chapter:

Dividers by @cafekitsune & @thecutestgrotto

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

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Radio silence.

That is what you would call it.

After your last encounter, you haven't seen or heard from Joel for two long weeks. No text, no phone call, nothing. Were you entering the winter phase again? Most likely.

You regretted the way you had challenged him that night. It wasn't really your style, but that's what happens when you bottle things up. Especially things like desire and longing. Eventually, they erupt like a fucking volcano after a long hibernation. Brutally. And yet you haven't got an ounce or a reaction. Something. Anything at all.

You were terrified that your friendship had been broken. You could have texted him. You should have. You felt it was all your fault anyway. You should have apologized. But you were angry. And selfish. And deep down you blamed him for your reaction, for making you feel helpless, a pawn in his hands.

But was that the case? And can you really blame anyone for your own actions? You were responsible for the way you reacted. You could have done things differently. You knew that. But you did not want to admit that to him.

Whether you were angry or not, you missed him all the same. You missed his presence, his voice, his scent. You missed the sound of his name on your tongue. The warmth of his irises and the softness in his eyes when he looked at you. And boy, did he look at you.

He may not have been a man of many words, but sometimes, just sometimes, his gaze spoke louder than any voice in the room. That's how you got into this mess in the first place.

One evening, on your day off, you hang out with Trish at your place. You needed the company, being alone with your thoughts for too long wasn't a good idea. The two of you sit on the sofa, drinking beer and eating pizza straight out of the box. You had already put your girls to bed and this was your happy hour.

"Are you dating Marcus you little weasel?"

"Where did that come from?", your eyes widen in surprise.

"Joel asked me the other day.", Trish reveals, laughing under her breath.

"WHAT?" you squeal in disbelief. Joel was not the type to ask about other people's private matters. Especially yours and especially to his cousin. "OK, please, elaborate."

"He asked me if you’re seeing him.", she continues.

"When did this happen?", you try to draw an imaginary map in your mind, gathering all the information available to you to understand what might be going through his mind.

"A few days ago, maybe?" she says nonchalantly.

"He asked that explicitly? Those were the exact words he used?", you insist like a hound dog looking for clues.

"Of course not." Trish rolls her eyes, "He danced around it for a while, but I pretended I didn't know what he was talking about -which I obviously don't- and then I made him ask directly."

"Oh god, give the poor man a break!", you exclaim, you could only imagine what a menace could she be when she wanted to.

"Well, are you?"

"No, I’m not. But if he asks again tell him I am."

"Why?", she frowns but looks amused at the same time. Oh, she's up to something.

"So he will leave me alone." Well he already kind of did, but maybe it was for the best to cut the ties once and for all.

"What do you mean? Is he bothering you?" Trish insists, curiosity sparkling in her eyes.

"No- he's- it's not- uh-" where would you even start, it's all a fucking mess, anyway. "Forget I said anything-" you try to end the conversation, but-

"I might have kind of implied that, though?" Trish wrinkles her nose, trying to minimize the damage.

"WHAT?"

"Only because he looked desperate" she rushes to explain, "and honestly you two should really fuck each other. So I thought maybe I could spice things up a bit."

A minute or two passes before you answer her. All this information bombarding your mind left a paralyzing feeling in your mouth. He looked desperate? Why the fuck? Was this the classic 'I want what I can't have'? He wasn't that type. And he could have his way with you if he wanted to. Couldn't he? Did he get the feeling that you weren't interested? What more could you have done, he was the one who went cold and hot all the time. "It's not like that." is all you say.

"The hell it isn't." Trish quips, almost offended.

"We don't want the same things Trish, and I won't make the same mistakes again." you draw the line. "What did he say?", you ask without shame, because you just have to know, even if it hurts you.

"Oh, you know, he put on his usual 'Joel grumpy face' and walked out on me. But honestly, what did you expect?" she shrugs and continues, "So, if 'it's not like that'", she air-quotes you mockingly, "why don't you give Marcus a real chance? He's a good guy and I don't often say that," Trish points her finger at you.

"I'm sure he is Trish, but I can't."

"And why is that?"

"Because it's not honest."

"To whom?"

"To him."

"And..?" she presses you.

You close your eyes, because you really don't want to say it and it feels frustrating but comforting at the same time to have a friend who knows you so well. "And to my heart.", you mumble coyly.

"Oh, baby c'mere. You really like my stupid cousin, don't you?" Trish wraps her arms around your shoulders, squeezing you into a tight hug.

"No, I do not." It's more than that. "And don't push it any further, it's not happening.", it's your turn to point the finger at her.

"Ok.", she sighs troubled. "Ok, look at me and listen carefully.", she makes a serious face, holding your hands in hers as she begins. "Joel's my cousin and he is a good man and I love him, but he has his own issues to deal with-"

"What do you mean?" You interrupt her curiously. You never thought to ask about his past before, it seemed invasive.

"It’s not my place." she cuts you off with a guarded look that seems so foreign on her face and continues, "The point is, you cannot wait for him forever."

"I'm not-" you start to deny it, but Trish grabs your face in her palms, squeezing you gently to make her point and you stop mid-sentence.

"You deserve to be happy. And you can't miss something you've never had." her eyes bore into yours, full of care and concern.

Her last words strike you like a slap on the face.

Oh, but you can. You already are.

Another two weeks have passed and you still haven't heard from Joel. He's stuck in your head like a virus, unable to think of anything else. This is the longest you've gone without talking. It's taking its toll on you, making you fidgety and jumpy, irritated by the simplest things. You've reached your breaking point and you're ready to call him, just to see if he's OK.

And, if you're honest with yourself, to give him a chance to make a move. He might think you don't want him to reach out. That thought makes you even more angry, you sound so pathetic in your head, begging for a man's attention. A man who has never made his intentions clear. You should stand up for yourself, hold your own.

You're at the office, shuffling through your bag, looking for your phone, still debating whether to call him. As you reach deep into your bag, searching through the million things you stuff in there, you feel a hard, papery thing on your fingertips. You fish it out and see that it's Marcus' card. You don't even remember putting that thing in there. But you remember him giving it to you.

He was such a gentleman and so thoughtful that night. He didn't ask for your number and he didn't press to put his on your phone. He gave you his card, clearly stating that he hoped you would get in touch with him.

"..why don't you give Marcus a real chance?.."

You take a deep breath and unlock your phone.

"..You cannot wait for him forever.."

This is it.

"..You deserve to be happy.."

You're going to call him. Right now? Yes, right now.

He picks up after the third ring.

"Agent Pike.", his voice deep and smooth, runs like honey in your ears. You remember how much you liked the sound of it.

You’re taken aback for a moment, you'd almost forgotten what he did for a living. It was strange but interesting to hear him like that, it stirred something in you. "Uh- um-" you lose your train of thought for a second, "hi- I don't know if you rememb-"

Marcus says your name instantly, the surprise evident in his tone. "I was beginning to think you'd either lost my card or I'd made a terrible, terrible first impression on you," he says with a soft laugh, vulnerability coloring his voice.

"No, no, god- no, nothing like that.. It was really nice to meet you!" you reassure him, because it really was.

"Yeah, you too.." Marcus replies and you can hear the smile in his voice. He doesn't say anything else, giving you time to collect yourself.

"I just-" you squeeze your eyes shut, trying not to freak out, pinching the bridge of your nose with your fingers, you hadn't planned this, "I've been really busy, with work and the kids, I haven't had a chance to..." the words catch in your throat as you think of the real reason you've been busy.

Obsessing over unavailable men.

But you don't want to lie to Marcus, he's been so kind and open, so you pause, looking for a way out of the hole you've dug yourself into.

"Hey, it's OK," Marcus takes the lead, sensing your discomfort, "you didn't have to call, but I'm really glad you did. I thought about getting your details from Trish in case you lost my number, but then I didn't want to force you into anything in case you didn't lose my number, you know?" he laughs timidly.

"Yeah, I know; that is so thoughtful of you. I'm- I'm glad I called." It feels strange to admit something like that, something so small, to be honest, to be so open and talk about positive things, to make someone feel good with your words on a personal level. You've spent the last few years just doing it for your daughters, loving them, hyping them up, rooting for them, but it's a change that you welcome and you discover that you really, really missed it.

There's a short silence on the other end, which makes you feel anxious, so you decide not to bother him any more. "I'm sorry I called during office hours, I-"

"No, no, no, don't even think about it, there are no office hours at my line of work anyway, so.." Marcus rushes to put you at ease. "I was just wondering if I should ask you out or if I'm jumping the gun," he blurts out and you can feel his hesitation through the phone.

"Well," you try to lighten the mood, "you're the one asking questions for a living, so why don't you earn your keep?" you bite your lower lip in anticipation and then snicker to yourself. You hear Marcus laughing, amused and impressed by your little stunt, and you have a deep desire to hear it again, knowing that it's your doing.

