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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 years ago

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Portrait of a Dangerous Man🎨2

Warnings: (series) non-consent sex and rape; slow creep; cucking; (this chapter) nothing as yet.

This is dark!mob!Clark Kent x reader and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Synopsis: Your dream of having your work hung in an art show comes true but your first buyer is not all he seems to be.

Note: Thank you for your positive response to this one! I hope you enjoy what I have in store.

Thanks to everyone for reading and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 As usual, I’d appreciate if you let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

Your Spotify list of redundant tracks flowed through the apartment as you sat typing at your small desk in the corner of the front room. The boxy space was as oppressive as any office space, another reason for your voluntary work at the gallery. Vanessa let you in the studio to paint. Without the privilege, you wouldn’t have the space for your easel.

You stretched your fingers and rubbed your eyes. You felt dizzy from staring at the screen, even with night mode on. The work was monotonous and made you restless. You wanted a pencil or brush in hand, a canvas before you, not this blaring laptop. You yawned and took a sip of your lukewarm water.

Your phone vibrated from across the room and you checked the time. Your lunch started soon but no one was really keeping track. As long as you got your assignments done, it didn’t matter when you chewed on toast and disassociated.

You got up and grabbed your phone from the corner table and leaned against the arm of the couch. You remembered how Marcus woke up there and grumbled as he lifted his head in pain. You couldn’t really feel bad for him going into work hungover. He embarrassed you and it didn’t quite sink in until after Clark left you to stare down at your drunk boyfriend.

An unknown number showed on your screen and you answered tentatively, ready to hang up at the first sales pitch. Your name came from the speaker and you recognized the deep voice in an instant. It took you back to the night before and the canvas hung on the wall.

“I hope I’m not disturbing you,” Clark said, “I only just had the paintings hung and I thought… well, I thought you might like to come see them in their new home.”

“Um…” you chewed your thumb, uncertain how to respond.

“Sorry, I know I can be a bit… to the point,” he laughed at himself, “how are you?”

“I’m good, just… taking a break.”

“You working?”

“Yeah, but I work from home,” you said as you touched the side of your neck, “I could… I could come see them but it might be a while before--”

“When are you finished work?” he asked bluntly.

“Four but I… maybe another day.”

“I don’t mean to be pushy but I did have something else to speak with you about,” he said, “a commission, like I mentioned.”

“Oh?”

“I kinda wanna get it started sooner than later, it will probably be pretty time-consuming,” he explained and you heard a clink and a soft sip, “I don’t wanna get into details on the phone but I promise, you will be compensated nicely.”

“You can’t wait until tomorrow?” you wondered.

“I suppose I can but it’d have to be during the day,” he responded, “why don’t you take some time to figure it out and get back to me by two? You can text me through this number.”

“Erm, sure,” you said uneasily, “I’m sorry, it’s just… very sudden, I don’t--”

“You can bring the boyfriend,” he said casually, “if you like.”

“He won’t be… home,” you said carefully, “I’ll let you know. Thank you.”

“I look forward to hearing from you,” he replied, “have a good day.”

“You, too,” you said and the line died.

You put your phone down and took a moment. Good things rarely happened to you. You struggled so long it was hard to think that might change. The skeptic in you told you there was something behind it all. That it couldn’t possibly be your art.

You went back to your computer and sighed as you waved away the screensaver with your mouse. The blinking cursor made you want to believe it was your big break.

🎨

You texted Clark at one and at four, you were in an Uber. Marcus drove his car to work and you stuck to buses and the underground when you could. The address was at least an hour out, the house among those estates on the edge of the city reserved for the upper echelon. You’d only ever seen the sprawling yards on your way to the next town.

When the car finally turned up the drive and you passed beyond a low brick wall, you felt entirely out of your depth. You tipped the Uber but didn’t feel too bad with the check from Vanessa sitting soundly in your account. You clutched the strap of your bag and walked along the curve of the brick work towards the stairs.

“Hey,” you stopped as Clark called to you, your ankle still tender from the night before.

You glanced over as he came out of the large garage and peeled off a pair of leather gloves. He smiled as he tucked them into his jacket pocket. You watched him and played with the clasp on your bag.

“Just got back from a drive,” he said, “I almost got carried away. I’m glad you made it.”

“Yeah, no problem,” you replied.

“Well, come on, let me show you around,” he waved behind you towards the front doors, “we’ll go on a tour and then we can talk details.”

“Wow,” you uttered mindlessly as you climbed the stairs to the door but kept the weight on your uninjured ankle, “this place is huge.”

“My contractor went a little crazy,” he scoffed, “but I can’t complain.”

He led you through the doors and directed you to the left. In the front room, your work was hung along the opposite wall, arranged in a way that drew the eye to them. You stepped closer and peered up at your work with a hint of awe. They looked even better in a place like that.

“I had my interior designer make the final call on where to hang them,” he explained, “I hope you don’t mind, I gave her your details. She said she had clients who might be interested in your work.”

“Really?” you breathed, “that’s… too nice.”

“Oh yeah? One day, you’ll be sick of rich pricks like me,” he grinned, “I’ll show you the pool, that’s usually the main attraction.”

“Sounds good,” you said as you followed but he paused and watched your stunted gait.

“I forgot, we can go slow,” he offered, “how’s the ankle?”

“I’ll make do,” you affirmed as you neared him, “just need to get my steps in.”

🎨

As you finished the tour of the second floor, you slowed along the long hall and admired the work of artists you only ever saw in museums. You couldn’t help but be enamoured by the historic blots of paint. You almost forgot where you were as you leaned in to read the initials beneath the pastel flowers.

“So,” Clark’s voice brought you back, you almost blanked him out entirely in your mind, “I think you might have noticed the empty space above the fireplace in the front room. I was hoping you could fill it.”

“Oh?” you looked at him and smiled nervously, “did you have something in mind? A landscape or--”

“Well, your portraits are great. I like the old world style. I was hoping you might do one of… me,” he suggested, “I know, it’s vain but why not?”

“I mean, yeah, I could do that,” you said.

“I’ll pay hourly plus materials,” he continued, “three hundred an hour.”

You almost choked at the number. You blinked and swallowed through your surprise.

“Even a small portrait would take at least twelve hours,” you warned, “are you sure?”

“I know it’s a lot of time for you, so… I was thinking, if you have to miss work, I’ll factor it into your rate. I would really like to get the project started as soon as we can,” he put his hand on his hip as he looked down at you, “the only thing I need from you is a list of materials. I’ll have them waiting for you here.”

“Here?”

“Well, yeah, I figure it makes most sense,” he turned his palm out.

“Hmm, sure, I prefer my own brushes but… you know I can just buy the stuff myself--”

“Ah, no, I want it to be perfect. You send me a list and I’ll have my assistant go out and get it all ready,” he assured, “How does Sunday sound?”

“Sunday?” you blanched. That was two days away.

“Like I said, Marcus is more than welcome to come with you,” he offered, “I’d hate to keep you from him too long.”

“I guess Sunday works,” you squeaked, “I’ll talk to Marcus.”

“Great,” he said coolly, “well, that’s business. How about a drink to seal the deal?”

“I don’t know, I should probably get back,” you fiddled with your bag against your hip.

“One drink won’t hurt,” he said, “go on, call the boyfriend and let him know you won’t be much longer.”

“I… thanks,” you murmured.

“You’re humble for an artist,” he joked as he sidled by you, “once you grow an ego, you’ll be unstoppable.” He neared the stairs as you turned to watch him, “I’ll be at the bar, waiting. You like gin?”

“Sure,” you answered as you pulled out your phone, “I’ll see you down there.”

🎨

When you told Marcus about your new side gig, he was even more excited than you. You were anxious and slightly hesitant. You hated to jump in feet first and risk losing more than a few tubes of paint. What if the work wasn’t good enough?

Marcus was more than willing to come with you when you told him about the size of the place. He knew by the area that it was extravagant. You sat in the passenger seat with the most expensive bottle of wine you’d ever bought cradled between your legs. You hated to show up empty handed after all of Clark’s generosity.

Marcus got lost and went down the wrong driveway before you righted your course. As you drove up, you were once more overcome from the rich rosebuds and sparkling fountain at the centre of the mosaic. You gripped the neck of the bottle and got out as Marcus whistled in awe.

“You weren’t kidding. This place is fucking nuts,” he swore, “I should’ve worn the tux from my brother’s wedding.”

“Please, Marcus,” you rolled your eyes, “let’s both try not to break anything.”

“You’re the clumsy one,” he chirped, “shit, you’re so lucky. You get to hang out here and paint all day? God, I wish I had an ounce of artistic talent. I’d trade it for code in a minute.”

You climbed the steps and clanged the large knocker on the right door. You waited a moment before an answer came and Clark appeared on the other side and beckoned you inside. He smiled as he shook Marcus’ hand.

“Thanks for joining us,” he said, “I would’ve felt awful stealing your girlfriend on the weekend like this.”

“Are you kidding me? She said you had a pool and I snuck the swim shorts into the backseat,” Marcus chuckled and you nudged him with your elbow.

“See?” Clark arched a brow, “the pool is always the seller.”

“Here,” you said as you held out the bottle of red, “for everything you’ve done and welcoming us into your home.”

“Ohhh,” he took the bottle and looked over the label, “I got a spot for this right behind the bar. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, I brought my brushes,” you patted the canvas bag on your shoulder.

“Mmm, yeah, well, I’ll just put this away and we’ll give Marcus the grand tour. Then I’ll get you situated,” he assured and rushed off.

He returned and pointed Marcus through to the front room, “you’ll see, just over here,” he directed him to your paintings.

“Oh, wow, babe,” Marcus marveled at the hung portraits, “you really did it.”

You smiled bashfully and Clark peeked over at you and winked. You squirmed as your cheeks burned and you turned away as he beckoned Marcus past the mantle.

“It’s a big place,” Clark said, “I’d like to get you started before noon.”

Clark led you along the same path as days before and slowed as you came back to the top of the stairs. He turned back and clapped his hands together.

“Marcus, if you wanna hop in the pool, we’re gonna start just in there,” he pointed to the one door you hadn’t looked through, “that’s the studio.”

“What about you?” Marcus asked.

“Well, I’ll be a part of the process so I’m afraid I will be just as busy but if you need anything, Nina, she has a crooked nose and mean mouth but don’t let her fool you, she’ll get you whatever you need,” he said, “just don’t track in water from the pool or she’ll string you up.”

“Oh, well, that doesn’t sound too bad. Some alone time in the sun and a pool,” Marcus grinned, “I really couldn’t ask for anything else… except you, babe.”

“Sure,” you scoffed, “go, have fun.”

Marcus kissed you quickly and thanked Clark again before he excitedly barreled down the steps. You scratched your neck as you looked back to your host, and you guessed, your new boss.

“I’m sorry about him. He can be such a kid sometimes,” you said.

“Nah, it’s fine,” he waved it off, “so, you ready to see your workspace? I kinda wanted it to be a surprise. Also, a bit last minute so it’s not perfect… yet.”

“Uh, yeah,” you answered, “can’t wait.”

He motioned you over to the tall dusty rose doors and hooked his fingers in the slotted handles. He slid them open and revealed an airy room with a tall ceiling and long windows. An easel stood facing the sun streaked glass, an immense canvas bigger than yourself, bigger than him, propped up on it. There was a ladder nearby and the table was set with a rainbow of paints and a large pallet.

Your lips parted as you neared the easel and stared up at the canvas, “you were right, it’s gonna be a lot of work.”

“I hope it’s not too much,” he said, “but you name your price. We’ll make it work.”

“No, no, I think for what you’re paying, I’ll do just fine,” you put your bag down daintily on the table, “so, uh, a portrait, I guess that means…”

Your voice trailed off as he went to the upholstered chair across the room, at an angle so you could see him from your vantage. Behind it, hung a velvet curtain to add to the scene and a bust on a pedestal. It felt surreal, like a dream.

You turned and pulled out the brushes, “I think you’ll get more tired than me, just sitting there.”

“I’ll make it through,” he assured as he sat, “is there anyway you’d like me to sit? Chin up, or…”

“Hmmm,” you turned to look at him, “I think… if you just put your shoulders back and… did you want a profile or--”

“I was thinking front-facing,” he stared at you steadily, unflinching as his eyes stuck to you, “just like this.”

“Perfect,” you said nervously and looked back to the table.

There was water to rinse your brushes, rags, pencils, blending sticks; everything you needed and more. You took a pencil from the bunch and pulled over the ladder. You climbed up and looked over at Clark as he sat stoic and still. He looked picturesque in real life, you expected paint would only lend to his figure.

His eyes met yours and you turned to start tracing the basic shapes onto the canvas. You had to stop and steady your hand as you did. His gaze made it hard not to tremble.

#clark kent #dark clark kent #dark!clark kent #clark kent x reader #dark fic #fic #dark!fic #series #portrait of a dangerous man #dc #dcu #au #mob au #mob!au #superman

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sohin-ace · 3 years ago

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Abbachio - Hangover

You walked inside the headquarters that you titled your home.

It was half past 3 A.M and you knew fair well everybody in the team was staying here for the night, and were most likely sleeping soundly like babies at this hour.

And so, with velvety steps and calculated slow movements, you entered the porch and quietly closed the door, moving in the dark as silently as possible.

You had just finished a tiring mission and the one thing you desired most at the moment was to crash into bed, maybe marry it since you were at it, barely thinking about the sticky blood, sweat and dried river water that stained you during your mission.

You huffed and kicked your shoes off, liberating your aching and swollen feet from them, directing yourself towards the kitchen to fetch some well-deserved water that your throat was oh-so desperately screaming for.

You were shocked to find the room lit at this hour. Your first thought was that Bruno was probably still awake and having a small break from his neverending pile of work.

Your expression completely fell, however, upon seeing that Bruno was not the one occupying the kitchen but someone else, greeting you with a heart breaking sight.

"... Leone?"

The male was slumped over the table, his head buried in his arms with one hand holding onto a spilling wine bottle, burgundy liquid running everywhere onto the wooden surface, the floor, and onto the male's clothes. Even some strands of his splayed out hair drank up the alcohol, dying them from silver to violet.

You gasped at the mess but was even more shocked by the implications behind said mess. He didn't even bother taking a glass, prefering downing the wine directly from the bottle. He wasn't planning on holding back tonight and it alarmed you.

You knew of Abbachio's tendency of alchoholism, but he was never so drunk as to black out this way and you weren't sure he would even be able to work tomorrow, or do anything else, for that matter.

"Leone..." You slowly approached his hunched over form and gently shook him. "Caro, wake up."

No response.

With you being all alone in the middle of the night, there weren't much you could do. But there were no way you'd ever leave him in this state.

Shaken with worry, you only did what your heart told you and moved the bottle away from his grip. It was almost empty at this point anyway.

You brushed his long hair to the side to let some fresh air cool his face down while you cleaned and mopped the tiled floor and table. Oh you'd make sure to lecture him about that later.

You thought about him, sitting next to you as you cleaned up. How tormented he was and how, just like the wine bottle, he spilled himself out in secrecy.

You bit back your tears. He was so alone. Tortured. It hurt you that your Leone, whom you loved so much, had to go through a trauma you could never heal for him. Or even soothed in the slightest. You were grateful that he even remotely accepted your affection, but still.

It wasn't enough, for you.

"I wish I could help you, Leone..." You murmured and caressed his soft hair, revealing more of his peaceful face, his smeared makeup not tainting any of his beauty.

Your heart clenched, he looked so calm, so sweet. How did he manage to make grief look so gentle, you would never know. You almost didn't want to move him and disturb him, but you had to.

Carefully holding his shoulders, you pulled him up, his weight much heavier than you'd have expected, even thought it should be no surprise. Abbachio was a burly man.

You craddled his head and placed him in a proper up-sitting position and he groaned.

"Uugh... Hhmmm..."

"Leone, wake up, love." You still held his face against your chest and patted his cheek to wake him, scared that he'd sway and tumble over if you let go of him. "You gotta go to bed. Come on."

"Hmmm.... Sssuuuree...." He mumbled, words slurred.

He was surprisingly compliant, you thought. When you were certain he could hold his own head up, you let go and grabbed his wrist, still drenched in wine.

You hooked his arm around your shoulders and wrapped your own around his torso. He made the effort to stay in balance while you hoisted him up to his feet, not without struggle and effort on your part.

You stumbled a bit, but managed to get him up, at least, holding onto him for dear life as you maneuvered his much heavier body around the kitchen.

He counted on you for support and was close to falling sleeping on you as he snored against your hair, the stench of alcohol reaching your nostrils. Man, why did he have to be the heaviest male of the group?

You brushed your exhaustion from the preceeding mission to the side and dedicated yourself to helping Leone. Rest could wait.

Thanks to the help of your Stand, you ended the course safely back to his room and opened the door, having more hands to do so.

You let him down to sit onto his bed as gently as you could and you felt he was about collapse again.

You instantly wrapped your arms around his shoulders and let him slump over your chest.

"Woa- Don't lay down just yet! I need to get your clothes off."

He only purred some low nonsense, as if to show his annoyance to you. Well, maybe he desperately wanted to sleep, but so did you.

"Don't 'brrr' at me, boy. You're the one who spilled wine all over your pants and top!" You scolded to deaf, or rather drunk ears. Not like he was listening to you, but still.

Huffing a bit, you took hold of the lace on his top and untied it, letting you slide the rest off his broad shoulders and back. It was much easier to slip the sleeves off afterwards, and you were almost proud of yourself.

"I'm gonna be such a good mom." You joked to yourself as you caringly held onto Leone's warm back and head to gently place him down on his bed before taking his shoes and pants off.

Once this was done and not without a pause to catch your breath, you went to the bathroom to grab a towel, dampening it in warm water before you came back to him and sat by his side. He had already fallen fast asleep, and was looking awfully adorable, if you were honest.

" 'Clumsy brat'," You chuckled with a whisper as you wiped the wine off his skin and the sweat and tears off his neck and chest. "That's what you always called me. Ironic."

You looked fondly over at him as you finished your self-assigned task, closing off by wiping his left hand. You thought over your options.

Maybe it was the fatigue blurring your moral code. Or maybe you were just blinded by this crazy thing called love. Perhaps he was just an enticing wizard who cast a spell on you with his lips. Whatever it was, you foolishly decided you would kiss him after you removed his make up, and so you did.

You gently removed what remained of his make up that wasn't washed out by the crying and the drinking. You sighed at your good job and leaned over, running your fingers delicately over his skin.

"This is probably wrong." You hesitated, questioning your choices, yet feeling brave. "But I think I can at least have that, right...? Pardon me for this, Leone."

You closed the distance between you both to press your lips ever-so-sweetly on his own, wanting to linger, but not quite feeling deserving enough either. It was short-lived but precious and tingly. You felt your heart flutter and you swore you also felt his hand twitch slightly next to you.

You sighed. You yearned for more. You wished you could just collapse and fall asleep by him. Your responsibilities thankfully got the best of you.

"I love you. Please love yourself too, we all want to see you better. I know I do. Depend on me sometimes too, okay?" You breathed out to him, secretely hoping he heard you in his dreams and maybe accepted your selfish and heartfelt request.

You were tired. You needed to sleep and you were afraid you'd act more and more foolishly if you stayed with him any longer.

You reluctantly leaned away from him and got up, making sure to tuck him in thoroughly inside the blankets before you left.

You'd leave a note to Bruno to not wake him up in the morning.

When Abbachio woke up in the morning, much later than he usually did, he was disappointed, yet not surprised to be struck with a splitting headache.

"Fuck..." He groaned, holding his heavy head in his hands, "Not again..."

He inhaled deeply only to realise he was strangely met by a sweet familiar scent mixed with the stinging wine he drowned himself in.

Out of doubt, he looked over the bedside table and found a water bottle and some aspirin as well as a small note.

He grabbed the note and squinted at it, trying to read it with his still hazy eyes.

'Water helps with hangover headaches. Tablets too, obviously :P . Take it easy, Bruno gave you the day off.'

Was that you? That was most definitely you, he thought. And that fruity scent on his face and hands must be you too. There were no doubt now.

It didn't take him long to put two and two together. He would have been much quicker-witted if he wasn't so hungover. He remembered you had a mission last night, you probably went home by then and helped him to bed out of sheer empathy, sweet as you were.

Abbachio sighed and rubbed his face. He was both ashamed and extremely grateful towards you. It must have been so draining to come take care of him after you risked your life out there.

God he felt like shit. Again, he was being a burden on the people he loved, all because of his selfish choices. But knowing you, you'd probably hate him thinking that of himself, and tell him you were fine with it and happy to help. You had such a kind heart.

"... How did she even get me upstairs...? This tiny dwarf."

He groaned and sat up, smoothing his fingers over his lips. He blushed at his own thoughts. He swore he dreamt of you kissing him as he was asleep, and the feeling was still pretty vivid.

But he couldn't be sure. Drunken dreams were weird sometimes.

Thinking of making it up to you, he took the medicine and downed it with water, his mind filled with thoughts of you only.

