#i have a lot of thoughts. on their relationship. maybe I’ll write the fic someday. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

consistentlyamess · 1 year ago

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We'll see about that - Chapter 2⎮‘Cause you’ve got too many scars to hide

[4.8K] who?me?getting carried away? never!

pairing(s): steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: You just wanted a fresh start but you might get more than you bargained for when the sleepy town of Hawkins lives up to its reputation.

warnings: takes place after season 4, 18+ , MDNI, slight age gap (reader is like 2 yrs older than Steve), canon typical violence, mentions of a lonely childhood, mentions of difficult relationship with parents, swearing, eventual smut, abusive relationship, brief stancy storyline, strangers to friend to lovers, pining, storm, pnaic attackish happening, mentions of blood and injuries, slowburn, flashbacks in italics, i changed a tiny thing compared to the sneak peek but i think it's better this way, sorry and lmk if i missed anything!!

A/N: HI HELLO!! thank you for your patience and all, it did take a lot longer to churn this chapter out that I expected but here we are!! comments, like reblogs are apprciated as always or just come chat at me! And as always 💜💜💜 TY for reading!!!!💜💜💜 Fic Masterlist Previous Chapter I Next Chapter Coming Soon

‘You sure you have everything?’ Laura asked with a worried look in her eyes.

‘Yeah, I think so. Wasn’t much to begin with really.’ You tried to laugh it off but it came a little broken. A little less careless than you would’ve liked.

‘I’m so sorry I couldn’t do more.’ Laura almost whispered and gave your upper arm a light squeeze. She tried to be encouraging but it was more along the lines of ‘I’m sorry’.

‘You did way more than you ever signed up for Lore. If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t even be here right now.’

‘I just-‘ She tried to finish but couldn’t. She just shook her head instead and searched your face a little.

‘How’s your nose?’ She touched the gauze for a second.

‘I’ll be fine Lore. It doesn’t even hurt that much anymore. The doctor said I won’t even be able to see it in a couple of months. The stitches in my eyebrows might show a little. But you’ll have to be really closely. It’s all gonna be fine. I promise.’

She nodded hurriedly, fervently. Willing your words to be true.

‘You’ll call me when you get there?’

‘Of course! And I’ll write and maybe you can come to Hawkins sometime.’ You smiled whistfully. Maybe someday.

‘Okay. Are we completely sure that the old car is taken care of?’

‘Hundred percent, yes. The plate is gone and it was sold like two states away.’ She said a lot more confidently. That they could take care of. The least they could do, she felt like

You took a deep breath.

‘Okay.’

You hugged each other and suddenly it did feel a lot more like saying goodbye. You cried in the past few weeks. A lot. But it was mostly out of frustration. Maybe anger. The sadness of it all you tried to keep hidden, even from yourself. It was too much to bear all at once. You had to keep going and if you let yourself consider the full weight of it all, it might crush you and the hole thing would fall apart. You couldn’t let that happen. For Laura. For your mom. For yourself. You kept it together though, the roared up, you watched Laura disappear in the rearview mirror and your were off. You drove about ten minutes before you had to pull over and cry for a good five minutes, uninterrupted because the tears just kept blurring your vision. This was it. You did it. You got out.

——

Fall arrived with full force in Hawkins in the middle of September. Leaves started ruffling slightly more dryly in the trees, the sun became less punishing, nights started to feel a lot more cozy with a cup of tea in your hand.

You did meet Miss Kelly in the end. As well as the other teachers. Well, the remaining ones. You never really had difficulty with creating connections. You were nice and open to people. You had a good sense of humor and way of putting people at ease fairly quickly. One of the reasons you thought Robin gravitated towards you. The teachers of Hawkins Elementary? Not so much. You, yourself were a little bit rusty. You became a tad more guarded and careful but that was nothing compared to them. They avoided eye contact, dodged every invitation and initiation of conversation. The children were a lot similar. The reward stickers didn’t work, you scaresly got a chuckle or a smile when you made jokes or tried to ease conversation. They came in, they did the work and that was it.

In this environment it didn’t take long for an uneasy feeling of impending doom to set in the pit of your stomach. It was unsettling to say the least. With work kicking in and trying to crack the code to the good graces of your students or at least easing their worries a little you didn’t really have time to hangout with the crew. You shared a coffee with Nancy here and there and you really cherished those mornings. You totally got what Steve saw in her. She was smart and kind and made you feel welcome. But under the demiour exterior she still had a kick to her. Some fire and fierceness that made you quite sure that she could kick anybody’s ass if she wanted to. Will slowly became a regular after classes to hangout, talk about art and get some tips as well. You felt a lingering sadness in him that you were all too familiar with. But you could also feel how he softened up after being shown kindness. It broke your heart a little bit but you were happy to provide those moments of serenity. A little relief feels like a lot at certain times. Jonathan usually picked him up and you chatted sometimes. You felt a kinship with that you couldn’t really place, until it was made clear that their father was also an asshole and he, just like you, was somewhat of a weird kid in high school. Everytime the topic of Nancy came up however, he immediately became more guarded and tried to avoid the subject as much as possible. You were extremely curious but didn’t want to push him.

—-

The third hiccup happens when you and Robin are arguing about a movie at Family video.

‘What? No fucking way, there’s nobody who’s hotter that Pheobe Cates!’

‘Thank you!’ You hear Steve shouting out from in between the rows. Robin gives you a ‘see?’ look.

‘Okay, not the best company, but I do stand by it. Phoebe Cates and maybe Molly Ringwald.’

‘Are you sure you’re straight?’ Robin asks you with a playful tilt in her head. You don’t have a chance to answer because the whole store shakes. It’s an earthquake. You heard about them but never experienced one. Your balance is thrown off, some tapes hit the ground but the shelves stay and for a second you’re not sure if it’s really happening. Robin then disappears behind the counter, Steve calls out and from 83 you to 92 percent certainty that it’s real. Robin emerges, Steve gets back and a blind man wouldn’t miss the look they share.

‘Peach’ Steve comes up behind you. ‘ You okay?’ He asks. He’s holding your elbow and at this point you’re not entirely sure where the disorientation is coming from. He squeezes a little harder. ‘Hey, everything’s alright, we’re all good.’

‘What was that?’ You ask in a voice that’s a little weaker that you’d like it to be.

‘It was an earthquake, they happen here sometimes, we’re all good, but I’m gonna need you to go home now, okay?’

‘But-’

‘No! Sorry, but no.’ you can feel the way he softens from one second to the other. ‘No, I need you to go home. We know how to handle this, we’ll check in tomorrow and everything will be fine, but you have to go home. Please.’ He’s pleading and the honey brown eyes have their charm whether you’re willing to admit or not. You tell yourself that he’s right. That you’re gonna be safer at home.

So you go. While you’re driving home a storm breaks out. And not just any storm. It was properly raging. Lighting after lightning came down from the sky and the thunders were just sort of blending into each other. You fucking hated storms. The wind was howling and the second you got into the apartment, you cowered away into the corner of your living room. How did it get so bad, so quickly? How was this even possible? Was this the curse everybody was talking about? Catching yourself in the whirlpool of your thoughts, you gripped your knees tighter to your chest. What a fucking pathetic sight, you thought to yourself. It’s just a fucking storm and you’re crouching in the corner like a frightened puppy. Look at yourself, and you think, you can take care of yourself. Adorable. It made your skin crawl because it was him talking. It was his words, his voice, even without him you had him in your head. Grabbing at the sides of your head you tried to stop it. Tried to physically squeeze the thoughts out. But it didn’t work. Turning the TV on also didn’t help much. Your breath quickened, you could feel your heartbeat in your ears and the tears started flowing down your face. You don’t have a sense of time anymore. It might have been a few minutes, it might have been hours. You don’t even have it in you to glance at your watch.

‘Nonononono’ you practically whined. ‘No, please, stop it. Just stop it please.’ The storm, this feeling, the fear, all of it. You couldn’t drown it out and it made you feel paralyzed but also clenching all your muscles at the same time. Laura told you that her therapist suggested a check-in with herself about every 30 minutes to unclench her jaw. She told you it really helped her. You tried. You really did. But you couldn’t tell your jaw from your shoulders anymore and nothing worked.

Another shock came to your system when there was a knock at the door. Everything became even more blurred around you and you thought you might throw up. You wanted to go get the gun but you couldn’t move.

‘Go away!’ It was a guttural scream. It came from somewhere deep and instinctual that has been secluded for so long. You were sobbing at this point and then you heard it. Through everything, you still heard it.

‘Peach?! Is that you? It’s Steve. Are you hurt? Can you open the door?’

Steve. It clicks in your brain and you could swear your heart stopped the same second the thunder and lightning miss a beat. Everything is quiet just in that second and you feel like the world changes settings just for you. Like a personal little raining cloud fizzles, disappears and a warm light appears above your head that starts to melt your frozen limbs and fried out nerve endings. Your movements are still rigid but you feel your fingers twitch.

‘Steve-‘ You whisper in front of yourself and lean forward. He knocks again and you call out a little louder this time. Shedding your blanket, your body starts cooperating. Just keep crawling toward the warm voice. Still, by the time you make it to the door, he’s saying he will break it down if he has to and is not leaving until he sees you.

The door opens up and he’s standing there, relief washing over him when he lays eyes on you, just to quickly be replaced by concern again.

‘Hey, what happened, ‘re you okay?’ He wants to hold you so bad but for now is satisfied with finding your fingers in the dark and touching them. You nod, as best as you can, which admittedly is not very good.

‘W-why didn’t you ca-call?’ You ask just to regret it with the next breath because your throat and voice are wrecked from the sobbing.

‘Phone lines are out. I also didn’t want to spook you. The last time you got a phone call, you acted a little funny...’ He gets it out in one breath, rushing through the sentence. ‘What happened, did you get hurt?’ He looked you over, searching for something. Teared fabric, blood, something. You put your hands on his shoulder in an attempt to calm or at least slow him down and it only registers properly then that he’s fully drenched.

‘Shit, you’re completely soaked through! Come in, let’s get you dry.’ You’re still unsure of your movements but you usher him in, despite his muffled and somewhat weak protests. He wanted to stay but unlike you he did have some teared fabric and blood on him that you were yet to notice. He didn’t want you to see that but he did crave some comfort after watching Nancy holding Jonathan’s hand while Robin patched him up. He was selfish, he knew that. He tried to tell himself that it has to mean something that after his arm was bitten by a demobat his first thought was to check on you on his way home. He just wanted to see your house, maybe some lights, possibly you moving in front of a window. But he couldn’t see anything other than the flickering of the TV and after the night he didn’t take it as a good sign. Or just really wanted to see you. He thinks both might be possible, even if the letter might make him a little creepy.

You lead him to the bathroom, the new purpose giving a little stillness to your limbs and voice.

‘I can put your clothes in the drier for a quick round and get you something to change into. The guy who lived here left some st- Jesus fucking Christ what the hell happened to you?’ the moment you turned on the light you saw it. The cuts, the bruises, the blood, some dried, some fresh.

‘You should see the other guy’ he tried to give you a cheeky smile but you could tell he was hurting.

‘Did you get into a fight? Who did this?’

‘Yeah, something like that. But I’m gonna be fine, I promise, I’ve had much worse. Ask anyone, Dustin we’ll gladly tell you about every single time I got my ass handed to me.’ His face is hurting, he’s cold but all he can think about at this moment is that he hates you’re worrying about him. He hates the way your eyebrows crease together as you try to assess the damage he’s taken. He hates the way your hands hesitate to reach out. You clearly had a rough night yourself and he hates he’s making it worse. You open your mouth like you’re gonna say something but it closes again.

‘Okay’ you say finally. ‘Sit down, I’ll get the first aid kit.’

He’s dumbfounded for a moment but ultimately glad you’re not asking questions. He’s agitated, he’s scared, he’s alone and he doesn’t trust himself with keeping a secret now. If you start asking it might all just spill out from him which he desperately wants to avoid. You can’t get anywhere near this. Well, not any nearer.

You come back with hands full of stuff - dry clothes hanging off of your arm, a glass of water in your hand, the first aid kit in the other.

‘Here’ you start by handing him the water. After laying the clothes on the side of the tub, you hand him an aspirin. ‘This’ll take care of the pain for now. You can take a shower if you want to, then I’ll disinfect your wounds, get some bandages and if you get a good night’s sleep, you’ll be better by tomorrow.’ You spoke so softly, he immediately calmed down and for a moment even forgot that he just barged in on you, on your weekend no less. He forgot to look away for a second though and his eyes started searching yours. Your face was puffy, your eyes were red and there were some sniffles here and there.

‘Were you crying before I got here?’

‘Thank you usually works in this situation.’

‘Shit, I’m sorry, I am very thankful but I came here in the first place to make sure you were okay and as far as I can tell, you’re not.’

‘I- It’s just… I fucking hate storms.’ Your arms come up, wrapping around yourself. Not being able to hold his gaze you glance down to the tiles and take a deep breath. ‘I’ll be fine, I just want it to be over.’ You start moving for the first aid kit. ‘But you’re a pretty good distraction, so let’s get you cleaned up, shell we?’ You leave him to change and when you go back he’s sitting on the top of the closed toilet waiting for you. You’re meticulous but soft, determined but attentive and the way you balance the disinfectant, the cotton pads is almost hypnotic to him. In return the sense of purpose anchors you and you’re able to tune out almost everything that’s not connected to helping Steve. When you get to a particularly nasty cut above his eyebrow, he hisses.

‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m almost done.’

‘No, you’re okay, this is what you’re supposed to do, right?’ He quotes you back to you and even as his eyes are shut tight you can tell that his face is about an inch away from slipping into a smug grin. He makes you chuckle and he swears it’s a better painkiller than the actual pill you gave him.

‘Okay, there are a couple of pretty deep cuts here. I’m gonna need you to hold still. Hold onto something and tell me about a good memory.’

‘A good memory?’

‘Yeah. I learned it with kids. When I have to tend to them, making them talk keeps their mind occupied and lets me apply the disinfectant or put a bandaid on.’

‘Huh, that’s smart’ he looks up at you with a goofy grin and sparkling eyes and you have to clear your throat to remind yourself what you were doing.

‘So, good memory. You have anything?’

‘Yeah, sorry, yeah, I got it. Do your worst.’

‘Alright, start talking, pretty boy.’ The nickname slips out so effortlessly, you almost don’t notice it. The way his lips part a little and the tip of his ears run pink clues you in that you did indeed say it out loud and he did hear you.

‘Uhm, yeah, I, uh, the first thing that came to mind was the day I got my car. And before you roll your eyes, I know how it sounds and for a long time it was like that. Being the only 17 year old who was driving around in a brand new BMW instead of a banged up used car my parents passed down was pretty sweet. It was a guilt present from my dad because he forgot my birthday that year.’ A peng of pain hits your heart. He doesn’t sound very hurt now but you can imagine it wasn’t always like this. ‘I could drive my friends and girls around and it did feel like a sanctuary sometimes. Then those friends turned out to be not very good people, the girls turned out to be more interested in the car and pool in the backyard than me and shit happened and I got my heart broken and then I started driving this little shithead around and the car didn’t change and I basically still just drive people around but those people happen to really like me, for god knows why, and it got us out of some deep shit and I’m actually afraid of the day when it breaks down finally or I have to sell it or anything because half of my goddamn life is in that car.’ You pull away as he finishes his story and let his hair fall back to his forehead. You move back for a second to wipe a stray lock away from his eyes and then lean back to the sink. Your voice is barely above whisper as you speak again.

‘You’re all done.’ He touches his face carefully and you watch him with soft eyes. ‘Thank you for telling me that. Technically it wasn’t one memory but I’ll let it slide for now.’

His smiles.

‘What about you?’

‘What about me?’ You ask, tilting your head, crossing your arms.

‘A good memory. I just laid my heart out for you, it would make me feel better if I wasn’t the only one.’

‘Okay, first of all, you told a semi-moving story about how much you love your car, ‘laying your heart out’ is a tad dramatic.’ You start packing the stuff you spread around the bathroom. ‘Second of all, I don’t need to be cleaned up or distracted, so maybe next time.’

‘Well, that’s not fair! C’mon, just one, just a tiny little story.’

‘God, you’re unbearable!’ You roll your eyes playfully. ‘This wasn’t part of the agreement and-’ You don’t get to finish the sentence because there’s a particularly loud crash, thunder and lightning coming down with a real fury. You jump with a gasp bumping your knee on the side of the tub.

‘Fuck’

‘Hey, hey, hey,’ Steve calls, coming up behind you. ‘You’re okay, it’s okay, it’s just a storm.’ He turns you to face him so he can find your eyes. He’s lying through his teeth but he needs you to believe that it’s just a storm. You’re too smart and stubborn for your own good. He can’t slip.