Marcus is not one to shy away from a challenge, so he delivers quite brilliantly. "It would give me great pleasure if you would go out with me," he says your name softly at the end, "I know it can be tricky with the girls and work and all that, but I'm sure we could work something out; my office hours are very flexible," he informs you, cleverly covering all your possible obstacles.

"I thought you didn't have office hours..." you return playfully, feeling lighter already, the thought of Joel still lingering, but the pain of it fading in your heart.

"For you I do." Marcus deadpans with an amazing ability to not make it sound cheesy. And you know exactly what kind of ability it is.

The one of honesty.

Your heart is in your mouth. You're sure of it. You can taste your heartbeat on the tip of your tongue. As much as you've tried to play it down, you're nervous, your stomach is in knots. You spend most of the evening whining to Trish on the phone, freaking out about what to wear and ending up with a "What does it matter anyway? It's one date and that's it, he's not sticking around. Yeah, he's not. I'm good, I'm fine, this is fine." you shrug as you look at yourself in your bedroom mirror.

Trish's voice brings you back to reality, "None of that, everything's going to be fine, you're going to have a good time and you're going to keep having a good time." You looked sideways at the phone as if Trish could see you through it, glancing at the time. "Ok Trish, thanks for the pep talk, but I have to go or I'll be late."

"Sure thing babe, have a great night-"

"Thanks Trish-" you speak over her voice sure she's done with the pleasantries, but-

"-and don't forget to fuck 'im."

The line goes dead before you can reply.

Jesus Christ.

"You got this. You got this. You got this," you chant to yourself, pacing the living room, checking the time on your phone every thirty seconds. "Yeah," you exhale with nervous conviction, "you got this." The doorbell rings and your stomach clenches. Conviction my ass, "No, you don't." you mutter before rushing to answer the door.

Your heels click on the wooden floor and you pin the hem of your dress down once more, just to be sure. It wasn't terribly short, but still, you haven't dressed for a date in God knows how long.

You open the door and your breath catches in your throat. But you could say the same about Marcus. You look at one another for a moment, both admiring each other. He looks sharp, clean-shaven, with a prominent jawline that makes you want to suck on it from side to side.

His hair is combed back and slightly to the side. He looks so handsome and then he smiles at you. A real smile, big and toothy and bright and beautiful. His eyes crinkle and his plush lips stretch with the force of it. His suit is elegant and clean, neatly pressed, and the two top buttons of his shirt are undone, showing a hint of his tanned chest, making it more casual.

"Hey.." Marcus speaks first, pulling himself out of his haze. His eyes drink you in, unable to land on one spot, admiring your simple but elegant black dress that stops mid-thigh, the softness of your exposed skin, the curves of your body and the features of your face.

"Hi..." you say back shyly, noticing his admiration.

"I- Christ-", he stutters almost confused.

"What's wrong?" you fidget with the fabric of your dress, your nerves getting the better of you once again.

"I almost forgot how beautiful you are-" Marcus admits, his eyebrows raised, a hint of pink spreading across his cheeks. "-you look amazing," he compliments, raising his arm and pointing his open palm in your direction.

You pray that you can fast-forward to the actual date and stay right here on the threshold of your house at the same time. "Oh, thank you -" you reply quietly, with a shy smile on your lips.

"These-" Marcus raises his other hand, suddenly remembering what he's holding, "these are for you," he hands you a beautiful bunch of flowers, obviously made specifically for you by a florist, wrapped in a beautiful ribbon. What is it about this man that turns the most clichéd things into thoughtful actions?

"These are so beautiful, thank you, let me-" you point towards the house so you can put them in a vase, signaling him to come in with your head.

"Hope it's not too much..", Marcus wonders as he enters the hall of the house.

"It's perfect," you smile warmly as you return from the kitchen with the filled vase and place it on the entryway furniture, admiring the arrangement. You place the palm of your hand on his bicep, reassuring him as you turn to leave.

His eyes shine with appreciation as he takes your palm in his warm hand, planting a soft kiss on the pulse point of your wrist. His scent fills your nostrils, sweet and masculine, and you can almost smell his shampoo as he leans forward. Your lips part and your eyes widen at the intimate contact, but instead of feeling pressured, all you want is for him to do it again on any part of your skin he likes. His plush lips are warm and soft, leaving the slightest trace of moisture as they part your skin, sending a wave of shivers through your body.

You stifle a gasp but you can't hide the dilation of your irises and he can't hide the hunger behind his. He cups your cheek in his hand, stroking your cheekbone with his thumb. "Ready?" he asks in a hushed tone.

"As I'll ever be."

The drive is bathed in bits of small talk and comfortable silence, appreciating each other's presence without having to fill the quiet of the cabin every second. Marcus' gaze is split between the road ahead and you at his side. He drives with one hand, his right resting comfortably on the gearbox.

God, you're such a cliché, noticing the way his broad palm rests there, the veins bulging between his fingers and on his hand and it makes you squirm in your seat. Your date hasn't even started yet and you're already feeling uncomfortable in your underwear. Are you that needy? Or is it him? Is he doing this to you?

Joel.

No, stop. Don’t think about him. Not right now. Stop.

Joel.

No.

Joel.

NO.

You don't realize you're holding your breath until Marcus is asking if you're all right.

"What?" you snap out of your haze, jerking your head to look at him. He looks worried, his forehead forming a deep crease between his eyebrows. "I lost you there for a minute, what happened?"

"Nothing, nothing, I'm fine."

"You don't gotta do that, you know."

"Do what?"

"Say you're fine. You're allowed not to be."

You start to contradict him, but then you realize he's right.

"You're right," you admit, looking at him sheepishly. "I'm just nervous- and it's not your fault-" you hasten to explain, "I just haven't done this in so long that it feels like it's happening to someone else, like I'm watching myself from a distance."

He smiles at you knowingly and you add frustratedly, "That's so uncool, I'm sorry, I should be-"

"Moment of truth?" Marcus cuts you off before you can finish your thought.

"Um- OK?"

"I'm already hooked." he bites his lip, stealing a glance in your direction, his shoulders shrugging as if he had just told you the most natural thing in the world.

"Excuse m-" you look at him in bewilderment.

"I know I should play hard to get and do all the stuff everyone does on a first date, act cool and whatnot," he gestures in the air with his free hand, "but really? I'm hooked. Captivated. So-" he takes a deep breath, exhaling forcefully, "if anyone should be anything, it's me, scared that I'm going to screw this up, somehow. But you know what?" he looks at you expectantly, waiting for a response.

"What?" you manage to croak, your whole body buzzing with anticipation.

"I'm going to choose to enjoy this night by being myself-" he stops and scrunches his eyes in thought, "-well, ok, I'm going to hold back a bit," he jokes playfully, making you both laugh at that, relieving some of the tension and he takes your hand in his, squeezing it gently, "because I don't know if I'll get another chance. I can only hope that at the end of the night you'll choose to see me again."

He brings your intertwined hands to his lips and kisses your knuckles tenderly. He's said all the right things, everything you want to hear and dear God, he makes you want to climb him like a tree. You bite your lower lip so hard you're afraid you'll draw blood.

He studies your face and your fluttered expression for a moment, a smile of accomplishment painted on his perfect mouth, before he adds, "And you shouldn't be anything other than what you want to be. Neither of us should."

The date was not what you expected, because it was actually a success. Zero awkwardness, lots to talk about, mutual humor and gentle glances. You started with dinner in a not-too-casual-not-too-formal restaurant and ended up in a great bar, lively but not too loud, where you had delicious cocktails over and over again. Not Marcus though, because he was driving. So responsible, you wanted to sink your teeth into his neck.

Marcus was truly interested in you. He asked you about everything, he really wanted to know about your life. You didn't delve much into the divorce and he didn't push it. But you told him more about your background, your work, your daughters, the challenges of being a single mother and to your surprise, he listened. Actively. When you told him it was his turn to spill the beans, he told you about his job and his specialty; his move to Texas for a fresh start and when you asked him why he felt he needed one, he reluctantly told you about proposing to his girlfriend of two months.

"I know, I know-" he raises his hand in defence as he shakes his head in disbelief, "I don't know what the hell I was thinking, I guess-" he looks down at his empty glass as if searching for answers, "sometimes I have a hard time letting things go."

He dares to meet your eyes through his lashes, to study your reaction. But your expression is neutral, no judgment on your part. "But I'm working on it, letting things happen naturally, you know? If it's meant to be, it's meant to be." he shrugs casually.

"That must be hard for you to deal with." you observe.

"Why would you think that?" he seems curious to know what you think of him, smiling crookedly.