He deserved at least that.

#jojo's bizarre adventure #jojo #jjba #jojo no kimyou na bouken #writing #x reader #reader insert #leone abbacchio #abbachio #leone abbachio x reader #abbachio x reader #part 5 #jojo part 5 #golden wind #vento aureo

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celestialrry · 4 years ago

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stood up

3.5k

hello everyone!!!! I've been awol for literally weeks because i had absolutely NO motivation to write but i finally finished this piece ˊᗜˋ so YAY. ALSOO thank you for following me, liking, and reblogging my pieces (it encourages me somuchsothankyouireallyappreciateit-- and remember reblogging really helps us writers :))) ) here’s a hug for all ur patience and feel free to send me asks or requests i love talking to you guys! ε(♡'-')з

summary: Harry keeps standing Y/N up. (request from @ballerinrry! thank u love)

warnings: cursing, mentions of alcohol and sex, angsty but with a happy ending cause for some reason i can never let them end on a bad note

Y/N was excited.

It had been a while since Harry had asked her to go on a date, it was always the other way around recently. She couldn’t blame him though, Y/N knew just how busy Harry always was, and it wasn’t like he was purposefully not asking her to go do things, he just had a lot on his plate.

That’s what she kept telling herself anyways.

It’s what she told herself when it had been 2 weeks since they had even eaten a meal together, and given the fact that just a few months ago Harry had come back to London for a while, that was rare. So, Y/N asked him to grab lunch on a Saturday while they were lying in bed together, and when he agreed, but failed to show up, leaving Y/N sitting at the cafe, her lips morphed into a frown and her eyes not focusing on the phone in front of her, she told herself he was simply booked up with meetings and studio time and such.

Thats what he told her when he got into bed that night to apologize for accidentally standing her up. She forgave him, of course, and suggested they could just get dinner the next week. He agreed, even walked around to his calander her to show her he was marking the date off in his calendar with a heart, her first initial, and 7:00 PM etched into the little box with red sharpie.

So, the week passed with quick kisses of good mornings and good nights, and while Harry was gone Y/N had on a black dress she had been excited to wear for a while now, with those little mini silver heels and a coat strung over her shoulders as she sat on her couch waiting for Harry to swing by to pick her up. She shot him a text that simply asked “You otw? xx”

He was not.

It took about 30 minutes of waiting on their couch to realize he was standing her up, again. And it took until the next morning for Harry to see her text (his phone had been on do not disturb while he was at the studio and he ended up spending the night at Sarah and Mitch’s after a few beers), and for the guilt to seep through his veins.

He apologized, again. And Y/N forgave him, again.

Only until it got to the point where Y/N no longer remembered the amount of times Harry had stood her up, for being at the studio, or sleeping after a meeting, or simply just not paying attention to his phone, she knew there was a problem.

Harry was fully aware of the problem too. He knew that this was no way to ever treat a partner, and if someone was doing this to him, he’d dump them— well, he’s never been one to end a relationship unless it was necessary, so that’s an exaggeration, but it’s the principle of the thing.

Which is why when he got home one day around 11 PM, gave her a kiss to the forehead after she sat up in their bed to give him a hug, and a soft “Can we talk?” escaped her lips, he knew he had to fix this. So he asked her if they could talk over dinner the next night, he just wanted to sleep but also wanted to fix things with his girl, asking her if she was free of course, before telling her he’s gonna make a reservation at that nice restaurant the two of them used to go to quite often, because “it’s been a while since I’ve taken my favorite girl out”.

A grin broke out on her face because he had asked her! And if Harry was planning it, there’s no way he’d cancel or stand her up.

So yeah, Y/N was excited.

She woke up that morning with a smile on her face, and something akin to a what she thinks a rainbow would feel like running through her veins. It had only been a few months since she’d last been on a date with her boyfriend of almost 2 years and a half in person, and she was going to make the most of it. Because after this date, things would change. They’d spend more time together again and it would be like this little bump (that neither had acknowledged) never happened.

Y/N did, well, everything to prepare. Took a long shower, shaved, put on that coconut lotion Harry likes— he tended to dig his face in her neck when he smelled it while holding her—, brushed her teeth more than 3 times, dug in her closet to find that one patterned soft purple dress she bought ages ago but never had a change to wear it, until now, put on those really cute heels Harry said he liked once (“Looks like something you’d wear on a runway pet, I love ‘em.”), and even styled her hair differently than normal.

He had told her he would swing by at 8 on the dot after the studio, and soon enough, it was 8, with no sign from the man who made the promise himself. Y/N thought maybe there was traffic, he was just running late, texted him a quick, “Can’t wait to see you!! xxx” and put her phone on the coffee table, waiting on their couch.

8 turned to 9, 9 turned to 10, 10 turned to 11, and soon it was midnight. Y/N doesn’t think she’d ever felt more empty than how she felt then, walking to their shared room of a year, slipping off her heels and tossing them towards the closet, as well as pulling her dress over herself and letting it fall to the floor behind her, grabbing that one t-shirt she always wears when she needs comfort (which just happened to an extra 2018 Live on Tour shirt Harry had laying around that she snatched just 3 months into them dating), and flopping into bed.

She couldn’t fall asleep, and instead spent her time curled up in their bedsheets, a steady flow of tears making their way down her blush covered cheeks.

。:°ஐ

Harry usually didn’t make mistakes.

Sure, he had his moments, grabbing the wrong coffee off the counter when his name was called at the cafe, forgetting to text Jeff that he actually couldn’t make it to a meeting that was scheduled in a few hours. Just little things, things that didn’t matter that much, and could always be fixed. He didn’t usually make mistakes that weren’t easy to fix. He just wasn’t that kind of guy.

Until, he was.

Harry loved Y/N. He loved having her around, loved spending time with her, loved loving on her, loved kissing her, loved touching her, loved the way she went about almost everything. He was so in love with her, that hurting her was out of the question. He never wanted to be the one to make her cry, make her bottom lip quiver before the tears rushed out like he’d seen many times before, due to movies, his songs (which as sadistic as it sounds was an ego builder to have someone so close to him so affected by the music he wrote), her school work, or even her friends that weren’t being so nice.

In fact, he was so in love with her, even being so afraid of commitment (it took him over a year of them dating to ask her to move in), all he wanted to do was blurt out those 4 dreaded words. “Will you marry me?” It was a bond for life, and he was terrified of that, but with Y/N all he wanted to do was spend the rest of his living days with her.

When Harry had come back from being in L.A. for so long and finally being in the same city as his girlfriend back at their home, all they did was spend time together. Every time he saw Y/N all he wanted to do was say those 4 words that he hadn’t even fully come to terms with himself. It was dangerous, and Harry’s self control when it came to Y/N was lacking, so he simply did was every normal person would do in his situation.

He stood her up.

Many more times than he could count, and of course he felt like the shittiest person in the world— shittiest boyfriend in the world—but at least now she can’t possibly be under the impression that he wanted to marry her, which is what he wanted. Or thought he wanted, until Sarah called him up one day after he had stood Y/N up for dinner the night before and told him off. Told Harry just how fucking terrible he made Y/N feel, how unwanted she thought she was, how she felt like they were loosing their relationship, and Harry didn’t know what to do with himself. (Of course Y/N had sobbed to Sarah about it over the phone while she was drunk off the wine she opened 40 minutes after Harry said he would be there, so she really didn’t even remember the conversation).

And later that day Harry had come home, heard her wavering voice asking if they could talk, and decided in his head he would tell her how he felt, how sorry he was, and how he wanted to be with her forever and love her forever if she allowed him. He had a few expectations for their dinner, that Y/N would probably tell him how he’s made her feel, and Harry would apologize, tell her why he did it, explain he thought it was no excuse, then tell her he plans on marrying her (obviously not proposing just yet, but finally bringing up the conversation they had never had even though they were in a serious committed relationship) and they’d go back home, have the most amazing sex ever, and forget about the whole thing.

What Harry didn’t expect was to get a call from Jeff around 5 asking him to come to the studio to fix few vocals, then end up nailing down 2 songs in one night, go to a bar with the band to celebrate, get drunk, then pass out at Mitch and Sarahs flat.

But that’s what happened, according to Mitch, who woke Harry up the very next morning.

“Good morning man, wakey wakey,” Mitch’s teasing tone echoed through Harry’s (what felt like full of vodka) brain as he groaned and squinted his eyes. “Why are you waking me up at this hour in the morning?” Harry asked drearily, sighing and simultaneously regretting last night as a whole because the last thing he wanted to do while hungover was be up before at least 9 AM.

“We’ve gotta go to meet with Jeff about tour in like a hour, H” Mitch stated .

At Mitch’s words Harry sat up on their couch, eyes wide in fear. “Wait mate, I thought tha’ meeting was on Wednesday.”

“It is Wednesday H, god how drunk did we let you get last night…” Mitch said, beginning to recount some of Harry’s antics the night before. Harry however, couldn’t hear a thing with the blood pumping through his ears. If today was Wednesday, that meant yesterday was Tuesday, and he went and got trashed at a bar with his friends Tuesday night when— when he was supposed to be on a date with Y/N, when he was supposed to confess his intentions, when he was supposed to apologize for standing her up over and over, yet instead he went and did it again.

Now this, this was a mistake.

“…H. H. Harry? Are you there?” Mitch’s voice came back into focus and Harry shook his head. “I- fuck, I was supposed to take Y/N out last night.” Harry said, his voice trembling.

‘I’m sure she’ll forgive you, it’s just one night.” Mitch tried to make Harry feel better. He knew Y/N was a very forgiving person, she would get over this in no time.

“No, she won’t. I-I’ve stood her up for the past month and a half, Mitch.”

At these words, Mitch stands straight up making pained eye contact with Sarah in the kitchen who was overhearing most of this conversation with her eyes wide. She had no idea it was this bad. “Month and a half? I thought it was just that one time a few weeks ago, Harry what the hell is wrong with you?” Harry simply shook his head and didn’t reply. He had absolutely no idea how to make it up to her. “I-fuck, I don’t know Mitch!” Harry raised his voice. “I need to see her and apologize, now.” Harry said, standing up and rushing over to the front door and slipping on his shoes.

“This meeting is mandatory Harry, as much as I want you to see her too, she’d probably still asleep, and I don’t think this can be solved in under an hour.” Mitch said calmly, already knowing Harry was close to walking out his door. Harry stayed silent for a moment, weighing the options. Either go apologize to his girlfriend, or prioritize himself over her again.

“We can do it another day, I’m sorry, but I have to go see her, tell Jeff I feel sick.” And he walked out without another word.

。:°ஐ

The morning after Harry stood Y/N up again was brutal.

She stayed up all night, replaying moments with Harry in her head, analyzing if he wanted to be there with her, wondering if maybe he felt like he had to stay with her out of pity. It was torture, and the pain seemed to turn into numbness as time went by, and eventually the sun came up, and she stayed in bed, her motivation lost.

A loud crash and “Fuck!” woke her up, swollen eyes fluttering open to the invasive noise. Y/N furrowed her brows, her mind connecting everything that happened yesterday and unfortunately reminding her of the unbearable pain she went through the night before. A groan escaped her lips as she sat up and flung her legs out of her bed sheets that had been flung off the bed in the middle of the night. She began grumbling to herself as she made her way downstairs, ready to tell Harry off for making so much noise.

Her mouth stopped moving, and instead remained in limbo as her eyes met Harry’s. His mouth opened to speak, but his words were caught in his throat as he saw the state she was in. It was when her mouth pressed into a line that he could begin talking. “Y/N, baby, please I know you don’t wanna see me or talk t’me right now but I’m so fuckin’ sorry, love. So so sorry, it was an accident, I went t’ the studio to fix a few things then got hung up on the songs and by the time we went to celebrate I completely lost track of time, and I was too drunk to drive home so I crashed at Mitch’s.”

Her mouth fell open at his words. Everything was happening too fast. Hearing that he stood her up to drink at a fucking bar to celebrate himself, then coming home and accidentally knocking over a glass in their kitchen (which she put together was the crash earlier after seeing the shards of broken glass on the floor) frustrated her to no end. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him any longer, and Harry had stopped talking after realizing what he just admitted to her. Without another glance, instead of looking at Y/N’s tear stained face, all he saw was her back, walking up the stairs to their room.

“Fuck,” He said to himself before following her up the pink stairs. “Y/N, love wait-please, I’m so sorry, I just need to talk to you, I need to explain myself, please.” He begged as she shut their bedroom door in his face, his voice turning into a desperate whine at the end.

。:°ஐ

It’s been 3 days since then, and she hasn’t spoken to him. He would leave in the mornings, kissing her forehead and mumbling an “I love you” and telling her exactly what time he’d be home, before leaving and coming back on time to find an empty plate in the sink and her lying in their bed, whether it be reading, scrolling on her phone, or typing on her laptop. He would apologize many times, reaching his hand out for hers and she would simply situate herself in their bed and lay down, back turned to him.

Harry just couldn’t take it anymore.

It was when she had finally let him kiss her forehead goodnight that he decided to take his chance. “Y/N.” He spoke softly, with no response or anything to indicate she heard him. “Baby, can we please talk- or I’ll talk and you listen, I just- I really need to say some things.”

She was still faced away from him when he leaned against their headboard and he decided to keep going.

“I- um. I’m sure you know how sorry I am, but I really am- sorry I mean. Not just for tonight but for every other time I’ve stood you up. I’m so sorry for not showing you how much you matter to me, and how much the things you do matter to me.”

It was then that she slowly sat up next to him and looked at him, eyes begging him to continue. He blushed at her intense eye-contact that he had barely gotten over the past few days and took a breath, opting to look at his hands fidgeting in his lap.

“We’ve been together for 2 and almost a half years, which is the longest relationship I’ve been in, and it’s no excuse to treat you this way, but I had just been thinking about how things progress even further than now,” He coughs. “Which is marriage, and when I finally came home, all I wanted to do was ask you to marry me- I don’t- m’not proposing right now, I just- I got really scared because wanting to spend the rest of your life with someone is crazy to me,

I’ve never thought that way about anyone else until you, I didn’t even really want to get married before you, and I started to distance myself before I ended up telling you this, but obviously that blew up in my face.” He chuckled a bit, locking eyes with her unreadable ones for a moment and lifting a hand to run through his hair. “What I’m trying to say, is that I love you, so so much, and I plan on marrying you— obviously if you want to too, of course— and I’m so sorry for trying to make you think that I didn’t care about you anymore or love you any less, because it’s the complete opposite of that.”

His eyes were watery now, as he started down at his interlocked fingers, and his eyes widened when her hand was gently placed over his own. “Harry,” Y/N began. “Look at me, please.”

His head lifted to see her facing him, her brows knitted and a small smile on her face. “I forgive you, okay? I could tell you were kind of scared of commitment when we first started dating, and I wish I could say your reason for standing me up is surprising but it’s not.” They both chuckled a bit at this. “I- I’m still upset at you, I need you to know that, because 2 months of thinking the love of your life is avoiding you doesn’t feel all too great, so you suck for that,” she said, planting a quick kiss to his cheek which quickly turned pink. “But Harry, even if you asked me to marry you a year ago I would have said yes. I love you, so much, and I plan on spending the rest of my life with you as well. I’m sorry for giving you the silent treatment, it was… unnecessary and immature. So, thank you for apologizing. I love you.” She confessed again.

“S’okay, I deserved it, and I love you too. Maybe even more. So um, we’re okay?” Harry asked, a hopeful smile on his face.

She nodded with a smile and pulled him into a much needed hug and pulled away only for him to bring her into an even more needed kiss. “If you ever try to pull that shit again, I’m breaking up with you.” She laughed and he tackled her into the sheets hiding his face in her neck.

“Duly noted, love. Duly noted.”

#harry styles one shot #harry styles imagine #harry styles fluff #Harry Styles #harry styles angst #im pretty proud of this one #if I do say so myself #harry styles fanfiction #its kinda short tho sorry

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storiesforallfandoms · 4 years ago

Text

way too hot ~ machine gun kelly

word count: 1608

request?: yes!

“heyyy, I love your writing. do you think you could please do a mgk imagine based off of his and yungbluds new song acting like that? thanks <3″

“Heyyy. I love your writing and I was wondering if you could maybe do a Colson Baker x reader based off of the song he and yungblud did, acting like that? I would really appreciate it if you did. Love your account so much btw!!”

description: in which she comes back to her ex way too often, and he finally decides to confront her about it

pairing: machine gun kelly x female!reader

warnings: swearing

based on this song

masterlist (one, two)

The sound of loud knocking woke Colson from his deep sleep. He checked the time on his phone to see that it was 4am. Normally, Colson’s insomnia would have him awake at this time anyways, but he had been attempting to fix his sleep schedule now that he had some time off, and he was succeeding for the most part.

The knock came again, causing Colson to groan and throw his warm blanket off himself to venture out into his cold house.

He wasn’t shocked to see his ex-girlfriend stood at his door, nearly stumbling into the house.

“Shit,” she breathed. “I-I didn’t mean...I told the cab driver the wrong house. I’m sorry, Colson, I - ”

Colson could smell the alcohol basically wafting off her, mixed with the sweet, familiar scent of her perfume. He sighed and stepped aside. “Come in.”

As he had numerous times before, he gave her a change of clothes and set up the couch for her to sleep on. He helped her to the couch and gave her water and an Aspirin to help with her inevitable hang over in the morning.

(Y/N) drifted off to sleep within seconds. Colson looked down at her, a million things running through his head to say to her. He decided it would be best to wait until the morning before saying anything, when he was less tired and she was less drunk.