‘I just really fucking hate storms.’ You say as you lay your forehead on his shoulder.

‘Yeah, I got that.’ He’s careful, he holds you so lightly because he’s scared you’re gonna come to your senses and pull away before he can properly figure out which floral scent is coming from your hair and which one is your perfume and can properly memorize the little baby hair on the nape of your neck or imagine how it would feel to be tickled by them in the morning.

‘Just breath, I’m here. And maybe if you need some distraction, you could tell me about that good memory, now?’

You don’t look up, but you chuckle a little.

‘Well, when I was a little girl there was this treehouse in the neighbor's yard. I was so jealous of it, I wanted it to have one so badly, or just go up in it, just once. But the house was mostly vacant and I got caught by my mom one time when I was trying to climb the fence, so I just stared at it and wished that someday, maybe I could play in it.’

Your voice was a little muffled because you were talking at the bathroom tiles but Steve was listening intently. He pictured you with a petulant little pout, sitting in a garden, burning holes in the treehouse with your eyes. It made him smile.

‘And then one day, out of nowhere, a family moved in. They had a daughter, Lilly, and she just invited me over one day when she saw me in the garden. We played and talked and given it’s not that hard to make friends when you’re eight, we did become inseparable almost instantly. I had such a good time, I almost forgot about the treehouse. I would’ve been happy to just spend the whole afternoon curled up in the grass, talking but then she said she wanted to show me her treehouse and I nearly started crying, I was so excited. We went up and it was everything I wanted and more. I think that was the highest I’ve ever been at that point, I could see the whole neighborhood and it felt like nothing could touch me there.’

‘We spent so much time there. It became like a sanctuary too. We went there when we got our first crushes, when she got yelled at, when we wanted to feel safe. On some summer nights we even slept out there and I think those were the best nights of my life.’

During your story Steve was stroking your arm up and down, soothing you, saying with every touch ‘I’m here, I’m not going anywhere, I’ll be your new treehouse, all you have to do is ask me’.

‘Technically that wasn’t one memory either but I liked it, so I’m gonna let you get away with it.’ He squeezes your arm one last time and lets go slowly, trying to get you to look up at him.

‘The storm passed I think. It’s just the rain now.’

‘Is it gonna come back?’

‘I’m not sure. Maybe. Hawkins has some weird weather sometimes.’

‘Hawkins seems to have weird everything sometimes.’

‘Yeah, that’s fair.’

With the weather getting back to something you can handle and the house quiet with the dim lights of the bathroom it starts hitting you how close the two of you are standing and how this whole thing has been very, well, for lack of a better word, cozy. Even if it was only the instinct to help someone, he quite literally saved your night. Maybe even you. You’re wondering why exactly he came here in the first place and you find some kind of answer in the way he's looking at you, the way he stayed with you in the storm. It’s the same need to take care of people. It’s the driving the little shitheads around even though they really are shitheads, it’s the trying to distract someone from pain and hurt by making them think about something nice, something happy, it’s the holding a burned hand under cold water and it’s the swiping a lock of hair away so it doesn’t land in their eyes. It’s not something that just leaves you. Heartbreaks and grief can suppress it for a while but the world has a funny way of bringing it out again in the most unexpected moments. Like in a tiny, poorly lit bathroom during a storm from hell, trying to wipe the blood from the cheekbones of the prettiest boy. You inhale sharply because your insistence to keep your distance might be wavering and you know it’s a bad idea. Steve’s still into Nancy, Nancy’s with Jonathan, Jonathan is acting weird, well, everyone’s acting weird. But you keep looking at each other and you’re almost a hundred percent sure, he has similar thoughts running through his mind.

‘I uh, I should go, I think, I don’t want to bother you anymore.’ He starts talking finally, running a hand down the back of his neck.

‘You weren’t bothering me. If it wasn’t for you I would still be curled up in the corner of my living room.’

‘I can, you know, I can stay too. In a completely non-creepy way. I just wanna make sure you’re okay. I’ll gladly keep on distracting all night if needed.’

You don’t miss the slight double-entendre painting the words and you raise an eyebrow.

‘In a non-creepy way, huh?’ He gets flustered when he fully understands what you mean and what he just said. He’s about to start protesting but his nerves prevent him from being quick on his feet. You save him, mercifully.

‘I know what you mean, relax. And thank you, it’s very knight in shining armor of you but I’ll be okay now. You should go home, take a hot shower, drink some tea and get into bed. I’ll throw your clothes in the drier and get them back to you.’

‘Alright, yeah, you’re right. Thank you for taking care of me, Peach. You’re a lot better at this than I am or god forbid Robin.’

‘It’s alright. Thank you for distracting me, Harrington!’

‘Back to second names? Really? After all we’ve been through in the last like two hours?’

‘I mean, I gotta be careful. Can’t call you everytime there’s a storm, now can I? Gotta keep it professional.’

‘You can. You can call me in every storm. You can call me without a storm too, I left my number for a reason.’ You wince a little.

‘Yeah, sorry I haven’t called, I guess. I’ve just been so busy with school and everything.’ You couldn’t let him know that you tried. You tried so many times but chickened out at the last second every single time.

‘It’s okay. I can wait. You know where to find me.’

He starts walking towards the door and you follow him out. You fall back into silence again, listening to the rain on the roof and the remains of the wind quietly howling outside.

‘Most of the bandages will last like a week I think but you should change the one above your eyebrow and the one on your left cheek sometime tomorrow.’

‘Thanks Doc. And seriously, call me if you need anything.’

‘Okay.’ You whisper with a soft smile.

‘Good night, sweetheart. Get some sleep.’ He says as he comes close to you. He hesitates for a minute and then presses a barely there kiss to your hairline.

‘Good night’ you whisper back.

You clock the slight pause after he gets in the car and you watch as the maroon BMW leave. You wonder if this is going to be one of those moments you regret, wishing you could say what you wanted to say, wishing you could just ask him to stay or one of those moments you’ll see as dodging a bullet, wishing you could see everything in that moment.

#steve harrington fic #stranger things #steve harrington #stranger things fic #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington slowburn #robin buckley #robin stranger things #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #nancy wheeler #nancy stranger things #jonathan byers #jonathan stranger things #argyle stranger things #we'll see about that #WSAT #WSAT fic

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shoheiakagi · 1 year ago

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@bandousama replied to your post:

hi and ty for the questions about my silly little au! i love making ideas about it here and even getting some inputs from you guys! putting this under the cut since my response ended up being lengthy. pls feel free to ask any more questions or share your own thoughts!

Is this going to be a story?

I really do want to write this out, but unfortunately i dont really have any writing skills 🫤 it took me a while to draft out these few paragraphs that were meant to be a synopsis/prologue. maybe someday i’ll come around to write quick drabbles?? but if i have any writers following me, i’d be happy to commission this fic!

Will there be any drama between y/n and Shouhei? Like including a fight scene or something?

Even if this never gets written, i do imagine this au to have a lot of drama and the relationship between shouhei and y/n to become toxic (it’s inevitable; he’s a rockstar and she’s a model. there will be drug use and morals will be compromised to achieve fame). Both of them are also not in the right headspace in some parts of the story, with shouhei spiraling as he tries to make his own identity as a soloist, and y/n trying to make it alive in a cutthroat industry through any means possible.

In the synopsis, Shouhei is immediately reminded of those little ballerina figurines when he first sees y/n (y’k, the little docile ones that seems so fragile and is always locked away when the box is not being used). he gets infatuated and soon idealizes her as this pretty doll that he has to lock her away protect from this soul-sucking industry, purposely ignoring the fact that y/n is a complex person with her own flaws and bad decisions.

*spoiler alert* y/n has a bf when she meets shouhei, who she ends up cheating on with him

Is the rock band mainly about the abc boys or all of hrm?

All of hmr are featured, but i think I would focus more on the abc boys since im more interested in them

Is this a story just about Shouhei or all the other guys getting their own as well?

It’s primarily about shouhei, but the other guys also have their own unresolved issues and relationships to work out, which will def be mentioned bc i want to give all of the boys extra depth and characterization. i think i can see chitose being the secondary abc boy in this particular fic, since he’s the one in the worst condition out of the boys, and bc i lowkey might make shouhei and chitose have a closer friendship in this fic. basically a friendship where they get fucked up together and make even more bad decisions. but if i really were to write this out, i’d want each boys to have their own spin off.

What inspired you to think of this au?

its funny cause i was reading this fic in another fandom where person A is this fashion critic who attends a show where person B is modeling and they’re both immediately attracted to each other, when i was like ok but imagine shouhei in this au?? But i can’t see shouhei as some fashion critic, which is when I remember that i have this other au where the boys are like this popular rock band (used to be pop idol group when i first thought of this au), and that fits more since celebrities visit fashion shows (also guys, please ask me about this au too cause i have lot of thoughts about rockstars!hmr and the pop idol girl group thats their competition in terms of international popularity). only difference is that fic did not feature any toxic dynamics lol. also! the whole idea about hmr taking a break as a group, the members pursuing solo endeavors during the break, and shouhei making a lot of noise by being the first member to attend a high fashion event is based off the first few months of bts’ hiatus last year lmaoooo

Since Shouhei is the lead vocalist what do the other band members do?

I actually haven’t thought much of that, esp since hmr is too huge to be one band. so what i was thinking that maybe theyre all split up in different acts under the same company: mikoto originally being a solo rock artist before calling it quits because he couldnt handle the fame. he eventually forms his own small company that aligns better with his values. we have totsuka as the dreamy soloist who sings romantic ballads and wins the nation’s heart, yata and kamamoto being a hip-hop duo with lots of break dances, the abc boys being a rock band, and kusanagi being the manager who keeps everyone in check (look idk if this actually works out like this irl but canon has mikoto having an ample amount of money in savings and kusanagi owning tons of restaurants overseas so 🤷‍♀️)

with the abc boys, shouhei is the lead vocalist, chitose and dewa play the guitars, eric and fuji plays the bass with eric serving back up vocals, and bandou plays the drums.

#replies #bandousama #one thing about me #im gonna try adding a little subplot where y/n cheats with shouhei lmaooooo #but in all seriousness #i like to make my characters fleshed out with flaws #theyre good ppl who makes bad decisions #or sometimes theyre bad ppl who has their good sides #i love shouhei but i refuse to write him as a stagnant cheerful guy #and i love the idea of y/n being this sweet and coddled person who ends up being this jaded person once reality shatters her fairytales #and she ends up making poor decisions to compensate

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patchworkofthoughts · 2 years ago

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hhhhh i havent written anything in approximately 67 years but i have so many thoughts about acotar and azriel how to write about relationships and azriel emotions and azriel feelings and just..... hi :) maybe someday i’ll write a fic. i have so many ideas about mates and gushy fluffy stuff but well. it’s been A LONG TIME.... prompts i’m thinkin of:

-- “the weight of you makes me stronger” - lil angst then a lot of fluff -- “help me keep you alive” - angst angst angst -- “rainwalkers” - mystery angst and fluff bc fluff keeps us alive, about a fae of rain...walkers... lol -- modern au - street art/tagging/graffiti gangs.. :’’’) - fun action times and cheeky flirting, angst, and smut if i can bring myself to write that ahahhaha -- “hot sugar” - uhhh.... d...don’t look at me just yet lol

#acotar #a court of thorns and roses #the fic ideas.... they never leave my brain rip😭#new to the fandom and fanfics but wow maybe i'll actually write something oh boy!!!#no dont look at me i didnt make this blog just for azriel pls who do you think i am #(that's exactly why i made this blog dont judge me)#and the bat boys but mostly azriel and cassian okay im just weak okay #life is hard so dont expect anything lol

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twink-between-worlds · 3 years ago

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splitting, barely fitting; sew up your skull, take your time, and we’ll be just fine

hiii sorry we kinda dropped this fic for a month by accident sobsob we do love writing this we just set impossible standards title is from Meteor Shower by Cavetown!