"You strike me as someone who really tries to work things out, to fix what's broken. You don't give up easily, do you?"

His eyes bore into yours as he confirms, "No, I don't," smirking at you. You break eye contact and look down at your lap, biting back a smile of your own.

Suddenly you hear your name being called and you scan the room to find the source. You see Tommy just a few meters away, coming towards you to say hello. Marcus looks between the two of you, his eyes finally landing on yours, catching your faltering smile. "Hey, Tommy, how are you?" you hug him gently and then introduce the two men.

"Hi, nice to meet you." Tommy holds out his hand as Marcus extends his own, "You too."

"Who's the lucky girl this time, Tommy?" you tease with a devilish grin as you wink at him.

"The lucky girl is actually my brother." Tommy laughs breathlessly and your face immediately falls as he points his thumb behind him.

Joel is there at the other end of the bar, sitting on a table, his gaze fixed on you, his whole posture stiff, his jaw clenched and his eyes hard on you. You raise your arm weakly and wave at him, and he nods back sternly.

Marcus misses absolutely none of this.

How long had they been there? How much did he see? Did you do anything inappropriate? you keep checking yourself for any flawed behavior. But then you realize that you don't have to answer to him or anyone else. You can do as you please. So why do you keep hoping you haven't let him down?

"You wanna join us? There's plenty of room, come on.", Tommy invites you to their table.

You feel your legs give out just at the thought of this gathering and you try to decline politely, "We wouldn't want to impose, it's OK-"

Tommy gives you a confused look, as if you haven't spent the best part of the last two years hanging out together. "What the hell are you talking about, love? Come on, move that ass of yours." he waves his head in their direction. You glance swiftly from Tommy to Marcus and then back to Tommy, hoping he'll get the message, but he doesn't. Damn it, Tommy.

Marcus notices your apprehension and puts the palm of his hand on your forearm, caressing your skin with his thumb.

"Are you OK? Do you want to go instead?" he says in a quiet voice, just for you to hear.

You almost jump at his suggestion, "No, no, I just don't want you to think I'm not having a good time with you…" you lower your eyes, feeling vulnerable.

"Hey, hey, look at me." Marcus lowers his head to meet your gaze, "I think I'd know if this date was going south. But if for some reason it is and I'm too smitten to see it, I'm all ears." Marcus searches your eyes and you shake your head with conviction.

"It's not," is all you say, and you lean forward to place a kiss on his cheek, on the side of his face that is hidden from Joel's inspection. As if that would make what you just did any less obvious. Marcus' lips part, and he turns his head sideways to look at your profile, almost brushing it with his own.

His eyes linger on your mouth as you lean back to your seat, and then he licks his lower lip like a starving man preparing for his favorite meal. "Let's go meet your friends before I do something impulsive," he whispers in your ear, his grip on your arm tightening, his nose pressing against your temple and his lips brushing your earlobe.

Goosebumps spread across your skin and you have half a mind to get the fuck out of here and drag him back to your house. But instead you giggle like a schoolgirl and lead the way to hell, feeling the warmth of his hand on your lower back and the moisture of your pussy running down your thigh.

If a person could combust out of stillness, it would be Joel. You're not even sure he's breathing at this point. You train your eyes on his chest, trying to follow the rise and fall of his rib-cage, just to make sure he doesn't faint.

He's sitting directly opposite you, next to his brother, who's sitting opposite Marcus. He's nursing a beer with one hand, the other behind Tommy's seat. He barely speaks to you, he avoids looking at you and that makes you feel like you’re doing something wrong and he's giving you the cold shoulder. It takes everything you've got to swallow the lump in your throat and the tears behind your eyes, but you do it.

The same waitress who took your previous orders comes back and asks what you and Marcus are having. You order a beer, and before Marcus can place his own, Joel spits, "If you're driving her back, you shouldn't be drinking," giving him a disapproving look.

Your cheeks flush with embarrassment, your eyes dart from the waitress to Joel and then to Marcus, ready to apologize on his behalf. You knew Joel could be abrasive, but never so blatantly rude. Those were the first words he said to him.

Jesus, what is his problem?

Marcus seems to be able to handle his own, answering to you instead of Joel without missing a beat. "Good to know you have such protective friends," he says with a twinkle in his eye and then he orders, "I'll have the same as before, thank you.", shifting his gaze to the waitress. "One soda with a slice of orange coming up," she says politely and leaves to get your drinks.

You glare at Joel, but he doesn't seem to be paying attention, although he flinched almost imperceptibly when he heard Marcus' choice of drink. Marcus gives you a gentle kiss on the temple and you begin to suspect that he knows exactly what's going on between you and Joel, whose jaw is twitching at the sight of Marcus' public display of affection towards you.

You envy Tommy at the moment because he seems blissfully unaware, so you turn the conversation to him. Or at least you try, because as soon as you open your mouth to speak, Joel cuts you off and asks Marcus what he does for a living.

You can't help but think that after your first meeting in that god’s forsaken bar, it took him months to strike up a conversation with you, but tonight, for some reason, he just can't seem to shut up.

Marcus, being as polite as ever, gives him the general answer that he works for the government.

"Ah, a white collar," Joel replies condescendingly and your eyes bulge out of their sockets, "must be nice, relaxed." still not looking at you and God does he tick you off. Tommy shifts uncomfortably in his seat, stealing glances at you, not sure what's going on. In any other case you would have found it endearing. Not so much now.

You too are squirming in your seat, trying to think of a way out of this awkward situation. This is not how you imagined your first date would end. And it's certainly not how you expected to meet Joel after all these weeks.

Marcus seems unfazed by the veiled hostility coming his way, smiling back at Joel, almost enjoying the antagonism. "Not necessarily, but I can't talk about it either." This catches Joel's attention and he looks at you questioningly for the first time. You tilt your head slightly to the side, signaling what are you doing? but Joel takes his eyes off you, sipping his beer nonchalantly.

"What about you? What do you do for a living?" Marcus returns the question.

"We're contractors, me and Joel; we're brothers," he gestures between himself and Joel, "and we work together." Tommy chimes in quickly, having reached his limit of awkwardness at the table. You breathe a sigh of relief, but it's not long lived.

"And how do you all know each other?" is the next natural question to come out of Marcus' mouth.

Joel's eyes land on you briefly, something flashes past them and before you can stop him-

"She and I actually met in a bar..." Joel smirks at Marcus, but you speak at the same time-

"Joel-" Your voice is firm as a warning, fully accepting that your tone might be alarming to your unsuspecting company.

"What?" Tommy's voice falters, laughing uncomfortably, completely at a loss. Marcus reads the table, his eyes darting between the three of you, at the same time placing a protective hand over your shoulder, rubbing soothing circles with his thumb.

"What?" Joel repeats in a different tenor to his brother and he shrugs, smiling, "It's no big deal, tell them," he has the audacity to put you on the spot, nodding his chin at you.

You feel the contents of your stomach move up your esophagus, cold sweat coats your skin in a thin layer. Betrayal. That's all you can think of. "Uh-", you try to find the words, but nothing comes out, betrayal, you're not good at it, lying doesn't come easy to you, betrayal, especially with three sets of eyes on you. Joel just sits there with a smug look on his face and you wish you had the guts to slap it out of him.

Betrayal.

Marcus' voice brings you back to the present, are you all right?, a soft whisper caresses your ear and soothes your insides. The bile in your throat begins to return to its rightful place, but your eyes are already moist, your waterline glassy, a look of defeat and disappointment painted on your soft face. Joel sees it all written on those contours of yours that he has come to know and marvel at from afar, and it is as if a sudden realization hits him, snapping him out of his asshole behavior. He is cruel to you.

"All right, all right," he rolls his eyes and continues with a sigh, and Tommy's eyes return to his brother, but Marcus' remains fixed on you. "We met in a bar and we had a heated..." he stops abruptly and your face takes on a look of horror as he searches for the right word. "...argument." Joel finally adds. "We exchanged a few words, but then we ran into each other at my cousin's house and the rest is history." he laughs as he waves his hand in the air and winks at you.

You bite your lower lip as hard as you can to keep your chin from trembling, but a single tear of relief or suppressed anger, you're not sure anymore, escapes from the side of your face that only Joel can see, as you give him a forced, watery smile.

Luckily the bar is dimly lit, otherwise they would all be able to see the redness spreading across your chest, the rage manifesting itself on your body. Used and played is how you feel, and Joel is the last person you would have thought would put you in this position. You'd bet all your money on it.

"Why didn't you say anything?" Tommy wonders aloud, looking between you and Joel. You clear your throat and have no choice but to confirm Joel's lie. "It felt awkward at the time, so we pretended we didn't know each other. It was an unfortunate moment, one I deeply regret," you lock eyes with Joel and see his facade almost crumbling, "that will never recur, ever again." you continue to stare at him as you speak the last words with concealed bitterness. For the first time that night, he looked down at his lap in shame and regret, pretending to peel the label off his bottle with his thumb.