After another moment of just gazing down at his once love, he finally made his way back up to his room.

~~~~~~

When he finally came down the next morning, (Y/N) was still sound asleep. Colson knew he should be annoyed, that he probably shouldn’t have even let her stay there that night. But he wasn’t annoyed, far from it. Part of him was almost happy to see her asleep in his house again.

Although, this wasn’t the first time she had stumbled her way to Colson’s place since they had broken up. Colson had lost count of how many times it had happened, and each time she would swear it was the last only to show up again about a week later.

Colson and (Y/N) had agreed to break up nearly six months ago when they found their relationship was starting to struggle due to Colson’s busy schedule. Colson had been trying to move on when she showed up on his doorstep first, so drunk she could barley speak and tears running down her face. Colson had brought her in and allowed her to stay the night, both of them sure it was going to be a one time thing.

He still loved her, he couldn’t deny that, but her constant drunk visits followed by her insistence that it was the last time felt like he was being stabbed in the heart repeatedly. He either wanted to make things work between them again, or to move on from the relationship.

Colson sighed and approached the couch. He gently touched (Y/N)’s leg, and when she didn’t stir he shook her a little. Her eyes slowly began to open, but she winced from the harsh sunlight beaming in from the living room window and groaned.

“Sorry,” Colson said. “Forgot they were open.”

“Colson?” (Y/N) mumbled, her hands covering her eyes as Colson moved to shut the blinds. “Shit, I did it again, didn’t I?”

“You did,” Colson confirmed. “Take the Aspirin I left you, it’ll help with the headache.”

(Y/N) moved slowly as she sat up and reached for the Aspirin. She moved too suddenly once and hissed in pain, which caused Colson to wince himself. He went to the kitchen as to not have to watch her agony much longer. He threw some leftovers into the microwave, enough for the two of them to share, and brought a plate of food to the kitchen for (Y/N).

“You don’t have to do that,” she told him, although she took the plate anyways. “I probably shouldn’t be here long, anyways.”

“You’re still nursing a hangover, no way I’m letting you go anywhere any time soon,” he decided.

Silence fell over the two of them as (Y/N) took a mouthful of her food. Colson snuck a quick glance at her when he was sure she wasn’t looking. Even just awake with a hangover, she looked like the most beautiful girl in the world.

He could feel his heart racing with delight at just having her there, and he realized he couldn’t let things go much further without addressing the elephant in the room.

“Why do you keep doing this, (Y/N)?”

She looked up at him, a fork full of food paused midair towards her lips. She placed it back down on her plate, averting her eyes from Colson. “I...I’m sorry. I’ll stop, it’s just - ”

“I don’t necessarily want you to stop,” Colson cut her off, although that wasn’t really the truth. “I just...I want to know why you keep getting drunk and coming here in the middle of the night. I wanna know why you do that and then you leave immediately and say you want to pretend like nothing ever happened, only to do it all again. I don’t mind helping you sometimes, but fuck (Y/N), you do make it hard to try and move on from our breakup.”

Tears were starting to form in (Y/N)’s eyes. She looked away from Colson in an effort to hide them, but he could see her lip quivering and could see the trail of water running down her cheek.

“Because...I have a hard time letting you go, too,” she responded, her voice soft.

“What?” Colson asked, although he had heard her.

“I have a hard time letting you go, Colson!” she repeated, much louder this time. “I understand that our relationship wasn’t great, but I wanted nothing more than to try and fight for it; for us. I wanted to be the perfect girlfriend who sat by and waited for her rockstar boyfriend to come home so she could shower him with the love and support he deserved, and I wanted to be cool with the constant partying even when you were home, or the guys always being over and never giving us alone time. I tried so hard to be that way. I...I had hoped you weren’t noticing the relationship going south, too. I hoped I could just fake things being okay until they were again.”

He ached to reach out and take hold of her hand. He hated to see her cry and wanted to hold her and comfort her, but he knew that was inappropriate to do in that moment. So, he just sat, watching the girl of his dreams cry over her love for him.

“Why didn’t you say that when we decided to break up?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I figured it was for the best. I felt that we weren’t how we used to be, you were unhappy. I thought we’d both be better off if we broke up.”

“I wasn’t unhappy.”

She looked up at him. “What? Yes you were, you said - ”

“I said I was unhappy that I couldn’t be with you how you deserved. I wasn’t unhappy with the relationship as a whole, I was unhappy with how I was holding up my end of the relationship.”

(Y/N) was shocked into silence. All these months she had believed that Colson was unhappy in their relationship. She had convinced herself that it was her own doing, that she hadn’t been good enough to keep up with his lifestyle. He had never told her he was unhappy with himself.

“You never told me that,” she pointed out.

“I guess neither one of us was really good with communication then.”

(Y/N) smiled a little at this. She had placed her food aside, no longer feeling able to eat. Colson reached for the plate and was about to make his way back to the kitchen when (Y/N) stopped him.

“Do you think there’s any way we could start again?”

Colson paused in the living room doorway before turning back to look at her. “You mean...from the beginning?”

(Y/N) shrugged. “Maybe...I don’t know. At least start from back before your career blew up and we were both trying to navigate these new waters we were unfamiliar with.”

The corner of Colson’s lips tugged up in a slight smile, his heart fluttering with excitement. “I definitely think we could try. As long as we both promise to be open with one another. No more of this thinking we know what’s best for the other. We lay everything out on the table and we talk through our problems.”

(Y/N)’s smile mirrored his own as she nodded. “Yeah, I like that plan.”

Colson nodded as well. He didn’t want to walk away now, he just wanted to go back and join (Y/N) on the couch. He wanted to smoother her in kisses and cuddle her until her hungover headache went away. He wanted to have his girl back in his arms again.

“I’m glad we decided this,” he finally said. “While I love how adorable you act when you’re drunk, you’re truly way too hot to be acting like that.”

(Y/N) raised an eyebrow at him and crossed her arms over her chest. “Oh yeah? Acting like what?”

“Like a crazy drunk ex.”

He began to laugh and ducked out of the room just in time to miss a pillow (Y/N) threw at him in retaliation for his words.

#machine gun kelly #machine gun kelly imagine #machine gun kelly x reader #colson baker #colson baker imagine #colson baker x reader #mgk #estxx #imagine #one shot #request #fanfiction #fanfic #fandom

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keltonwrites · 3 years ago

Text

Where no one knows your name

How many times is a person meant to make new friends? When I moved into an apartment in DC with an absolutely iconic girl from Craigslist, I wrote in my journal, “you never know when you’ll meet your next bridesmaid.” Charmingly juvenile, as I was 24 years old. Ironic, as I never had any bridesmaids. And embarrassing, knowing I wrote something that’s surely been embroidered on a bachelorette party t-shirt by now. My point was: you can meet people you fall in love with anywhere, anytime, assuming your heart (and calendar) are open. Now my heart and calendar are open and I am one of Elizabeth Bennet’s sad sisters, cloying and desperate for attention while everyone at the ball ignores me. Meeting people here is unnerving and hapless and eye-clawingly vulnerable. My first new friend told me she was moving away in a few months. Do you invest deeply in hopes of another faraway friendship? Do you just go back to waving as you pass on the street? I like this girl! What an embarrassing thing to have to say to someone! Do you just invite people to every and anything like a lunatic? I can’t even remember to call the people I am forever-and-ever in cahoots with. I’m also deeply bound by what I’ll call the Movie Trap: say it’s 3pm during not-a-pandemic, and you get the urge to see a movie. You look at the showings, and there’s one you really want to see at 7:15. You think to yourself, “I should make an effort,” and you text a friend. “Hey, you wanna go see This Cool Movie at 7:15 tonight?” No one ever says yes. Don’t give me an example of when someone has, because it’s always one of these answers:

“Oooh, I’m actually seeing it with Kate tomorrow - wanna come?”

“Can we go to the 9pm showing? Stuck at work.”

“Yeah but let’s see Movie You’ll Fucking Hate instead.”

Now maybe I’m just lighting flares guiding you to the worst parts of my personality, but this drives me nuts. No, Liz, I don’t want to go tomorrow. I want to go tonight. At 7:15. So I can be in bed by 10. And you’d have to drag my dead body and prop open my eyes to get me to see something like Marriage Story in theaters. The Movie Trap is a big reason I usually hang out by myself, or I make plans weeks in advance. (Don't I sound like a blast.) Just the idea of being like, “I like you! Wanna hang out in October?” makes me want to collapse into a puddle of sad adulthood. Which is why on Friday at 4:30pm, when a girl I’d met a week prior asked if I wanted to grab a drink, I just said yes. I put on a pretty dress, did my makeup, put stuff in a purse, and drove the 25 minutes to town. It was really fun! And how novel to have new contacts in my phone like “Maggie blue house” and “Jess concert friend�� — a throwback to the days of “Greg guy on L train” and “Devon ad party.” The very concept of not knowing someone’s last name or even needing it, and a year from now updating their contact info and smiling at your origin story. But for the most part, no one is in our phones. In terms of phone numbers collected, here is the list:

Two friends we knew prior who thank god you guys exist.

New friend who is moving away.

New friend who is game to drink tequila and ride mountain bikes.

Neighbor-not-yet-friend who I really fucking like and am not sure how to cross hang-out threshold with.

Not to say there aren’t any other prospects or people I’m platonically gaga over, but I don’t have their phone numbers. There are honestly a lot of people like this because when you live in a small town (and you’re from the Midwest) you say “oop, sorry” to every person/object you bump into, and you say “hi :)” to every person you see. These are the rules. If I drive by you and don’t wave, it’s because I was so deep in a daydream I probably shouldn’t have been driving in the first place. This isn’t acceptable, because in our urgency to tattoo our vaccination status on our foreheads so we can make friends, it turns out just driving by someone can be a viable strategy. A few days ago, a man was driving by our kitchen window and then our driveway, and then he reversed back up to the kitchen window and started waving. Ben went outside — it was that kind of wave. The man had seen from his car a smokejumper emblem on the back of a truck in our driveway. “Hey, are you a smokejumper?” We aren’t. But my dad was, and he was in town visiting, accompanied by the emblem on the back of his truck. The guy said we should drink sometime. Numbers were not exchanged. We’ll call that a node, because it’s not quite a connection. And it’s mainly nodes, waiting to be connected, to have relevance. But first, no matter who you’re trying to befriend, you have to answer everyone else’s Do I Care Quiz. The quiz is employed by 93% of locals to determine how they feel about you existing within their personal 50-mile radius. The first question is non negotiable:

1) Are you visiting?

Variations on this question include “how long are you in town?” or “what brings y’all to town?” or my least favorite and most insulting, “did you just finish Jeeping?” I know I have blonde hair and say y’all, but how dare you. (Also, to be clear, you can own a Jeep, customize your Jeep, mod out your Jeep, and love your Jeep, but you’re not Jeeping until you drive too fast through a tiny town so you can hurl your Jeep over a mountain pass without ever getting out of it.) So the answer to “are you visiting” is “no, I live here.” Which brings us to the next question, my favorite for how loaded the gun, kneeling in the grass, scope on, target locked it is.

2) Are you part-time or full-time?

The first time I answered this question, I didn’t realize it was essentially like asking how someone voted in the 2020 election. The judgment was cocked and ready and the palpable relief/joy/or at the very least, tolerance, exuded by answering “full-time” was like when the sun comes out from behind the clouds on a 40 degree day. I was fine, but wow that does feel better. The third question though does not have a standard hoped-for answer. This is where nodes turn to connections turn to phone numbers.

3) What brings you here?

It seems like the best possible answer would be saying you work in town, and you’re going to begin construction on displaced-worker housing to ensure the people who run this town can actually live in it. We’d have everyone’s phone number. Saying you’re a writer who works remotely and bought a house from a legendary and beloved local who could no longer afford it is really something you keep to yourself. But in the interest of making friends, I just word vomit my entire history. We might as well find out at the onset if I make your eyes roll back into your skull. Not at all threatening that all it takes is a single social signal misinterpreted to be the absolute death knell of my ability to make friends in a town of some 1400 adults. In fact, I’ll share one such interaction. I was hiking with Cooper, about 5 miles by foot away from my house. I was on a trail, crossing a sloped meadow, and a group was traversing up the hillside to the trail. I said hi, where y’all coming from. One girl answered and we talked about the trail. She eyed me up and down. “Did you just move here?” “I did!” “I served your family last week,” she said. “Oh,” that phrasing. “Must have been my in-laws.” “Heard you bought Jack’s house. Such a bummer when locals like that are forced out.” “We didn’t even know about his house,” I said. “We were looking at another house and he asked his realtor if he could get us to come see his house. We just loved it, and him!” She had no emotional reaction to this. “You moved from California?” she asked. (Dangerous question.) “Yeah, got these sea level lungs, haha,” attempting to disarm with humor was a failure, “but couldn’t be happier to be out of California.” “It’s not like this all year. Winter’s really hard here, you’re in for a rude awakening.” “Well California’s the last place I lived, but I’m not from there. I’ve lived in brutal winters. At least Colorado gets sun!” I laugh with cloaked loathing. “It’s different when you live at altitude,” she said, like no human aside from her had ever been literally anywhere. “Are you trying to go around?” She indicated the path behind her. “No, y’all go ahead, just gonna wait to give you your space. I’m sure you’re faster than me.” “K, good luck making it to the lake." Maybe she was thirsty. Maybe she was hungover. Maybe she just has vicious delivery, but it felt like every blade of grass was leaning against the wind to listen. She was with four other people and not one of them said a word. I left that interaction not wanting to see another human ever again. But that interaction, and her intimate knowledge of exactly which house I lived in, made me want to decorate like we lived in a gingerbread house, all candy canes and plum drops, screaming to any passerby that we’re friendly. One of the mayor’s first questions to me was “what are you going to do to the house?” There are rules here about what your house can look like, and I kept emphasizing we bought the house because we loved it, not because we wanted to change everything about it. And now, instead of wanting to decorate the interior, I want to put up shades so we don’t contribute to light pollution, I want to hang a sign by the water spigot saying “grab some if you need” for hikers and mountain bikers, I want to paint a sign for the wild mint by our door that says, “I mint to tell you to take some,” because our neighbors were openly panicked they wouldn’t be able to just grab mint from the cabin’s garden anymore. Without question, COVID makes things harder. Dinner parties feel like dares. Dropping cookies off at someone’s house feels invasive. Grabbing a drink feels like the ultimate sign of trust. But at least we have nodes who can connect who can think to invite us and who can see that despite having lived in California, we’re not all that bad. In the meantime, I’ll be painting signs about water and mint, hoping to garner the benefit of the doubt from the so beautifully, earnestly, and waiting-to-see-if-you’re-worth-it doubtful.

Subscribe to the newsletter at tinyletter.com/keltonwrites — high altitude relocation and renovation in a tiny mountain town.

#amwriting #newsletter #making friends #how to make new friends #adulthood #small town life

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whiskery-louis · 4 years ago

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Game Night

** Hi everyone here is my first imagine in a while and it is pretty long and there will be a part 2!

Synopsis: Luke and you broke up 6 months ago. Ashton invites you over for game night.

Luke Hemmings x reader

Warnings: None

Please enjoy and let me know what you think!!

*not my photo*

“Come on Y/N you have to come see us! We’re traveling across the country just to see you!” Ashton whined through the phone.

“Well I didn’t ask you too Ash. I can’t risk seeing him-”

“He’s not coming, he’s staying here with her. Hell I don’t even think he knows we left.”

You sighed, “Who exactly is ‘we’?”

“Me and Mikey,” you could hear the smile in his voice. You had always been the closest to him and Michael. Not that you and Calum weren’t close, it was just different.

“What about Cal?” you asked.

“He’s staying back so you know who doesn’t get suspicious about the three of us all leaving for a weekend.”

“I don’t know Ash,” you sighed again. “I have work and stuff. Plus I was supposed to see the twins this weekend, and I wanted to go to Target…” you trailed off as you rattled on with excuses.

“Oh please, you know you miss us just as much as we miss you. It’s been six months Y/N, just come hangout for the night. I promise it’s not gonna be anything big. Just you, me, Mike and Crystal. We’ll just do pizza and play some games. Please Y/N, we’re already at the airport and if you don’t come willingly we got your new address from Lacey.”

You mentally cursed your best friend, she knew you specifically didn’t give any of them your new address for this very reason. You were out of excuses and you could hear Ashton’s smirk through the phone. He had you cornered and he knew it.

“Fine. Text me your Airbnb info and I’ll come over tomorrow when I’m done work. But you better be getting the good pizza, and there better be drinks.”

“Yes she’s in!” you heard Mikey yell in the background. You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the smile that spread over your face.

“Bye boys, safe flight.”

You hung up the phone and put your head in your hands. While part of you was very excited to see Ashton and Michael again there was still a part of you that was worried. There was too much history between you and him so of course they all knew about it. They tried not to take sides during the break up but everyone knew he had Calum and you had the other two. It was part of the reason that you had moved back home instead of trying to find a place to stay in L.A.. You could feel the tension that was building between the four of them and the last thing you wanted to do was ruin their friendships or their band. It was all way more important than you.

You hadn’t really spoken to any of them much other than the casual ‘how are you’ texts here and there. But from him it had been radio silence for six months. Now here you were, five minute after speaking with Ashton and you were already more stressed than you’d be in week. What did you get yourself into?

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

It was nearing 6:15 and you couldn’t bring yourself to pull up to the house, you had been circling the block for almost 20 minutes and every time you were about to stop you told yourself one more lap. You weren’t sure what was wrong with you, you knew it was only Ash, Mike and Crystal and yet just the thought of being around his friends was enough to make you sick.

“Fuck it,” you muttered, finally pulling into the drive. You grabbed your bag, and although you hated to admit it, you were excited to see your old friends.

You walked up to the door and hesitantly knocked on it. As soon as your knuckles hit the wood you could hear yelling and footsteps running up to the door.

“Y/N!!!” Ashton yelled engulfing you in a massive hug.

“Can’t breathe…”

“Oi sorry, I’ve just missed you lots.”

“I missed you too.” you grinned at him, wondering what you had been worried about all day. It felt like no time had passed.

“Well let her in the door man,” Michael spoke up from behind.

You smiled as you entered the house and walked over to Mikey hugging him hard.

“It’s been too long,” he muttered as he let you back.

“Well yeah, that kinda happens when there’s a global pandemic and I move across the county.”

You could tell Michael was going to tell you off for moving but Crystal came in the room then and thankfully saved you from talking about him.

She wrapped her arms around you giving you a quick hug, “It’s so good to see you, I’m glad you made it!”

“Me too, though if I didn’t come willingly I knew you’d show up on my doorstep.”

“You got that right,” she laughed, “It took all my energy to keep them in the house all day.”

“Well I appreciate it, I had a lot of work to get through today figuring I’ll still be hungover on Monday from this weekend.”

It was fitting that as soon as I mentioned being hungover we walked into the kitchen to a full stocked bar.

“Man I forgot you guys really go all out for game nights,” you couldn’t help but laugh at some of the fond memories.

“Okay so what game are we playing first?” Ashton asked as he handed you a drink.

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

Two hours later and you really didn’t understand why you were so nervous to come. It was one of the best feelings catching up with your old friends and thankfully they didn’t bring him up once. You were in the middle of an intense game of charades, Crystal and you were kicking the boys asses.

“Alright do you guys want to give up yet? You’re never going to beat us so why not save yourselves the embarrassment.”

They both looked annoyed at how the game was progressing, “Well maybe if Mike could draw anything other than stick figures we would’ve stood a chance.” Ashton grumbled.

“And now you see why I always make sure someone else gets stuck with him,” Crystal laughed as she dodged the pen Michael threw at her.

You all laughed as you cleaned up and you went over to the stack of games, contemplating what you wanted to play next. You guys had made your way through a few different games and a few rounds of drinks and honestly you were exhausted. Since moving back home you didn’t hang out with many people other than Lacey and you forgot how much energy it took to be around people. You were tired but it was the best kind of tired.

“Can we just watch a movie now? I’m tired of losing,” MIchael whined from the couch.

“That’s exactly what a sore loser would say,” you shot back.

Michael just smiled and shrugged his shoulders looking at you, “At least I know it, but I so call picking the movie.” He picked up the remote and started searching through Netflix looking for a good comedy that everyone would watch.

“Anyone up for another round?” Ashton asked and you nodded following him into the kitchen to help. It was silent as he rummaged through the alcohol looking for something new to drink. You hopped up on the counter waiting to see what he would make.

“So how have you really been?” he asked, breaking the silence.

You looked up at him, startly by his question and you could see him looking at you intently and knew exactly what he was talking about, or more so who he was talking about.

You chewed on your bottom lip as you contemplated what to tell him. “I’ve been fine.” you answered shortly.

He scoffed at your answer, “Come on Y/N, I know you better than that and as relaxed as you seem, there is still a part of you that is on edge. You ghosted us all when you left and it was like we lost a member of our family. So tell me the truth, how are you really?”

His answer startled you, and you blinked to keep the tears at bay. “Ash I really don’t wanna ruin the night and talk about him. Can we just table it for now and go back in there with Mike and Crystal. I really don't wanna bring the mood down.” You stared back at him and there must’ve been something in your eyes because he dropped it. He handed you a drink and the two of you went back into the other room.

“Hey what were you two talking about?” Crystal asked as you sat next to her on the couch, a knowing look in her eye.

You elbowed her subtly, “Debating if Mikey was gonna pick a shitty movie or not,” you laughed.

“Don’t hate until you see it, it’s a good one you all like.” He pointed to the TV and you saw Shrek was on. “Also you could say thank you I ordered a pizza and it should be here in about 30 minutes.”