relationships; vio + erune, vio + blue, vio + green + zelda

ao3 link; x

“So…you’re alive, that’s a good thing.”Erune forced an awkward smile, stirring her tea with a spoon as Vio scoffed. “Thanks, Erune, I didn’t know that I was alive.”Vio mumbled, then sighed. “I’m sorry, that was rude. It’s just that…well, that’s the first thing anyone has been saying to me for the past month” “That’s okay. It must get frustrating, right?”She smiled a more genuine, friendly smile this time. Vio simply nodded, sipping their own tea. “Thank you for having me over.” “I didn’t want to assume that your dislike of public spaces had changed at all, so…I’d assumed you’d like it more if we just hung out here.” “You are…the first person to take that into consideration. I know the others mean well, but…I don’t think I’m ready for being in public right now. I mean, I don’t even have a hand right now. People are gonna ask.” “I…would ask, but it’s probably a touchy subject.” “I would tell you, but your mother is in the other room and I don’t need another person doing a welfare check on me.”Vio deadpanned, waving Erune’s concern off. “I’ll tell you someday.” “You don’t have to ever tell me if you don’t want to. I am, however, going to ask about that hair. It looks like you haven’t cut it in a while.” “Surprisingly, I have terrible coordination so haven’t been able to. It’s fine, though.” “I could cut it for you.”Erune offered, looking at the other. Vio fell quiet, considering it. Part of them is begging to let her cut it, but… Shadow liked them having longer hair. It’d started growing during their time in the fire temple, and Shadow had loved putting little braids in it if Vio wouldn’t sleep. “You should grow it out,”Shadow had muttered to Vio one night. “Mh, yeah?” “Yeah. You’d look nice with long hair. I could braid it for you, too.” “You’re shockingly good at braids.”Vio stated bluntly, causing Shadow to nod in agreement. “I know! It’s literally something I didn’t even know I could do before.” Vio hummed, and they’d thought about it. “Okay. I’ll grow it out long enough for you to put a longer, full braid in my hair.” And Shadow had smiled—no, he’d beamed at them upon hearing Vio say those words. They thought about that a lot. If Shadow were still here, Vio would probably have a braid in their hair all the time. Shadow loved doing it. Maybe it was because it was something to do, maybe it was his way of showing appreciation, Vio isn’t sure. But Vio does know that it was nice. It was nice to see Shadow so relaxed and calm. He was always gentle, too, never tugging too hard on Vio’s hair even when their hair had knots in it. “Uh—I’ll…keep that offer in mind. I think I’ll just keep it like this for now..” “Okay, whatever makes you happy.”She whistled. “So, how’ve you been adjusting to being back?” “It’s…way more difficult than it seems. I haven’t been around anyone for so long..now Red barely wants to leave my side, and if she isn’t there she gets Blue to stay with me. I love ‘em, really, they’re my friends. But..I like being alone, y’know?” “I get that.”She nodded softly. “Being alone can be nice sometimes.” “I’ve been alone for so long. You’d think I’d hate being alone now.” “Solitude can be nice.” “I know that.”Vio smiled. “I was alone for months…until Green showed up, of course.” “...would you have come back if you weren’t found?” Vio paused, thinking about it for a minute. “No. I wouldn’t have. Didn’t have a rhyme or reason to.” “How come?” “I didn’t miss anyone when I was away,”Vio admitted. “I was too…caught up on the ideal of being alone to really miss anyone. I believed I was better off alone…I still think I’m right.” “What makes you feel like that?”She frowned, concern filling her eyes, and Vio wished they’d kept their mouth shut. “Vio, what makes you think you’re better off alone? Nobody deserves to be alone.” “I do.”Vio hummed out with the confidence of the entire army. “I deserve to be alone. I wasn’t really alone anyways.” “Huh?” “I had my thoughts. And who can really be alone if you have those?” “Vio..”Erune frowned, gently holding Vio’s hand. “That isn’t healthy. None of this is.” “Rune. If you’re gonna give me the same lecture everyone else has, I’m just…going.” “Maybe you should listen.”Erune sighed, watching as Vio got up. “It was nice seeing you.”Was all they said before walking out. Vio walked down the path, staring at the ground. They didn’t…mean to be rude to Erune, but— But she’s wrong! Everyone’s wrong! Vio deserves a helluva lot worse than just ‘being alone’—hell, they deserve death. But Vio hasn’t said that, Vio won’t say that. They can’t stand the others incessantly worrying about them. It’s so…it’s so infuriating! Vio doesn’t need pity. Vio wants to be alone. If Vio’d wanted to come back, they would have! But they didn’t! Vio was perfectly fine in the fire temple. Who cares if Vio hasn’t been eating? Who cares about Vio’s severe lack of sleep? Vio never had to deal with this in the fire temple. Goddesses—the fire temple was Vio’s home! It was theirs and it was Shadow’s. It was theirs. The fire temple was where they’d both lived, was where Vio had made all their best memories. And now? Now Zelda and Green are talking about tearing it down. They talk about it in front of Vio as if they aren’t even there! It’s cruel. They’re both cruel. None of them had even bothered to ask what Vio thinks of their stupid plan. It’s like they’re still not even here… Vio didn’t become an idiot while they were gone—of course they didn’t, that wouldn’t make sense. So why is it that everyone is treating them in the way you would treat a newborn baby? Vio’s not fragile, Vio won’t break or scream or cry at everything. Vio’s an 18 year old who is as in control of their emotions as a ruler is in control of their kingdom. Vio hates being treated this way. It’s unfair! Just because they’re impulsive it doesn’t mean they’re an idiot. They’re—they’re still smart…right? Even smart people can make mistakes. But…they don’t want to make a mistake right now. They have to tell Zelda and Green that they can’t tear down the fire temple—they can’t. It’s not right. If—no, when Shadow gets back, they don’t really expect him to live with them, do they? He’d want to go home, to the fire temple. The fire temple is his home. Vio can’t let them take more from Shadow than they already had. Spinning on their heel, Vio began to walk towards the castle. They can’t let the fire temple be torn down—they can’t. “Green!”Vio breathed out once they’d spotted Green a little bit away, standing and talking to a seemingly agitated Blue. “Vio—weren’t you with Erune today?” “I was but then I got mad and left. Listen—I need to talk to you and Zelda, like, yesterday.” “Is it…important?” “Yeah. I think it is.” Green shrugged and nodded. “I’ll…go get her. Wait here.” Vio nodded in response, watching Green walk off. “You seem annoyed, Blue. What’s up?” “Green’s acting like he knows everything. Mind knockin’ him down a peg somehow?” “Of course, it’s what I’m best at. What’s he thinking he knows now?” Blue paused, then sighed. “He thinks that destroying the fire temple will ‘fix’ you.” “What?”Vio’s mouth feels dry. “But…I don’t need fixing..?” “I know, I know. You need healing and help, not ‘fixing’. But Green thinks that the fire temple existing is why you’re so…”Blue blinked, gesturing up and down Vio’s body with a vague noise. “You just gestured to all of me.” “That’s the point.”Blue snorted. “Anyways. I know he means well but he’s doing a fuckin awful job. Even I’m not being that bad and I suck at this.” “No you don’t.”Vio hummed. “What I’m about to do will knock him down anyways.” “You’re not gunna tell me, are you?” “You’ll…find out when Green gets mad at me.” “Vio. Flower. Don’t do anything that you know will make people mad.” “I have to! I can’t let them do this, berry..I can’t. I won’t let it happen, not without fighting it.” “...flower, be careful. Don’t give Green a reason to mark you as insane.” “Why?” Blue fell quiet. Vio’s curious, though. “Why, Blue?” “You’ve been gone for months, and returned with a hand missing. Green could put you in a cell for reason of insanity, Vi.” “They still do that..?” “Unfortunately. Zel’s tryna change it but her pops won’t fucking budge.” “...oh.”Vio mumbled, backing up. “I don’t wanna be in a cell.” Maybe they shouldn’t. …fuck that. “But I have to do this, Blue.”Vio crossed their arms. “What are you even wanting to do, Vi?” “I can’t—” “Vi!” The two turned, looking to see Green waving Vio over, standing next to Zelda. “...gotta go. See ya, Blue.” “Be careful, Vio.” “I will be.”Vio shot Blue a gentle smile before walking over to Green and Zelda. “Hey.” “You needed to talk?”Zelda hummed, linking one of her arms with one of Green’s and her other arm with one of Vio’s. “...yes. It’s important to me.” “What’s it ‘bout?” They gulped at Green’s question, biting their lip. Would…Shadow appreciate this? Would Shadow want Vio to save the fire temple for him..? They don’t know. “The fire temple.”Vio sighed softly, looking down. “I can’t let it be destroyed.” “...Vio—” “Blue told me what you think, Green.”They stated bluntly. “But you need to hear me out. When Shadow comes back—do you think he’ll just want to live with us here? Do you really think that? Listen. I know him. When he comes back—he’ll want familiarity. He’ll want to be home. The fire temple is our—”Vio took a breath. Not ‘our’ home. It’s Shadow’s. “—his home.”They’d finished. “Oh, Vio…he’s…isn’t he?—”Zelda held her breath, looking at Vio with concern. Vio scoffed mentally. They don’t need concern. Not about this. “He’ll come back.” Vio knows he will. He has to. He wouldn’t willingly stay away. “He hated being alone, and there’s nothing lonelier than death.” “You sound so sure.” “Because I am.”They huffed out. “Shadow will come back one day. I’ll do everything I can to help him, too. So—please. You can’t tear it down.” Green let out a sigh. “Violet, we care about you enough to know that the fire temple staying up isn’t healthy for your mental state. I mean—you think he’ll come back.” “He will. Don’t you fucking dare try to tell me that you care.”Vio tugged their arm out of Zelda’s, turning to glare at Green. “Don’t you dare tell me that you care when you talk about tearing the fire temple down in front of me. I lived there for months, do you really think there wasn’t a reason for it?” “...Vio. It’s—the fire temple is dangerous, we don’t want any travellers getting curious–” “Then I’ll help make it safer, Zel! Just—please. Either you keep it up willingly, or I make sure you can’t tear it down. And I don’t want to have to do that.” “Is that a threat?”Green frowned. Vio whistled, and shook their head, then bit their lip and looked at Green in the eyes. They see the fear and caution in Green’s eyes and—oh, they haven’t felt a rush like this in so long, they missed feeling this way. The feeling brings back good memories.. “It can be a threat if you want it to be. Just...think about what I’ve said.”And with that, they turned and walked away, heading home.

#the rainbow twinks #rainbow writings #📚🌈#splitting barely fitting #four swords #four swords fic #vio link #erune #fsa zelda #green link #sbf vio #sbf green #sbf zelda #sbf erune

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pascalpanic · 4 years ago

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Begin Again (Marcus Pike x f!Reader)

Inspo: Begin Again by Adam Melchor

Summary: Dating apps never pair you with the right people. Until you come across the profile of a handsome, pancake loving FBI agent named Marcus.

W/C: 4.8k

Warnings: lots of talk of food, language, late night deep conversations, some sadness at the end but nothing intense? reader has a pet cat, is that worth a warning? idk

A/N: HI GUYS this is my first full length Marcus Pike fic! I really hope you like it!! thank you so much to @theteddylupinexperience and @sanchosammy for being my best editors and proofreaders and idea givers!!!

note: PLS listen to the song before/after/while reading! it’s one of my favs and it really goes along with the story

Over the course of your adult years, you’ve become convinced that dating apps are complete and utter bullshit. The algorithms never work right, never pair you or any of your friends with anyone worth seeing in person. Maybe that’s just the problem; maybe it’s not the apps but the people. Whatever the answer is, whatever reason you’ve never found success in the endless swiping, you’re through with it.

That was before last week. The rainy Tuesday night left you in your apartment, alone, to succumb to the cold spring dreariness. Over a cup of hot tea, you’d downloaded the app again. Might as well try, right? You have nothing to lose. If worst comes to worst, catfishing an annoying guy is always a blast. The good news is that this app requires you as the woman to make the first move. That’s kind of a downside- you never know how to start conversations- but at least you can’t get unsolicited dick pics right off the bats. Life is full of tradeoffs, you suppose.

You begin again. The app becomes your favorite pastime. Bored at work or home? Dating app it is. Left. Left. Left. Boring man after boring man. One labeled himself super-straight: absolutely fucking not. One holding a fish: nope. A man who describes himself as a gym rat: not your type. It’s a boring way to spend your lunch break, you’re aware, but the entertainment value is fun if nothing else. There are a lot of strange men out there.

After a few days, your luck seems to turn around as the photo of a man with brown hair and warm brown eyes pops up on your screen. He has a scruffy beard and wavy hair, and the way his smile tugs at the corner of his lips makes your heart flutter. He’s really cute, you have to admit. You read the bio next.

Marcus, 35

❗️ Washington, D.C.

Got forced into making this, but optimistic. Lover of art, dogs, and time to relax. Always down for breakfast for dinner and cuddling. Looking for someone with a sense of independence, love of travel, and a sleep schedule equally fucked up as mine. Must love pancakes.

Must love pancakes. That’s absolutely adorable. You immediately think of your cat, named Pancake, and you laugh and swipe right, hoping the man already thought the same of you. Your eyes widen with excitement and you almost laugh out loud from your giddy state when you see the little logo indicating it’s a match.

The first message you send him has to be perfect. You ponder your options for a minute, frowning and furrowing your brow as you think. You don’t want to come on too strong; you’re not trying to sound like you want a hookup. A simple one-word greeting wouldn’t be enough.

You could comment on something from his bio, you realize as you read it again and again. Maybe ask him about his dog? No, that’s too awkward. You want it to be about him, something that can draw him in. Talk about traveling? No, you don’t want to sound like you’re bragging about the places you’ve gone in your life.

Pancakes. Pancakes are good. You love pancakes. You think for a second more, debating what to say, before inspiration strikes and you send off the message before you can stop yourself.

Marcus Pike has essentially felt the same as you. He’s a somewhat charming man. He’s had his fair share of relationships, but they never quite work out. His ex-wife, now long gone and blocked from his phone, was an absolute failure of a relationship. He’d gotten close to what felt like true love with Teresa, another FBI agent, but she flaked at the last second.

Maybe the constant here was that he met them in person. When Marcus falls, he falls hard and fast, down an endless spiral of emotions with no escape. Maybe if he met someone online, it would be different. His best friends had all encouraged it, and on a night out not long after Teresa left him, Pike set up his own profile. He liked that the app didn’t require him to make the first move. It’s refreshing.

Marcus had seen your profile hours ago, on a mindless phone break from his work. He’d swiped right too, stunned by your smile and the lovelines you radiated even through the phone. He crossed his fingers for a good part of the day, hoping you’d swipe right on him too.

His day is busy, leaving him no time to fiddle with his phone and distract himself. He eats in the cafeteria, checking up on his phone. After lunch, he’s walking back to his office when his heart flutters as he sees the dating app indicates he’s had a match. He looks at it and swallows hard before stopping, moving to the side of the hallway to allow others to pass. He’s breathing hard, and his heart speeds up when he sees that you are the one that matched with him.

He knows how this app works. He has to wait now, to let you make the first move. He can’t even write a message until you send one. So he pockets his phone again and continues on his walk.

He’s determined on his walk, rushing back to his desk so he can sit and be thoroughly enthralled in waiting for or receiving your response. His phone buzzes several times with notifications, one of which he prays is you. When he finally sits, he opens the app ceremoniously and has to hold back a genuine laugh when he sees your first message.

Blueberry or chocolate chip?

Marcus shoots back a text nearly immediately. Sorry, what?

Your bio. “Must love pancakes”. Blueberry or chocolate chip?

Marcus is absolutely beaming as he leans back in his chair, crossing his legs. Blueberry. Always. I hope that’s the right answer :)

Unfortunately, it’s not, but you’re cute so I’ll let it slide

You called him cute. It makes Marcus’s heart flutter. Come on. There’s nothing like the warm blueberry popping in your mouth.

There is. It’s when the chocolate chips are all melty and creamy.

God, Marcus is already painfully into you. You know what… at least you love pancakes. I’ll let it slide. You got a favorite place?

Anywhere I can get ‘em. You seem like quite the connoisseur, do you have one place in mind?

Jane slams down a stack of files on Marcus’s desk. “Paperwork overflow, Pike. Can you get these done tonight?”

Marcus is the fastest in the office with paperwork, which often leads to him being the one that flies through the files in the place of the people who actually filed it. He nods. What else is there to do? “Sure.”

Jane claps him on the shoulder and wanders off. Marcus watches him in slight annoyance. The best place in D.C. is definitely Sandy’s. Hey I gotta go, text ya later?

I’d love that :)

It didn’t take long for your texting to move from the dating app to actual texting. It happened within the same day, in fact.

Marcus messaged you some hours after the initial conversation. Your phone buzzed while you were doing yoga in your apartment, your cat curled into a ball beneath your stomach as you held a downward dog. You nearly collapsed on top of Pancake as you fumbled to sit cross-legged on the end of your yoga mat.

The message from Marcus is bright on the top of your screen. Hi. Sorry that took so long. Work stuff.

Smiling, you take a swig from your water bottle and lean back against your couch. Not a problem. Understandable. What do you do for a living? It’s a loaded question in D.C.; they could range anywhere from politicians to their rich sons to artists and athletes.

I work for the FBI, actually.

Your eyes light up in excitement. That’s the coolest shit I’ve heard. What do you do? Are you an agent?

The man’s responses don’t take long at all. He must be waiting in the chat to respond. The idea makes your heart flutter. Yep, I’m an agent. I work in international art crimes.

You certainly didn’t expect that for an answer. Wow, okay, that’s even cooler than I thought. I was about to call you Agent Pancake but I think my girl would be disheartened...

Snapping a photo of the way Pancake is nuzzling into your side, meowing for snuggles, you have to laugh as you send the photo his way. Funny you love pancakes so much. This little muppet is named Pancake.

Marcus responds with a barrage of heart-eyes emojis, which makes you laugh aloud and scoop Pancake into your lap, stroking her strawberry-blonde fluff. She’s an absolute angel. Like her mother, I’m presuming.

Your cheeks flood with warmth and you can feel the tips of your ears turning hot too. You’ve never even met me, Agent…? You trail off the text, asking for his last name.

Pike.

Agent Marcus Pike. What a nice sounding name. It sounds official and strong and you really like it. Cute last name. Might steal it from ya someday ;)

You don’t normally flirt this shamelessly, but he’s so goddamn cute and funny. You cross your fingers behind your back that this isn’t just a facade, that this is Marcus himself texting like he would to anyone else. You got a phone number?

As you laugh, Pancake paws at your chest to grab your attention, nails nearly digging into the stretchy fabric of your yoga tank top. “Watch it,” you scold her softly and remove her paw from your chest, picking her up and giving her a kiss on the head. Sure do. You want it?

Yes please.

You send your number his way and moments later, your phone pings with a text from an unlabeled number.

Maybe: Pike: hey, it’s Pike :)

You: hey… dammit, I really want to call you Agent Pancakes, but I think my fluffy little heathen would be offended. I don’t know what to save you in my phone as...

Agent Pancakes: Save me as whatever, I suppose. Not my problem, right?

The texts became more frequent. Over the course of three weeks, you’d stay up late talking like teenagers, knowing you need to go to bed but unable to bring yourself to do it.

You learned that his middle name was Mauricio, that his mother wanted him to have at least something a little more Latino in his name. You told him the story of how you’d adopted Pancake as a kitten from a shelter and she woke you up one morning with her claws entwined in a snarl of your hair. He told you about his ex-wife and ex-fiancée, Teresa, and you responded that he deserved something better than that. You can already tell that he’s a good man.

At the end of three weeks, you shot Marcus a text. Things seemed to be going pretty well.

You: Hey, you want to do a video call sometime soon?

Agent Pancakes: I’d love that! I’m free tonight if you are.

You: Always free. Shouldn’t you know that?? Doesn’t the FBI spy on us through our phones and whatever?

Agent Pancakes: well, I do work in art crimes. Even if we did, it would be a totally different thing

You: Good.

An hour later, you fidget with your hands as you sit on your couch, the laptop propped up across from you and ringing for a video chat. Marcus’s profile picture bobs on the screen as you wait for him to pick up.

Marcus’s face and apartment fills your screen, and you automatically grin. “Hi,” you giggle and wave, absolutely enraptured by how cute his real smile is, not the forced one in the photos.

“Hey. Nice to kind of-finally meet you,” he tells you and waves back. The wall of his apartment is nothing exciting, but his facial expressions already have you falling. Those big brown eyes compliment natural but ridiculously pink lips, and his brown hair is neatly done. It looks like he’s wearing a tie and a dress shirt; probably his work gear, you suppose.

“You too!” You tell him, unable to stop smiling. “You shaved.”

Marcus’s heart jumps out of his chest when he sees you ringing him. He barely has time to flop on the couch and turn it on, propping up the camera across from him.

God, you’re so gorgeous. Your giggle is infectious, making Marcus laugh softly at god knows what. Your grin is equally as contagious, making him smile back. He rubs his jaw in response. “Yeah, yeah. I tend to keep it clean there. Stubble takes too much maintenance, and I have this little patch where it never quite grows,” he tells you as he juts his chin to the camera, touching the spot where his beard can’t grow.