The ride home was silent, you were emotionally drained, something Marcus picked up on easily, so he simply offered his open palm, which you gladly accepted, tucking your fingers between his own. He continued to caress your skin, back and forth, and it was all you needed to calm your nerves.

As he walked you to the front door of your house, you felt compelled to apologize to him in a profound way. "I'm so sorry about Joel," you shake your head, looking down at your feet, your fingers scratching your forehead, a worried look on your face, "he can be intense sometimes -" why are you defending him?

Marcus lifts your chin with a gentle finger under it, his thumb caressing your jawline. "I don't care about Joel." With one simple sentence, he has erased him from your conversation. No more room for him to steal any longer of your night with Marcus.

“But-”

“I'm the one standing on your porch right now am I not?”, the implication clear in his voice and words.

“I'm not sure what-” you try to avoid confirming or denying his assumptions.

"Mhm," he smiles knowingly, his eyes fixed on yours, searching for something. You feel safe with him, but you can't shake the feeling that you've ruined everything. Marcus' eyes drop to your lips and he slowly leans forward, stopping just inches from you, waiting for you to initiate. You can feel yourself unable to relax, your body stiff, frozen. But you want to, you really do, so you ask instead, "Are you going to do something impulsive now?"

He smiles and leans even closer to your lips, his breath gently fanning across your plump skin. His nose gently nudges yours, "Yes, I think I might."

Your lips almost touch when a muffled voice followed by loud barks startles you both, causing you to pull away and look around for the source of the disruption. After a few seconds, you both see a medium-sized dog running down the street. You wait to see if its owner follows, but no one appears. You turn to look at each other, giggling at the strange interruption.

Marcus caresses your cheek with the back of his knuckles and you lean into his touch, the moment gone and lost. "I hope you had a decent time because I know I had a great one and I really hope I get to see you again."

"Marcus," you scowl at him, "are you fishing for compliments?" you chastise him teasingly.

"Well, a man can dream," he smirks playfully as he tries to get some distance between you in case he comes on too strong.

"You don't have to," you coo, grabbing his collar to crush your lips against his.

After the initial shock, Marcus holds your head in his hands, tilting it to return the kiss and deepen it. His soft lips massage yours, sucking and nibbling at your lower lip. His upper lip and tongue capture yours, tugging gently, sending waves of pleasure through your body. He licks into your mouth, exploring every soft cavity, and you suck on his tongue in return.

He grunts into your welcoming cavern and you fist the fabric of his shirt that adorns his chest tighter. He presses his body into yours, trying to keep his pelvic area from pressing into your lower abdomen, but you can feel his growing erection inescapably.

You come up for air and murmur into his mouth, "I had a great time and I'd like to do it again".

This time it is he who presses his mouth to yours, kissing you fervently, sucking all the air out of your lungs. Your body is on fire, your abdomen tingling with desire.

You whimper against his lips as you reach for the short curls at the back of his neck, tugging them gently between your fingers, causing him to growl against your wet flesh, and he can feel your nipples poking at his chest through the thin material of your dress as you press your torso against his in sheer determination.

He's sure he's going to lose it and fuck you in front of your house for all your neighbors to see if he doesn't stop now. He breaks the kiss, panting, his eyes boring into yours, your foreheads touching. "Christ, woman," he closes his eyes and laughs to himself, "you're going to give me a heart attack."

"Better me than old age, right?" you try to hide your teasing smile behind your tightly pressed lips.

"Hey, I'm about to arrest you for threatening a government official," he warns without any conviction or authority.

"Are you going to handcuff me, Agent?" you ask, looking at him through your lashes and it comes out more breathless than it should.

"Jesus." Marcus mutters through his teeth, his resolve hanging by a thread. "OK." he gives you a sharp look, "I'm going to leave for the sake of both of us," he says, but his grip on your hip tightens, as if he's afraid you'll disappear.

"You could come in, you know," you offer, looking at him sheepishly.

His expression is pained when he has to turn you down. "And I'd like nothing more, but I want to do this right. Please, let me do this right." Marcus pleads softly, rolling his forehead over yours in desperation.

"What does that even mean?" you ask, a bit embarrassed by his rejection.

"Means I want to wine and dine you, spoil you, give you the perfect date," he coos into the soft skin beneath your ear, making you shudder at his soft promise. "And when you think you can't go another second without my touch, then I'll come in and spoil you some more," he continues, brushing his moist lips along the pillar of your neck. "I will spoil you in all the ways you deserve." he finishes, planting an open-mouthed kiss on your pulse point under your jaw. Your knees buck and your pussy contracts, squeezing out your sweetness at the feel of his warm and wet tongue.

"OK," you breathe out in a shaky voice, nodding dumbly, cupping his face in your hands and planting a small kiss on the tip of his nose.

He smiles and presses his lips to your forehead murmuring "God, you're something," and his heart swells at your tender gesture.

Marcus takes a deep breath, pauses and seems hesitant, but speaks his mind anyway. "OK, I'm going to skip the whole 'three day rule' and call you tomorrow. Is that OK?" he looks anxiously into your eyes, "Am I rushing you?"

A spontaneous laugh escapes your lips at the sound of that. "I just invited you into my house, you think a phone call is going to rush me?" you frown, "You can call me whenever you want.", you say matter of factly. You turn to leave, but change your mind and face him again. "Actually," you bite your lip mischievously, "I need to make sure I can rely on the American authorities, so I'm counting on your word. I'll be expecting a call by tomorrow," you stifle a grin by pressing your lips together.

"Yes, ma'am." Marcus nods in amusement and gives you one last kiss, pressing his lips to yours for as long as he can before ushering you into the house. "Good night," he breathes against your lips.

"Good night," you whisper back with a shy smile and close the door behind you. Marcus walks to his car with a stupid grin plastered on his face, gets in and drives away, but not before making sure you have closed and locked your front door.

In the stillness of the night, Joel takes a moment to assess the situation and satisfied that the coast is clear, he carefully emerges from the large bush he was hiding behind.

He glances down at his dog pissed shoe and mutters to himself,

"Fuck."

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crowsofdarkness · 6 months ago

Text

Moment Of Weakness: Chapter Twenty Four

-gif not mine. credit to owner-

Pairings: Mob!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Content Warnings: language, 18 + smut, angst, fluff, affair, cheating, violence, kidnapping, faking a pregnancy.

Summary: Reader is the assistant to New York's most feared mob boss, James Buchanan Barnes. He had the picture-perfect life: status in the mob, friends, and beautiful wife. So why can't he keep his mind and eyes off of reader?

Authors Note: I just wanted to remind everyone who reads this, there are heavy moments of cheating/having an affair in this story. You might not agree with the actions of "reader" or Bucky but it does pertain to the storyline. If anyone is interested, tags are open for this! Just send me a message or comment!

Tags: @cjand10 @generalmoonpolice @sapphirebarnes @baw1066 @nameless-ken @minami97 @bookofriverr

I opened the door to my apartment, letting the larger man walk in before me, and shut it quickly, locking it behind me. Bucky looked around the small space that was littered with boxes, some unpacked, some not even touched. He gave me a confused look.

“I moved last month,” I informed while hanging up my purse and jacket.

Bucky stood out of place so I offered the couch to him, which he accepted with a nod.

“Why?” He asked while sitting down.

I decided to sit on the single chair on the other side of the room.

“It’s kind of a long story,” I said.

Bucky leaned back into the couch. “You can start off by where the hell you’ve been the last eight months?”

I quietly scoffed and did my best to keep my anger at bay. If I pissed him off, he wouldn't agree to help me.

“I needed space from you, Bucky. It wasn’t healthy for either of us if we continued the way we were,” I defended.

He shrugged. “So why did you come back?”

My fingers began to fidget with the loose strand of fabric on the chair I was seated on and I let out a deep breath.

“I think I’m being followed again.”

Bucky shoulders tensed as he sat up straighter. “Why do you think that?”

I gave a half shrug. “It started a month ago. What started off as feeling someone watching me as I walked or through my windows became my car being broken into and stolen. Then my house was burglarized. Whoever did it destroyed almost everything and tore it apart, as if they were looking for something.”

“Were you hurt?”

I smiled fondly at the concern in Bucky’s voice.

“No, thankfully I wasn’t home. But after that night, I packed up my things and moved here,” I motioned towards my apartment. “Things were quiet for a few weeks until last night.”

I handed Bucky a folded up letter that I received in my mailbox yesterday. Bucky’s eyes scanned over the words a few times, the anger radiating off of him in waves.

You’re going to get what you deserve. No one can keep you safe. Make sure to keep an eye open wherever you go.