“Didn’t you just eat a plate of buffalo chicken dip and mac’n’cheese?”

He shrugged, “If it’s a problem Y/N then you can’t have any.” He stuck his tongue out at you.

You held your hands up in defense “No, no. Just asking, I’m for sure eating that pizza.”

“That’s what I thought,” Michael replied smugly.

You just rolled your eyes at him and sat back to begin the movie. Not even 10 minutes later and there was a knock on the door.

“Y/N since you were so judgy you can go answer the door.”

“Fine, fine. Though you suck at telling time Mikey, this was way less than 30 minutes.”

You got up from the couch and made your way to the door excited that the pizza was here much earlier than anticipated. There was another knock on the door as you were opening it. You froze when you saw who was there.

Luke.

He must not have been expecting you either because he had a dumbfounded look on his face, and his fist was frozen in mid knock.

“Y/N?” he breathed, his eyes boring into yours.

It was silent and you both just stood there and stared at each other. It had been six months since you had seen him and although there were some noticeable changes he was still the same Luke who broke your heart all those months ago. His arms were larger and his shoulders slightly broader. His hair was longer, his roots growing out which somehow suited him more. He had shaved his quarantine beard but the stubble was growing back. His eyes were the same blue that you fell in love with, but they were missing the usual mischievous glint.

“Luke why are you just-” Calum was caught off walking up behind Luke, his face lighting up when he saw you. “Y/N?! What are you doing here? It’s so good to see you!” He squeezed past Luke and pulled you into a tight embrace.

You had no words as you hugged Cal back, you were still in shock at them being here and you couldn’t take your eyes off Luke,

“What the hell is taking so long?” Ashton came around the corner and froze when he saw the new additions to the party. “Oh you guys are early…” he trailed off.

At his statement you felt the rage building in your veins, you pushed Calum off of you turning to Ashton the anger seeping out of you. “I’m sorry what? They’re what Ashton?”

He looked sheepishly at you, “Surprise?” he shrugged his shoulders, with a slight smile on his face.

You couldn’t believe this. It was all a setup. The whole night was a trick for you to see him again when Ashton knew more than anything that it was the last thing you wanted. You were at a loss for words, as much as you wanted to yell, you didn’t have the energy anymore.

“Look we can explain…”

You held your hand up cutting him off, “Don’t Ashton, just don’t. I don’t want to hear it. I’m leaving.”

You stormed into the other room, to get you things. MIchael was trying to look busy but the guilt was written all over his face. Crystal was sitting next to him with her arms crossed glaring at her fiance, she looked up when you walked in.

“I am so sorry Y/N, I had no idea or I would’ve never let them pull this stunt.”

You gave her a weak smile, “I’m just going to get my things and go.”

Michael turned and looked like he was going to say something, but one look from Crystal silenced him.

“Thanks for the fun while it lasted, but please don’t reach out again,” you heard footsteps behind you and knew the others had followed you into the room. “I thought maybe I could be friends with some of you,” you pointedly looked at Luke, “But if this is the shit you are going to pull them I am out. I’m sorry but I cannot go through this again. I just can’t.”

With that you grabbed your bag and all but ran out of the house. As you sat in your car you were thankful that you didn’t have too much to drink and were able to drive yourself home. The thirty minute drive seemed to take forever. All you wanted was your bed and to be distracted by Netflix. After what felt like an eternity you pulled into your driveway and walked into your house. You threw your bag on the table and couldn't believe the night you had. You knew Ashton and Michael had wanted you to talk to Luke when you first broke up, but that was six months ago. You never thought that they would pull this shit tonight. It was almost more painful this time as you realized you had to cut all of them out of your life and not just Luke.

You hadn’t expected to see him tonight and it really messed you up. You had spent the last six month erasing him from your life, as much as you could. You put everything he gave you into a box that was hidden in your basement. You tried to throw it away but it felt wrong somehow. He was too big a part of your life to completely get rid of. Lacey once asked you why you didn’t get rid of it all and you knew she thought it meant you still loved him but that wasn’t it. You just couldn’t bear to part with everything that had once brought you so much happiness. You hadn’t opened the box since you moved back home, as you went downstairs to bring it to the kitchen, you knew it was going to hurt more after seeing him tonight, but you couldn’t stop yourself.

You spent over an hour looking through all the memories the two of you had made during your time together and you were a mess sitting on the floor with tears rolling down your face. Maybe it was from the exhaustion that raked your body or the alcohol that was still in your system but you left the contents of the box sprawled over the island and slipped on his old Nirvana shirt before going to your bed and finally falling asleep.

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

The next thing you knew you were being jolted awake by a banging on your door. You looked at the clock and groaned when you saw it was only 8:00am. Who the hell would be here so early. Hoping it was just a package you rolled back over and tried to fall back asleep, when the person knocked again.

You signed as you rolled out of bed and trudged downstairs in nothing but the old shirt you fell asleep in. Rubbing your eyes as they adjusted to the brightness, you opened the door and had to squint to see who was there.

“Y/N, you uh forgot your phone and I wanted to make sure it got back to you safely.”

You hated that your heart skipped a beat as your name rolled off his lips, your eyes focused on him and the events of last night came back to you instantly.

“Luke.”

#luke imagine #luke hemmings #luke hemmings imagine #ashton irwin #michael clifford #calum hood #5sos #5sos imagine #ashton imagine #michael imagine #mikey #cal #calum imagine #luke hemmings preference

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theladyofdeath · 4 years ago

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Bar Fight Wedding {Fensterin}

Happy birthday, @the-regal-warrior! This Fenrys x Asterin fluff is for you. I hope your day was as lovely and fabulous as you are. Love you tons.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Fenrys looked in the rearview mirror of his old, beat up truck and sighed. There was no way he was hiding his swollen, split lip from his fiance.

It wasn’t that he had done anything too crazy. At least, not too crazy for a bachelor party.

He blamed it on his friends.

They were the ones who had planned the entire evening, considering Fenrys was getting married in a week. Asterin’s girls weren’t taking her out until the night before the wedding, but, thinking that Rowan, Lorcan, Vaughan, Gavriel, and Connall would take Fenrys to do something stupid that involved ridiculous amounts of alcohol, Asterin had asked them to make their big boy’s night out at least a week before the wedding.

She had been right, of course.

It was a good move.

Considering it was nearly four in the morning and Fenrys looked like he got hit by a truck, there was no way he could get married the next day.

Hopefully, in the next week, Fenrys would no longer look like he’d gotten in a fight with a grizzly bear.

Which he nearly had been. At least, that’s what it felt like.

At least he wasn’t drunk, though.

He’d had a few drinks, but kept himself in check, which is more than he could say for some of his friends.

Rowan would be getting his ass kicked when he got home, without a doubt. He looked ridiculous. He'd gotten so drunk that he’d lost his shirt at some point during the night and went home without it, and only one shoe.

That part was Fenrys, though.

He had stolen Rowan’s other shoe while he was knocked out cold in the back seat and hid it, just because it amused him greatly.

Lorcan was the worst, though.

He hadn’t even made it out of the bar before he had passed out, and the others had to lug him to the car. Gavriel had brought him home, and he had sent out a text not long ago that read, Elide laughed so hard that she started to cry. I think it was the sharpie mustache that got her.

Another reason why Fenrys was happy his wedding was still a week away - Lorcan’s sharpie mustache, courtesy of Vaughan, would not have looked good in the pictures.

As for Fenrys’ swollen, split-lip and bruised cheekbone, alcohol had nothing to do with it.

No, his idiot friends had taken him to an ax-throwing bar. Which, he thought, would be fun as hell. He’d never been, had always wanted to go, and was pumped as he walked through the doors.

Until his friends entered him in an ax throwing contest.

Until he won, and the second runner up, who was a little drunk himself, decided that he did not like to lose.

Which is how Fenrys ended up getting into a fight, in a bar that also involved axes.

He supposed it could’ve gone worse.

At least he didn’t get an ax thrown at him.

Fenrys looked back in the rearview mirror and shook his head. “Maybe she’ll be asleep,” he muttered, turned off the light in his truck, and hopped out, closing the door behind him as quietly as possible. After walking up the drive, he unlocked the front door, and took his time closing it with a quiet click.

He paused, waited to see if he heard anything, and continued on. All of the lights were off, and even the television in their bedroom was off, too, it seemed. Fenrys walked up the stairs and down to the end of the hall, where their bedroom door was cracked.

He peeked inside and swore under his breath.

Asterin’s head jerked up, but Fenrys was backing away, across the hall, into the bathroom.

“Fen?” she called.

“Hey!” he said, shutting himself inside of the bathroom. He flipped on the lights and cringed. He looked even worse in the full light.

On top of his swollen, split lip and bruised cheekbone, there was a cut on his eyebrow and his eye was slightly swollen. Considering his entire head hurt like shit, it had been difficult to tell where all the pain had been coming from.

Now, he looked even worse than he had thought.

He pulled a washcloth out of the cabinet and got it wet before wiping down his face. It did no good.

“I thought you’d be sleeping,” Fenrys said, through the door.

“Couldn’t sleep until I knew you were home safe,” she said. “Reading.”

Fenrys made a muffled sound of understanding. “Why don’t you turn off the lights and I’ll be there in a second?”

There was a pause. “Did you just tell me to turn off the lights?”

“Yeah, we’re going to bed, lights off,” he said, turning off the bathroom lights before opening the door.

Asterin was not turning off the lights. Instead, she was sitting in the middle of their bed, her eyes on Fenrys as he crossed the threshold. Her arms were crossed, and the lamp by her bed was very much still on.

Fenrys cleared his throat. “Time for bed?”

“Come closer,” she said.

“I’m tired-.”

“Into the light, Fen,” she said, her pointer finger up, motioning him forward.

Fenrys pursed his lips. “Is that my shirt?”

Asterin looked down at the old t-shirt she wore. “Pretty sure this is our shir- wait, you’re changing the subject. Into the light.”

With a sigh, Fenrys stepped forward. As soon as he came into the light, Asterin’s eyes widened. “What the hell?”

“There was a….bar fight.” He mumbled the last two words, and Asterin’s brows rose.

“Sorry,” she said. “What was that?

“I got into a bar fight,” he said, plopping onto the bed. “They brought me to an ax bar, I won a tournament, some sore loser jackass was pissed that he lost and picked a fight. I...stood up for myself.”

Asterin blinked. “Fenrys. We get married in six days-.”

“It’ll heal before then,” he interrupted.

“You look like you got trampled by a herd of angry hyenas!”

Fenrys blinked. “Hyenas? That was the best you could come up with?”

“They’re vicious,” Asterin snapped. “Haven’t you ever watched The Lion King?”

“Yeah, I have, and I’m pretty sure Mufasa’s death didn’t happen because he was trampled by hyenas,” Fenrys shot back.

Asterin was rubbing her temples. “Be serious, Fenrys, you look-.”

“Handsome?” he finished.

“Like shit,” Asterin said. “Handsome, but like shit.”

“It’s not that big of a deal-.”

“You got in a bar fight,” Asterin said, shaking her head. “Fen, our wedding pictures are going to be all we have from our wedding-.”

“And they’re going to look incredible,” Fenrys promised, tugging on the hem of her shirt - his shirt - until she was straddling his waist. He pulled her down on top of him and kissed her, softly. He tried not to wince, thanks to his split lip, but held onto control until Asterin pulled back. “What’re you really worried about?”

“What do you mean?” Asterin asked, quietly. “Fenrys, you got into a bar fight-.”

“And I’m fine,” he said, chuckling. “You’re awake at almost four in the morning a week before our wedding.” He nodded to her nightstand. “That’s your wedding planner. You’re freaking out.”

“I’m not freaking out,” she protested.

“Are you having second thoughts?” Fenrys asked, suddenly alarmed.

“What?” she asked, taken aback. “No! No, I just...there’s so much left to do, yet, and so little time. And now you look like a human punching bag.”

“I’ll heal.”

“Your lip is bleeding, Fen,” she said, sighing.

With a groan, Fenrys rolled them over, and he was suddenly on top. “I’m fine,” he promised. “I know the wedding is a lot to handle, but it’s almost done with.”

Asterin snorted. “It’s almost done with? How romantic.”

“You know what I mean,” Fenrys said, kissing her nose. “Why don’t we sneak down to the courthouse tomorrow and forget about the wedding?”

It was a joke, and Asterin knew that, but a small smile appeared on her lips. “Okay.”

Fenrys stilled. “Sorry, what?”

“Let’s do it,” Asterin said. “You, me, and the courthouse. Let’s do it.”

“I repeat....,” Fenrys began. “What?”

She took his face into her hands and shook her head, slowly. “I’m so stressed about this wedding, Fen. Let’s get married, have the perfect day doing whatever the hell we want, and the wedding will just be for...everyone else. All pressure is off of us.”

Fenrys watched her for a long moment before saying, “You’re serious.”

She nodded. “I’ve never been more serious in my entire life.”

He pursed his lips. “But, look at my face, I don’t know if the photographer at the courthouse will approve-.”

She nudged him in the shoulder and laughed. “Shut up.”

Fenrys’ grin was contagious. “You tell me when and where I can make you my wife, and I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Asterin’s eyes softened as she leaned up and met Fenrys’ lips with her own.

The next morning, they would go down to the courthouse, only telling their closest of friends - even though half of Fenrys’ would be hungover as shit.

Manon would take the photos of the entire event, with Asterin in a little white sundress and Fenrys with his busted lip and swollen eye.

Even so, it would be the most magical and memorable day of their entire lives.

The day that they finally became man and wife.

With absolutely no stress at all.

#the alyssa tag #fensterin #fenrys #asterin #tog #fanfic #oneshot #drabble #HAPPY BIRTHDAY ALYSSA

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thexfridax · 4 years ago

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Wynonna Earp Boss Hopes Syfy Finale Made You Feel 'All the Things' — Plus, Scoop on One Happy Wedding Accident

By Matt Webb Mitovich, tvline.com / April 9 2021, 8:02 PM PDT

The following contains spoilers from the Syfy finale of Wynonna Earp.

After four years of protecting Purgatory with her Peacemaker, Wynonna Earp got to quite literally ride off into the sunset. And she did so while straddling a motorcycle, with Doc Holliday seated behind her.

Mind you, the two almost didn’t wind up together. Following the simply beautiful “WayHaught” wedding, Doc (played by Tim Rozon) was determined to put Purgatory in Charlene’s rear view mirror and get to living life as “just a man,” and Wynonna (Melanie Scrofano) felt compelled to stay put as Purgatory’s protector. But with an empowering nudge from li’l sis Waverly (Dominique Provost-Chalkley), Wynonna caught up to her man and professed her love, after which they decided to travel light, for the first time in a long time, and pay their daughter Alice a visit in MIracles, Montana.

TVLine spoke with series creator Emily Andras about crafting this very fine finale, at least one “happy accident” that wound up stirring many emotions, and more.

TVLINE | The finale has just aired…. What emotions do you hope the fans are feeling at this moment?

Just head-to-toe body warmth, and love, and affection, and wistfulness…. And a little bit of bittersweetness. I feel like joy has to be paired with nostalgia, so I hope they’re feeling all the things. But hopefully not hungover!

TVLINE | At what point over the years did you ever envision Wynonna and Doc riding off into the sunset?

Ahhh! I almost never even let myself envision it, you know? It’s so funny — when you start doing a show, you have all sorts of ideas about what pairings are going to rise to the top, who’s going to end up with whom, and one of the joys of Earp is that so many different things have happened. But those two characters have certainly earned the chance to try to be happy, whatever that means to them. I never knew that I would be allowed to end such a romantic pairing with the woman driving the motorcycle and the guy on the back.

TVLINE | I’m watching that final sequence and it almost feels alien, seeing the two of them head off into what I think of as “the real world.” But I also found that viscerally exciting, to see so much ahead for them.

That’s so lovely, thank you for saying that. I feel like having the world ahead of them and being such an unusual couple, I would love to see what happens next for them. I’m sure there will be lots of crazy sex and crazy arguments and crazy laughter. So, godspeed! Godspeed.

TVLINE | When throwing a season-ending wedding, what is Emily Andras’ marching order? “Above all else, this wedding has to be…”?

It has to honor to all of the characters — and by that, I mean it has to try to find a moment for every special pairing on the show, not just WayHaught. I think it’s important to pay due respect to how far Waverly and Doc have come; she never gave up on him, she always saw a better man in him — and now he gets to be the best man! Nedley (Greg Lawson) and Nicole’s (Kat Barrell) relationship, that paternal/daughter bond is so special, so honoring that was very important.

And at the end of the day, I still think the real love affair of the show is the Earp sisters, so I ended to make sure that that was honored. I really love the parallel with the pilot, where Wynonna came into town against her will and was so hungry to leave but was forced to stay. And now you have Waverly secure enough in how their relationship has evolved, that she knows Wynonna deserves to leave again — because she’ll come back.

More than anything, it was about giving every character a moment of happiness. Even Jeremy (Varun Saranga) becoming deputy chief of Black Badge and maybe finding a new date…. It was all about finding everyone a moment of potential joy, after they’ve gone through so much after four seasons.

TVLINE | Talk about the decision to have empty guest chairs laid out with the names of those who are no longer with us or didn’t make it to the wedding.

That was such a happy accident. We were on-set, it was very much in the middle of the pandemic, and we knew we were going to have a limited number of people for the wedding. But then we put out chairs so you could understand where the aisle was, and they looked really empty. So my incredible director, Paolo Barzman, who also did the pilot, and my art director Trevor Smith, pitched this idea to me. I had sort of joked about, “Wouldn’t it be cool if you had the ghosts of characters past?” In the moment, they said, “What if we hung names on the chairs?” and it was just one of those goosebump moments, like, “That’s brilliant.” So then we have people writing up these cards, rushing them out, and it’s honestly one of my favorite things. Whenever I see that Dolls chair, I just can’t help but feel things.

TVLINE | But Mercedes (Dani Kind), to be clear, is still with us.

She’s just out, like, being her best vampire self. She’s out being an amazing vampire, yeah. I still have that spinoff if you want to help me sell that!

TVLINE | If anything caught me a bit off-guard, it was us getting a song from Rachel (played by Martina Ortiz-Luis).

The thing about Martina is that she is a phenomenal singer. She is the anthem singer for the Toronto Maple Leafs — so she’s quite a star here! — and she was on Pilipinas Got Talent back in the day…. It seemed like a waste to not have someone with such an exceptional voice perform! And what better song to lay over the necessary wedding montage than a WayHaught classic (Fleurie’s “Wildwood”), the song that was playing the first time WayHaught kissed. It’s a bit of an Easter egg for those hardcore WayHaughters!

TVLINE | I don’t think anyone would have ever felt like a “Dark Angel Waverly” detour was missing, if you hadn’t spent time on it the episode prior. Why did you feel it was important to go there during one of the final hours?

The truth of it is that honestly we’ve been balancing the spectre of whether we were going to have a Season 5 or not. When we started breaking Season 4 two years ago, we were looking down the barrel of about 24 episodes, so [when you get half that] you’re like, “What are we going to keep, and what are we going to pitch overboard? What can we live without learning about?” I would argue that this idea of Waverly having a darkness inside of her did have to be highlighted after four seasons. I completely agree that in a perfect world I could have done eight episodes of Dark Angel Waverly, exploring that and seeing it come to pass. But if we ever get more story, I don’t know if Waverly has complete control over that part of herself. I dont think it’s “gone.” If Nicole puts mayo instead of mustard on her sandwich, who knows what’s going to sprout out!

TVLINE | I mean, if only to see what other outfits Dark Waverly has.

As long as she keeps her thigh holster, she’s ready to go.

TVLINE | Looking back at these last few episodes, what are you most proud of?

‘m so proud of this cast. It’s so boring, but God, just to see them grow and thrive and shine…. performing comedy and emotion, seeing their commitment to the show, and the feelings…. It’s just been such a joy to see such an amazing group of people get their due. They really are that wonderful, off-screen as well.

I’m also pretty happy — in this day and age, and despite all the fights the show has been through — that if this is the end, I feel like that’s a pretty nice finale, a pretty good topper on the cake. I feel like the fans will feel like they went on a journey, and they left the characters in an interesting, good place. And look, that’s really rare in TV, to end your story the way you want. How can I be anything but grateful, at the end of the day?

TVLINE | When I was writing my tweet the other morning, I wanted to call it a “very fine finale,” but I worried you’d think I was saying it was only “fine.” But it was a very fine finale!

No, you have to keep me hungry! You get to challenge me, Matt. Listen, I just didn’t want to risk…. I’m the queen of 75 cliffhangers, but I feel like the fans have worked so hard for us, for so many years, that it was more important that they got closure, just in case. But there’s always another demon, there’s always another thing to trigger Dark Angel Waverly. There’s always more story, but at least you have this, no matter what.

TVLINE | And if some network or streamer does ride to the rescue, would there be something that brings Wynonna and Doc back to Purgatory? Or might a Season 5 be without the two of them?

Look, the show is called Wynonna Earp, so you need Wynonna Earp. She’s still the champion, she’s still got the magic gun and the best hair on the show — sorry, everyone else!

There are a couple of unresolved issues. We still have Eve, who we kicked out the the Garden very early in the season, and who can kind of shapeshift; she could take on the appearance of any one of our characters! That would certainly throw a wrench in the works in Purgatory. There are a million different reasons to bring Wynonna back, to help out her sister.

TVLINE | And lastly, was there anything you had to cut or just didn’t have room for, or any returning cast you couldn’t fit in?

Oh, tons. But look, you kind of hit the nail on the head earlier. I’m always striving to be better, and some stuff at the end felt a little rushed, with Dark Angel Waverly. I think if it hadn’t been a pandemic, there would have been more people at that wedding. I would have loved four more episodes to round the bend there. But look, that’s Wynonna Earp, man — perfectly imperfect! So that’s what we did, and what a ride it’s been. The ride of a lifetime for me.

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narumi-gens · 4 years ago

Text

Kintsugi | Chapter 1

Nanami Kento/Reader

summary: No one understood the intricacies of the soul better than you did. That was why you were all too aware of how damaged and brittle your own was. But Nanami would always be there to help you mend the cracks and keep it from shattering completely. warnings: 18+ minors dni, angst, hurt/comfort, PTSD, alcohol as a coping mechanism, mentions of panic attacks, Gojo is his own content warning words: 6.4k chapters: i • ii • iii series masterlist