“I like it either way,” you assure him, shrugging a little. “How was your day, Agent Pancakes?” Your voice is the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard, even with the granulated audio over this shitty app. Agent Pancakes makes his heart flutter. “No, not you!” You groan as Pancake climbs onto your lap. “Hi. Your twin wants to say hi.”

Marcus’s smile widens. “Oh my god, hello cutie pie,” he chuckles, launching into baby talk. “What a pretty girl. You make a good Pancake.”

You smile and rub her fur, grinning. “She’s my baby,” you chuckle and set her aside. “Yeah. I’m busy. Leave me alone.” Pancake meows in protest. “Shut up, I’m on a date,” you whine.

Marcus’s ears perk up. “This is a date?”

Your eyes widen as you turn back to him. “I… yeah?” You ask, wincing a little.

He grins back at you. “I like it. And I’m really in love with the idea of seeing your face when you talk.”

“I like your voice,” you flirt back, but you mean it. “It’s so pretty. Do you sing?” You ask mindlessly, studying the way his brow furrows and his eyes convey exactly what he’s thinking.

He chuckles softly. “I used to. I haven’t in a long long time.”

“You’ll have to sing for me sometime.”

When he shakes his head, his neatly gelled hair tries to break free. A strand does, falling in his face. “You don’t wanna hear it, I promise.” He removes his tie, and you can’t help but watch the movement. It’s incredibly sexy.

A mischievous smile makes you bite the inside of your cheek. “No, I really do, I really think I do.”

Marcus rolls his eyes. “Only if you try the pancakes at Sandy’s sometime. I promise you, they’re the best pancakes in the District. I’ve never had the chocolate chip pancakes, but if they’re anywhere near as good as the blueberry, they’re fantastic. And they’re open 24 hours. I go there a lot for late night case work.”

You smile at that, getting cozy on your couch and hugging your blanket. “That does sound nice. I love a good all day breakfast,” you say with raised eyebrows, the teasing in your voice. “Okay, human Pancakes. How was your day?” You ask him again, intent on hearing his answer. Not only is his job fascinating, but he’s adorable when he explains things.

Marcus frowns, and that makes you instinctively frown too. “Well, it’s been good. We’re tracking a huge smuggling ring right now, but since we’ve pinpointed a stock house for them, I might have to travel for a while.”

You frown. You’d been hoping you could have a real date soon, at least. “How long is a while?” You ask him curiously, sipping from your water bottle that sits next to you.

“Couple weeks. No less than a month, probably. I’d… well, I might have to go undercover, which means we couldn’t talk for a while.” His eyes are apologetic, showing that he hates this news as much as you do. “And… I’d leave maybe tomorrow or the day after.”

Your heart sinks. “So soon,” you say with a sad smile, a desperate and lonely chuckle. “Well, if you want to come home to me, I’ll be here.”

Marcus’s smile perks up just slightly. “You would be the best thing in the world to come home to. And I’ll have the scruff back by then.”

“Yes!” You exclaim and laugh, pumping a fist in the air. “I think you’re really cute anyway, but I really love the scruff,” you shrug shyly.

“Maybe I’ll grow it out just for you.”

The adrenaline from his first technical-date with you prevents Marcus from sleeping. The call lasted hours, the two of you covering almost everything important in your lives. You talked about your favorite television programs and politics, your parents and your favorite pizza toppings. Talking with him was like nothing you’d ever experience, a connection you’d never thought a dating app could offer.

After several hours, during a lull in the conversation, Marcus suggested the two of you log off. It was around 11 P.M. now, and, even though Marcus has a sleep schedule like a raccoon, he figured you should sleep. He blew you a kiss through the camera, which you pretended to hold to your chest and grin at him.

But now it’s an hour later, just past midnight, and Marcus is antsy. He doesn’t sleep much anyway, but your face is running through his mind like it owns the place, and at this point, maybe you do. Marcus sits up in bed and sighs. He knows the proper remedy for this: Sandy’s. Throwing on a rare pair of jeans and a leather jacket over the white v-neck he wears, he slips on his shoes and makes his way to the tiny, 24-hour diner.

The adrenaline is coursing through your veins too. You text any of your friends that will listen, rambling about how beautiful Marcus’s face is and how wonderful it was to finally hear his voice. You pace your apartment, petting Pancake as you pass her perch on the arm of your couch. You try to do a little yoga to calm down but you can’t stop smiling. Marcus occupies too much room in your brain to try to think about anything else.

When it’s just after midnight, hunger strikes. You realize you never ate dinner, too preoccupied with talking to the handsome man to even consider microwaving something from your fridge. Talking with Marcus has instilled you with a love for pancakes, and you think to yourself that maybe Sandy’s would be worth a shot. It’s open late.

So you toss on a jacket and pick up your purse, slinging it over your shoulder and leaving your apartment. You toss the book you’ve been reading into your bag, planning to read it while you sit and eat. Pancake gives a sleepy meow of protest but you just smile and lock the door behind you.

The diner is just as small as Marcus described it to you: just a short line of booths along the windows and a smattering of tables in the middle. There’s a colorful, warm-toned tile floor that juxtaposes the warm green of the walls and the smell of fresh coffee and pancakes wafting through the air. Quiet classic swing music filling the atmosphere. You can see why he likes it: it automatically makes you smile.

You sit in one of the booths, facing away from the door, and the kind waitress takes your order: chocolate chip pancakes and an English breakfast tea. The air conditioning is blasting, making you chilly. You tighten your jacket around yourself and sip the tea when it arrives, adding cream and sugar.

Cracking open the book, you cross your legs and lose yourself in the book. The restaurant has a calming aura, and you can feel the tea warming you from the inside. It’s fitting that Marcus loves this place, you think to yourself.

When the pancakes come not long after, you take a bite and almost groan in happiness. It’s absolutely delicious: Marcus was most definitely right. Disappointingly, you have to go to the bathroom about three bites in.

Even the bathrooms are cute, you discover. When you return, someone else sits a booth away, another lone diner at this godforsaken hour of night, facing the door. You can see the back of what appears to be a man’s head, neatly trimmed brown hair and a brown leather jacket over their neck and shoulders. Sitting back down, your back to the other customer’s, you return to your book and continue to eat your chocolate chip pancakes.

The customer and waitress are talking, but you don’t pay much attention, too enraptured by your book. It’s quiet again after the man puts in his order, and you enjoy the soft jazz music that makes you tap your foot in time against the tile.

There’s a buzzing and the melodic sound of a phone’s ringtone; one of the defaults that a phone provides. Your heart skips a beat as you hear the man pick up. “Agent Pike.”

That can’t be your Agent Pike, can it? You turn and listen and realize it’s definitely him, from his voice and the way he holds himself and the stack of- of course, blueberry pancakes and a hot coffee set in front of him.

“Yeah. Yeah. Okay. Sounds good. Let me write that down.” Marcus types something into his phone. “See you then. At the office? Good. Alright, see you.” He hangs up.

Standing, you tuck your book back in your purse and put the bag over your shoulder. With one hand, you grab your plate of pancakes, and the other grabs your tea. You set them down across from him and slide into the booth, grinning. “Huh. Agent Pancakes, here, in the middle of the night. How unusual.”

Marcus’s tired face lights up in excitement. “What?” He laughs, his eyes scanning your face. “Why are you here?”

You shrug and take a bite of his pancakes, sighing. “Had to see if they were worth the hype. I couldn’t sleep, you got me so excited.” The blueberry pancakes are absolutely fantastic, just as good if not better than the chocolate chip ones on your plate. “Damn, you were right.”

“Hey,” he laughs and pulls his plate closer to his chest. “Don’t touch my pancakes.”

You make pleading pouty eyes, frowning a little. “Can’t we share?” You tease. It already feels like you’ve known him for years, even though this is your first time seeing him in person.

Marcus sighs. “I suppose,” he says and rolls his eyes in sarcasm, pushing his plate back out so you can access it.

Marcus is beyond stunned, absolutely enraptured in how beautiful you are in person. If he thought he fell on that video call earlier, he’s now reached the very bottom of that cliff, the impact of your everything stealing the air from his lungs. God, he wants nothing more than to kiss you right now, on those lips coated in blueberry juice and maple syrup.

The two of you spend quite some time so there, just talking and continuing the conversation where it left off before. The waitress refills Marcus’s coffee twice and your tea once. “So who called you when you were sitting alone?” You ask him as you bring the white porcelain mug to your lips, sipping at the creamy tea.

He sighs. “Guy I work with, his name’s Patrick. He’s a douchebag, I can’t lie,” he says with a chuckle, and his heart flutters at the way you give a soft laugh back. “Just telling me the details. I leave in about 6 hours. I’ll be in Singapore for a couple of weeks.”

“Singapore?” You exclaim, eyes wide as your fork clanks against your plate. “You better be able to contact me.”

He shakes his head. “I told you, I’m going undercover. I can’t.” He sighs, and he dares to reach out and touch you, to reassure you that he’s there and himself that you’re real, that you’re right there. “Will you wait for me?”

Your heart melts, from an already slush-covered river to a rushing rapids. “Of course, Marcus.” It makes his heart skip a beat. You’ve called him lots of nicknames, but never his real name. Something is painfully intimate about it. “I like you a lot; why wouldn’t I?” You ask, shrugging as if it’s the simplest thing. “Distance makes the heart grow fonder.”

When you finish your meals, Marcus picks up both tabs, despite your protesting. “Can I walk you to your place?” He asks as you both stand and adjust your jackets.

You nod and take his hand. The lights of the city are seemingly extra dim tonight, leaving the street lights to illuminate your beautiful face as the two of you stroll along. You have all the time in the world, don’t you? It’s 1:30 in the morning. You’re both already evading sleep desperately. A little more time together can’t hurt.

His hand never leaves yours, his fingers lacing through your knuckles. You chat quietly, as if you could wake the sleeping city from the peaceful blue drone of a weeknight morning into its daily splendor of horns and hordes of speedy pedestrians.

Marcus bumps your shoulder with his, making you stumble a little to the side and laugh as you look up at his gorgeous face. His face reflects the love you’re both feeling, almost giving the city around you a pink glaze of warmth from the rose-colored glasses you must have placed over his eyes.

The walk draws to an end, as you stand at the entrance to your apartment building. Marcus’s body looks so soft and inviting, and you dare to wrap your arms around his neck and hug him to your chest. “I don’t want you to go, Agent Pancakes,” you murmur into the soft skin of his neck, which is starting to get a shadow of stubble.

Marcus kisses the top of your head. He doesn’t move either, prolonging this time you have together before he can’t see you. “I don’t want to go. I’ve never wanted to stay here more than I do now, but I have to.” His arms wrap around your waist, strong and safe.

Lifting your head, you look up at him, your noses practically touching from the proximity you share. The world feels like a bubble around you two, like some impenetrable one-way material that makes it so if Marcus leaves now, he can never come back. “Well, it’s gonna be a long time, a month or two,” you say with a sad smile. “We’ll have to begin again.”

Marcus shakes his head, his brown eyes almost welling with tears. “There’s no one else I’d want to begin again with.” With that, he looks in your eyes, the question hanging there. Wait for me?

Always, you respond silently by pressing your lips to his, kissing him slowly in the orange glow of your apartment building’s entrance. He kisses back, his lips tasting of coffee and maple and blueberry, yours tasting like chocolate and tea.

You squeeze your arms tighter around him, getting on your tiptoes to be as physically close as you can to him. He has one hand on either side of your rib cage, holding you there as he kisses back with all of the passion and love he has.

It can’t last too long or he’ll never leave. He won’t be able to. He breaks away after a few moments, his lips close to yours. He presses your foreheads together, arms encircling you again. “I have to go. I have to be at the office in an hour.”

You lift your head and your brow furrows in confusion. “Then why did you take so long to walk and eat with me?” You laugh quietly.

Marcus shrugs. “Didn’t want to leave you yet,” he admits, his eyes trained on yours. He gives you one last painfully gentle kiss. “I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you more,” you say with a sad smile. “You’ve been my distraction lately. Whenever I’m bored, I text you.”

He sighs, the confession increasing his frown. “I’ll be in an entirely new place, without you.”

“But I’ll be here, in my same old life without you in it.”

The words punch a hole through Marcus’s heart. It’s true; he’ll have new distractions, new things to do. You’ll be here with a Marcus Pike-shaped hole in your heart. He kisses your forehead, the wheels turning in his head. “If you get a call in the next few weeks from an unknown number, be sure to answer it, okay?”

You nod and smile softly. “You need to go. Go.”

He nods and his hand squeezes yours. “I can’t wait to begin again with you.” With that, Marcus Pike, Agent Pancakes, whatever you want to call him, the man you’re highly suspecting might be your soulmate, walks off into the slightly chilly D.C. night.

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#marcus pike #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike headcanons #pedro pascal #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader #the mentalist #the mentalist fanfiction #begin again

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drarrily-we-row-along · 3 years ago

Note

hello, excuse me if this makes you uncomfortable but my birthday is September 14 and I have very few friends and therefore I did not receive congratulations or gifts, could I please ask for something with drarry and scorbus? something like Harry and his children living in the manor anda Lucius and Narcissa still alive, I know it's out of your comfort zone and if you can't or don't want to then sorry for the inconvenience🥺😖

Scorbus

Hello friends, First thing- Happy birthday to the nonnie who requested this. Second thing- Yes! For your birthday and for the other lovelies who have requested Scorbus, I will write one (1) Scorbus fic. I will do my best but I've got to be honest- I don't have any real feelings about Scorbus (I don't read much of it and didn't enjoy The Cursed Child). So we'll have to see how it turns out.

cw: talks about hospice care and future death (not of a main character- we're talking about Lucius, no death will take place in the fic) without further ado, here's the best take I can give you. <3

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

"But Daaad," Albus whined, "I don't want to go!"

"I know, bud," Harry replied, instantly regretting calling his 15-year-old 'bud', as he helped Lily find her bag.

James came in and flopped on Albus' bed, "It's just because he-"

"Shut up!" Albus shrieked, pouncing on him and smothering him with a pillow.

"Boys-" Harry started even as the boys started screaming and wrestling and Lily started to cry about not being able to find something. "Enough!" he shouted, casting a shield charm between the boys. "All of you," he said, "Let's just take a breath."

"But-" multiple voices rang out.

"No buts," he interrupted. "Deep breaths. Right now."

(Read more below the cut)

Everyone glared at him but at least they stopped talking.

"Okay," he said, "James, please stop intentionally trying to bother your brother."

Albus stuck his tongue out at him.

"Al, please finish packing. Lily, your straightener is in the bathroom under the sink."

They let out a collective groan.

"Look guys," he said. "I know. I know it's hard when I have to go to work. I know being in a house where someone is about to die is difficult. But Draco is a good friend and if I can help Lucius pass on, I need to do it. Okay?"

All of his children nodded sullenly.

"Besides," he added, "The manor is huge. You won't even have to see Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy. And," he said, smiling at Albus, "Scorpius will be there. I'm sure he'll be glad to have a friend, yeah?"

Albus rolled his eyes and just muttered, "Can you get out so I can pack, please?"

With a sigh, Harry nodded and left, thinking for the thousandth time that single parenting was really fucking hard.

---------

He hadn't expected this to be his life. Harry had expected that he'd join the aurors or that he'd go on to be a quidditch player.

Working as a hospice care healer had never been in the plans. But there was no denying that he was good at it; he wasn't grossed out by all of the ways that bodies failed as a person began the process of dying. He didn't mind the late nights and early mornings. He actually usually enjoyed listening to stories from his patient as they reflected on their lives. And death didn't bother him. He'd spent nearly twenty years in this profession, he was good at his job, and he liked it.

Still, as he stood looking at the Manor, nerves that he hadn't felt in years settled in. He couldn't be sure if it was because the Manor still gave him the creeps all these years later, if it was because it was Lucius Malfoy and they'd never had the best of relationships, if it was because he was anxious about how Draco would handle his father's death, or something else entirely.

"Let's go," Albus snapped, impatient and anxious.

He nodded once and stepped up onto the top step and rang the door bell.

Draco opened the door, looking exhausted.

"Hey," Harry said softly, aching to hold him, to take him into his arms and hide him away from the rest of the world and all that was happening to him.

But they didn't do that. Not in public, not where anyone could see them including their families. Maybe especially their families. "Hi," Draco replied and Harry knew he was wishing for the same thing. "Thanks for coming."

"Of course," he said because there hadn't really ever been a choice. He loved Draco and he would do anything that would help make this easier. "Let me just get these guys settled in and I'll check in with your dad, okay?"

He nodded, "I have you guys set up in the West wing," he said as he started inside, "I know this is probably not the way you were hoping to spend your summer hols-" Draco started.

"It's okay," Lily said, falling into step beside Draco. "I'm sorry about your dad," she added.