“Do you have any idea who sent this?” Bucky asked through gritted teeth.

“There wasn’t a return address,” I shook my head. “But I have a feeling about who it could be.”

He sighed while pinching his eyes closed. “Yeah, me too.”

I tilted my head in confusion. “You do?”

“There’s been some talk on the streets about Clint’s original hit on you being reinstated,” Bucky said.

To say I was shocked was a lie; that’s exactly who I thought was behind all of this. But my lips parted when something clicked into place about tonight.

“Is that what you were asking that guy about tonight?” I asked.

He hesitated, body tense, before eventually nodding. “He was the last one to know about Clint’s whereabouts but Budapest is broad. It could have been yesterday or six months ago.”

My heart skipped a beat when I realized that Bucky was trying to fight this on his own for me. For my safety.

“I would ask if you would help me but it seems like you’ve already been doing that,” I chewed on my lip.

“It’s you, Y/N. I would do anything to protect you,” he vowed without missing a beat.

Silence fell between us for a few moments as I racked my brain for what to do next. I could either have him leave, only calling me when he found out some more information about the hit. Or, I could have him stay a bit longer to have us catch up.

That was such a bad idea, I mentally smacked myself for even thinking that.

“Aren’t you going to say I told you so?”

Bucky’s sorrowful voice caused my eyes to land on him. “What?”

“You were right.”

I shook my head, confused. “About what?”

“Natasha. She lied about the pregnancy,” Bucky rested his elbows on his knees, letting out a deep breath in order to keep his tears at bay.

My heart ached for him, only slightly. I tried to tell him about it way before, so the pain he was feeling was his own fault.

“Oh,” I muttered.

“I asked her about it.”

“Oh,” I said much louder.

Bucky looked at his hands with heavy shoulders. “She denied it at first, said that she was pregnant and she had all the proof. But when I asked her to take another pregnancy test in front of me, she came clean.”

I hummed while nodding, not entirely sure what to say.

“I had her move out the next day and the divorce was finalized last month,” Bucky informed.

“Oh,” I repeated yet again.

He chuckled slightly. “Is that all you’re going to say?”

I shrugged. “What else do you want me to say, Bucky? Good for you? It still doesn't change the fact that I tried to tell you and you blew me off.”

“I went home that night and confronted her about it.”

His face was set hard while breath was even and steady, meaning he was telling the truth, and leaned towards me to grab my hands. The warmness of his flesh and the coolness of the vibranium one made my heart flip a few times over.

“This still doesn't change anything,” I said with stern eyes. “I’m not going to fall back into you because now you’re single.”

Bucky nodded. “I know. So I’ll make you a promise.”

My brows raised with interest.

“When we’re finished figuring out how to end Clint and the hit on you, if you want me to, I'll stay away. Until you’re ready, if you’re ready, give me another chance.”

He brought my hand to his lips, ghosting a few kisses over my knuckles. No matter how hard I swooned over him, I continued to keep my stern posture, not wanting to let him know how bad he was affecting me.

“I’ll wait as long as you need me too; years if I have too because heaven knows I’m not getting over you,” Bucky mused.

I swallowed the large lump in my throat, my heart swelling double its size because of Bucky’s proclamation. All I could do was nod, unsure what words, if any, would come and make sense.

Our eyes watched each other for a few beats and it wasn’t until I felt us slowly closing the space between us that I let out a small cough, sitting further back into my chair.

“What time should I meet you tomorrow?”

“For what?” Bucky asked.

“Did you really think I would let you handle my problem by yourself?” I questioned.

He was fast to disagree. “Not happening. I’m not allowing you to get involved. This is some heavy shit, Y/N. You could get hurt.”

I stood to my feet and placed my hands in the back pocket of my jeans. “You can say no all you want, Bucky. But we both know that I’ve never listened to you anyway.”

Bucky’s jaw clenched before he let out a sigh. “We do things my way, understand?”

With a hard squeeze on his shoulder, I nodded. “Sure.”

Then, all of a sudden, something clicked in my brain and I sat back down in my chair.

“What is it?” Bucky wondered.

“You said that your divorce was finalized a month ago, right?”

When he nodded, I continued. “Everything that’s been happening to me started about a month ago. So do you think it’s possible-.”

“Natasha’s in on it,” Bucky finished my thought. “I had a feeling, that’s why I’ve been looking for both of them.”

“Fantastic,” I grumbled.

He reached for the letter, playing around with it between his fingers. “You said this letter got mailed to you, here at your new place, right?”

I began to nod but stopped when I realized what he was getting at.

“They have my new address.”

Bucky motioned down the hall. “Go pack a couple of bags of things you might need. You’re staying with me until this is all finished.”

“Uh, I don’t think that’s such a good idea, Bucky.” I wavered.

“There’s plenty of guest rooms you can stay in, some even on the far end of the house so you don’t have to be near me,” he said.

I chewed roughly on my tongue and cheek, hoping the pain from it would be more intense than the way my heart was pounding, thoughts of Bucky and I spending however many nights together.

“This should be fun,” I muttered to myself while rising to my feet, ready to pack up my life yet again.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #mob!bucky barnes #mob!bucky barnes x reader #mob!bucky barnes and reader #sebastian stan #bucky barnes and reader #mob!bucky barnes x yn #mob!bucky barnes reader insert #mob!bucky barnes and yn #moment of weakness bucky barnes

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manicpixiefelix · 5 months ago

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head, heart, hand. {Felix Catton/Reader/Oliver Quick}

Part 27.

Summary: Felix takes charge of his own story, his own romance, and with intent to confront Ollie about his lies. He doesn't want you to fee like you have to do this alone. But neither does he.

{ masterpost }

Need to Know: They/Them. Explicitly NB Reader. FWB!Reader/Felix. Reader is from a well off family but has pretty much been adopted by the Cattons. Reader's biological parents are named Pearl & Andreas.

Warnings: discussions of the reader's parents continuing to be shitty to them via legal documents and wanting nothing to do with them.

A/N: 6032 words. google 'how do words work'. also HELLO! NEW YEAR!! since we last spoke like this, i proposed to my partner (i have a fiance now!!) i took more photos in my silly, little Saltburn costumes, both as Felix and Venetia (when they say 'get u a man who can do both' they mean me), i became a licenced Dogger (if u need someone for ground rigging at an event message me) and I continued to be UNWELL about saltburn. i missed you. how was your new years? Is this chapter at all coherent. OH ALSO WE GET A FELIX CHAPTER NOW! I LOVE HIM YOUR HONOUR!

TAGLIST IN COMMENTS!! // TAGLIST ALWAYS OPEN ! (just message or comment to be added)

----

It's your voice that echoes in Felix's mind as he tries to fall asleep that night. So often it is, but usually the words are far sweeter than the broken whisper that plays on repeat when he closes his eyes.

"I want to know why he did what he did before I tell you."

Felix is desperately trying to make himself believe that this isn't like last time, that this isn't like Eddie, but right now, from his shockingly limited perspective, it's hard not to focus in on the similarities. So he has to believe in you; if not you, then who, or what? Oliver? That's a hard no right now, but something about Oliver, despite everything has you believing, and Felix has never not trusted your judgement before. He's not going to start doubting you now.

And fucking hell, he can't even begin to process the revelation that it had been you who had caught Venetia and Eddie last Summer, not Farleigh. He might owe Farleigh an apology after all of this, or some kind of thank you basket... for what, he's not exactly sure of in this moment, but it definitely feels apt. Maybe for still putting up with him all this time, all things considered. Farleigh had never liked Oliver -

Again, Felix has to remind himself to trust in you in this moment, to breathe deep and believe it's not like last time. However the smug devil on his shoulder - that definitely looks like Farleigh wearing those two party hats and a shirt that simply says 'Easy', telling him 'I told you so' - is very loud.

But by his side, your breathing has evened out, and the air that flutters in through the half-open window is surprisingly cool for the Summer, and though the stars you'd painted and stretched across the ceiling have lost their glow after hours in the dark, if he squints, he can still make out his favourite constellations.

Felix has never been as sentimental as you, at least that's what he tells himself. That's what he lets everyone believe. If you knew better, you'd be the only one, not that you'd ever tell anyone. That's one of the many things Felix likes about you; you're sentimental enough for the both of you. The things you hold onto are so often special to the two of you; as much as Felix is glad you hold onto them, as much as he loves that they so often end up in his - your shared - room, the only person who he lets see that affectionate appreciation is you. You're the only one that matters.

He's entirely too aware of how he's perceived by others. He'd argue - again, to you alone and never anyone else - that he had to be. Felix had always been more self aware than most people liked to give him credit for, despite his best effort. Efforts to not be self aware that is, because when he thinks too hard about it, his life becomes almost claustrophobic. The privilege, the constant eyes on him, the expectations.