Read on AO3

“Mama, why don’t people just throw away their stuff when it breaks?” you asked as you watched from your mother’s side as she carefully used a thin paintbrush to apply black lacquer along the crack that ran down the side of the small bowl in her hand.

You were so engrossed in her elegant movements, following each precise brushstroke with wide eyes, that you missed the amused smile that appeared on her lips at the childish nature of your question.

“Because these are things that have sentimental value,” she explained, her voice calm and your features scrunched up in confusion.

“What’s that?”

“It means that people feel attached to their things. It would hurt them if they had to throw them away,” she said, not missing a beat as she dipped her brush into the small dish containing a tiny pool of lacquer before resuming the process of repairing the bowl. Every one of her motions was fluid and well-practiced, perfected over years of repetition.

“But it won’t be the same,” you pointed out, leaning in close to the bowl and she paused to give you a better look.

“It’s still a bowl, isn’t it?” she asked you, carefully setting down the brush and the bowl before turning in her seat to face you.

“But it’s not the same,” you argued with a pout so exaggerated that it made her smile. She reached up a hand and brushed your hair behind your ear in a caring gesture.

“It’s not? It’s still the same bowl that was loved and cherished as it was passed down through this person’s family. That doesn’t go away just because there are a couple of cracks,” she told you patiently as she took your small hands in hers. “All it needs is to be repaired. That’s what we’re here for — to fix the damage.”

She then pulled you into her lap as she turned back to the work table. She picked up the bowl and her brush once more, resuming the process of applying another layer of lacquer to the crack.

“Remember this,” she told you, her voice soft in your ear. “While you come from a long line of shamans, this is the real family business — repairing and restoring.”

Your head was pounding. It felt like someone had taken a hammer straight to your skull. It was only made worse when you let out a small groan and the sound sent shooting pains through your temples. Your closed eyelids weren’t enough to block out the brightness of the room, even when you tried to squeeze them shut even tighter.

As you were slowly dragged kicking and screaming to consciousness, the worse your headache became. With another pathetic moan, you pulled your blanket over your head and buried your face in your pillow. Hopefully, your blanket cocoon was all you needed in order to go back to sleeping off your raging hangover.

But of course, it was never that easy.

The longer you tried to fall back asleep, the more aware you became of a buzzing in the periphery of your senses, almost like a fly that wouldn’t go away. This must have been what had woken you up in the first place.

The more attention you paid to it, the more obvious it became — as if a big, flashing, neon sign was directing your attention to the disturbance. And when you recognized the cursed energy at the center of it all, you realized that it wasn’t someone who would let you easily ignore them.

Gathering all of your strength, you reached a hand out from the safety of your futon and blindly searched for your phone. As you dragged it back into the darkness of your cocoon, you cracked open an eye to look at the screen, wincing harshly at its brightness.

As you eventually adjusted to the sudden source of light, you saw that it was almost three in the afternoon. But what really caught your attention were the notifications waiting for you.

Gojo Satoru 21 Missed Calls

Gojo Satoru 63 Messages

“What the fuck?” you grumbled. You unlocked your phone and opened his barrage of messages. Instead of scrolling all the way to the top to see where the thread began, you simply looked at the most recent ones.

[2:27] Gojo Satoru: R u awake yet????? [2:42] Gojo Satoru: I’ve been waiting for over an hour!!!!! [2:43] Gojo Satoru: Ur hungover aren’t you? [2:43] Gojo Satoru: Nanami wouldn’t approve 😏

It took monumental self-control to keep you from throwing your phone at the wall. You also doubted that you had the energy to actually throw it that far even if you had tried to.

You closed your eyes again and debated whether you should just pretend that you hadn’t seen the notifications, only for your phone to start buzzing as it rang in your hand, the annoying man’s face popping up on the screen. With a tired sigh, you answered the call.

“What?” you immediately asked in lieu of a greeting, your voice rough with sleep.

“Oh! Twenty-second time’s the charm!” Gojo replied cheerfully and his voice was so loud that you had to pull the phone away from your ear and turn down the volume before you could return it.

“What do you want?” you grumbled in a fruitless attempt to get straight to the point.

“What? I can’t just stop by for a visit?” he asked, wounded by the insinuation that he would only come by if he needed something from you.

“No, you can’t.”

You were met with silence, but you knew for a fact that it wasn’t because you had shut him up. You didn’t need to see him to know that he was wearing a cheeky grin on the other end of the phone, already knowing that he had won. You let out a loud exhale and you were positive that his grin grew wider in response.

“The gate’s unlocked,” you told him before abruptly hanging up, not giving him the opportunity to reply with some smartass comment about how he knew you wouldn't be able to resist him.

You took a deep breath, praying to the gods for strength before slowly sitting up, your blanket falling down to your waist. Another pained groan left you as the sunlight streaming in through the shoji assaulted your eyes and you buried your face in your hands in a poor attempt to block it out.

For a brief moment, you debated whether or not you should just collapse back into the futon. But you quickly pushed away the idea, knowing that if you left Gojo to wait for too much longer, he would come and find you and there would be no mercy when he did.

So, as much as it physically pained you, you dropped your hands, slowly opened your eyes, and began the arduous process of stumbling to your feet and out of the futon. With another groan, and feeling like you had somehow aged fifty years overnight, you reached down and picked up the discarded pair of sweatpants that you had drunkenly removed before passing out that morning.

It took every ounce of training that had been ingrained in you since you were young to keep from falling over as you struggled to pull them on. You wondered if your ancestors were looking on in disapproval from the afterlife as you put your skills to use to simply survive your hangover.

As you began to head to the bathroom, you tripped on the way out of your room and your shoulder hit the doorframe, giving you yet another reason to curse Gojo. You shuffled your way down the hall, hoping that brushing your teeth and washing your face would help wake you up.

But as you turned on the light and stared at your reflection in the bathroom mirror through bleary eyes, you knew that it would take more than simply washing up to make you look like you were back in the land of the living. Your hair was a mess, your eyes were bloodshot, the bags underneath them were massive, and the oversized shirt that you had slept in was full of wrinkles.

It looked like you had been on a week-long bender.

You brought up your hands and squished your cheeks together, frowning at how puffy they looked. Maybe you should give the drinking a rest, at least for today.

But then you remembered who was waiting for you and quickly tossed that idea aside.

You made quick work of cleaning up, deciding to forgo doing anything else about your appearance. It wasn’t like you needed to impress Gojo.

As you turned off the bathroom light, you realized that the aforementioned man’s signature cursed energy wasn’t patiently waiting for you to greet him outside as you had expected. No, instead you could feel it inside the house — like you were in your very own horror movie.

“Does that man have no sense of boundaries?” you asked yourself bitterly, already knowing the answer to your question.

You followed his energy as you made your way through the sprawling house, the soles of your bare feet padding against the wooden floors until you reached the large room at the center of it. The shoji had been pushed aside, opening the entire room to the view of the gardens as well as the man standing on the wooden engawa, his hands casually in his pockets and his back turned to you.

“There you are!” Gojo greeted you enthusiastically with a wide smile, spinning around to face not even a moment after your entrance. “Took you long enough.”

The dull pounding in your head worsened, but you would place the blame for it on Gojo rather than your hangover.

“When I told you the gate was open, it wasn’t an invitation to make yourself at home,” you grumbled as you walked towards him, squinting the entire way as you moved further and further into the sunlight.

“I figured this was easier. Considering how hungover you are, it would have taken you ages just to make it to the door,” he grinned and you let out an annoyed huff as you eventually came to a stop at his side on the engawa. He took advantage of your close proximity to lean in and look at you closely through his sunglasses. “Woah, you look awful.”

If your hangover wasn’t currently making you its bitch then you would have at least made an effort to punch him in retaliation.

“Thanks for that,” you instead chose to reply sarcastically.

“I mean it!” he continued, never knowing when to shut up. “You look like you just went three rounds with a special grade curse and lost each one — badly.”

You felt your eyebrow twitch.

“This is why you’re single,” you snapped back at him. The amusement was rolling off of him in waves as he made no attempt to hide how much he was enjoying this. “What woman could stand to put up with you for more than five minutes?”

“I’ll have you know that I’m never short on offers.” His grin turned smug and your eyes rolled so hard that you were surprised they didn’t fall out of your head.

“That’s because they haven’t had to deal with your personality,” you mumbled, a wave of exhaustion crashing over you. Dealing with Gojo was exhausting. It was always exhausting.

No longer possessing the strength or the will to keep standing, you dropped down to sit on the veranda before quickly making the decision to sprawl out on the wooden walkway instead. You tossed your arm over your eyes to block out the sun, but for as much as its brightness exacerbated your hangover, you couldn’t deny how good its warmth felt against your skin.

“You doing okay?”

The characteristic playfulness had ebbed slightly, sincere concern peeking through. You appreciated the question. It reminded you that for as much as he annoyed you to no end, when all was said and done, Gojo was a man who could be counted on when you needed it.

You nodded from underneath your arm and you heard the wood creaking as he plopped down to sit next to you. You lifted your arm just enough to see that he was sitting with his legs hanging off the engawa, his back to you as he looked out into the garden.

“Yeah, just been busy. There have been a lot of repair requests lately,” you explained with a yawn. “So, to what do I owe the pleasure of having the great Gojo Satoru coming all the way out here just to see me?”

“Why does there have to be a reason? Why can’t I just want a break from city life and want to see an old friend?” he asked, seemingly offended that you would question his intentions.

“There’s rarely anything you do that doesn’t have an ulterior motive.” The lack of bite in your voice undercut the harshness of your words.

There was a long silence. As Gojo let it stretch on, it was filled with the sounds of the cicadas in the garden and the tinkling of the wind chimes, the paper charms hanging from them flapping in the light breeze. If it weren’t for being so aware of his cursed energy at your side, you may even have been able to fall back asleep.

“Have you talked to Nanami lately?”

The question took you by surprise. Gojo was always sticking his nose into other people’s business, but he wasn’t one to travel across the country to do it in person when a simple phone call or text would do.

“Yeah, just the other day. Why?”

“What’d you talk about?” he prodded, ignoring your question and you could feel a small sense of dread beginning to build deep in your gut.

“That seems kinda personal, doesn’t it?”

You expected some sort of teasing remark. When you didn’t get one, you knew that whatever he was here to discuss was something serious.

“I was hoping I could convince you to come back to Tokyo with me,” he finally said and you let out a humorless laugh.

“Good luck with that,” you huffed.

“There’s something I could use your help with,” he continued, ignoring your rapidly souring mood.

“Get someone else.”

Hoping to put an end to the conversation, you turned onto your side to face the house’s interior, your back pointedly to Gojo.

“When you talked to Nanami, did he tell you anything about his latest assignment?” he asked and there was something gentle in his tone, like he wanted to be careful with you.

Suddenly, it felt like the sun’s warmth could no longer reach you, leaving only the coldness that had made its home deep inside of you to unfurl. You traced a finger along the wooden floor you were laying on, following the grain as you debated whether or not to say the words.

“I called him because I felt someone trying to interfere with his soul,” you finally murmured, closing your eyes as you curled in on yourself. “He said it was nothing. He promised me it was nothing.”

You hesitated, afraid to ask your next question because you were unsure of what the answer would be.

“Is he alright?” There was a sudden raspiness to your voice.

“Oh, he’s fine. You know Nanami. Nothing fazes him,” he assured you, the superficiality in his tone putting you at ease. It felt like a small weight had been lifted from your chest. But then Gojo’s demeanor turned serious once more. “There was a cursed spirit causing a mess in Kawasaki. He uses his technique to change the shape of the soul.”

Your eyes shot open. You lifted your head and looked over your shoulder at him with shock. He had turned away from the garden to face you, one leg folded in front of him while the other hung off the side of the engawa. You let his words sink in, trying to comprehend them and their implications.

“Th-that’s impossible,” you finally managed to stutter out, shaking your head in disbelief before dropping your head back onto the wood.

In the back of your mind, you knew that wasn’t necessarily true. You supposed it was possible. After all, the soul was complex — it was both fragile and resilient, it was easy to read some times and difficult to understand at others. And, depending on the circumstances, it could be as malleable as it was flexible. So, it was entirely possible that there was a cursed technique out there that could alter the soul’s shape. But to actually use it? That was unimaginable.

“He changes the shape of the soul to distort the shape of the body,” he explained further and your horror continued to grow. “That’s why you felt a disturbance in Nanami’s soul. ”

Almost instinctively, you closed your eyes and you began to focus. Your cursed energy spiked as you turned your attention inward and reached deep into the depths of your own soul. With practiced ease, you reached past all of the cracks and damaged areas to follow the thread that led hundreds of miles away and which took your cursed energy only a fraction of a second to travel and reach the other side.

You let out the breath that you didn’t know that you had been holding, relief flooding your veins when you found nothing worrying about the state of Nanami’s soul. You allowed yourself a brief moment to savor its familiar warmth before releasing the cursed technique.

“See? I told you he was fine,” Gojo said, his words breaking through your reverie and you could hear the knowing smile in his voice.

“Then what do you need me for?” you asked, suddenly feeling tired all over again. There was a lingering sense of melancholy that was beginning to resurface — one that always seemed to make itself known whenever you were reminded of the physical distance separating you and Nanami. It was only underscored when you opened your eyes and were met with the interior of the large house in which you lived alone.

“Two things. We have some of the bodies of the victims in the morgue. They’ve been dead for a couple of days now, so I don’t think you’ll be able to get much out of them,” he told you and he sounded almost dismissive about the entire matter. “But maybe you can give us a better idea of what we’re up against.”

It sounded like a fruitless endeavor. Only trace amounts of the soul remained in the body after death and even then it was never for long. If it had been days then there was surely nothing left. But Gojo was aware of that, which meant that he was using it as a pretense. You knew better than to be surprised.

Gojo Satoru was a man whose pretenses had pretenses.

“And now for the real reason?” you prompted him dryly.

He was silent and you curiously glanced over your shoulder to see that he had turned back to the garden. He was resting his weight back on his hands and in the stillness of the moment, he almost seemed comfortable — truly comfortable, not like it was part of some superficial facade.

“I have a new batch of students this year, three of them,” he finally said. You wanted to scoff out a remark that as a teacher, having new students was part of the job. But the uncharacteristic note of wistfulness in his tone held you back. “I would really appreciate it if you would come and take a look at one of them.”

“What’s so special that you need me to take a look?” Although there was no trace of bitterness in your question, your reluctance was evident. The last thing that you wanted was to be dragged back into the world of jujutsu, even if it was only for a favor.

“Itadori Yuuji. He’s Sukuna’s vessel,” he answered, taking you by surprise. You sluggishly pushed yourself up into a seated position and looked at Gojo’s back with interest.

“I heard he was dead,” you remarked, the words slow to leave you, as if you were thinking each one over carefully.

Despite having cut as many ties as you could with the jujutsu world, there were still pieces of information that would inevitably make their way to you. The appearance — and untimely death — of Sukuna’s vessel was one of them.

A visible tension suddenly appeared in Gojo’s shoulders and you tilted your head curiously.

“Dead? More like executed,” he scoffed, his words dripping with disdain. You raised an eyebrow in return. There was a beat of silence before the shadow hanging over him seemed to lift. “But no, for the King of Curses, death is only as permanent as he wants it to be.”

“And what? You want me to take a look at Sukuna’s soul? Make sure that it’s not gonna be a problem?” you guessed off-handedly.

“I couldn’t care less about Sukuna,” he was quick to correct and you found your interest growing. “This is about Yuuji.”

“And what’s so special about Itadori Yuuji that I need to go all the way to Tokyo just to look at his soul?”

He lifted his gaze to look up at the clear blue sky through his sunglasses.

“Y’know, I think you’d like him if you met him,” he mused, his words as light as the breeze. “He’s a real earnest kid who really just wants to help others. He thinks it’s only acceptable for people to die natural deaths.”

Gojo was clearly fond of his new student, something about the boy seeming to strike some sort of chord in the world’s strongest sorcerer. But you wanted nothing to do with him.

“He sounds like a fool,” you muttered. However, your tone lacked any bite, a strange haunted quality to it instead.

“He was on this mission with Nanami. I know it was hard on him,” he explained, ignoring your comment. “This was his first real glimpse into how cruel this world can be. I just want you to take a look at his soul and make sure he’s really okay.”

There was a familiar dull ache blooming in your chest. You tried to suppress it but found yourself unable to. You heard a faint voice ringing in your ears, a memory from long ago that you had spent years trying to forget.

“Nee-chan, we’re kind of lucky, aren’t we?”

“Why?”

“Just about any cursed technique can be used to exorcise curses. But you and me, we can also use ours to help people. How many sorcerers get to say that?”

“Hmm. I guess I never thought of it like that.”

“I’m gonna save as many people as I can. Just you watch!”

Disgust reared its ugly head inside of you. You had poured a lot of time, energy, and alcohol into repressing your memories and the pain that they were associated with. But all it took was one visit from Gojo Satoru and a few words about some teenager to have you on the verge of spiraling.

“No,” you suddenly spat out. “I won’t do it.”

You then stood up and made to walk away, a pointed end to the conversation. You had barely taken a few steps, your feet only just crossing over the shoji track to enter the living room when Gojo began to speak.

“Do you know who Yuuji reminds me of? Tadashi.”

You froze. Hearing the name spoken aloud for the first time in what may have been years felt like an arrow through the heart. You forced yourself to take a deep breath and your voice was shaking with your next words.

“I don’t think you’re trying to be outright manipulative,” you replied, choosing to be generous towards Gojo. “But even still, you’re being cruel.”

The admonishment hung in the air between you. But it wasn’t enough to deter him from continuing.

“Yuuji has a big heart,” he said softly. “You know better than any of us what that does to people in this line of work.”

It felt like there was a lump in your throat that was difficult for you to swallow down.

“I’ll do everything in my power to protect his heart, and the hearts of my other students, for as long as I can,” he explained, a bittersweet note shining through as he spoke. “They’re only kids.”

“So were we,” you breathed, but there was no maliciousness left in you. All that remained was a tiredness that you felt deep in your bones.

You closed your eyes and let your head fall back as you took a deep breath. When you opened them again and looked ahead, what you saw had you gasping loudly in horror.

Your younger brother stood before you, his face one that you only ever saw in pictures and nightmares these days. But instead of the image of your brother that you had grown up with — the one that always wore a wide smile and whose eyes were always shining with hope — it was the image of your brother as you had last seen him.

A wide gash stretched across the entirety of his neck, all the way from one ear to the other. The jagged edges of skin where a blade had sliced into him were coated in the blood that was drenched down the front of his white, short-sleeved button-up. His eyes, once so full of life, were now completely vacant.

Unable to help yourself, your gaze followed the trail of red all the way to where it was dripping onto the tatami mats, staining them permanently. You saw that all that remained of his toes were bloody stumps as he stood barefoot in the pool of his own blood. You didn’t need to see his hands to know that his fingers had received the same violent treatment.

Fearfully, you shut your eyes and let your cursed energy flare out wildly as you reached for his soul. When the only other soul you found was Gojo’s behind you, you opened your eyes and your brother was gone.

“Hey, you okay?”

You whirled around to face Gojo who was now standing only a few feet from you. His sunglasses were in his hand as he watched you warily, his startling blue eyes roving over you before darting past your shoulder and then returning back to you.

You could only give him a shaky nod as your heart pounded in your chest. But then you heard a warbling gurgle echoing in your ears.

“N-n-nee-chan…he-help-p…m-m-m-me…”

A wave of nausea hit you and you shoved past Gojo as you raced to the engawa, clumsily jumping from it before collapsing to your knees in the grass. Your fingers were gripping onto the blades of grass so tightly that you were pulling them from the ground as you began to retch. The sounds of your dry heaving filled the garden, nothing in your stomach for you to throw up.

Even through your turmoil, you maintained enough control over your cursed energy to look at your own soul once again. Your cursed energy instinctively reached out to grasp onto the traces of Nanami’s soul that had made their home inside of yours over the years. You greedily drank in the warmth that washed over you as clung onto the pieces of his soul desperately, allowing the sensation to soothe you until your heaving eventually subsided.

Your eyelids fluttered open as you panted and you stared down at the grass below you. You could feel Gojo at your side and you looked at him from the corner of your eye to see that he was sitting beside you, his arms lazily wrapped around his knees.

Using the back of your wrist, you wiped your mouth as you sat up. You then rubbed your palms together to brush away the blades of grass that you had tugged from the ground before dropping them to your knees.

“This whole jujutsu world is wrong,” Gojo finally said, his voice filled with conviction. “I won’t let it destroy these kids before I can fix it.”

It was only when you softly sniffled that you realized that you were crying. As you quickly wiped away the tears that had rolled down your cheeks, you let his words sink in. Another memory flashed through your mind, this one nowhere near as violent or upsetting as your previous ones, but painful all the same.