"Thank you," he replied.

And Harry smiled, if nothing else, he and Ginny still agreed it was important to raise their kids to practice kindness.

-----------

It was a long day. The first day at a new job almost always was, lots of intake paperwork, lots of working to make sure they had all their doses right in order to keep their patient comfortable, and inevitably lots of input from the patient's family.

By the time Harry had gotten everything set up and diagnostic spells and alerts in place, Lucius was sleeping comfortably in the hospice bed, Narcissa on the cot beside him.

Only Draco remained awake, watching Harry work from the sofa in the corner.

When he finished he nodded to the door and Draco followed him out. "You okay?" he asked softly once the door closed.

"Will you stay with me tonight?" he whispered.

"Yeah, love," he replied, giving Draco's hand a quick squeeze. "Of course."

Draco nodded once and led the way through the halls to a different wing entirely. He opened the last door on the left and let Harry in first.

Harry looked around curiously. He'd obviously seen Draco's room in his own home but not the room he occupied when he stayed at the Manor.

"It's actually not the room I stayed in as a child," Draco informed him as he made his way to the drawers to pull out two pairs of pajamas. "It gave me nightmares," he said, "after everything in this awful house."

He hummed, "It must be hard," he said gently, slipping into the comfortable clothes Draco had tossed him. "A lot of trauma wrapped up in an already challenging event." He folded down the covers and climbed in, making a space for Draco so he could curl up in front of him.

"Harry?" he asked once he'd settled back against him and pulled Harry's arm snug around his waist.

He hummed, pressing a kiss to the smooth, soft skin of Draco's neck.

"Do you think you might want to tell our families about us?"

Harry froze, "Do you think you might want to tell our families?" he asked.

"I asked first."

"Personally," Harry said, "Yes. I would like that. I don't like keeping things from my kids and you're," he swallowed. It was silly to be nervous, he'd said this before, but he couldn't help the surge of adrenaline. "I love you, Draco. You're important to me. But the real question is do you want to tell them? You dad-"

"My father is a bigoted arse," he snapped. "And yes he is dying but Harry you make me so happy and I just," he sighed. "I don't want to keep it a secret anymore. If he hates it, he hates it but I don't want him to go from this life thinking that he got to control mine."

Harry didn't quite know what to say.

"I'm awful. I know. I-"

"Draco," he said, squeezing him a little tighter, "I wasn't judging you. I don't think you're awful. Grief and death affect us all differently. If that's what you want, let's do it."

"Let's tell our kids first."

--------

Harry called a family meeting the next day after he'd check on Lucius and they'd done a bit of exercise and gone for a walk.

In retrospect, this might not have been the best thing to call it. Family meeting had never had the best associations and the last one they'd had was to tell the kids that he and Ginny were getting a divorce.

His kids were cagey, Scorpius was withdrawn, and Draco was honestly a bit erratic.

"Okay," he said, smiling at the room, only Lily smiled back. "So we," he said pointing back and forth between him and Draco, "have some news."

"Oh Salazar, please no," Albus whispered.

Harry gave him the look the one every parent had perfected by the time their child was three. "It's good news," Harry said.

"We're together," Draco blurted.

James barely looked up from his book as he said, "Called it."

Lily said "Like together-together?"

And Albus promptly burst into tears, fleeing the room.

"Albus!" Scorpius shouted, jumping up and chasing after him.

Harry and Draco looked at each other. "Maybe he thought that Ginny and I would get back together someday?"

James rolled his eyes, "That's not it. He and Scorpius are like," he waved a careless hand, "a thing."

Draco's eyes widened.

"Oh," Harry said. "And no one could have said something about this before?"

James shrugged, turning the page, "I tried to say something yesterday and you told me to shut up."

"I did not use those words," Harry said.

"Yeah, but that's what you meant."

Harry opened his mouth to argue, he was careful about his words, never wanting his kids to feel like they were unloved and unheard.

"It's fine, dad," James said, waving him off, "You should talk to Albus."

He was right, they really did need to talk to Albus and Scorpius.

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

When they found them, Al and Scorpius were sitting together on one of the swings and Al was still crying.

"Alright," Harry said, transfiguring a couple of sticks into chairs. "Let's talk about this."

"You're the worst," Albus shouted at him. "It's like you're intentionally trying to ruin my life without even knowing you're doing it."

It took everything in Harry not to point out the fallacy in that logic. Draco, too, if the sharp intake of breath was anything to go by. "Could you tell me more about why you feel that way?" Harry asked, gently squeezing Draco's thigh.

"Because he thinks you're going to ask us to break up," Scorpius said, biting his bottom lip.

"And even if you don't, everyone's going to think it's weird," Albus said, a hiccoughing sob escaping.

"Think what's weird?" Draco asked.

"If you guys are dating and we're dating," Scorpius said.

Harry nodded, "I think I understand," he said. "But honestly, guys, we're not going to ask you to stop dating and it doesn't really matter what other people think."

"Easy for you to say," Albus sniffled, "You're Harry Potter. Everyone already loves you."

"I agree with you dad," Draco said, "other people's opinions are irrelevant. It's not as though you were raised together or anything like that."

"Well everyone already hates you anyway," Albus snapped, "So why would it matter?"

"Albus," Harry warned, "Apologize."

"No, it's alright," Draco said. "I used to be a lot like you, you know," he said. "I used to really care about what other people thought and how they felt."

"What changed?" Scorpius asked curiously.

"Your mum, actually," he said, with a little smile. "She helped me to look at myself and see who I really was, not the person that people believe me to be. She helped me to recognize that other people didn't define me, I did." He shrugged, "At the end of the day, if I chose to listen to them I was still the one defining myself that way."

"That," Albus started, wiping his nose on the back of his hand, "Makes sense."

"Good," Draco said, nodding once.

Harry squeezed his hand, "Right, well, congratulations, you two. Please be sure if you decide to make things physical you talk to one of us about protection spe-"

"Dad!" Albus shrieked, covering his ears. "Shut up! Shut up! Merlin save me."

Draco laughed, attempting to stifle it with a cough and failing in Harry's opinion.

"I'm just saying," Harry said, holding up his hands in defeat. "We should probably have this conversation at some point."

Albus shook his head and Scorpius had turned as red as a beet.

"Well. I'm off, then. Back to work," Harry replied.

Draco took his hand, "I'll walk you," he offered and they headed back to the house.

"Well," Harry said, once they were a good distance away. "That was unexpected."

"Was it, though?" Draco asked. "The way Scorp talks about Albus," he trailed off. "Well, let's just say he reminded me a little too much of me at that age."

"Had a crush on me that long have you?"

He laughed, "Longer. My father was just too bigoted to take my ramblings for what they really were."

Harry leaned over and pecked his cheek, "Well, I after that, I think that telling your parents will be a piece of cake."

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

See the rest of my drabbles here

#100 drarry drabbles in 100 days #drarry #scorbus #sorry i did my best friends but i don't know that i did a very good job to be honest #love #hospice mentioned #lucius is dying #I feel like this is a mess #drarry ficlet #drarry fics

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leiawritesstories · 3 years ago

Text

Speak To My Heart

Rowaelin Month, Day 15: A bad day

Word count: 3422

Warnings: language, bit of depression, fighting. In short, there is angst in this fic. Hope the ending makes up for the rest.

Linguistics and foreign languages are two of my personal passions, so please bear with the bits of language talk that I couldn’t resist including. Brief word of clarification: a lot of expressions we use in English either translate into something extremely rude or don’t make sense in other languages. Translation companies have been trying for quite some time to make sure they don’t accidentally send a client a translated instruction manual that reads “fuck your mother” instead of “for questions, contact your local energy department.” All right I’ll get off my soapbox. :)

The phrases in foreign languages, marked with *, are translated into English at the end. Enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rowan’s day had been shit. The second he walked through the door, he’d been bombarded with an endless slew of crash reports, malfunctioning equipment, faulty passwords, and best of all, having to rewrite half the security firewalls because one of the rash young idiots in his department couldn’t be bothered to check his work for errors before sending it to management. And management thought it was the department boss’s job to fix all of his employees’ fuckups.

He hated IT.

Even more so since being promoted to department chair.

All he wanted to do was the fun stuff--program design and development, fixing the flaws in his own designs, and of course making those who tried to break into his company’s systems regret their pitiful existence. But Cadre Tech’s bitch of a CEO refused to let the best software engineer on her staff actually do his job.

Most days, he could cope with the pile of useless shit she directed to his desk. Most days. Today was not one of those days. Probably because on top of all the meaningless tasks he’d had to field, he was also forced to sit through one of Maeve’s bullshit “department head strategy sessions,” where every department chair had to pretend they gave a single shit about any word coming from their CEO’s garishly red, pinched mouth.

As if she knew anything her staff actually did.

Thanks to the compulsory meeting, Rowan was stuck in his office at nearly ten o’clock, painstakingly combing through the final draft of the update to CT’s translation program. This program had shot the company to fame and fortune, or at least insane stock value. “A Google Translate that actually translates,” their marketing department called it, and by the gods, that stupid slogan worked. And made sense. Rowan knew the program was just as good as it claimed to be.

He’d put in the hours, alongside a team of linguists, software engineers, designers, and people fluent in at least one other language. Frequent were the sessions where the project whiteboard turned into a jumble of words in twenty or more languages, Spanish alongside Arabic next to a column of simplified Japanese characters spilling over into a row of Cyrillic lettering. Rowan himself spoke German and some Spanish, but even he was lost amid the cacophony of eighteen different people switching from language to language, trying to figure out how idiomatic expressions translated from one language to another and what words should never, ever be placed together.

It took the team well over a year of bickering, or as they called it, friendly linguistic disagreements, to make it from loosely mapped concept to functioning program. By the time it hit the market three years ago, the software had been so well promoted that companies all over the world snapped up their chance to finally communicate properly with the client they’d offended years ago with a bad translation.

At launch, of course, Maeve stood in front of a sea of shouting reporters brandishing microphones, smiling her serpentine smile, and proceeded to thank the creative team for all their “contributions” before taking all the credit herself.

Said creative team went to the bar that had become their usual gathering spot that night to get drunk and shit-talk their horrible boss, not necessarily in that order.

His favorite memory of that night was hearing the chief linguist, an outside contract with multiple advanced degrees who spoke eight separate languages besides English fluently, refer to Maeve as “quella puttana rugosa che non riusciva a convincere un cazzo a venire a dieci metri da lei se si vestiva da figa.*” The Italian speakers on the team were crying with laughter, and so was everyone else, once she translated it.

And then she downed another shot of vodka and hissed something that sounded like “sukya bliyad, no puedo mich betrinken con esta ordures.**” When everyone blinked in confusion, she sighed and relayed the sentiment in English.

Nobody had laughed as hard as Rowan. Aelin Galathynius just had that effect on him.

She brightened his darkest days.

But she couldn’t ease the strain of today.

And it was all his fault.

Aelin glanced up at the clock on her wall and cursed in three different languages when she saw that it was nearly eleven. Without meaning to, she’d spent all afternoon and evening writing lesson notes on idiomatic expressions. She really couldn’t help herself once she got into the topic; it was her pet project.

And the subject of one of her dissertations. Yes, she had multiple.

She’d worked her ass off for years to get through college, then through graduate and doctoral work while teaching at universities to offset costs, then earned a full-time teaching position at one of the top-ranked universities in the world. She got to teach linguistics, her lifetime love, and give guest lectures at other universities and at conferences, teaching people all over the world about the complexities and interrelatedness of language. Hell, she spoke ten; she’d be qualified to speak on linguistic relationships by virtue of that alone.

Gods, she was the chief linguist behind the most successful translation software ever produced. Even if the bitch who owned the rights to said software had literally threatened to sue over ownership rights if any of the people who’d poured their figurative blood and sweat and literal tears into building the program tried to claim a small piece of the credit each of them so richly deserved.

That software and her role in its creation--even though Maeve Ond had claimed the public credit, the creative team spoke at interviews and made news features for their work in Cadre Tech’s massive success--had solidified her credentials as a professor of linguistics, had boosted her into her lecturer spot.

Last year, her university granted her tenure.

She should have been overjoyed, and she was, but not as much as earning tenure deserved.

Because there was nobody to share her joy.

Three years ago, in the wake of CT’s overnight jump to worldwide fame, Aelin fled a love she did not and never would deserve.

She told herself she would never look back. But she did. Almost every day, she looked back at the life she’d shared with Rowan and tried to convince herself that she did the right thing.

Try as she might, she could never silence the whisper that echoed always in her mind.

“You broke both of your hearts”

Someday, she told herself, someday she would be back in Doranelle. Someday, she would have a chance to apologize. Someday, maybe she could fix the Rowan-shaped chasm that gaped wide in her heart.

Yet here she was, sitting in a very nicely appointed hotel room in the university district of Doranelle, typing furiously away as if burying herself in notes and prep for tomorrow’s lecture could make the urge to contact Rowan disappear.

Three years earlier. Doranelle.

“Knock, knock.”

Rowan’s head jerked up from where it had most definitely not been slumped on his desk. “Wha--Oh. Hi, Aelin.”

“You’re falling asleep, buzzard, let’s go home.” He heard laughter in her soft voice.

“As if you won’t just get home and start cross-checking every single one of the phrases on your ‘potential problem’ list.”

She chuckled, walking over to him. “Fine. We’re both perfectionist work whores. Doesn’t mean we don’t need sleep.”

“I know you too well to believe you’re actually going to sleep.”

“All right, you win. Come home now, I’ll make some food, and you can put me to bed.” She winked saucily at him, leaving very little doubt what putting her to bed would entail, and he was up out of his chair in seconds.

“Hand over your computer, Fireheart,” he grinned as they walked into the small house they shared on the outskirts of the city.

“What?”

“Your computer, love. I’m leaving both of our work bags on the shelf by the front door so we can actually catch some rest tonight.” He pressed a finger to her mouth to silence her protests. “Uh-uh, Ae, we have interviews tomorrow and I won’t let the genius behind this program’s flawless word-to-word be anything but well-rested.”

She sighed, but he saw the love in her eyes. “Here, then, my dear brilliant software engineer. Leave your notebook, too, because I know if it’s anywhere near you, you’ll be up at three in the morning scribbling blocks of gibberish and picking apart your faultless code until you go insane.”

Both of their work satisfactorily put aside, Aelin made good on her promise to cook Rowan dinner.

And then he made very good on his promise to put her to bed.

The next morning, they were both awake with the sunrise, content to lay curled in each other’s arms as the morning light spread across their room.

Rowan drifted back into sleep, waking for good when he caught a whiff of coffee from the kitchen’s direction.

“Morning, you sleepy buzzard,” Aelin grinned, sipping from her mug.

Rowan dropped a kiss on her head as he reached for his mug. He took a long drink, sighing as the milky, sweetened caffeine hit his mouth.

“I will never understand how you drink your coffee black, Fireheart.”

“Not all of us need to sweeten the hell out of coffee to drink it, Ro. Maybe if you can’t handle the real thing, you should go back to your pretty little cups of crappy cafe tea.”

“Mention my pretty little teacups again, Ae…”

She giggled. “You be quiet and drink your coffee-flavored milk, my love. We both know you’re impossibly grumpy until you have caffeine in your veins.”

He grumbled something unintelligible as he drank his coffee.

They were nearly late to work that morning, even having planned an extra half hour to arrive, thanks to Aelin wearing what Rowan dubbed her “sexy professor suit.” She fixed the pins in her French twist in the car, making herself once again a portrait of professionalism, and slipped Rowan’s hand from her leg.

“Two hands on the wheel, Whitethorn.”

He pouted. “But I’m a safe driver and I want to hold your hand.”

“My hands are over here, love, not down by my skirt.”

When he pulled into his spot, Aelin closed her eyes and took a deep, slow breath.

“You good, Fireheart?”

Gods, she loved hearing him call her that. “Yeah. I just…needed a moment to settle myself. To tell myself the cameras aren’t here to tear apart what I say.”

Rowan wrapped his hands around hers. “Dr. Aelin Ashryver Galathynius, the bland reporters are here to stand in awe of your expertise. Not a single word you say will come across as anything but brilliant and beautifully said.”

She squeezed his hands, her usual confidence returning. “I love you, buzzard.”

“I love you too, Fireheart. Let’s go talk about our amazing achievement.”

The day sped by in a blur of reporters, interviewers, teleprompters, practiced speeches, lights, cameras, and crew. When the last bleached-blonde anchor of the last interview of the day cut her crew’s cameras, Aelin flopped against her second-in-linguistic-command, Dr. Nehemia Ytger, the expert on ethnic African languages.

“If I never see a news crew again, it’ll be too soon,” she sighed. “I’m beat.”