"You're Sir James' and Elspeth's son." Sometimes he thinks about the first conversation the two of you had shared, how you'd identified him before he'd even said his name; "you're Felix Catton." Ten years old, and the first person in all the years that Felix had already been paraded out like a show pony, to make him feel like a person.

Right now, his role had barely changed, it was that of fanciful youth; be pretty whilst headed in the direction of success. One day there'd be responsibilities, but both his parents were in good health and sound of mind, so he was to do what he pleased so long as he kept up appearances, wore a suit when they asked him to, and barked on command in front of their impressive, vapid friends.

For all that the estate dripped with it's own kind of sentimentality, it's impressive history oozing from the walls themselves, his parents, and the company they kept, so often favoured novelty. Felix does too, he knows this, he's a Catton after all... most of the time.

Sometimes, around you, and once or twice this Summer with Ollie if he's being honest, he felt like he didn't belong amidst these people, his family, at Saltburn... Or, well, no; he felt like he didn't want to belong at Saltburn.

Right now, staring up at those stars you'd painted for him all those years ago, he feels it so strongly he aches. He wants to belong to that little apartment in London you'd asked him to run away to, wanted to belong to something that wasn't a sister who'd roll her eyes at his heartbreak, or parents who'd sweep it under the rug. His role in this home, this family, had never been one that allowed for him to be broken hearted. For Venetia, it had always seemed almost expected, but Felix was expected to be the one breaking hearts if he was ever in that situation.

Love was meant to be freeing. For most of his life, it had been. After all it's why he'd always been so grateful to have found you so early in life. He knows it's a big part of the reason his family had taken to you so quickly, why his parents had allowed you to stay, to get so close.

Felix closes his eyes and he still sees the stars above.

Still, sleep eludes him. If you can tell, or if you could feel the absent-minded way he was still stroking your back when you'd woken up and realised he hadn't thought to stop, you don't say anything. The air is different, Felix is exhausted already, and you are tender with him. You always are, but this morning is different. Almost difficult for you.

It's soothing to focus on you. He knows you've always struggled when confronted with a problem you felt like you weren't allowed to solve, however he's grateful that you're letting him step up. He's done being passive, done being the one in this relationship that things just happen to at the behest of the people around him. That's his usual role when there's even a hint of genuine emotional investment. It's suffocating; like his role at Saltburn, his role as Future Lord Catton, he doesn't want to belong in that neatly defined identity.

Felix wants, no, he needs to believe he can do for himself what you've always happily done for him. So he's grateful that you're letting him try... even if he sees how uncomfortable you are, how you're holding yourself back from offering to make all his troubles go away, if only he'd ask. Usually, he didn't even have to do that. Now, you can't even look at him, can't stand to see him exhausted and unhappy and being unable to help. You'll spiral, or break the agreement the two of you had come to the night before, so you don't look at Felix. But he looks at you.

Even with all the emotional turmoil the two of you found yourselves in with Oliver, there's no doubt about you in Felix's mind. Honestly, he's even ashamed that there ever was back at Oxford, even if it was only akin to a heartbeat of time in your relationship.

Except that wasn't the whole truth. That golden afternoon he still recalls so clearly, you surrounded by newspapers, searching for Ollie's dad's obituary to try and memorialise the man who, by all accounts, didn't deserve it. Felix has always kind of known that you were far better than he deserved. It was never you he doubted, it was himself.

He hated that he'd made you cry that afternoon, hated that you'd so clearly seen and spelled out how scared he was of the idea of you finding someone better than him, someone like Ollie who could love you, could treat you right, without needing Felix as an audience. Hated that you were right. Hated everything that said about him. Most of all, he hated how he couldn't even bring himself to ask the one goddamn question you wanted him to.

Could you love someone without me?

The thought of any answer was terrifying to him at the time.

If you'd answered yes, he'd have to face the idea of a life without you, no matter how small the possibility. But if your answer was no, he knows all he'd feel is guilt. Even if he'd pretended not to notice, he'd loved Eddie without you. Felix had still loved you, he's certain he'll never stop, but as much as you'd liked Eddie before he'd come to Saltburn, you never loved him.

And even if he ignored every single red flag at the time, Felix knew in his heart that Eddie had never really even cared about you as a person. Then again, had he even cared about Felix? Considering what happened last Summer, how things had ended, how Felix has never heard from him since, he - he doesn't want to think about it. It's in the past, he tells himself.

But Felix loves this thing between you, Oliver, and himself more than he'd ever loved what he had with Eddie. Felix isn't afraid of the question anymore, because he knows you well enough to know your answer would be just the same as his. It's the essentially the same answer he'd given that night he'd asked if you could live without him.

Even if I could, I wouldn't want to.

Which is why he's doing this. Because despite all his attempts at denial, he loved Ollie, and you love Ollie, and aside from this one issue - and the subsequent lying - it seemed that Ollie loved you both too. So he has to do this; you've been caught in the crossfire of Ollie's lies for Felix's sake, now it's his turn to step up and sort things out. Make things right.

That's why he watches you, he's doing this so he can see you smile again. Without hesitation, or reservation just behind your eyes.

And right now you aren't even able to smile.

Nothing feels real at breakfast. Felix thinks he can taste static. No Farleigh. Ollie, oblivious. Venetia reading at the table and avoiding looking at anyone. His parents, as always, in their own, little bubble.

"Venetia, please no headphones at the table," Elspeth sighs. Venetia sighs louder, but obliges without looking up. She's not even pretending to eat breakfast with them this morning, book open on her empty plate as she sips tea. The only person she engages with is James, who asks about her book. Venetia doesn't even look up, and her voice is forcibly light, like it alone can mask how she looks like she'd rather be anywhere else.

"I forgot we had it," she admits softly, though her next words have Felix instinctively scowling, "I think Pearl left it here for Farleigh a few years ago after one of those Arts dinners, but he's never touched it. It's a biography of that performance artist in New York, the controversial one, Marina Abramović. I found it going through his room the other day."

"The one that Aunt Fred cheated on her husband with?" Felix can't help but ask as the name lights up something in the back of his mind.

"Supposedly," Venetia's tone is dismissive, and she turns to the next page, "Farleigh thinks it's a load of bull his dad was spouting when he found out we'd cut her off, but I have seen Fredricka Start mentioned as a collaborator here. Maybe Aunt Fred did have a lesbian affair with a controversial, Serbian, performance artist. Seems like something she'd do."

Before Felix can even process any of this, James steers the conversation away from his estranged sister's potential affair with all the subtlety of a bulldozer, asking if the book itself was any good. Shrugging, Venetia takes another sip of tea, sounding so utterly nonchalant.

"I'm still making my mind up about it, I'll tell you when I'm done."

Remembering the utter state you'd been in last night coming back from spending time with Venetia, Felix can't help but hope his sister is hurting over whatever words the two of you had shared.

It seems Duncan senses the strangeness too, as he's uncharacteristically mobile, at least for him, making the rounds about the table when they all know the maids are more than capable of collecting the dishes themselves. Felix watches him circle like a vulture.

For just a moment, their eyes meet. Usually looking into Duncan's eyes is like gazing at a stone wall of unshakeable professionalism, today however there was... something there. Something utterly unreadable. Still, it was an anomaly. Duncan definitely feels the strangeness in the room.

"Is there anything I can get you, Felix?" He sounds as curt as ever though. Felix gives a practiced smile, declining. Finally, he looks away. Duncan gives a moment of pause before adding, "anything for the Captain?" When Felix looks back to him, he sees the way Duncan's eyes flick to you, by Felix's side, how he must sees what Felix does in his peripheries - the barest shake of your head that he's sure all others at the table miss, but Felix and Duncan never would - but he still waits for Felix's answer. Because you too are quiet, in trapped in your own mind in a way none of you can articulate, but all seem to understand.

"No, they're fine," Felix gives a more genuine smile, "thank you, Duncan." Duncan nods, stepping back from where he'd been hovering by Elspeth's chair, striding over to take Venetia's empty tea cup and pass it on to a bemused, waiting housemaid.

"Are you alright, Pet, you seem rather out of sorts this morning," Felix and Duncan's interaction had caught his otherwise oblivious mother's attention, as she finally turned to you. As if woken from a trance, you look up to Elspeth, almost surprised by the question.

"Yeah, I -" but you take a moment to breathe. Beneath the table, Felix gently pets your thigh in silent support. After taking a moment to compose yourself, you start again, "I think I may have to quarantine myself in the study for the morning," you sighed, though your smile doesn't reach your eyes. When Elspeth asks if you're feeling alright, you give a humourless laugh, gaze going back to your food. You take another bite before explaining, "I'm fine, however this contract from Andreas and Pearl gets more convoluted and ridiculous the further I read; I think a quarantine is the only way to save you all from their toxic bullshit."