“As much as your body hurts when you’re injured, it’s nothing compared to how much the soul can hurt. But there aren’t hospitals for the soul like there are for the body. That’s why we’re here. We can fix what others can’t.”

Your mother’s words were so clear in your ears that it was almost enough for you to feel a ghost of her caring touch along your cheek. You brushed away another tear before you began to stand on shaky legs.

“You can stay the night,” you rasped. You then turned around and headed back to the house. “We can leave in the morning.”

As you stumbled into your studio, you made a beeline for the worktable against the wall — the same worktable that your mother had spent countless hours hunched over — and collapsed into the chair beside it. You folded your arms across the tabletop and then dropped your forehead to rest against them.

You took in a deep breath and held it for five seconds before releasing it and then pausing for another five seconds only to repeat it all over again. Inhale. Hold. Exhale. Hold.

And over again.

Inhale.

Hold.

Exhale.

Hold.

And over and over and over.

Finally, when your heart was beating steadily in your chest and your hands were no longer shaking, you lifted your head and stared tiredly at the table in front of you. Your mind was blessedly blank but you didn’t know how much longer that would last, not with everything that had just happened and with what was in store for you over the next couple of days.

You needed something to do with your hands. You glanced over to the wooden cabinet across the room before dismissing its contents. You had only just set aside the pieces you had been working on repairing last night to dry, staying up into the early hours of the morning to finish them. They wouldn’t be ready for the next step in the repair process for another two weeks.

You debated sneaking back into the house to grab a bottle of sake that you could lose yourself inside of, only to quickly dismiss the idea because you knew that you would never go undetected by Gojo.

Instead, almost unconsciously, your hand reached into the pocket of your sweatpants and pulled out your phone. Before you knew what you were doing, you were holding it to your ear as you waited for your call to be accepted.

“Hello?” Nanami answered and as soon as you heard his voice, it felt like you could breathe again, relief flooding through your veins.

“Hey, it’s me,” you murmured. “Am I catching you at a bad time?”

“Never,” came the easy reply and you smiled to yourself. “Is everything alright?”

The cold sense of dread that had been present in your chest ever since Gojo had arrived disappeared when you heard the warmth in Nanami’s question.

“Just a bit of a bad day,” you sighed.

“Why? What happened?”

You scoffed and your eyes rolled to the ceiling with annoyance.

“Gojo Satoru is what happened,” you told him.

“Ah,” he said knowingly. Nanami’s tolerance for Gojo’s antics was even lower than yours.

You chewed on your bottom lip anxiously as you debated what to say next. He patiently let you take your time, the comfortable silence stretching on.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you finally asked, the question making you feel small.

“About what?” To anyone else, his response might have seemed dismissive. But you knew better — you knew him better.

“That there was a cursed spirit trying to distort your soul,” you said, your tone slightly hurt. “You promised me it was nothing.”

There was a pause as Nanami absorbed your words.

“I didn’t want you to worry,” he eventually replied. Rather than sounding patronizing or condescending, his words were spoken kindly. He then let out a quiet sigh of his own. “I thought it would be easier for you if you didn’t know.”

“I always want to know, Kento,” you were quick to assure him. The idea of Nanami being in danger or hurt while you had no knowledge of it was a painful one.

“Then you’ll always know,” he agreed and you quietly let out a relieved exhale. “I promise.”

“Thank you,” you whispered and you could imagine the soft smile that was surely playing on his lips. It probably matched the one on yours.

“I should be the one thanking you. It was the protection that your soul gave mine that saved me,” he told you and your eyebrows raised slightly with interest for a brief moment. “Thank you for saving my life.”

“Always,” you breathed, the promise quiet but no less heartfelt as it left you. “I’ll be coming back to Tokyo with Satoru tomorrow. Something about one of his students.”

Nanami hummed thoughtfully on the other end.

“Itadori Yuuji,” he offered.

“Satoru said he was with you for this whole cursed spirit mess,” you explained. “He asked me to check his soul, make sure it's alright.”

“It’s not a bad idea,” he said. “Itadori-kun has a strong will, but this was a tough mission for anyone. Especially for a child.”

You could hear everything Nanami wasn’t saying — his clearly growing fondness for the teen, his concern over his spiritual well-being, and his own frustration with a system that demanded so much of children.

“I’ll make sure he’s alright,” you told him, hoping to put his mind at ease.

There was a moment of silence and you could practically hear him thinking.

“You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” he said. There was a sternness in his voice that usually melted away whenever he was with you. It was a signal that what he was saying was meant to be taken seriously. “You walked away from it all. I don’t want you being dragged back into it out of some unwarranted sense of duty. Gojo-san doesn’t get the final say in this.”

You appreciated his reassurance more than you could put into words.

There were times, late at night when the alcohol didn’t seem to be doing the trick, that you questioned whether or not you had made the right decision. Maybe the benefit of helping people was worth the high cost to your soul. But then you would remember how willing those at the top of the jujutsu world had been to treat your family like sacrificial lambs and it was enough to convince you that you had made the right decision.

It was comforting to know that Nanami was on your side, no matter where you landed.

Turning your attention back to the present, you sighed tiredly. You looked out the window of your studio at the trees just outside. A strange feeling of peace crept up on you, one that you hadn’t felt in so long that it felt foreign.

“Itadori Yuuji sounds like a genuine kid,” you thought aloud, your tone unusually wistful. “It seems kind of wrong to let this world ruin that.”

Another memory flashed in your mind for the briefest second. Tadashi’s familiar, joyous laughter faintly resounded in your ears.

“Nee-chan, I’m gonna be a hero that people can count on when they need help!”

The pain that would normally have accompanied the memory was nowhere to be found. Instead, to your complete and utter surprise, you found a bittersweet smile playing at your lips. Your eyes were prickling with tears that began to form but you didn’t have the heart to wipe them away.

“Especially if it’s in my ability to help,” you continued, the words sounding like something from a lifetime ago as they left your lips. You mulled over the way they tasted and you felt something buried deep inside of you stirring.

“You’ll be here tomorrow afternoon?” Nanami asked, gently putting an end to your introspection.

“Yeah, I’ll text you the details,” you answered, grateful for the opportunity to push away all of the complicated emotions that had been raging inside of you. “I’m trusting you to find somewhere good for dinner, alright? I’m sick of eating at the same restaurant over and over again just because it’s the only one within a thirty-minute drive.”

Nanami’s quiet chuckle on the other end of the call felt like a soothing balm for your soul.

“Alright. Have a safe trip,” he said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Thanks. See you tomorrow,” you repeated and your next words left you so easily that saying them was almost as instinctive as breathing. “Love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“Bye.”

You ended the call and slid your phone back in your pocket, the corners of your lips slightly turned upwards and your heart thrumming with something it felt like you never got to experience — excitement.

But whatever lightheartedness you were feeling came crashing down when there was a knock on the door before it opened a second later so that Gojo could pop his head in.

“You left me all alone,” he pouted and you began to rub your temples in hopes of staving off the inevitable headache. “What’s there to do around here anyway?”

You sighed loudly and pushed your chair away from the table to stand up.

“There’s nothing to do. Why do you think I drink so much?” you grumbled as you made your way towards him, shoving him out of the way so that you could leave the studio. As you breathed in the fresh air, you found an unexpected calmness settling over you.

“Because you’re an alcoholic,” came the sing-songy reply.

You felt your eye twitch as that sense of calm came shattering down around you.

#nanami kento #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #nanami kento fanfic #nanami kento x reader #nanamin angst hours #nanamin thirst hours #kintsugi #mine

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 years ago

Text

From Eden: Three

Warnings: noncon sexual acts, mentions of mental illness, grieving, trauma, panic attack; tags to be added throughout series

This is dark!Bucky. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: The mc suffers from agoraphobia. After a new neighbour moves in across the street, her home becomes even more of a prison.

Note: I know it’s been a while...

Thank you so much for your patience! And support!!

As always, if you are so inclined, please like, reblog, and comment. <3

Transcript:

Sunday

When Dr. Tisha and Lorena left last night, they were still angry with me. I didn’t care much as both of them lectured me again over that man. I told them the same things I had before. I don’t want to know him.

They suggested at least that I save the money I made for a day out. Lorena said it would be good for me to try to go into town and do some shopping myself, for myself. The thought made me choke but I just smiled and said, “we’ll see.”

Now I’m awake, early again. I keep hearing things in the yard. I tell myself it’s a raccoon or something else, maybe even a bat! One got in the house last year and I locked myself in the bathroom until I was brave enough to grab the broom and chase it out. Looking back, it’s sort of funny.

I looked out the window but I just saw shadows that made me nervous. The bird bath was eerie in the dark and the shed looked decrepit. I thought I saw something move along the wall but I’m sure it’s only me being tired.

I did try to go back to sleep but then I started thinking about things I haven’t thought of in a long time. About the things I told Tisha I never want to think or talk about ever again.

Then I thought about grandma and mama. Why did they have to leave me?

Later

I was in the garden when it started to rain. It started with a big crack of thunder and I almost screamed at how scary it was. It came so fast I barely got inside before I was soaked through. Then I giggled at myself as I stripped out of my muddy jeans and wet tee shirt.

When I was a kid, I used to love to dance out in the rain, or just stand and let it wash over me. When my mother died, it stormed and I sat in the downpour until I got sick. The drops hid my tears and numbed the pain of that lonely ten-year-old. I’m older now but sometimes I still feel like a kid.

I watched the sky darken through the window and the smell of the rain in the dirt was comforting. I made tea and kept watching. The sky would flash, a cacophony of awe, and I felt as if I was living in an old Hitchcockian shot. I liked to think there was a camera there to catch the perfectly framed scene, the frightening and frantic swell of the storm that reflected the suspense of the human catastrophe about to take place.

Then the horror was no longer just in my mind. I cleaned my cup and turned. As I passed through the dark hall I saw a shadow flash at the window of the door. I gasped and rushed forward to check the latch but the figure was gone. I peeked out and there was nothing.

Now I’m still awake and I think I just got carried away with my imagination. I’m watching The Wizard of Oz but the colours aren’t as bright as they used to be. At least, they don’t seem like it.

🖊

Monday

I don’t remember falling asleep. It must’ve been late, or early depending how you look at it. I woke up to the blue screen as the VCR had stopped and rewound the tape. It was still dark, the sky hungover from the wild night.

I made blueberry tea. It was too sweet after I let it steep for too long. I watched the morning birds bask in the full bird bath and slowly the sun began to shine down. It’s brighter now and I’m going to try to fix the shed window.

🖊

Tuesday

I couldn’t write anymore yesterday. Not after what happened.

I can’t.

🖊

Wednesday

On Monday, I

He was here.

I was hammering the board back into place and I hit my finger into the nail. The metal left a painful blister and my knuckle split and bled. I cried out and dropped the hammer as I held my hand and tried not to tear up.

“You alright?” he asked and I looked at him, afraid.

He was at the gate. Had he been there, watching me? I nodded and wrinkled my nose in pain. I couldn’t bend the top of my finger. I hid my hand and left the mess on the ground as I rushed to the front door to hide inside.

“Hey,” he called as I whimpered, dumbly trying to turn the handle with my hurt hand, “you’re hurt. I can help.”

I shook my head as my finger throbbed. I looked at it and cringed. It was really bad.

“I just want to help.”

“Why are you here?” I watched the door creak open and didn’t look back at him, “why are you bugging me?”

“I was just walking by and I heard you,” he said, “I know how to set your finger… or I can take you to the hospital.”

I didn’t want to go to a hospital. The thought makes my stomach hurt. I hate hospitals.

“I can deal with it.”

“You’re bleeding a lot,” he insisted and I was getting really annoyed.

“What do you care?” I don’t understand him or why he kept bothering me and hanging around my gate!

“Well, I won’t lie to you, your friend, Tisha, she told me to keep an eye on you,” he said through the bars, “so yes, I was watching you.”

“She’s not… not my friend,” I was so angry. Why would she do that!? She doesn’t even know him, I don’t know him, “she’s my doctor.”

“Can I help you with your finger? I’ll stop watching but you need to get it set and soon.”

“I don’t care. I got nine others.” I was mean and didn't care.

“Then I can call your doctor? She gave me her number in case--”

“No, no,” he couldn’t call her. She’d be mad at you and she’d make you go to the hospital, “don’t call her, please. Just… stay here.”

I went inside and with one hand, I searched under the counter for the dinged old white chest. I pulled it out by the thin metal handle and went back outside. The way he watched me made me nervous even though he was so calm.

“If I let you in, you have to leave right after,” I said as fearsomely as I could, “and this is the only time you’re ever coming in.”

“You’re shaking really bad, that must hurt,” he looked at my hand and ignored my warning.

“Do you get it!? You have to promise to leave after.”

“Sure, just let me help,” he nodded.

unlocked the gate and slowly opened it for him. We sat at the patio table as he searched through the old box of first aid gear. He took out gauze and found two straight sticks from the garden. He tested their strength and sat back down.

“Give me your hand,” he said.

I reluctantly put my hand on the table and hissed at the pain in my finger. He cleaned it carefully and I looked away as he went about his task. It hurt less not seeing it. When he finished wrapping it up, I pulled away and stood.

“Good, now go,” I pointed to the gate.

“That won’t be good for more than a day,” he stood, “I have some real splints at my house. I could come back-”

“I told you, no,” you jabbed your hand towards the gate, “out.”

He was quiet and he looked around. His jaw set as he considered the thick garden and his eyes narrowed.

“The flowers are doing good,” he said.

“Please, leave,” I begged, he was making me nervous.

I was still shaking but not from the pain. I remembered that night, it wasn’t just one, it was several, and they laughed as they stood over me. They were smaller than him, just teenagers, like me, but they still hurt me.

“Go!” I shouted, “go! Go! Go!”

He grabbed my shoulders as I began to hyperventilate. I hadn’t been so worked up in a long time and I could stop as the fit began. I chanted the word over and over as my body shook so violently and my voice became only deep and painful breaths. My chest burned so bad.

I didn’t remember what happened after that. I only remember him in my house. I was on the couch and Dr. Tisha was there too.

When I could speak again, I asked her to make him go. She ignored me and said that he helped me, that he had kept me safe by calling her.

But I saw his smile and how he looks at me. I saw the way he paced around the house and noted every inch of it. I watched him as Tisha fed me chamomile tea.

She didn’t want to leave me alone, she said. She thought I should go to the hospital for my finger and for a mental evaluation. I sucked up the panic in my chest and told her I was okay, that I remembered the exercises and it wouldn’t happen again. I could tell she didn’t really believe me.

“I’ll stay with her,” Bucky offered and my eyes rounded.

“I’ll be fine,” I told Tisha before she could respond.

“You’re not fine,” she said, “in good conscience, if you won’t go to the hospital, I need someone here to monitor you.”

“Lorena--”

“She’s off-the-clock. I can’t expect her to come here right now, she has other clients.”

I frowned and crossed my arms and crushed my injured finger, “why can’t you stay?”

“Well, I left a session for this and I have others waiting on me. I would stay if it was an option. Listen,” she sat and spoke to me like I was a child, “this man is a public servant. He is a good man, in fact, I think he’s a lot like you. Now it would be wrong of me to go into detail about his experiences but I have it on good authority that he knows better than even me what you’re going through.”

I shook my head and pouted, “I won’t hurt myself. Not again.”

“I wish I could believe you,” she said, “but recently you’ve shown some serious regression. If you keep arguing with me, I will be obligated to have you escorted to the hospital and kept for seventy-two hours...

Or Bucky can stay until Lorena comes by tomorrow and I can return.”

“I didn’t do anything. I got nervous.”

“I won’t ask again.”

“Fine, fine, he can stay,” I gave up. The thought of another hold at the hospital was enough to make me give in. I couldn’t do that again.

So Bucky stayed and I didn’t sleep. Again.

And I didn’t write and I can’t anymore. I don’t feel good.

🖊

Thursday

There’s a lot to catch up on but I don’t want to write about it. I never want to think about it again.

Bucky’s gone, Lorena and Tisha made their visit on Tuesday, and I’m fine.

I’m fine.

🖊

Friday

feel him still. He’s watching me. I know he is!

He was in my house, he slept on my couch, he walked through my halls. I smell him still and it makes me sick.

I see him through the gate, he doesn’t try to hide anymore. I called Tisha for my daily check-ins. I’m back to those again. I told her he was watching and she told me he was only concerned. She said I was exaggerating. She thinks I’m crazy!

The walls used to protect me. I used to hide behind them but now I just feel trapped.

He’s watching again. I see him through the window. He’s at the gate, his metal hand on the bar as he searches for me. I’m going away before he sees me. I’m turning out all the lights and locking the doors.

🖊

Saturday

The gate is broken again. The face of the lock fell off and one of the bars is bent through several others.

The lower hinge is busted and I found footprints in the dirt. There are tulips missing from the garden, the pink ones. I got those bulbs from grandma, her last gift to me. I’m sad.

The doors are still locked and all the curtains are closed. I can’t even turn on the TV.

Later

He was in the house! I know he was! The window to my bedroom was open and the blankets on my bed were all messed up. I woke up on the couch as I usually do. I feel asleep reading a book with only a candle. The candle was out and the pages of the book were bent.

I got up to go to the bathroom. I felt weird. My shorts were damp with sweat. The house is so hot with the windows shut. I stopped when I noticed my bedroom was open, I always closed the door.

It’s really hard to write because I’m still shaking. It wasn’t just the window or the blankets. There were pink tulips on my pillow.

I know it’s him. He’s playing a game with me, a game I don’t like.

I’m scared and I hear someone in the garden. I can’t remember if I locked my bedroom window. I was so afraid, I can’t remember.

I can’t remember.

I can’t~~

#bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #series #from eden #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #mcu #marvel #winter soldier #captain america #agoraphobia

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btsslowburnfic · 4 years ago

Text

Argument with Yoongi-part 2

Part 1 found HERE

Summary of part 1: you leave you and Yoongi's apartment after he can't say that he loves you anymore and he hasn't been home in weeks even though they are in town.

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

You had no idea where you were going to go. You weren't particularly close with any of the other members or their significant others since Yoongi really didn't socialize with them outside of work. You walked down the street with your backpack slung over your shoulders. Fuck, this sucked.

"Y/N!" you heard a voice call out. Seriously?

You kept walking. You were too old to have an argument out on the street. Despite your best efforts to ignore him, you ended up turning around and seeing Yoongi awkwardly jogging after you.

You stopped and glared at him.

"Where are you going?" he asked as he caught up to you.

You jerked your head to the side and walked down the nearest alley to have some semblance of privacy.

"Y/N please. Where are you going?" he asks again.

Alright. You guys were really going to have this argument out here? OK. You were so angry. You gave him a chance to talk to you and he wouldn't do it. "Why the fuck do you care? You said you don't love me. You're never home. You said you can never trust me again so why the hell are you out here following me?" you spat out.

Yoongi looked up at the sky like he wanted to scream. "I'm an idiot OK? Is that what you want to hear?"

You rolled your eyes. "No. What I wanted at a bare minimum was for you to tell me you loved me 15 minutes ago when I asked you and you couldn't even handle that."

Yoongi's eyes started to tear up; his deep voice began to crack, "I know I'm bad at stuff like this. Please. I can't do this alone."

You wanted so badly to just wrap your arms around him and forgive him. To take him home and tell him that of course you’ll stay, he’s the only person in the world for you. But you can’t. Things would just go back to how they have been and you two will just end up doing this to each other again. You scoffed. "What about me? I've been alone for months at a time. Literally alone in our apartment. While you won't come home because you say you don't want to see me even though you’re 5 minutes down the road. No." you shook your head. "I don't know where I'm going, but I know it's not with you." you turned and walked out of the alleyway and to the subway station.

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

A week passed by. You were homeless the first two nights, catching some power naps in an internet cafe, but then managed to find a cheaper hotel if you didn't mind the far walk to the station. Seoul was expensive. You sighed. Maybe it was time to move. Everywhere you turned you felt like BTS and Yoongi were being shoved in your face. You decide you're going to have to suck it up and go back to the apartment to get new clothes. You had packed the bag not actually thinking you were going to leave. Yoongi hadn't texted or called you. Which didn't surprise you given the fact he didn't do those things when you were together.

You assumed Yoongi wouldn't be at home considering he never was anyway. You unlocked the door and were immediately overwhelmed with the scent of booze and garbage. What the fuck.

You sat your backpack down and wandered inside. There, on the couch, was Yoongi. He looked so small and sad, curled up in a ball, passed out. There were several empty bottles of wine and whisky covering the coffee table. You pursed your lips together. Idiot.

You went to the laundry room and started a load of your dirty clothes. You started gathering bottles, rinsing them out, and placing them in the recycling bin. Sure, now he’s home. You found yourself thinking sarcastically.

You heard movement on the couch and you froze. You were counting on him being out of it for a while longer. You heard his groggy voice, "I told you to leave. I don't want to do this again."

You rolled your eyes. “I’ll be gone in a minute asshole. I just came to do my laundry. Also, trashing the apartment and skipping work aren’t going to make me come back.” you retorted as you continue to clean up the living room.

“I don’t care. They sent me home anyways.” he responded and rolled over, facing away from the couch now.

You sat a glass of water down on the table. “Is that so? Well I’m so glad you are home now that I’m gone. It’s really comforting to know that it was actually a choice to stay away from me.”

“Go away nightmare woman. Usually you leave when I open my eyes.”

“There’s no reason to be so mean Yoongi. I get it.” you sighed as you walked back to the laundry room to put your clothes in the dryer.

"She's gone but you keep coming back to me every time I close my eyes." you hear him whine on the couch. Does he think he’s dreaming?