Nehemia snickered. “But we’re done talking about how proud we are that Maeve and her marvelous company have done such a grand service to the world.”

Aelin snorted softly. “Right. And now we servicepeople want to go home and take off our heels.”

“Amen to that.”

As the team filed out of the studio, Rowan made his way over to Aelin. “Holding up?”

“Not anymore,” she said, leaning casually into his side. “My heels are killing me, there’s a hairpin stabbing into my scalp, and I really, really need to pee.”

Rowan laughed, deep and husky. “Let’s get you home, then.”

“I’m stopping in the bathroom first.”

Just before she left the ladies’ room, Aelin heard voices in the break area. Familiar voices--Rowan’s, Maeve’s, and the snippy, borderline whiny tones of Remelle Frelau, who worked in the marketing department and had a hell of a boner for Rowan.

“--looking at revenue over--” Maeve’s voice cut out, but from the gasps of the other two, the revenue was through the roof.

“And it’s all thanks to this genius here,” drawled Remelle, who if Aelin had her guess was probably clinging onto Rowan like a platinum-blonde leech.

“Ms. Frelau, this was the product of a team. No single person could possibly have made it happen alone.”

“Oh, call me Remelle, or even better Remy. And you’re the team leader, so you practically did create it by yourself.”

Aelin snickered to herself. Vapid bitch had no idea what she was saying.

“That’s not how teams work, Ms. Frelau. We wouldn’t be here without Dr. Galathynius and Dr. Ytger’s language expertise, not to mention the creative genius of the engineers, graphic designers, linguists, and programmers.”

“Ms. Frelau, though her judgment is clearly biased, has a point, Mr. Whitethorn,” Mave said. “You demonstrated remarkable collaborative leadership qualities throughout this project, and I fully expect that you will continue to do so.” Maeve’s heels clicked away. Rowan’s voice followed her.

“Thank you, Ms. Ond, but I have to credit Dr. Galathynius--”

“Will you stop kissing that woman’s ass?” snorted Remelle. “Gods, she’s not worth your time or your praise; all she does is translate words into different languages and you idiots drool over that like it means anything.”

Aelin jerked like she’d been slapped. She knew Remelle was a self-centered, shallow, spiteful bitch, but she hadn’t known she would do this.

“--did more for this project than you and your useless whiteboard of catchphrases,” growled Rowan.

“I don’t care what she ‘did for the project,’ Rowan, she’s never going to be good enough for you.”

“Thank you for caring about my welfare, Frelau, now please kindly fuck off.”

Aelin chose that moment to saunter out of the bathroom and head straight for Rowan, her face showing no hint of having heard that conversation. She did note with satisfaction Remelle’s vain attempt to march out of the room with some semblance of dignity. Too bad her heel caught on the seam of the hallway carpet and the break room’s tile flooring and she had to grab the doorframe to keep from collapsing.

“You’re awfully quiet, Aelin.”

“Just thinking. Processing, really. It’s been a hell of a day.”

Rowan nodded. “I bet.”

“And hearing fucking Remelle rip into me for being useless…didn’t make it better.”

“Shit, you heard that?”

“Yeah. I heard that.” Her voice was hollow.

Rowan pulled into their driveway and shut off the engine. Reaching across the console, he cupped Aelin’s face in his hands. “Aelin. You are brilliant. You are terrifyingly smart. You are a force of nature. Nothing, nothing you will ever do is useless. Don’t let that jealous bitch make you think you are less than the perfect woman.”

She smiled tentatively at him. “She…she told me before that last interview that I could never be enough for you. Because you--because of Lyria.”

Rowan raked a hand through his hair. “Ae, can we talk about this inside?”

That night, he told her about his former fiancé, Lyria. He told her about their whirlwind romance, their youthful dreams. He told her about the horrific crash that stole away Lyria’s life. A drunk trucker, a narrow pass in the mountains. He showed her the box in which he kept all the memories of that life. He cried. Aelin cried. He curled against her, let her comfort him.

“Sometimes, I wish she was still here. She’d understand everything. She always did.”

Aelin had no response. She let Rowan fall asleep, his weight shifting off her and into his bed, and looked through the box. Everything she saw served as another reminder that this was the first woman he loved, the woman who understood everything.

She was worthy of him.

But was Aelin?

The more she looked at Rowan and Lyria’s happiness, the more the answer solidified.

No.

When Rowan woke up the next morning, Lyria’s box sat on Aelin’s side of the bed, a side that had not held Aelin.

He glanced out the window.

Her car was gone.

He got up and frantically paced through the house.

Everything she’d brought into his home was gone.

As was she.

Present day.

Rowan opened his front door mechanically, pulled off his shoes, dropped his work backpack on its shelf, and was halfway to his bedroom before he realized he’d just opened his front door. His front door that was always locked.

Someone was in his house.

Someone who either had a duplicate key or insanely good lockpicking skills.

Exactly one person owned a duplicate key to his house.

Aelin.

That’s impossible, she lives in Orynth, she can’t be here, he told the traitorous part of his brain that leapt with joy at seeing Aelin’s face again.

He turned around and made his way through the kitchen--nobody there--to the living room. He flicked on a lamp, casting a soft light around the room.

And nearly had a heart attack.

Aelin Galathynius sat on his couch.

For a moment, he just gawked at her. She looked so…different. Older. Gone was the infectious smile that had captured his heart. Dark shadows smeared under her eyes, testament both to the long hours she devoted to her work and to recent sleepless nights. She was twisting a ring on her right hand, a familiar sign of her nerves. From his angle, Rowan could see a hint of dark script on her wrist. A tattoo. The Aelin he knew didn’t have tattoos.

“I’m not a ghost.” Her voice, weary and hollow, broke the tense silence.

Rowan crossed the room, propped an arm on the fireplace. “Why?”

“Why am I here? Why did I leave? Why did I cut you out of my life?”

“Everything.” He couldn’t keep the waver from his voice, but his eyes burned into hers.

She took a steadying breath. “I’m here to apologize, first of all. I’m here to face what I ruined and to try and start mending it. I’m here to come to terms with everything I broke when I left three years ago.”

Whatever he’d expected her to say, it certainly wasn’t that.

“I’m sorry, Rowan. I’m sorry I left like that. I was…I was scared.”

“You can’t just run away from your fears, Aelin!” He couldn’t keep the frustration from his tone. “You can’t just abandon someone when you have a bad day!”

“I’m sorry! I know I shouldn’t have left! I know I can’t run from my fears; I’ve spent the last three years trying and fucking failing to do that! But I don’t know what else to do.”

“Saying something about it would have been a good first step.”

“I’m bad at emotions, Rowan. I tried. It wasn’t enough.”

“That’s not a good enough excuse.”

Aelin flicked a tear from her face. “I know.” Her shoulders slumped. “I’m so sorry, Rowan. I should never have left. I let some stupid comment root into my head and make me doubt myself. I made myself believe I would never be good enough for you. I left you. I loved you, and I still left you. I still love you, even though I’ve tried to suppress it. I can never make up for that. I…I just wanted to tell you how much I’ve regretted that horrible decision all these years. I want you to be happy, Rowan, I--”

“How am I supposed to be happy without a source?” He’d dropped onto the couch, close enough to touch her but still keeping his distance.

“What?”

“You didn’t just take yourself away, Aelin. You were my happiness. I’ve spent three fucking years trying to make myself believe I’m better without you in my life, and I can’t.”

She was unabashedly crying by that point. “What do you want me to do? How can I make up for abandoning you?”

“Stay.”

Her gaze locked onto his, both of their eyes pooling with tears.

“Stay with me, Fireheart.”

“But--”

“I never stopped loving you either.”

A choked sob ripped out of Aelin. Rowan couldn’t hold himself in check any longer; he reached out and tugged her gently into his arms. To his shock, she didn’t resist, burying her face into his chest as sobs shook her shoulders. When she calmed, he tilted her chin up.

“Will you stay, Aelin?”

“Yes. Even though I will never deserve your forgiveness, yes.”

Translations:

* = “that pinched old whore who couldn’t convince a dick to come within ten metres of her if she dressed up provocatively” (Italian)

** = loosely translated as “Fucking hell, I can’t get drunk off this garbage.” (in order, Russian (badly phonetically spelled out because Rowan POV), Spanish, German, Spanish again, French) (the Russian doesn’t directly translate, so it could mean several different variations of expletive)

Might there be a second part? Perhaps......

#my writing #rowaelin month #aaaaaangst

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freddie-weaselbee · 4 years ago

Text

The Fickle Finger of Fate//F.W.

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Underaged drinking, slight language, one teeny paragraph of sexual content but no details, sexual references(all characters are legally adults in the wizard world), mentions of nudity, mentions of death (minor character), ANGST

Summary: Soulmate AU, but with a twist. How much can someone test fate, and what are the consequences when that happens?

Prompts: "I can't lose you." "You already did." and "Let me go."

Word Count: 4.8k

A/N: @love-peachh's writing challenge!! with above prompts and the soulmates trope, the third fic in Abby's Week of Weasley !

~Abby's Week of Weasley Masterlist~ ~Masterlist~

Message me to be on the taglist!

May 1995

Today was the day. The one you had been waiting for your entire life. The day that would change everything for you. Today was the day you would find your soulmate.

It was your sixth year at Hogwarts, and the last day of school was just around the corner. Which meant it was time for you, and the rest of the Sixth Years at Hogwarts to line up and await for your name to be called. One by one you’d step into Dumbledore’s office and perform some sort of ceremony--what is was you weren’t entirely certain--to determine who your soulmate would be.

You bounced with excitement as you met up with Fred and George Weasley, your best friends since first year. They were much less excited about receiving their soulmates, but they laughed and supported your glee.

Truth be told, you were secretly hoping that Fred would be the one you were spending the rest of your life with. You’d had a crush on him for years but had always been too afraid to say anything. If it was announced that you two were destined to be together, then there would be nothing holding you back anymore.

“Excited, are we?” Fred teased, watching you tap your foot in impatience.

“How could you not be!” you exclaimed. “This is when we find out our soulmate, Fred. The person we’ll love for the rest of our lives! It’s kind of a big deal.”

He only shrugged, not caring in the slightest. “We’re 17. We’ve got our whole lives ahead of us, why do we need to be tied down so early?”

“I second that,” said George. “I’m all for settling down once I’m older, but knowing who it’s gonna be with? It feels kind of weird.”

“Oh, you two just aren’t romantics,” you said, sighing dreamily. “Trust me, after this everything is going to change,”

And it did.

The second you completed the ceremony where Dumbledore cast a spell that read into your soul, the name of your soulmate was hovering in the air above you. Fred Weasley.

You almost cried with joy and you rushed out of the room, telling Fred that he had to go next and see who he got. You were on the edge of your seat waiting for him to reemerge, for him to say that it was you and always had been, for him to sweep you off your feet and pull you into the first of your many sweet kisses.

When Fred finally exited the office he looked at you and smiled. But it wasn’t at all what you were expecting. He didn’t seem enthusiastic at all. In fact, the smile he sent you was the same one he always did, a friendly teasing grin.

You shook your head, telling yourself not to overthink things. You two were meant to be together, it was fate.

“So,” you prodded, “who was your soulmate?”

Fred’s grin faltered and he wrapped an arm around your shoulder. “Can we go somewhere to talk? Somewhere private?”

You agreed after a moment of shock, nerves trembling in your stomach. Why wasn’t he happy? What did he have to talk about?

The both of you ended up in a secluded corner of the castle and you sat down next to him, his hands holding yours. “So, I’m assuming that I’m your soulmate?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

“Yeah,” you said. “And you’re mine?”

He nodded and you felt your insides burst. You knew everything would work out. Fred Weasley was meant to be with you. Slowly, you leaned in toward him, tilting your head to the side and licking your lips slightly.

Fred moved back.

“Freddie?” you asked, wondering why he was hesitating.

He nervously rubbed the back of his neck, giving you a friendly pat on the shoulder. “Look, Y/N, don’t get me wrong, I’m really glad it’s you. I think that some day the two of us would make a great couple! We already know so much about each other and we’re so comfortable with each other that I’d be surprised if my soulmate was someone else. But…”

There it was. The but. Everything was supposed to be perfect today, it was all supposed to come together. What was going on?

“But…” he continued, “ we’re young. And we’re destined to spend our whole lives together, so, why don’t we just...put a pin in it?”

“Put a pin in it?” you asked unbelievingly.

“Sorry,” he said, “wrong choice of words. What I’m saying is, we have plenty of time. Why rush into things? How about you do your thing and I’ll do mine, and then when we’re older we can see how things are going. Sound good?”

Your mouth suddenly went dry, hands becoming clammy and tears welling up in your eyes. He wanted you, but not now. He wanted other girls now. But he was your soulmate. It would all work out in the end. It had to.

“Y-yeah,” you said, desperately holding back your tears. “Sounds like a plan.”

“Great!” Fred said, pulling you into a hug. “I knew I could count on you, you’re the best.”

“Mhmm,” you muttered. “The best.”

Fred kept holding you for a few seconds before getting up and running to find out who his twin got for his soulmate. You stayed sitting on the corridor floor, wondering how in the world the best day of your life had suddenly turned into the worst.

No, you chided yourself. This was Fred, and he and you were meant to be together. You’d find your way back to each other someday. You sighed a breath of relief and stood up, wiping away the few teardrops that managed to make their way out. It was ok. It would all be ok.

September 1995

“Fred! George! How was your summer?” You were sitting in one of the compartments of the Hogwarts Express, waiting for the twins to join you. They arrived looking exceptionally happy and exceptionally good looking. You assumed they must’ve had a very eventful few months.

“Hey!” said George. “It was great. We moved to a house in London for the summer, long story, but Harry and Hermione were there so it kept Ron out of our hair.”

“Yeah, it was fantastic,” said Fred, plopping down in his usual seat next to you and throwing his legs across your lap. “We got to meet so many new people. And so many new girls.”

George and you both stiffened, but Fred was none the wiser.

“There was this one girl,” he continued, “she was so hot. I swear I shagged her on every piece of furniture in that house. What a summer.”

You remained silent, hands folded and your head gazing down at Fred’s feet below you. A part of you thought that maybe he was joking, that maybe he was saying this to get you all worked up and he would ask you out later that day. But one look at George’s guilt-ridden face and you knew exactly what Fred’s summer had consisted of.

Fred looked around as the silence passed, wondering why everyone had suddenly become so quiet. “How about you, Y/N, anything fun happen?”

“Well umm, nothing too exciting,” you said. “Mostly hung out with some old friends, went swimming a lot.” You looked at Fred, wondering if you could get a reaction out of him. “There...there was this one guy.”

That wasn’t a complete lie. There was this one guy, your best friend's cousin, who you had spent a lot of time with in the last three months. You would drive around late at night and get up early to watch the sunset. But one night when he kissed you, you had to pull away. Your heart belonged to Fred, and it felt like cheating to be making out with someone who wasn’t your soulmate. Apparently Fred didn’t have the same sentiment.

“That’s great!” he exclaimed, the complete opposite reaction you were looking for. You had wanted him to get upset, jealous even. But if anything he looked relieved. “See,” he whispered so only you could hear, “I told you this would work out. We each do our own thing and get together in a long while. This is perfect!”

You didn’t say anything, only smiled and leaned back into your seat. George subtly moved forward and put a comforting hand on your knee, letting you know that he understood and he was with you. You gave him a reassuring look. It would be ok. Fred had probably gotten it out of his system over the summer. You could see how things went this year.

February 1996

Gryffindor parties were always the events of the month, rivaled only by Slytherin’s secret and exclusive gatherings. There was everything any teenager needed: food, firewhisky, and sex.

You and Angelina were taking shots in the corner, laughing and stumbling over yourselves. You scanned the crowded common room, eyes focusing on George dancing like a madman in the middle of the room, knocking over a few girls with how wildly he was moving.

You looked at your friend who was gazing lovingly at the ginger boy. “Hey,” you said, “can I ask you something.”

Angelina took her eyes off of George and gave you her full attention. “Of course.”

“When you and George found out you were each other’s soulmates, what happened? I mean, you weren’t dating before but you got together over the summer. Aren’t you worried you’re missing out on other people?”

Your friend knew where this was really coming from. She grabbed you a drink and took you to sit down. “Thing is,” she said, “at first we didn’t want to date. We both kind of thought that we weren’t ready for anything too serious, so we did our own thing for a few months. But we kept writing over the summer and I realized that he’s my best friend and I didn’t want to go any longer without being with him. As much as the both of us hate the concept of settling down, we realized that we don’t have to suddenly turn around and be married. We’re taking it one day at a time, but constantly talking about our relationship and where we think it’s going.”