"Have you had a lawyer look it over?" James asks with genuine interest, putting down his paper, but your expression just scrunched up with vague confusion.

"I think that breaks the contract?"

"That you haven't signed?" Ollie points out. Clearly your mind has actually switched to thinking about the contract, rather than the clusterfuck of a situation with Ollie himself, because you do take his words onboard.

"Which I haven't signed," you agreed, face scrunching up further, as if you're trying to recall details outlined in the document itself, "I think if I'm able to find an untraceable way to contact them, um, somehow indirectly, they might send me a lawyer of my own?" You don't exactly sound sure, however you follow it up with a humourless smile, "but if I contact them directly, I believe they think it will curse my entire bloodline, even retroactively, and therefore they will trebuchet me directly into the sun."

Despite everything Felix laughs at that, as does Venetia. Farleigh would have too, if he were here.

"Darling, they're not going to trebuchet you into the sun -" Elspeth tries to soothe you, surprisingly genuine care in her tone.

"Mum, I think you underestimate how much Andreas loves that stupid trebuchet he built during college," you respond flippantly, before gesturing to James at the end of the table, "you helped, didn't you? You know he loves it."

"I-" James actually seems a little surprised, taking a moment to recall what you were speaking of, "I had forgotten all about that, but yes," he begins to smile fondly, "quite an impressive feat we pulled off that Summer, building that - was it a trebuchet? Have I've been misremembering it as a ballista all these years?"

While James was fondly caught up in his reminiscing, Elspeth just looked a little forlorn. However Oliver, seemingly bewildered by the entire concept, can't help but voice his surprise.

"You spent your Summer building an actual trebuchet with Y/N's dad?"

"Yes, I suppose I did," James chuckled, "at the end of our first year, I believe, just a few months before Andreas and Pearl got engaged. Andreas invited myself and a few of our mates to stay at his family's townhouse in - oh, it was so long ago now - Kensington, I think? Four of us from Oxford, Andreas, and his brothers, all working on this project and otherwise having a grand, old time around London."

"Wait, was that the Summer you kept running into Freddie Mercury and his husband?" Venetia piped up, to which James smiled broadly.

"Garden Lodge was just a few doors down," he enthused brightly, "it seemed like every other day Jim would have to come and collect one of their cats from where we were working; Delilah was very fond of Andreas especially."

Felix himself is bewildered by the information; he knew your parents attended Oxford at the same time as his, but sometimes he forgot that they were actually friends before you and Felix got involved. Of course he kind of knew, considering both of your mothers' heavy involvement in the Arts' Collective, but to think his father had once spent a Summer with your own... It felt uncomfortable in ways Felix hadn't expected.

But when he looks back to you, there's something faraway in your gaze. Your smile doesn't even begin to reach your eyes.

"He's still very proud of it, I'm sure," you tell him with as much warmth as you're able, "the trebuchet, I mean," which Felix knew to mean 'he was proud of it when I was a child, but I haven't spoken to him in years'.

"Darling," Elspeth brings the conversation back around, her tone firm but sweet as she reiterates, "they're not going to trebuchet you into the sun."

At face value it sounds ridiculous, but there's something about how his mother can see through your hyperbole to how genuinely hurt you are by the whole situation that makes Felix quietly marvel. Even with all of her strangeness about you, your identity, and even your relationship with Felix at times, she honestly cares about you. Sometimes she seems to see you as clearly as Felix does.

Maybe she can help Felix see the whole situation with Ollie more clearly too.

In the moment that follows, you let the tension in you break for just a moment, fixing an endeared smile upon Elspeth for her kindness.

"I know," you assured her sincerely, "I'll be okay, I'm going to give nan a call and talk things through with her." With that, you stand, having had enough of this charade for the time being.

"Good," Elspeth nodded firmly, then adding, "give her my love."

"I always do," this time, your smile is entirely genuine, and for just a moment you turn it upon Felix. There's actual amusement as you rest your hand on his shoulder.

"Am I allowed in the quarantine zone?" He can't help but tease in an attempt to play along and lighten your mood; your smile, for just a moment, widens.

"Even you, my love, are excluded," though you pause, giving it some thought, "until lunch." But then, as you contemplate leaving, as you seem to remember the totality of your situation, you face starts to fall. Felix takes your hand, giving it a squeeze, which you return, and press a kiss to the top of his head.

And then you're gone.

Ollie's looking at the doors you'd just left through, and Felix wonders if his concern is at all genuine. But before anyone can say anything else, Felix turns to his mother, trying his best to keep the mood light.

"Mum, could I have a word with you after breakfast?"

Immediately Venetia's head shoots up, looking sharply at Felix. It's a struggle to keep his focus on his mother's surprise and act like his sister's sudden attention in his peripheries didn't make his blood burn. She should be scared.

"Of course, Felix," Elspeth actually seems delighted that he wants to spend time with her, though for a moment her brow furrows, "is everything alright?"

"Yeah, of course," he lies easily, "Y/N was just telling me about some stuff they wanted to chat to you about, and I said I could talk to you about it if they wanted to focus on their family stuff this morning. They made me a list," he adds for good measure. Elspeth's concern softens to understanding. Her thoughtful, helpful boy, he can almost hear her thoughts. Technically she's right.

Venetia's expression is sour, but she goes back to her book.

"Darling," Elspeth turns to James, who once again lowers his paper to give her his attention, "you were going to head into town this morning, were you not?"

"Yes," James perked up considerably, suddenly enthusiastic about his day, "one of the boys back from when I played polo invited some of the team to catch up over fish and chips," he seemed positively gleeful at the very novelty of the idea, "at a pub! I should be back before dinner."

"Oh, that sounds marvellous, I hope you have a wonderful time," Elspeth coos, before turning back to Felix, "would you like to have morning tea on the balcony of the sitting room next to your father's study?"

"Sounds perfect, mum."

However as he leaves the table, he's quickly followed by Ollie, who's asking what's wrong the minute they're alone.

"What?"

"What's wrong," Ollie repeats in earnest, "with you, with Y/N, with Venetia? Everything feels a bit off, you know? But I don't know why." He knows exactly why, the lying, little - but that thought's cut short. Considering the company his parents' keep, Felix knows all too well what fake concern looks like; Ollie is being infuriatingly genuine.

"My best mate's family is attempting to excommunicate them," Felix says through his teeth, gazing anywhere but at Ollie, "Venetia-" he huffs an irate sigh, lying when he says, "I couldn't begin to guess at the source of her mood, you'd have to ask her," which he regrets as soon as he says it; the last thing he wants is Ollie spending any more time with Venetia, especially when she's particularly volatile.

Rocking back on his heels, Ollie takes a beat to consider this, before ultimately coming to accept it. Side by side, they start back towards their rooms in silence. There's anger simmering just beneath Felix's skin, but if he opens his mouth, all he's going to do is start shouting. Being alone next to Ollie less than twelve hours after your revelations and his subsequent taking of responsibilities, not to mention his utter lack of sleep, means he's definitely not in his right mind to have a reasonable conversation about... well, anything.

"I want to know why he did what he did before I tell you."

That's what you'd kept repeating. Felix wants to be in a state of mind where he can get that information out of Ollie before actually passing judgement. But it was fucking difficult if he was being honest.

And outside of his room, Ollie apologises quietly. Felix keeps his mouth shut, but suddenly is levelling his furious gaze upon Ollie. Who doesn't see it. He's looking at the ground.

"S-sorry about Pearl and, um, their dad," he clarifies into the silence, "I can't remember his name."

"Andreas," Felix bites out automatically. Ollie's expression wrinkles reflexively; it's almost amusing, the way his reflexes give away his disdain for just the name itself. It's a wanky, asshole name, for a wanky, asshole man.

"Right," Ollie quickly recovers, finally meeting Felix's gaze. Thankfully the intensity of that gaze had softened, "I don't think they'll ever apologise, but I think Y/N deserves an apology," he admits. It's... conflicting; the sentiment is sweet, but Ollie has so much more he actually has to apologise for. Felix keeps his mouth shut. Clearing his throat, Ollie doesn't seem to be done, "but at least they're not Y/N's actual family," and in seeing Felix's faint confusion, he actually smiles, that small, sweet smile that's frustratingly endearing, "you are," he explained, "they said so themselves; you and Venetia and your mum and dad. Pearl and Andreas are excommunicating them, they've got better family than that."

Felix kind of hates how much he loves Oliver Quick and his thoughtful, insightful mind. How can he say things while Felix is mad at him that still make him want to sweep Ollie off his feet and kiss him? Bastard.

"It's what they deserve," Felix finally manages, reaching out to his doorknob, feeling the conversation coming to a close, "we love them a lot."