“Oh yeah, your girlfriend left you?” you asked, taking a seat in the chair across from him.

“Yes.” he said sadly.

“Now why would she leave such a pretty face?” You had decided this was far too interesting not to play along.

“Because I’m a dick. I’m a bad boyfriend. I leave her for months at a time. I live in my head and forget to come home. I work all the time. And even though I think about her all the time it doesn’t matter because I’m never there for her.”

“Yeah. That does sound pretty dickish.”

“I just miss her so much.” he said quietly.

“Yeah. But even if she came back, you’d just do the same shit again.”

“No. I love her. I wouldn’t leave her alone again. They sent me home because I told them I was quitting.”

You froze. What in the everliving fuck did you just hear? You didn’t know what to say to that. You got up and walked into the bedroom, dialing one of the few BigHit contacts you had saved in your phone. You dialed Namjoon’s number. You’ve only met him like twice before and you knew they were super busy all the time so you were shocked when he actually answered.

“Hello?”

“Hey. This is [Y/N], Yoongi’s girlfriend. Ex-girlfriend.” you corrected yourself.

“Oh. Well, Yoongi’s not here. He got sent home 4 days ago.”

“Yeah. About that. Why did you send him home?”

“I don’t really feel like it’s my place to say. You should really ask him.”

“Yeah...I tried that and he’s like half out of his mind somewhere between sleepy, hungover, maybe still drunk, and slightly delusional so...yeah. I’m looking for some clarification.” you replied. You heard Namjoon sigh deeply. Ever the diplomat.

“He came in here a few days ago talking about how you had left him. He said he was going to quit because of it. He was...unpleasant to be around. He said he got tricked into joining the group anyway because all he had wanted to do was write music. Just you know. Angry Yoongi things.” he took a deep breath. “Anyways. We told him to go home and think about what he was saying. To cool off and come back after some time.”

“Ok. Thanks.” you said, heading back to the laundry room to check on your clothes.

“Sure. no problem. How’s he doing?”

“Bad.” you responded instantly.

“Are you two going to work things out?”

You checked the clothes. Still damp. “I don’t know. I’m not going to be with a ghost. So I guess if he’s serious about not working so much I would consider it. I don’t want him to quit; I know he loves writing and he also loves performing even if he acts like he doesn’t. I just feel like there should be some boundaries. You know?”

“I do. It’s something all of us are working on. We all talk about it a lot.”

“Yeah. Life is fucking weird.” you said, closing the dryer door. You heard Namjoon laugh.

“Well, I hope it works out. You two really do seem perfect for each other. But, if not, no hard feelings. We all have to walk our own path, yeah?”

“Yeah. Thanks. Take care.”

“Bye.”

You put the phone in your back pocket and turned to walk back into the living room and you saw Yoongi standing in the laundry room door, looking like he was about to cry.

You stared at him, unsure what to do. He walked towards you and wrapped his arms around you. “You’re real.” You feel him shudder against you.

You let yourself relax into his embrace slightly. “I am real. And I’m still upset.”

“I know. Even if this is the last time, please let me have this.” He said sniffling, his lips ghosting the top of your head. “I meant it, you know? I’ll quit.” he pulled away to look at you. “There’s no point in working all the time if I don’t have you to come home to. I took for granted that you would always be here and I shouldn’t have.”

You placed your hand on his chest. “I never wanted you to quit. I just wanted to see you more often. Especially when you’re in the same city as me.”

“My music was all I had for so long. And then the other members. And then ARMY. And then finally, you. I just don’t know where all of it fits together.” He confessed.

“Maybe I don’t fit in there and that’s ok.” you said, your eyes becoming glossy.

“But I want you. I want you so badly.” He took your hands up to his mouth and gently kissed your knuckles. You felt your face growing red.

“I want you too. But not every few months. Not when maybe you remember to come home. Not like an afterthought. I either want you to be all in, or don’t bother.”

“Will you take me back if I say I’m all in?” he asked, running a hand through your hair.

“I would consider it. But I’m being serious. I can’t keep getting my heart broken and getting my hopes up. It hurts too much.” you said, tears streaming down your face.

“I’m all in. Please. Just come home. I’ll come home too. Every night that we’re in town I promise to come home to you. Even if it’s 3 in the morning. Just please. I need you.”

You let out a very soft, “Ok.” You see him flash the smallest gummy smile. The one that you love so much.

“Thank you. Thank you so much. I love you.” he kissed you.

You returned the kiss but crinkle your nose, “Ok, yeah. No more make-up kissing or other activities until you at least brush your teeth. And shower.”

He smiled, “Yeah ok.”

“And then go into work and beg them for your job back.”

“I thought you wanted me here more and now you’re already sending me back to work?” he pouted.

You rolled your eyes as you gently pushed him on his shoulders, guiding him to the bathroom. “At least call Namjoon and apologize.”

“Deal. But for today, I plan to begin making it up to you.” he snuck one more kiss.

“TEETH. Brush Em!” you giggled and playfully shoved him towards the sink; so glad to finally feel like the two of you were on the same wavelength again.

#bts angst #bts reactions #bts fanfic #bts fanfction #bts yoongi x reader #bts suga x you #bts scenarios #bts au fanfic #bts yoongi #bts suga #soft yoongi

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thewayshedreamed · 4 years ago

Text

Open Secrets— Nessian AU

Prompt submission by Nonnie— Reverse fake dating au where everyone thinks you’re dating and you’re keeping it a secret, but you’re not.

Thanks to whoever submitted this prompt! I’d originally completed this prompt for Feysand, but I struggled between that one and this one! Thanks to @awesomelena555 and @bookstantrash for encouraging me to post the Nessian version too!

——————————————————————————

Nesta pulled up to Rhysand and Feyre’s new home about 30 minutes after their house-warming party had begun. It was certainly a little out of character of her, being that she was someone who considered five minutes early as “on time”. It wasn’t really her fault. Elain had called her right before she pulled into their neighborhood to let her know they had drastically underestimated the amount of alcohol they would need for all the guests. Nesta had driven a little past the neighborhood to make the supplemental booze run, and she was about to walk into this party a hero.

She slipped into the party, aiming to keep a low profile. She absolutely hated arriving somewhere and being the sudden center of attention, so she was hoping to avoid that. The party was split; half indoors and half outdoors, making it all the easier for her.

She took inventory of her surroundings as she made her way toward the kitchen. There were several small groups sprinkled around in conversation, and some were outside playing yard games or drinking games. She already felt hungover just watching them.

Her eyes landed on Rhys, Azriel, and Cassian. They were off to the side, all sipping on drinks, and talking enthusiastically with each other. She noticed Cassian seemed to be on the receiving end of whatever hell they were giving, if his rigid posture and frequent eye rolling was any indication. She chuckled a little at that; he probably had that coming.

He excused himself abruptly from the conversation, tossing his beer bottle into a trash can a few feet away. He walked toward the house, and Nesta quickly directed her attention back to unloading the beer and liquor to wherever it needed to be stored in the kitchen. She heard the sliding glass door open, then close, followed by heavy footsteps walking through the kitchen.

“Hey, Nes! When did you get here?” He threw an arm around her shoulders, giving her a side-hug while she worked.

It seemed like such a small thing to most, but the fact that she and Cassian had made it to this point impressed her. With the way things had started when they’d originally met, things looked bleak for them on the friendship front. She wasn’t sure when his snark and cocky demeanor shifted from infuriating to endearing, but she had come to learn that those traits were such a tiny part of who he was. All of that considered, she leaned in to the casual side-hug, not wanting to take their progress for granted.

“Just now, actually. I haven’t even finished unloading the car.”

”Damn, sweetheart. How much booze did you bring?!” He grabbed a beer from the fridge and opened it as he leaned back on the counter.

”Probably not enough if we’re sharing with the likes of you,” she teased. She felt a small tap between her shoulder blades, followed by a ping sound. She turned around to see Cassian’s beer cap sliding across the floor. That little shit actually threw his beer cap at her.

She glared at him and was met with a sideways smirk on his face. He broke into a laugh when she didn’t back down and rocked forward to push himself off the counter.

“Sorry, sweetheart. I’ll make it up to you by helping you unload the car. Keep me company?” he requested.

”Fine. On the way you can tell me what your friends were giving you shit about outside. I’m starting to think maybe you earned it,” she taunted.

The cadence of his steps was interrupted just a fraction by her question, but he recovered quickly enough.

”Actually, I don’t know that I did this time.”

”Well now I’m definitely intrigued.”

He hesitated for several seconds, his jaw working as he thought through what to say next.

“I’m not sure I should tell you,” he stated, as he opened the backseat of her car. He grabbed the rest of the drinks before shutting her car door firmly.

“That makes me want to know even more, Cassian.”

”Okay, fine. But just remember that you wanted this. And you can’t be mad or get weird about it.”

His disclaimer gave her pause, but she nodded her head anyway. Curiosity won this round.

“For whatever reason, they have their minds made up that you and I are seeing each other and are trying to keep it on the down low. I’m still not entirely sure why they think we would keep it under wraps if we were involved, but that’s their theory right now.” His words came out in a rush as if he was trying to get it over with and pretend they never had the conversation.

Nesta merely blinked several times before replying, “Hm. Okay. So I get that they didn’t tell you why they think we’d hide it, but did they at least say why they think we’re a thing in the first place?”

Cassian rolled his eyes as he unloaded the remaining drinks into the refrigerator.

“Who the fuck knows with those two? All I remember them saying was something about how we have way too much tension between us and how we went from hating each other to being friendly overnight.” He took a swig of his beer.

”So, since we’re nice to each other now, we’re fucking?” There was no frustration in her tone. She was actually a little amused at how faulty the logic was.

Cassian choked on his beer; the result of not being prepared for that question coming from Nesta, of all people. He coughed into his elbow several times before he recovered.

“Caught me off guard, sorry. Yes, apparently, but I told them to knock it off.”

She was lost in thought for several seconds. “This could be fun,” she mused.

”What could be fun?” His confusion was obvious all over his face.

“The more we try to prove them wrong, the more they’re going to think they’re right. So why not just lean into it and have a little fun messing with them.”

”Oo. I like this. Get them all riled up about it and let them down later. I can’t say I’d hate to watch them squirm a little,” he replied.

”Exactly. But if we do this, we have to commit. We can’t question each other in front of anyone else, or the whole thing is shot,” she warned. “If we feel like we’re not on the same page, we reconvene here and make our way back out there once we figure it out.”

He smiled at her, a true broad smile, with the gleam of mischief in his hazel eyes. “You’re a wicked little woman, Archeron. I love it.”

——————————————————————————

They walked from the kitchen together, breaking apart once Nesta started making her rounds to greet everyone. Cassian walked back over to his friends, who were both clearly amused with themselves even still. He wanted to throttle both of them.

“What took you so long, Cass?” Rhys asked, a cocky little half smile on his face.

”Helped Nesta unload all the booze out of her car.” He took a long swig of his beer. “Don’t you say a fucking word, you prick.”

”Wouldn’t dream of it,” Rhys replied, earning a laugh from Azriel.

Both of them looked over his shoulder just as he felt someone approach him from behind. He felt a small hand rest on his bicep, turning him slightly toward them.

“Hey, Cass,” Nesta beamed up at him, and he swore his heart stopped. “I never said thank you for helping me.” She glanced down at her hand, and quickly drew it away to put it in her back pocket. She looked down at the ground and cleared her throat before looking at him again. “So, thank you. I owe you one.”

Wow, she was good. She looked every bit the part of someone who lost her bearings and was caught being affectionate. His returning smile was genuine.

“Of course. Happy to do it,” he replied, as she turned her attention to greet Rhysand and Azriel.

She walked away to make her next stop in greetings, and he made sure to watch her go for just a second longer than necessary. When he turned his attention back to the guys, they were smirking at each other like the smug bastards they were. This was going to be too easy.

——————————————————————————

The next couple of hours progressed in a similar fashion. Surprisingly, they stayed on the same page without much effort, playing off of each other from one scenario to the next. They gravitated to each other when their paths happened to cross, but they kept their interactions short. If someone walked up on them, they slipped away somewhat awkwardly as if they were guilty of something they shouldn’t be doing. They easily slipped small, seemingly intimate actions into each interaction whenever they knew Rhys or Azriel was nearby. Nesta would rest her hand on Cassian’s forearm briefly as they laughed. Cassian would shove her with his shoulder in passing, earning a playful scolding from Nesta. A couple of times when they were standing in a small group, Nesta would subtly grab Cassian’s drink to take a sip and hand it back as if it were second nature. In response, Cassian would rub his thumb absent-mindedly over where her lips had touched the rim. By this point, Rhys and Azriel were nearly bursting with their desire to call them out on their behavior.

They partnered up for a couple of games, making it a point to stand an arm’s length apart. However, occasionally when things would go their way, they would engage in a celebratory hug and simultaneously spring apart to their original places like they forgot themselves. Nesta decided they worked incredibly well together despite being such an unlikely alliance. They won the second game and celebrated with loud cheers and a high five. Nesta caught Cassian’s eye briefly, muttering “Kitchen, in 5” through her smile.

She made her way there and busied herself with refilling her drink. Right on time, she heard Cassian’s heavy footfall entering the kitchen. She turned around, meeting his amused expression with one of her own.

”Hey! Everything okay? Am I not reading this right?” he asked.

“No, no, no. You’re great. I just wanted to talk without eyes on us for a second to see how you think things are going. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve caught Rhys and Azriel glancing over at us,” she said through a chuckle. His shoulders seemed to relax at her reassurance.

He responded with a laugh of his own. “Oh, they’re crawling out of their skin. Especially Rhys. It kills him when he thinks he’s right but can’t say anything.”

”That’s definitely like him,” Nesta joked.

Around Cassian’s shoulder, she saw Azriel through the glass door approaching the house. She glanced up at her partner-in-crime with a conspiratorial grin across her face.

“Hug me. Hurry— make it good.” He did as he was told, looping an arm around her waist and cradling her head to his chest. “When you hear the door open, back up.”

A few more seconds passed before they heard the long slide of the glass door as Azriel pulled it open. Cassian made a show of tensing and pulling away quickly, clearing his throat. Nesta shoved her hands into her back pockets as she had done several times over the course of the day when she was “caught” touching her rumored lover.

“Well, hey guys. How’s it going?” Azriel asked with a cocky, sideways smile.

Cassian mumbled something about needing the restroom and quickly fled the premises, leaving Nesta to brave Azriel alone. He’d definitely be paying for that one.

“Good. I needed a little break from outside. Got a little overwhelmed with all the hustle and bustle.”

”Mm. Understandable,” he replied, grabbing another beer from the fridge and turning toward her. “What was all that about? With Cass?”

”What was what?”

“Nesta. All the hugging I had the misfortune of walking in on. What’s going on with you two?” He leaned back onto the counter, crossing one ankle over the other and putting his free hand in his front pocket.

It took her a second to gather her thoughts before she decided she didn’t particularly care for being the only flustered one around here. Additionally, she was annoyed that Azriel seemed so cocksure about his position, as if Nesta were totally oblivious to all the questioning he and Rhys had done earlier. Granted, as far as they knew, she was, but that was neither here nor there.

It was time for the tables to start turning, even if she hadn’t had the chance to discuss it with Cassian yet. However, if he were that concerned about it, he wouldn’t have completely abandoned her to deal with Azriel. He was along for the ride now and would have to go with the flow.

Azriel wasn’t one to be easily flustered, that much Nesta knew. She knew she wouldn’t be able to be incredibly subtle because he would see right through it. She also knew he wasn’t above continuing to point on the flaws in her logic if she were to get caught in that web. She had to be decisive, creative, and she had to commit.

She walked over a little closer to him, facing him and propping her hip on the counter next to where he was leaning. She looked up into his face, and he eyed her suspiciously, an apprehensive look dawning over his features. Perfect.

“So, that’s in then. You’ve cracked our code?” she asked quietly.

”I wouldn’t call what you two have a ‘code’, Nes.” Arrogant bastard. Any doubt or guilt she’d felt for deceiving her friends had officially dwindled to zero. Azriel’s response had served her in that way, at least. She inched slightly closer to him, running her fingertips from his forearm down to his wrist, where his hand met his pocket.

“Then you knew we were going to talk to you? What gave it away?” she whispered, looping her fingers around the sensitive underside of his wrist.

Azriel’s eyes widened, glancing to her hand and back up to her face quickly. She watched his throat bob as he swallowed.

”You hardly need my permission, Nesta,” he responded.

She brought her other hand to cup his shoulder, leaning into him a little more. She could feel his entire body tense as if moving too quickly would provoke her to attack. He took an extra long pull from his beer.

“I disagree. Cassian and I both insisted that we talk to you together.”

It was at that moment that her co-conspirator returned from his bathroom trip. She watched as he scanned the situation, noting her hands on Azriel’s arm and shoulder. He pulled his lips into a curious smile.

“The two of you look cozy. I thought we were talking to him together, sweetheart,” he said, playing off of the comment he’d overheard.

He moved to the spot on the other side of Azriel, shooting her a questioning look when Azriel’s attention was turned away from him. Nesta’s face gave nothing away as she let out a soft laugh, shaking her head at Cassian with affectionate exasperation.

“You took a little while, and I wasn’t sure when we would be able to get him alone again. I hadn’t said anything to him yet. Not without you.”

”Well, don’t let me stop you. By all means, love, carry on,” he said, using a flat palm gesture forward. He gave her a full smile in return, and she noted how much it softened his features. He truly was quite beautiful, in a rough, raw sort of way.

She peered up at Azriel, waiting until he looked down at her.

“You mentioned me and Cassian, but it’s not what you think. At least, not exactly.” He gave her a confused look. She decided to continue before she lost her nerve with this last-minute plan. She turned her gaze to Cassian for the briefest of seconds before looking back at Azriel.

“I don’t really know how to ask this properly, so I’m just going to go for it, I guess. I know you think we’re sleeping together and it’s some kind of secret. But honestly, we wouldn’t care to be secretive about just us. We’re adults. But, we wanted to be respectful of you in the event you were okay with this.”

She could see Cassian hanging on her every word beside Azriel, just as naive to what she was going to suggest. She took a breath before finishing in a low rasp, sounding way more confident than she felt. It was all for the mission, she told herself.

“We wanted to know if you’d join us, Az.” She watched as his eyes nearly popped out of his head, hurrying to finish. “I know, I know. Probably out of nowhere, but we agreed we would give you some time to think. And it doesn’t have to be an ongoing thing if you want to try and see how it goes. No hard feelings either way, seriously.”

She moved her gaze to meet Cassian’s, whose hazel eyes were also threatening to launch from their sockets. He mastered himself quickly, his timing perfect, since Azriel was snapping his head toward him.

”What the fuck is happening? What the fuck is this?” He was looking back and forth between them, begging for an explanation or an escape route.

Nesta feared that maybe she had made an executive call that Cassian wasn’t good with carrying through. To her surprise, he lifted one of his large hands to cup Azriel’s cheek, keeping his face turned toward him.

”Az, it’s okay.” He subtly rubbed his thumb over Azriel’s cheek, and Nesta had to bite her cheek to keep from giggling. “You don’t have to say anything now. It’s just... I trust you. And if I’m going to do this, it makes the most sense for it to be with someone who knows me like you do. Plus, you were first on Nesta’s list.”

She shot him a heated glare, knowing he was throwing her under the bus as revenge for keeping him out of the loop. She supposed she had earned that.

Azriel shot from his position, walking to the other side of the kitchen. He set his beer down and braced both of his large hands on the countertop. His head was hanging forward as he took deep breaths, and they heard him mutter a low, “What the fuck?”

Nesta and Cassian had both oriented toward him, their backs now toward the counter. They were standing shoulder to shoulder, Cassian with his hands in his pockets and Nesta with her arms crossed. She grabbed her drink she’d refilled earlier to take a sip before offering some to Cassian.

Ariel’s head lifted slightly as he fixed his gaze on the wall in front of him.

“Why do people always ask me to be part of their threesomes?” he whispered to no one in particular. Nesta and Cassian turned their heads toward each other, both of their brows raised in question. How often was this happening to Azriel?

He turned around to face them again, his brown furrowed in concentration.

“Az, don’t overextend yourself for our benefit,” Cassian joked. “I didn’t realize we were two of many.”

”Fuck off, Cass.” He rubbed his temples in impatience. “Can I ask, why me?”

Nesta didn’t miss a beat. They’d tortured him enough, and she was ready to reveal the truth.

“Well, seeing as you and Rhysand feel so comfortable as to insert yourselves into other’s affairs, we figured you may appreciate a front-row seat,” she replied dryly.

Cassian snorted a laugh and looked down at her with something like admiration. He bumped her shoulder with his for good measure.

“You’re messing with me?” Azriel demanded incredulously. Cassian broke out into a full laugh at that.

“Indeed. Nothing gets by you, Az,” he responded.

”We have been all day,” Nesta interjected. “You two were quick to lean in to your theory.” She couldn’t hide her laugh this time.

Azriel stood there, dumbfounded and speechless. His eyes scanned both of their faces and darkened as he noted their amusement.

“What the hell is wrong with you? You can’t just go around asking people to join you in threesomes!”

”Don’t be upset, man. You’ll always be my first choice,” Cassian teased.

Azriel’s eyes locked onto his, showing a strong promise of violence if this conversation didn’t change direction.

“Oh, stop it. Both of you. Cassian, stop antagonizing Azriel. And you.” She pointed her finger to where Azriel stood. “You think I didn’t know about you and Rhysand’s little theories about me and Cassian? All because we dared be nice to each other?”

She gave him a chance to respond. He didn’t.

“I’ve seen every single smirk you two have exchanged anytime we were within 10 feet of each other, so sure that you were right about us. We fed every bit of it to you on a platter, and you were too quick to believe what you wanted. Well, let this,” she gestured with her finger in a circle, “be a reminder that things aren’t always as they seem. And stop theorizing on your friend’s sex life. You know better than anyone that his arrogance would have him giving you the details for less than this.”