You nodded, starting to understand. “Are you guys exclusive? Or are you seeing other people as well?”

“We’re exclusive. Like I said we’re nothing serious, but we don’t want to mess up what we have. So far it’s going great, just taking it slow and getting to know each other even more. Is there a reason you’re asking me this?”

You muttered a “no” but Angelina didn’t believe you for a second.

“How are things with Fred?” she asked. “Have you two been talking about your relationship?”

“Not really,” you said. “He likes to ignore the fact that we’re soulmates. Nothing has changed since we found out. But it’s ok though, we’re just waiting until we’re ready.”

Your friend watched you take another shot of firewhisky, face scrunching up in distaste. You had looked so sad the past few months, and Angelina knew the reason. “But you’re ready now, aren’t you?”

You whipped your head around, groaning as the quick motion made you dizzy. “What…” you said, holding your throbbing head, “what do you mean?”

“You love him. You have for forever, Y/N, and this must be killing you.”

“No!” you argued. “It’s fine. Fred will tell me when he’s ready for a relationship and we can settle down then.”

“And wreck yourself in the process?” Angelina asked. “Y/N, love, I know that you two are soulmates, but you can’t let him treat you like this! He goes out and does what he wants and who he wants, knowing that you’ll always be there when he’s bored of all the other girls. You’re his fallback.”

Angry tears fell from your face. “I am not!” you yelled. “He loves me, he just doesn’t want anything serious, and I’m ok with that.”

“No you’re not!” she yelled back. “It’s tearing you apart. You need to talk to him.”

“Don’t you think I’ve tried!”

Angelina went silent at this new information, watching you finally break down.

“Don’t you think I’ve tried talking to him, explaining that if we’re soulmates then maybe we should act like it. It kills me seeing him bring a different girl back to his dorm every night when he’s supposed to be with me.” You hit your head against the wall behind you hard enough that you knew there would be a bruise in the morning, but you didn’t care. “But every time he gets mad at me, saying that he can’t settle down, that he’s too young, that I’m being selfish and impatient.”

Angelina wrapped you up in a warm hug, stroking the back of your head softly. “Then you need to move on Y/N. If he doesn’t care about your feelings, then I’m sorry but you need to find someone else.”

You sniffled, lifting your gaze and seeing a Ravenclaw girl grinding up on Fred. He whispered something in her ear and dragged her out of the common room and up to his dorm. “I can’t,” you said. “He’s my soulmate. It’s destiny. We’re meant to be together, even if that means I have to break a little every time he’s with someone else. It’ll all work out, you’ll see.”

Angelina continued to hold you tightly, praying that one day you would see what was really happening.

April 1996

Cheers erupted from hundreds of students, all of whom were crowded in the courtyard, watching their new heroes fly away from Umbridge’s reign of terror. You stood silently on the outskirts of the group, disbelief coursing through you.

How could he leave you? You thought that he would at least tell you about it, at least sit you down and explain the future of your relationship. Would you stay in touch? Would you visit his shop often and hang out with him and George? Where was your friendship, and more importantly your relationship, going?

You pushed your way through the crowd, wanting more than ever to be alone right now. Angelina stopped you, a wide grin on her face. “Y/N! Did you see that? Oh I’ve been waiting weeks for them to finally make their escape, it was even better than I imagined.”

“You…” you said slowly, “you knew? They told you?”

“Of course! George told me a while ago. Didn’t Fred tell you?”

“I have to go,” you muttered, ignoring her calls and running back into the abandoned castle. You made it back to your dorm and threw yourself onto your bed, curling up into a ball.

You’d given Fred the benefit of the doubt so many times. You understood that he wanted to fool around for a while and you let him. But you thought that maybe once school was over things would change. Apparently you would never know, because he didn’t bother to even have a conversation about your future.

You should try to get over him. Yes, two months of no Fred would be perfect for you! You could see other people, something you hadn’t done in over a year, and it would be the perfect distraction.

But then you remembered his warm brown eyes and soft ginger hair. How happy he could make you with just one touch. You couldn’t give up on him, you were being foolish. Fate was never wrong. You just needed to keep waiting. Everything would be fine in time.

January 1997

Small snowflakes fluttered to the ground, the cold crisp air whipping your face as you made your weekly trip to Diagon Alley to visit Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes. After you had graduated the first thing you did was run off the train and make your way to the shop. Fred and George were delighted to see you and they immediately talked about their success so far with their planning. Neither you nor Fred brought up what happened months ago.

After the first encounter, things seemed to go back to normal. You got a job at The Ministry involving Curse Breaking, which you enjoyed very much. You’d get up every day excited to go to work, and every Sunday afternoon you’d enter your friends’ shop for a day of talking and goofing around.

And just as things had remained the same, that included your relationship with Fred. He’d mention his different hookups, sometimes going into extreme detail that you really didn’t want to know. You asked him to stop talking about that and he did, but he didn’t stop his actions.

Today was the day you were going to talk with him. You couldn’t keep putting yourself through this heartbreak if it wasn’t going to end any time soon. It was the last chance you were giving him.

“Hey Freddie,” you said as you walked through the shop doors.

“Hey, love, how’s it going?”

“Pretty good, I was wondering if we could talk, somewhere private maybe?”

“Of course,” he replied, taking you up to the loft. You entered the familiar place and plopped down on the couch, hearing the shower running in the bathroom.

“Is George here,” you asked as he brought you a cup of coffee.

“Umm, not exactly,” Fred replied sheepishly. “The bathroom’s currently occupied by the person who occupied my time last night, if you know what I mean.”

You did. Your face turned red, whether with embarrassment or anger you didn’t know, hearing that the girl Fred hooked up with was just a room away from you. Gathering up all the strength you could, you finally told him everything you’d been holding back.

“That’s what I wanted to talk about, actually.”

“My hookups?” Fred asked quizzically. “I thought you didn’t want to hear about those.”

“No,” you said shaking your head. “I wanted to talk about us. And where we’re going in the future.”

Fred groaned and threw his head back on the couch, rubbing his temple. “Oh not this again, Y/N. I thought we agreed that we’re too young for anything serious.”

“Well when I said that, I thought you meant that we’d finish out school and see where things went after that. We’re bloody adults now, shouldn’t we be talking about where we want this to go?” You were growing angry, not expecting Fred to be so blunt and rude about your feelings.

“I’m still 18, Y/N! I’m not ready for anything yet.”

“And when will you be? You keep saying you’re not ready and I keep staying by your side, waiting for that moment when you finally decide you love me. So when’s it gonna be, huh? Am I wasting my time?”

“I don’t know!” he exclaimed. “You’re being so annoying right now, why can’t we just be friends and figure it out when we get there?”

“Because I’m tired of giving you every part of me when you give me nothing in return! I...I can’t do this anymore.”

“I think that’s for the best.”

“I--excuse me?”

Fred stood up, gesturing for you to follow him. “How about we spend some time away from each other? You can work out whatever feelings you want to, and when I’m ready to settle down I’ll come find you.”

You were speechless, absolutely dumbfounded. Fred couldn’t be serious, could he? He’d come find you, like you were some lost puppy that belonged to him?

Fred grabbed your shoulders and gave you a peck on the forehead. “We’re soulmates, baby. There’s no rush for anything. I’ll let you know when I’m ready.”

This was it. This was what Angelina had warned you about. He was so comfortable knowing that you'd have to end up together that he didn’t bother to put in the effort. He knew no matter how many times he messed up, you would always be right around the corner ready to jump into his waiting arms. This was the last chance you had given him, and he blew it.

“I’ll just be going then,” you said, grabbing your things.

You stormed out of the room but Fred didn’t seem to notice anything was wrong. Or maybe he did notice and he just didn’t care. You would always come back to him, wouldn’t you?

“Love ya, Y/N,” he called before turning his attention to the wet girl who was exiting his bathroom.

You left the loft in a hurry, not even bothering to say hi to George on the way out of the shop. You used to believe in fate and destiny, and deep down you still did. But you couldn’t keep counting on the universe to provide you with happiness when only one of you was putting in the effort. Almost two years of pining later, you decided it was time to move on.

May 1999

Fred slowly came down from his high, panting heavily and groaning in pleasure. He rolled off of the girl he was with this week, a cute blonde he had met at a bar, and stared up at the ceiling trying to catch his breath.

It was a good ride. It was always good, Fred prided himself in his abilities and the girls he was with were usually just as spectacular. But the past few months he had been growing tired of it.

Sure, he loved going out and meeting hot girls, dancing with them and bringing them back to his place for one night of lust and passion. But even that gets old after a while, and after years of thinking with his body, he was finally ready to think with his head and his heart. He was ready to see you.

The next day, Fred got dressed up, putting on a nice sweater and trousers, buying a bouquet of roses from a nearby flower shop. He hadn’t contacted you to let you know he was coming. He wanted it to be a surprise, and besides, you would definitely be thrilled to see him.

He made his way to your old place, hoping that you still lived there. He hadn’t seen you in over two years, not since the two of you decided to stop seeing each other until Fred was ready. And now, after long last, he was.

He knocked on the door of your apartment, bouncing on his toes in anticipation of seeing you for the first time in so long. He bet you’d gotten even hotter, and were somehow even kinder and funnier than you were before. To his surprise, it wasn’t you who opened the door, but a familiar face from back in his school days.

“Pucey?”

Adrian Pucey, a Slytherin in your year, was standing in the doorway, with ruffled hair and a bear chest with gray sweatpants. He smiled apprehensively at Fred, remembering how the two of them had never gotten along back in school.

“Hey Fred. What’re you doing here?”

“I’m here to see my soulmate,” Fred said, anger and jealousy evident in his tone.

Adrian paused and his smile vanished. He looked as if he wanted to slam the door in Fred’s face and never see him again. Fred then heard a voice calling from inside, and he peaked around to see you sprawled out on the couch wrapped up in a blanket.

“Adrian? Who’s there?” you asked.

“Babe, you might want to come see for yourself.”

Fred grimaced at the nickname. Any suspicions he had that you were dating Adrian were now confirmed, and he hated seeing you with anyone else.

As you reached the door you looked shocked to see Fred there, holding a large bouquet of flowers for you. “Why don’t you head back in, love,” you said to your boyfriend. “I’ll handle this.”

He smiled and pecked you lips, giving Fred one last glare before letting you shut yourself and Fred out in the hallway.

“It’s been a while,” you said. “What’s up?”

“Well,” Fred said, trying to hand you the roses but you refused, “I was thinking last night. About us, and about how I’m ready. To be with you.”

If he thought you were going to be elated about this news and drop everything, including your boyfriend, to be with him, he was completely wrong. You just stood there, looking if anything sad for him. “Oh Freddie.”

“What?” he asked, heart thumping in his chest. “What does that mean? I said I’m ready to settle down! To be with you. Isn’t that what you want?”

You scoffed, putting your hand on your temple like he did to you so any years before. “Look, I’m flattered, and I’m glad you’re finally ready to have something real. But it’s not going to be with me.”

Fred could physically feel his heart shatter into a million pieces at those words. “Not with you? What does that even mean, Y/N? We’re bloody soulmates!”

“Yeah well you didn’t seem to care about us being soulmates the countless times I wanted to talk to you about it!”

“I wasn’t ready then!”

“But I was! And you didn’t even take my feelings into consideration. I was constantly by your side, waiting for you to confess your feelings and ask me to be yours. Every day I broke a little more, because you treated me like absolute shit. So I’m done waiting Fred. I’ve moved on”

Fred couldn’t believe what he was hearing. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. You were supposed to be in love with him! The two of you were soulmates for a reason, how could you just settle down with someone else?

“What about Adrian��s soulmate?” he asked, voicing his thoughts. “Aren’t you depriving him of true love?”

You sighed heavily and looked at the closed door behind you, lowering your voice. “Adrian’s soulmate died a few years ago. She got really sick and didn’t make it. I ran into him while he was trying to get over her loss, and we really connected. We’ve been together for about a year now, and we’re both really happy.”

“This doesn’t make any sense,” Fred said, pacing up and down the hall. “We’re soulmates Y/N. The universe destined us to be together.”

Shaking your head you replied, telling Fred the conclusion you had come to after years of pain. “I don’t think it works like that. Soulmates aren’t two people who are going to be together no matter what happens. They’re two souls who, if they both contribute and try in the relationship, would make a perfect pair. But you, Fred, never tried. And I finally got over it. I love Adrian, and I’m happy about my decision.”

“No, no no no,” Fred said, growing panicked. “This can’t be it, Y/N, I can’t lose you.”

“You already did.”

Fred’s lip quivered slightly, eyes searching yours for any telltale sign that this was a joke. Some huge, elaborate prank. But it wasn’t. It took you a lot of time and soul searching, but you were at peace. You were fine without your soulmate, because for so many years he had been fine without you.

“Let me go, Freddie. Because I let you go a long time ago.”

The two of you stood there, all feelings out in the open. Fred had never felt so vulnerable around someone, and he never thought once that he would have to let you go.

The door slowly creaked open and Adrian stepped back out, wrapping his arm around your waist and kissing the top of your head. “You alright, darling?”

You kept looking at Fred, imagining all of the things that could’ve been, that never would be. “Yeah, I’m fine. Fred was just leaving.”

You turned around to your apartment, not even bothering to look back. Before you shut the door, Fred could see a beautiful smile grace your lips at something Adrian had said. You were happy. He was making you happy.

In a perfect world, you and Fred would be an ideal match. If both of you put in the effort and tried for the best, you’d have the best relationship possible. It was fate.

But fate is a fickle thing. You can’t try to trick destiny into doing what you want. Fred had thought that no matter what he did, the universe would give him what he believed he deserved. The universe doesn’t work like that.

Maybe, if he had taken some form of responsibility for his actions and actually cared about what was happening in the moment, it could’ve been him cuddling up next to you, falling asleep with his arms around you and hearing how much you loved him. But he didn’t. He tested fate, and he would forever pay the price for his actions.

Tag List: @famdomhideout

#lovepeachh600writingchallenge #abby's week of weasley #fredweasley #fred #fredweasleyfic #georgeweasley #george weasley #soulmates #soulmate au #harry potter #hogwarts #weasleys wizard wheezes #fred weasley

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graysongraysoff · 2 years ago

Note

🤡 🛒 🛠 💖 and 🧐 for the ask meme! <3

fanfic writer emoji asks

🤡 what’s a line, scene or exchange you’ve written that made you laugh?

dialogue is my favorite thing on earth to write, especially little interactions like this:

“Damn, you got hot,” Satoru greeted him at the entrance to Jujutsu High’s administrative building, earning the long-suffering glare he’d missed so much.

“You look the same,” Nanami replied dryly. Satoru barked a laugh.

“I’ll send you the skincare routine,” he quipped breezily.

writing banter like this between good friends always makes me smile :)

🛒 what are some common things you incorporate in your fics? themes, feels, scenes, imagery, etc.

it was a joke with my les mis friends for a long time that i had to reference courfeyrac’s “buoyant curls” at least once in every fic i wrote, lol. i will not apologize i love that phrase and the imagery it invokes so fucking much.

but in terms of broader things… well, the biggest commonality in everything i write, fic and not-fic, is the focus on platonic relationships, usually between brothers, male friends or fathers/father figures and sons/son figures. i can’t help it, i love the way men love. maybe someday we’ll unpack why that is, but it is not this day.

i also write primarily angst and hurt/comfort, bc a bitch loves tragedy and catharsis, especially when that tragedy and catharsis involves men being vulnerable with each other in a way that masculinity usually doesn’t let them be.

men crying is what i’m trying to say. i write a lot of men hugging and leaning on each other and crying.

🛠 what tools/programs/apps do you use to write?

google docs baybee, and occasionally a timer if i’m trying to break a block with ten-minute fics. i also write from prompts a lot? especially since i write mostly short fic; i find it helpful a lot of times to have a jumping-off place.

also thesaurus.com, my beloved.