"Me too," Ollie agrees quietly, opening his own door, "hope morning tea with your mum is nice, I think I'm going to head down to the pool."

And he leaves Felix alone with his thoughts.

The minute he's in his room, Felix closes his curtains and flops into bed. One of the staff will come and fetch him when his mother is ready for morning tea. After this morning and all of last night, the only thing Felix knows for certain is that he can't have another serious conversation without at least an hour of sleep.

Thankfully he gets that hour. Actually his mother has the grace to give him several, as Duncan comes to collect him just before eleven. Felix feels like a child, still yawning and shuffling his feet for at least half the journey as the butler always stays three steps ahead. As if Felix could get lost in his own home. The only person who's ever been better than him at hide and seek around Saltburn was Venetia, and only because she's smaller and can fit in more obscure places.

All that to say that he doesn't need Duncan to lead him to his mother's favourite sitting room, but that's just how things have always worked around the estate. Felix doesn't even think to comment on it beyond thanking the head of staff as Duncan lets him in after a cursory knock on the door.

Felix has always liked his mother's favourite sitting room. It's one of the few rooms in the house that actually feels like someone lives there. It's where his mother keeps the portrait James commissioned of their family when Felix was a child. He remembers how his parents wanted the experience to be authentic, just as the royals on their walls would have had. It had been a real bonding experience for the Catton siblings, who absolutely hated said 'authentic' experience; right next to the beautiful, oil painting, Elspeth had lovingly framed the hand written letter a six-year-old Felix and eight-year-old Venetia had angrily written together, threatening to call the government if they were ever made to stay that still for that long in clothes that itchy ever again.

There's framed photos his mother loves but feels like she can't display in the rest of the house - unflattering or overexposed photos full of motion, and laughter, and love. An uneven throw that Venetia had made for a school assessment over the back of a sofa, accompanied by an lumpy, little pillow Felix had made for a similar school project only a few years later, amongst others bought from expensive, eclectic stores over the years. All the letters James had written Elspeth whenever they were away from each other, from the week they'd begun dating, to the day they got married, professionally bound amongst other coffee table books.

Gilded glimpses of his family's humanity.

If things somehow work out with Ollie, Felix makes a mental note to bring him here and show him every last thing. He'd never even thought to show Eddie this room, his mother had never even brought it up last Summer, though perhaps it was for the best. Or perhaps it was on purpose.

Elspeth is absolutely thrilled that he wanted to spend time with her. Before he's even halfway across the sitting room itself, she's off of the sofa on the balcony, and has met him halfway, kissing him on both cheeks with the biggest smile. Then she's taking his hand, asking him if he was able to get any more rest, as she leads him out to the little balcony, and the tea and biscuits waiting for them.

Felix tells her he had as he sits down beside her, but Elspeth takes gentle hold of his face, expression concerned. He knows he still looks tired before she even says anything.

Something in his mother's eyes changes, like she can see the sword of Damocles held aloft by a gossamer thread above his head. Usually she shies away from moments like this, from ugly ideas like heartbreak and discomfort, but she sits with him in this moment, quiet, giving him space and time to find his voice.

For just a moment he is a child again, and he is exhausted.

"I'm always glad to spend time with you, my darling," Elspeth tells him with the kind of softness he rarely hears from her anymore. She squishes his cheeks fondly, and Felix, going with his youthful impulse, shifts on the sofa so he can lay his head in her lap, squeezing his eyes shut.

He's too big for the tiny sofa at the best of times, but they make do, with Elspeth gently stroking his hair as she finally decides to break the silence.

"I was thinking of having Nana Bijou over, I'd love for her to meet Ollie," she says carefully; Felix can't manage more than a noncommittal hum right now. Depending on how things go with Ollie, he may have to talk his mum out of that idea, but he doesn't want to tip his hand just yet, "actually I was wondering what you would think if I invited her to Ollie's birthday."

Your Nana would probably have a blast at what you and Elspeth already had planned for the event, but Felix still held reservations. As cool as she was, he wasn't sure he wanted her to see either you or himself shitfaced, and no matter how things turned out with Ollie, Felix still kind of wanted the party to go ahead either way.

And if it went bad he'd definitely be shitfaced.

"Maybe," is all he can give his mother in this moment. It's like he can feel his mother's concern in the face of his perceived apathy; Felix loved your Nana as much as he hated your parents, his apathy was worryingly uncharacteristic, "I didn't get a lot of sleep last night," Felix admits softly after a long sigh.

"I could tell," Elspeth gives his cheek a sympathetic pat, though she chooses to follow it up with - "though I must admit, that was my concern with you and Y/N sharing a room."

"Oh god, mum, not like that!" Felix hissed, mortified, his whole face scrunching up with embarrassment.

"Though I suppose I was fighting fate with that one, wasn't I?" She continues blithely, and Felix sits up, hunching over with his face in his hands.

"That's not- mum, please, I wanted to actually talk to you about something serious, can you not do this -" Felix groaned, and when he lowers his hands, he tries to give his mother an imploring look.

"Oh God, darling, please don't tell me you're pregnant," Elspeth bemoaned, expression practically pleading, "I'm too young to be a grandmother." This... wasn't the direction he'd been expecting. Actually, it might be worse.

"I'm... not?"

"You don't sound sure; is Y/N pregnant?"

"No," Felix answers flatly, but his confusion is only heightened as his mother continues on.

"It's not Oliver, is it?"

"It... it kind of is." His exhaustion and confusion are definitely about Oliver -

"He's pregnant?!"

"What?! No! Mum, what?!" This conversation is quickly veering out of control, and Felix has absolutely no way of stopping it. Unfortunately, his mother doesn't slow down.

"I'm sorry, I had assumed it would be either you or Y/N -"

"Why? Why would you assume that?" Felix tries to wrap his head around this, but it's not quite working, "especially me, the son you gave birth to?"

"Oh, Felix, please don't remind me," Elspeth mutter, looking vaguely squeamish, "I spent a lot of time repressing those memories."

"Isn't it the birth of your children meant to be the happiest days of your life?"

"Don't take it personally, dear; I love you, but I never enjoyed bringing you or your sister into this world. Hospitals are dreadfully ugly, even the nice ones, and the smell -" before she can continue, however, Felix cuts her off.

"Sorry, I just - I tell you I want to talk to you about something serious, and your first thought is that my best mate got me pregnant? I cannot stress this enough, mum, I am physically incapable of getting pregnant. I do not have the equipment."

"Which is why I then asked about Y/N -"

"Mum -"

"Well I don't know, Felix!" Elspeth huffed, "what was I meant to think when you and your- your- your gender-defying- subverting- whatever they are -"

"Non-binary, mum," Felix corrects automatically, but Elspeth continues like she hadn't heard him.

"- when the two of you are loudly debasing yourselves all over the estate?"

"Oh my god," oh, Felix kind of hates this.

"Don't be ashamed, dear, the rest of us just tend to avoid your wing of the house after sunset; it's not that hard, it's a big house. As long as you're both happy," Elspeth insists, before offering casually, "and I think Pamela, god rest her soul, was telling me about male seahorses just before she left -"

"I'm not a seahorse!" Felix cuts her off loudly, unable to believe this was a real conversation he was having, "I'm not pregnant! No-one's pregnant!" He throws his hands in the air, "I think I'm in love with Oliver, fuck, that's what I came here to talk about!"

"Oh thank god," Elspeth breathes with a laugh, petting Felix's knee. Her earlier concern has evaporated and she fixes him with a fond smile, "I know, sweetheart. Your father and I love you very much, and we always have, no matter who you love. We're glad you and Y/N have found such a beautifully interesting man who makes you both happy," she tells him pointedly, as if his whole point was that he was worried about coming out to her. Christ, like he hadn't explicitly introduced them to his whole boyfriend the year before.

Like you and Felix had any idea what the hell subtlety was when you were at Saltburn.

So maybe his mother sees the situation too clearly, if she can see how in love you and Felix both are with Ollie.

And maybe, despite her best efforts, she wasn't someone who could help Felix sort out all the bullshit in his head and heart. He'd have to bite the bullet and just talk to Ollie... preferably soon, because the stress was going to give him a headache. He has no idea how you held out for days, over a week, with this kind of thing weighing on you.

At least if things went well, he knew his mother liked Ollie.

But wait, what was that last bit?

"'Makes both of us happy'?" Felix frowned, "what's that supposed to mean?"

It was Elspeth's turn to look tired.

#felix catton x reader x oliver quick #felix catton x reader #saltburn x reader #saltburn imagine #felix catton imagine #oliver quick x reader #felix catton x y/n #felix catton x you #oliver quick x y/n #oliver quick x you #head heart hand fic #manic writer

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