💖 what made you start writing?

god, i don’t even know. i have been writing stories ever since i learned how to write; when i was like six or seven i had a whole notebook dedicated to tales of three best friends and their horses, complete with illustrations. i won first place in the young author’s fair at my school around that same age for a story about two cats encountering a scary bulldog. i don’t think anything made me start writing, i think that’s just how i’m wired, lol.

now, i started writing fic when i was 13 or 14 years old, basically because i learned, from the internet, that it was allowed, lol. before then i thought surely it must be illegal for nebulous copyright reasons, so i would just write things that were Heavily Inspired by the stuff i liked, but then once i discovered that fanfic was a Thing on the internet i started writing more and more of that and less and less original stuff, until now when it’s basically all i write! 😬

🧐 do you spend much time researching your stories?

god, you have no idea.

i generally like to stay as canon compliant as possible; i generally write fic out of appreciation for (and obsession with) the canon as opposed to writing fic to “fix” the canon (though i am not immune to the occasional fix-it), and i have also always really enjoyed the exercise of writing “within constraints.” it feels like a game to me — a set of rules or requirements that i have to work around in order to create something moving. to do that i spend insane amounts of time on wikis and reddits looking up shit like “how many windows does the bebop have,” and sometimes i will find and rewatch/reread a scene in the original work if the internet isn’t giving me what i want.

in terms of research outside of the canon, recently since i’ve started writing a lot of anime fic i’ve been doing a fair amount of research into japanese culture, but i’m a biiiitttt more loosey-goosey with that, because 1.) i am aware of the limits of typing keywords into google and reading three or four blog posts on whatever it is i’m looking up, and i would rather be ambiguous than wrong, and 2.) i think as an american writing in english it’s really easy for that kind of research to, like, take over a fic, if that makes sense?? like, i’ve definitely read fics (especially anime fics) where all the cultural details and references start to feel kind of performative, which not only makes the writer seem pretentious but it also takes away from the story itself. so generally if it’s something that seems easy enough to look up, like popular fast food restaurants or what kind of animals they have at the tokyo zoo, i’ll look that up, but i give myself a bit more wiggle room with things that might be more nuanced than that.

wow anyway sorry for that insane digression, lmao. the short answer is yes. yes i do a lot of research when i write fic. 😂

#thank you sm ah!!!#pyrrhlc

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bump1nthen1ght · 4 years ago

Text

Pack Tactics (Werewolf x Reader)

Pairing: Fem!Reader/Male!Werewolf

Genre: Urban Fantasy, Established Couple, Angst with a happy ending

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2896 words

Summary: You are in a wonderful relationship with your sweet partner, Gray. But this far into the relationship, you’ve yet to tell him you have no intentions ever of having kids. You can’t help but wonder, how will your child-loving werewolf boyfriend will react?

Request: I live for very specific comfort! No pressure if this doesn’t inspire you or if you just don’t want to write it obvi.... but could I have a f!reader x m!werewolf where the reader is 100% sure she doesn’t want to have kids ever never ever in any capacity and is worried about how her werewolf bf is going to react, worried she’ll be dumped or something (ya know cause idk I feel like werewolves are built with a breeding kink and like into the whole having a lot of pups) there can be smut if you want!! I love me some dramatic angst comfort :)))))))

A/N: Sorry this took so long y’all, school and stuff has been kicking my ass. But writing this sweet little fic has been a nice reprieve from my work. Hope you enjoy!

“Alright, I’ll get the chicken, the asparagus, and the pasta. You’ve got the wine and the dessert?”

“Sure thing.”

The two of you nod, Gray stepping away from the grocery cart before you call out to him.

“And not one of those huge tubs of ice cream.”

Gray emits a dramatic whine, pouting.

“But the big one is 25 cents cheaper than those little pints. It’s practically free!”

You furrow your brow and pat him on the shoulder.

“Not if we don’t finish them, they aren’t. Now go.” Gray rolls his eyes, clutching his heart and throwing his head back. You playfully push him, walking away with the grocery cart and towards the deli section. You can see the top of Gray’s wild brown hair as he moves into the next aisle, his 6’5” form towering over all the little old ladies who usually crowd the store.

You’re browsing the chicken, trying to decide between 2 breasts or a full rotisserie, when a familiar sound reaches you.

“Oh! If it isn’t ____.” You forcibly paint a smile, fingers automatically clenched around the stellafoam package as you turn to see your next door neighbor Mrs. Star. Her teased, bleached blonde hair teeters on top of her head, bobbing back and forth with the clack of her neon blue heels. While you can respect the 60-year old for digging her feet in and refusing to update her wardrobe from the 80’s, her pension for gossip is a little less admirable. “Shocked to see you out and about, what with that big ol boyfriend of yours.” She says, blue eyeshadow crinkling into a wink and nudging you with your elbow. You wheeze a bit, quickly covering it with a laugh. “Back in our honeymoon phase, Richard and I barely left the bedroom. And he was half-way balding back then, not the babe-a-rama you got going over there.” Mrs. Star’s laugh reaches a pitch almost too high for your human ears to pick up, maybe even giving Gray 2 aisles over a headache.

“Well, y’know, gotta keep our energy up.” You wince, immediately berating yourself for that comment. Mrs. Star throws her hand up in a “oh, you” gesture, letting out another half-whistle half-screeching chuckle.

“Oh I do, honey, I do.” She sends you another dramatic wink, which you return with a shaky smile. The corner of your cart bumps into hers as you begin walking along the meat aisle, trying to forcibly end this interaction. But Mrs. Star pulls off an impressive turn with her cart and strolls alongside you. She does little to hide her wandering eyes, trying to piece together any juicy info from your groceries. “So, are you two trying for kids yet?”

The wheels squeal to a sudden stop, forcing you to choke on your saliva as the shopping cart’s handle digs into your stomach. You keep your gaze locked on the frozen steaks and turkeys, already way past the chicken you meant to grab.

“Uhhh, no. We’re not really in the phase of our relationship yet.”

Mrs. Star clicks her tongue, pressing her hand to her chest in a show of embarrassment. “I’m sorry, dearie. Old habits you see, whenever a new couple moves in together I assume they’re halfway to the wedding already. You young kids like to take it slow, huh?”

You nod, hastily grabbing a package of buffalo wings, hoping for an excuse to escape this conversation.

Mrs. Star continues to walk by you, her cart blocking off any convenient means to leave unless you significantly pick up her speed. Her eyes glance over the sweats sat in a display in the center of the aisle, humming a small tune.

The end of the aisle is approaching, you’re almost home free! You ready your feet to book it with an excuse, but Mrs. Star clears her throat and begins to speak.

“Now dearie, I don’t mean to pry-”

What do you call these last 3 minutes, Star?

“But I’d at least pop on a ring on that finger soon. Someday someone’s going to snatch that boy up like a piece of meat, saying all the right things. Men got all those suspicions about over-the-hill pregnancies, his eyes might start wandering. That’s how my first divorce went, so I should know.”

You pull your cart to a stop, breathe catching as you look at Mrs. Star, shocked. You can handle some inappropriate questions, but to question your boyfriend’s loyalty and insulting your relationship is crossing another line. Your brows furrow with a simmering anger, your cheeks heating up as you're ready to let loose.

“Well, Mrs. Star, if you must know I have the most wonderful boyfriend on this side of the planet, and unlike your deadbeat first husband, he’s as loyal as they can be.” Mrs. Star looks at you, eyes widened and right hand halfway to grab a pack of oreos. You huff, pushing your cart away from hers and towards the cash register. Right before you leave her sight, you turn back to her with a simpering smirk. “Have a great day, Mrs. Star!”

Your heart is heaving with anger, prepping a rant to Gray about the horrible interaction you just had. On the other side of the store, you spot Gray, his curly hair all tussled, holding a large Rosé and a package of ice cream sandwiches. Just the sight of his back calms you a bit, excited for some delicious food and late-night cuddles. You jog a little towards him, but slow down when you see him crouch down, looking at something hidden from your sight.

You turn your shopping cart slightly, trying to peer behind his massive form, and freeze.

Gray’s sticking out his tongue, pushing up his nose, and making many more silly gestures to a baby in a stroller. The baby laughs, it’s chubby cheeks bright red as Gray blows another raspberry, thrashing its arms up and down with joy. The dad is laughing at Gray’s antics, leaning down and patting his kid on the head.

Gray promptly stands up, sending another big smile to the kid, before waving goodbye. The six-month-old waves back, uncoordinated and decidedly adorable. Gray laughs, turning away and walking towards you.

Your feet feel cemented to the floor, heart down in your stomach.

He’s a natural, you think, nausea building up in your throat.

Gray was the oldest of eight, not a large number for a werewolf family. You adored them, and they you, but Gray had a way of dealing with his youngest siblings. Whether it was letting them climb all over him like a jungle gym, or attending imaginary tea parties, Gray was a pro. He was the guy to cram himself into a tiny chair at the kids table, eating tiny cookies and cracking jokes. ‘Dad’ seemed to be stamped into his very being, the cuddly werewolf with a love of children. He’s any mother-in-law’s dream.

But all those sweet things turn sour when you think about what Mrs. Star said. Gray, moving on without you.

Gray’s eyes light up when he sees your cart, jogging over and holding up the bottle of wine like a prize.

“Hey!” He says, quickly sliding an arm around your waist and giving you a peck on the cheek. “I got your favorite, and those delicious mint-chocolate sandwiches.”

His happy voice and comforting touch help abate whatever it is your feeling, but the way Gray’s brow furrows tells you your discomfort is present in your eyes. “Is everything okay?” His large hand comes up and rubs your shoulder. You give him a shaky smile, fighting away negative thoughts with a bat.

“Yeah, let’s go home.”

---------

Wet fur presses up against your bare neck as you lazily stir the boiling water, Gray’s shifted muzzle now snug in the crook of your shoulder, the white flecks across his dark fur peeking into your periphery. Your free hand instinctively goes back to scratch between his ears, causing him to let out a satisfied huff, hot air blowing across your chest.

“That smells good baby.”

“It’s just salt and water Gray. The pasta’s barely al dente.”

Gray laughs, turning his head slightly so he can press a small kiss onto your cheek.

“You could make even that taste delicious, ____”

You dramatically roll your eyes, pushing away his chin as he continues to peck and nip at your neck. After showering Gray always made sure to rub in some cherry-blossom leave-in conditioner into his fur. The artificial perfumes just lightly touch your senses, but the mental connection they have to Gray make them smell that much sweeter. You turn and give him a quick kiss on the lips, patting his shoulder once more.

“Do you mind setting the table? Maybe get started on those messy dishes?”

“No problem.” Gray mumbles, reluctantly pulling away from you and tugging up the towel that hangs loose on his hips. He barely needs to reach for your fancy plates on the top shelf, his chest muscles flexing and bicep taut. Even with his thick fur, you can see the bone of his clavicle which accentuates his long neck.

God, he’s so hot.

You think, smirking a bit as you continue stirring.

And all mine.

You hum, but the cheery mood you’re in quickly sours once you remember your conversation with Mrs. Star. That small seed of doubt seems to grow and leech from your chest.

2 years into this relationship and the two of you have only danced around the conversation of the future. You of course had agreed on living together, what your career paths looked like, even the potential of getting married in a couple years, but never kids. As two 20-somethings, you felt like you had all the time in the world.

But the thing was, you didn’t really need all the time in the world.

You didn't want kids. Even with your family or your neighbors needing that your opinion “might change some day,” you were confident in that decision. Not that you hated them, you just could never picture yourself being a mom. A fun aunt, maybe, but never a mom. It wasn’t even a point of contention in your own mind; The picture of you, your partner, and maybe a couple of pets thriving into your elders was bliss enough.

You sneak a glance to Gray, now clothed and back turned to you as he sets the table. He’s diligently folding the napkins into fun shapes, a ritual he does every date night. From the hole in his jeans you can see his tail wagging, content as he hums to the low radio playing on the window sill.

A smile crawls onto your face, a small giggle escaping you as you watch Gray’s hips bob to the beat, silently mouthing the words. You snort as he does a dramatic little shoulder shift, Gray’s head whipping back towards the kitchen as you throw your hand over your mouth.

“What, don't you like my moves?” Gray says, shimmering his shoulders again, a large grin across his face.

“They could use some work, Kevin Bacon.” Gray clutches his chest, throwing his head back in mock pain.

“You wound me. After all these years, you would cut me so deep?”

“Sure would.” You turn back towards the simmering pasta, setting the wooden spoon on the rim and brushing your hands on your jeans. “Oof!” You squeak as you yanked away, Gray wrapping his arms around your waist, twirling you in a stumbling circle.

“And how ‘bout now, m’lady?” Gray simpers, eyebrow cocked. Your hands slap his chest as you laugh. He lets your feet back down on the floor, but keeps his arms locked around your waist. The two of you slow dance to the beat, and when the chorus hits, Gray gives his worst rendition possible. You bemoan and feign plugging your ears, but find yourself singing along anyway.

Everything about Gray is warm and bright, from his goofy grin to his excitable tail to his two left feet. He adds that pep of energy to your daily routine, pulling you out of an exhausting cycle for a quick jog to the beach or an episode of your favorite drama. Gray fills out all of those little spaces, makes them a little less gray.

Your head rests against his chest, feeling the fur through the fabric of his t-shirt as the two of you sway back and forth.

You want it to stay this way.

But that pestering weed squeezes your heart again, forcing images of Gray with a kid on his shoulders. Showing up to little-league football games with a big cooler and a “#1 dad” T-shirt. All those little moments, all without you.

You can’t fight the deep sigh, pressing your face even deeper into Gray.

Just let me have this. Just this moment, just for now.

-------

“Ugh, I think my stomach is going to explode from excess-pasta.”

Gray huffs, laying his head on your lap as the two of you slump onto the couch. His tail wags lazily, flickering back and forth as his legs swing over the coach's side, his long torso bunched up as he curls into you. The fur of his head is soft as you twist your fingers into it. “But I gotta say, what a way to go out.”

You giggle, losing your thoughts in his soft fur. Gray lets out another deep breath, nuzzling his face into your hand. You brush over his cheek with your thumb, admiring the cheekbone you feel just underneath.

But that burning question refuses to leave your mind, and you ask it without even thinking.

“Do you want kids, Gray?”

Gray’s eye’s stay closes, his posture relaxed as he sinks into your massaging fingers.

“Hmmm, maybe. Never really thought too much about it. Why?”

Your throat dries up, mind reeling. It wasn’t even a definitive yes, but your heart is still reeling. Your fingers pause and Gray's eyes open. He shifts his head when he sees the look on your face, concerned. “Babe?”

You nod, eyes still wide, trying to fight off the inklings of a panic attack. Gray pushes himself up on his elbows, paw quickly coming to caress your cheek. “Baby, is everything alright?”

You find the energy to breathe, and suck in deeply. Your heart begins to slow down as you look into Gray’s yellow wolf eyes. You dig your cheek into his large palm, smelling the perfume of his conditioner.

“Yes, sorry, I just-” You pause, taking another deep breath. “I ran into Mrs. Star in the grocery store, and-I’m sorry I’m overthinking things.” You mutter, patting yourself on the cheek as to snap yourself out of your mood. Grays other hand rubs the back of your neck.

“It’s okay, baby, I’m here. Did she say something?”

“No-Well, yes. It’s silly, typical Star things. She just brought up how ‘ought to get started having kids, and it just-” You let out a shaky sigh, pulling away Gray’s hand with your own and looking him straight in the eye. “I don’t want to have kids, ever.”

In Gray’s eyes, you expect to….something. Confusion, disappointment, maybe? But instead, all you see is relief. Gray rests his paw on your thigh, squeezing it.

“_____, is that what you’ve been worrying about?” You nod, throwing your eyes back down, but Gray tilts your chin towards him. “If you don’t want kids, we won’t have kids. Simple as that.”

Your eyes widen and you pull your face back.

“Seriously? But-what if-”

“____, I grew up with eight siblings. I’m going to have to deal with more nieces and nephews then I can count on my fingers and my toes, I think I can handle not having kids.”

A weight lifts off of your chest and you slump forward into Gray, pressing your forehead against his clavicles as you let out a long, relieved sigh. He laughs, patting your back and kissing the top of your head. “I’m sorry you had to deal with this all day, I didn’t even realize you were so upset.”

You slap his chest, letting out another frustrated sigh. With him? No, but yourself, and Mrs. Star, for stirring up nightmares for no damn good reason.

“It’s not your fault, it’s mine for being so paranoid.” You press your chin up, pouty lips admiring your boyfriend's face. “I’m sorry for freaking out. She really got me into my own head.”

“No apologies needed baby.” Gray says, giving you a small peck. You send him a cheesy smile, chasing after his lips with a couple of small kisses. A low rumble growls out from his chest as you nip at his jawline. Behind him, you hear his tail begin to hump on the floor.

“Hmm, does that mean you feel better?” You nod, pressing another kiss into his pulse point.

“Yes, thank you for letting me get that out.” Another kiss, now on his Adam’s apple.

“Welp,” Gray says, quickly adjusting himself. In another second, you yelp as he picks you up by your butt, legs quickly wrapping around his waist, “Let’s give Mrs. Star something to talk about, hmm?”

You throw your head back with a laugh, clinging tight to his chest as Gray blows a raspberry into your neck. “That good with you, my lady?”

You nod, giving him another kiss on the lips as he carries you off into the bedroom.

Yeah, you have it good.

#monster romance #monster x reader #reader insert #female reader insert #female reader #werewolf x reader #my writing

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