“Hey!” Cassian complained. “I’m on your side.”

Azriel lifted both of his hands in surrender, breathing a low chuckle before he spoke.

“I don’t know whether I’m more relieved by the truth or pissed off that you two did this to us all damn day. But either way, you’re right, Nesta. It’s really not our business, and we’ve been know-it-all little pricks all day long. I’m sorry. Truly.” He moved forward, holding out his arms in offer of a group hug. They accepted, Nesta gripping each of them around the waist and Cassian wrapping around both of their shoulders.

Just before they let go, Cassian nuzzled his face into Azriel’s neck, earning a curse from Azriel as he playfully pushed him away. Nesta threw her head back in a laugh, relieved, yet disappointed, that their game had come to an end.

——————————————————————————

Later that evening, what remained of their little gathering had moved inside to continue the festivities. Someone had suggested Twister, and Cassian had offered to referee and work the spinner. He was way too fucking big for this game.

“Right hand, blue!” he called.

He watched as his friends scrambled to find the closest blue space, bickering as if it were life or death. He laughed as he watched Rhysand and Nesta battle over the same blue space. The latter ended up sprawled on her ass by the time the turn was over. She huffed her frustration and landed a firm poke to Rhysand’s ribs before stalking over to the couch by Cassian.

“Cheap shot, demon witch,” Rhysand called after her. The masked affection in his tone was obvious, but she shot him a vulgar gesture all the same.

“Don’t be a sore loser, sweetheart,” he teased, as she plopped down on the couch next to him. “You got yours earlier tonight when Azriel filled him in on our ruse.”

“That’s totally different,” she insisted.

He called out the next position, watching intently for any foul play. He heard her quiet voice from next to him and had to fight the urge to turn to her.

“You know, I had a lot of fun with you today,” she said.

“I did, too. We made a good team,” he replied.

He rested a hand above her knee absent-mindedly, pulling it away just as quickly to flick the spinner for the next turn. Apparently, their day of shenanigans had lowered any reservations he had about making physical contact with her. His palm seemed to burn slightly where he’d touched her.

“Right foot, green!” he called.

She dropped her voice just a bit lower so that only he could hear over the mixed sounds in the room.

“Did it make you even a little curious? I guess all that pretending had me thinking of what it would be like if we...” she trailed off.

He couldn’t fight his glance at her this time. He took note of her bottom lip between her teeth and the slight blush across her cheeks. That was the second time tonight that he had been struck dumb by how beautiful she was.

He fought to turn his face away from hers to initiate the next turn. He called out the next position before answering her as nonchalantly as possible.

“Curiosity hit me well before tonight, sweetheart.” His heart thundered slightly at the admission.

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as she reached for his phone on the cushion between them. She handed it to him when she was prompted with the lock screen, and he mindlessly typed in his code. She worked for a second, locked his phone, and placed it back into its original position before reaching for her own.

He had to settle a disagreement between Mor and Feyre about hand placement before he was able to turn his attention back to Nesta. Why the fuck had he ever volunteered for this?

He unlocked his phone to see that his messaging app was open. There was an outgoing message to a number he didn’t recognize. Upon opening it, all the message said was, “Cassian.”

He glanced over at Nesta, watching as she stopped typing and locked her own phone. Within seconds, his phone vibrated with an incoming message from that unknown number. Nesta’s number.

He scanned the message, realization dawning on him within seconds. She’d sent him her home address followed by four simple words. “No pressure. No expectations.”

Before he could say anything at all, Nesta stood from the couch, reaching her arms over her head in a long stretch. His mouth went dry looking at the lines her body made as she did so.

“Alright, guys. It’s past my bedtime. I’m out,” she called as she blew kisses to her sisters.

She grabbed her things, slid her feet into her shoes, and made her way toward the door. She lingered for half a second to give Cassian a small smile. Just like that, she was gone, leaving Cassian to finish what seemed like it could be the longest Twister game in all of eternity.

——————————————————————————

Kind of already have a part 2 swimming around in my head for this one, so that may be a thing soon!

Feel free to keep the prompts coming, and let me know if you have a particular pairing or mood in mind ☺️

If you’d like to be added to my tag list, you can comment, shoot me an ask, or reblog! I’ll be happy to add you!

Tags (Masterlist):

@polireader // @justgiu12 // @hizqueen4life // @sis-it-dont-add-up // @b00kworm // @bookstantrash // @gisellefigue08 // @maastrash // @superspiritfestival // @girl-who-reads-the-books

#nessian #nessian au #nessian fanfic #nesta #cassian #acotar #acomaf #acowar

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mdawritings · 4 years ago

Text

Wanna Be Yours: Ch. 11

I.XI

Masterlist

Warnings: Mention of nausea and vomiting, very minor physical violence

Song(s): "Haunted" and "Dear John" by Taylor Swift.

It's late afternoon when you finally manage to haul yourself out of bed. Your head feels like it will explode and you rush to the bathroom, already feeling nauseous. You push the toilet seat lid up and gather your hair in one hand before completely emptying your stomach into the toilet. You haven't eaten anything in hours so you heave and gag painfully for a little before sitting back on the cold, tiled floor.

You stay there for a bit, attempting to recall everything that happened last night. You remember the multitude of shots, you remember the heartbreak of your best friend's absence, you remember Hotch picking you up. Hotch.

You stand up from the floor, looking around the empty bedroom for any sign of him. He was up out of bed pretty early. His clothes from last night are neatly folded at the edge of the bed. You reach for a pair of sweatpants from his floor, pulling them on, tying the string tightly to keep them from falling down.

Your birthday dress is draped over the edge of the chair in the corner. You walk over and pick it up, taking a smell of the fabric and you smell the clean scent of laundry detergent. He washed your dress for you. Your lips turn up in a small grin, picturing Hotch with his sleeves rolled up doing laundry for you. The pounding headache from your hangover is slowly fading at the prospect of finally getting the quality birthday time you want with Hotch.

You look to the side table, seeing a small glass of water, a bottle of ibuprofen, and a small note. You take the pills and down some of the water before reaching for the small folded-up note. You unwrap it to see that familiar handwriting never fails to make you happy, thinking about the man that the handwriting belongs to.

Einstein,

Had to run to the office to get work done. Not sure when I'll be done. Drink some water and get something to eat.

-A.H.

Your heart sinks at the thought of missing out on precious time with him but shove the note into your pocket anyway. You walk down to his kitchen, making yourself a large cup of coffee, pouring another glass of water, and attempt to find something to eat.

You expect that Hotch will be home soon, but even after you've cooked yourself some breakfast, finished eating, and cleaned up all the dishes, he still shows no sign of showing up anytime soon.

So you sit and wait for him. You settle into his couch with a book hoping to pass the time. The sun starts to set and still, no sign of him. You reach into your pocket for your phone, looking for any sign of a message from him, any notification that would tell you why he has been gone all day.

You end up waiting for him for so long that you even consider calling Katie to come to pick you up and take you home. If he didn't want you there why would he bring you back to his apartment last night? He could've just helped Katie take you home to your place, but he didn't. He brought you here. So where the fuck is he?

He doesn't owe you anything, you know that. You know there's no formal agreement between the two of you. However, you'd be lying if you claim it doesn't at least sting a little bit that he won't take advantage of free time to spend with you.

You rack your brain for anything you might've said last night to upset him. You remember crying about Charlie. Could that be it? He knows Charlie is your best friend, you hope he would at least be understanding of that. You close the book in your hands, barely paying attention to it at this point. I can't choose between falling for you and keeping my friendships.

You told him you're falling for him. It's the truth. Every waking moment is consumed by him. Every moment just feels so real. You feel everything with him. Life just feels worth living around him. Being with him makes you feel alive.

You hear the door unlock and open. Your head shoots up and you see Hotch by the door slowly kicking off his shoes and putting away his jacket and keys. When he finally looks at you, you know that something is wrong. His face looks worn and tired. His eyes are a little bloodshot. He sighs, a long dramatic sigh, "You're still here." He doesn't necessarily say it as a question, just a statement of fact.

You're confused. He didn't ask you to leave. His note was very vague, "I didn't know you would be back so late. Your note made it seem like I should stick around."

He nods and walks past you without even really acknowledging your presence, "You feeling better?" He reaches for the mail on the coffee table, sorting through it, giving you no focus.

"Hungover, but overall okay," You untuck your feet from under you, ready to stand up, hoping to garner at least a smidge of attention from him.

"Good. I have a lot of grading to get done," He gives you a quick once over before disappearing into his office.

You're frozen in place. Is he really mad at you for getting too drunk last night? You force yourself to your feet and follow him into his office.

"I'm sorry about last night," You mutter softly, standing in the doorway of Hotch's home office, seeing him hunched over at his desk.

He looks over at you but doesn't hold your gaze for long before turning back to his work, "You shouldn't have drunk so much."

You chuckle softly, "It was my 21st, doesn't everyone get a little bit too drunk on their 21st birthday?"

"It was irresponsible." His replies are short and blunt. You're taken aback by his icy demeanor. Just yesterday you were completely encapsulated by happy bliss, now he's giving you the cold shoulder.

"If you didn't want to take care of me all night you should've just helped Katie take me back to my own apartment," You stand your ground now. Just because he seems to be having a bad day doesn't mean he gets to take it out on you.

"That's not the point, Y/N," He rolls his eyes, standing up, pushing his chair in, "The point is, I can't believe you would act so immaturely and irresponsibly. You acted like a child." He brushes past you through the doorway, attempting to end the conversation with him getting the last word.

You follow him to the kitchen, "I am not a child." You argue.

"Well, you sure acted like one last night," He shakes his head. The tone of voice he takes with you is a familiar one, one he's taken time and time again with you. It's the tone he takes in class when he's trying to embarrass you. When he's acting like he hates you, but right now, it doesn't feel very much like acting.

"I acted like any other 21 year old would." You scoff gripping at your coffee mug tightly. Hotch walks to lean against the countertop, that angry yet smug look burned into his features.

He shakes his head as he speaks and rolls up his sleeves frustratedly, "Maybe I just thought you were different from every other 21 year old."

"Look, Aaron, I'm sorry that you were upset by my actions last night. I'm extremely grateful to you for taking care of me and making sure I was okay and safe. Let's just not fight, okay?" You're not sure what you're apologizing for since you have nothing to be sorry for. You didn't call him and ask him to come to pick you up. Katie didn't tell him to take you back to his apartment, she just called for help. He didn't have to take care of you. That was his decision.

"Don't you have an exam to get home to study for?" He reaches up into his cabinet for a glass and a bottle of whiskey. He pops the cork and pours himself a glass. "The term ends Monday. Aren't you worried about finishing with good grades?"

You furrow your brows. You're not even sure you recognize the man in front of you. Never, ever, has he been so short and harsh with you. He's only harsh with you in class but he's never been mean and right now he's being pretty damn mean and unfair to you.

"Speaking of, what happens after the term ends?" You trace your finger around the rim of your coffee mug, keeping your eyes trained on the contents of the mug, not wanting to look up at Hotch.

"What do you mean?" Hotch takes a long sip from his glass.

"Well after the exam Monday," You clarify, taking a few steps towards him, "I'm technically not your student anymore."

"Correct. And?" He gives you a bored look.

"And... I'm just wondering how often I'll see you after that. What happens to us?" You shrug.

"What do you mean what will happen to us? Isn't it obvious?" He crosses his arms and straightens up, so that he stares down at you, a judgemental glimmer in his eyes, "There is no us."

"What?" Your voice wavers. Your heart sinks into your stomach. You knew this moment was coming. Deep down, you knew that this couldn't last forever, this perfect happy state of contentment the two of you seemed to exist in for the past two weeks. Yet another part of you thought you would be enough for him. It all felt so real, how could it not have been real?

"I thought... I know neither of us intended for this to be anything real but—" You pause, struggling to form a coherent thought, "I know you feel something too. This isn't just casual sex anymore." You look up at him, but his face hasn't changed from the angry, dismissive look he has plastered on his features. You spend a minute just staring back at each other. Does he really not feel it too? Was it all in your head? You can't hold his gaze any longer, you have to look away, "I'm sorry, I just thought—"

"Thought, what?" He pauses to laugh. His laugh is bitter as he rolls his eyes, "You didn't really think I could love you." The way his tone is dripping with disgust at the mere mention of the word. "You're nothing more than a good distraction. Something to entertain me."

Your eyes prick with angry tears. You bite them away. He clearly sees you as an immature child, you can't let him continue to think that by crying. "If that's all I am, how do you explain the birthday gift? How do you explain last night? Why would you do all that for me?"

Hotch lets out a haughty scoff and shakes his head, "I like taking care of what belongs to me."

You know Hotch is pushing you away. He would never have said these things to you before. That doesn't change the way that you feel sick to your stomach at his words. That doesn't change the way that your hands tremble slightly. You know you're young, you haven't experienced much life yet but could you have been so naive? He treated you so well, so different from a fling. He remembered your favorite novel. He walked you home. He took care of you. You don't do that for someone that you don't truly care about. Hotch has never treated you so rudely, but that was before you revealed your feelings. That was before last night.

"Our meeting is canceled this week. There's no use for it as the final exam is tomorrow." He waves his hand dismissively, snatching the mug from your hands, dumping it in the kitchen sink.

"I'm not delusional, Hotch," You're startled by the way he grabs the mug from you. "I know you care about me. This wasn't all in my head. I know that."

"What do you know about anything?" He narrows his eyes, that sinister look in his eyes making you feel exposed and vulnerable. "Kid genius seems to have gotten herself too wrapped up in some childish fantasy of romance. Sometimes sex is just sex, Y/N."

"You know what?" You point an accusatory finger at him, moving closer, "I feel sorry for you. I do. It's truly pathetic the way you refuse to let yourself feel anything real. What happened that made you so bitter and unloveable?"

Hotch rolls his eyes and turns away from you to lean against the kitchen counter, both hands far apart, spread wide on the counter.

"You are truly the most wicked, disgusting man I have ever met," You spit at him and within seconds he's whirled around to you, and gripped the front of your shirt in his fist. It's not the first time he's grabbed you like this, but it's the first time you're scared of him. Your heart is pounding wildly like it's going to burst out of your chest and your attempts to fight away tears are failing. Despite the tears that roll down your cheeks, your face is hot with anger.

"I have given you everything you could possibly want," He growls out, his grip on your shirt tightening as he pulls you closer to him. "I have made you what you are. So in 10 years from now, when you're at the top of your career, know that it's all because of me." His words sting harder than ever before and as his eyes search yours. It's one thing to make you feel naive and misguided in your judgment of the caliber of your relationship, but to insinuate that this was all for you to get ahead in life is insulting to your character. You never needed his help to succeed. You never pursued him for the grade boost or the extra studying. You wanted to see him because you wanted him. Your bottom lip trembles. So much for staying strong and standing your ground.

Your eyes shoot down to his hand on your shirt. You've never been scared of him. You've seen how cruel he can be, but never have you felt that he would hurt you. Until now. Until you see the anger flash in his eyes and the grip on your shirt tightens. Your skin stings from where he scratched your chest when grabbing the fabric. Your heart races harder.

"Let me go." Your voice is soft and small in comparison to his. There's a moment of hesitation. He glances down at the way he's holding on to you. As if he realizes how much he's scared you. He lets you go much gentler than the way he grabbed you. He turns away from you again, leaning against his counter. You stand there, your body shivering as you feel sick to your stomach staring at the man in front of you. You really thought you cared for him. You really thought he cared for you.

"Just get out." Hotch pants slightly and you watch the muscles in his back strain against his white button-down with every breath. Something is stopping you from moving from your spot. Maybe it's the shock of it all.

"Jesus fuck. Get out, Y/N!" He yells at you, slamming his fist down on the counter. You jump out of your daze and shake your head, turning to leave his apartment. You dig into your pocket for your phone as the tears stream wildly down your face at this point.

"Hey. How are you feeling? Are you-" Katie's chipper voice comes through the receiver but you don't give her a moment to speak.

"Come pick me up. Please," Your voice is trembling and you have your arms wrapped tightly around your body.

"I'm on my way now."

You hang up the phone, walking down the street hoping to get away from his house. Hoping to stop the way that your body shakes and shudders with each tear that rolls down your cheeks. You don't understand what went wrong. What made him switch from someone who makes you feel so alive to someone who terrifies you? Is he that closed off to feeling anything real? Is he that emotionally damaged? Just a few hours ago, you believed that being with him made you feel alive, but maybe this entire time it was the opposite.

Maybe the line between living and dying is slim. If loving is living, then your relationship with Aaron Hotchner is like dying.

—————

"Y/N," Katie opens the door to your bedroom, letting the light from the apartment flow into the room. "Come on, you're going to be late for the final."

You pull the sheets up to your neck, never having gotten any good sleep last night. Everything in your body hurts. Your head is pounding, you feel sick to your stomach, but overall, you feel numb.

"Einstein—" She starts but you sit up in bed.

"Don't call me that." You say softly and pull the sheets aside, placing your feet on the ground, your legs shaking as you do. "I'm up."

You push past Katie to get to your bathroom. You grant yourself the first glance in the mirror since you left Hotch's and the past 36 hours of pain have clearly left their mark. The bags under your eyes are dark and purple. Your hair is a matted mess on your head. Traces of the makeup from nearly 3 days ago still exist on your face. You look over your clothes, still wearing Hotch's t-shirt and sweatpants. You grip the edge of the fabric and lift it to your face, taking a small sniff. Hotch's cologne is fading from the fabric quickly but you can still slightly sense it. Your first instinct is to smile at the scent, warm and musky, yet slightly sweet.

You lift the shirt over your head, staring back at yourself in the mirror. You can see a few faint scratches on your chest from where Hotch's fingernails dug through the shirt. From when he grabbed you so tight you lost your breath. When he pulled you so close with so much anger that you were terrified of him. You run your fingertips over the fading red marks.

You can't bring yourself to cry anymore. You have no tears left to cry over him. After today, four scratch marks along your chest, a pair of joggers, and a tattered t-shirt will be all you have left of Aaron Hotchner. Even then, the scratches will soon fade. The clothes will lose all traces of his cologne. Then you'll be left with that book. That damned book.

You go back to your room, leaving Hotch's shirt tossed aside on the bathroom floor. You reach for a clean t-shirt and your eyes look over to your bed. There, tangled up in the sheets, lies that leather-bound book. You sit on the edge of the mattress and reach for it again.

Y/N,

The beauty of life is in the grays. Thanks for being the gray in mine.

—A.H.

You run your fingers over his initials again. You've read through the whole book a million times in the past 36 hours. Every time you felt like crying or screaming or you couldn't sleep you opened that cover, read that note, and that all too familiar first line... "In my younger and more vulnerable years my father gave me some advice that I've been turning over in my mind ever since. Whenever you feel like criticizing anyone, he told me, just remember that all the people in this world haven't had the advantages that you've had."

You close the book, knowing continuing to stare at the green ink that coats the margins of every page will do you no good.

One more final. One exam. Three hours. That's all the time you have left with him.

Staying awake for the past day and a half has allowed you to run over every interaction with him in your head. Every word, every glance, every touch. A day and a half ago you would've run to him, begged him to stay, begged him to hold onto you. But now, you just feel stupid. You feel foolish. You should've known.

You wonder whether you'll just become another name on a list. A list of girls that Professor Hotchner has used and manipulated before tossing aside. If there's one thing Aaron Hotchner is good at, it's keeping the lines and boundaries blurry. You think back to the moments you were most fed up with him.

That night outside your apartment. He seemed to know just how to keep you infatuated with him. He didn't let the flame die. He kept the spark inside you going. Just with that one apology. How did he manage to make it all seem so real? How did he manage to trick you into feeling loved? Into feeling cared for?

Overall, Hotch loved to play hot and cold with you. When it was hot, it was really hot. The passion and lust burned you. Every touch was like fire on your skin, and it all was so irresistible. The stolen glances and the secret kisses behind closed doors were so exhilarating. But when he was cold, like he was on Saturday, it stung. You wonder how he became so good at compartmentalization.

More than anything, the past day and a half have made you wonder what happened that made him feel so worthless and undeserving of love? Some part of you is even more hurt by that thought. It's selfish, but you wonder why you weren't enough for him. How come your company, your care for him, your feelings for him, weren't enough to make him want to change?

"Y/N," Katie knocks on the doorframe, standing in the way, blocking the light from the hallway, "You ready?"

"No," You sigh softly and put the book back on your bed, "But I don't have much of a choice, do I?"

Katie gives you a look of pity, that makes you want to crawl under the sheets and never face anyone ever again. You don't want the pity looks or the whispers, or the walking on eggshells around you. You want to get rid of this feeling. You want to go back to the start of the semester. More than anything, you want to forget what it felt like to love Aaron Hotchner.

You and Katie walk in silence across the campus. Usually, on your morning walk to class, the two of you are laughing and joyful, discussing anything and everything, but class today holds too much meaning for you to muster up the energy to talk with her.

Katie wraps an arm around your shoulder, helping to walk you into the lecture hall, "I've got you. You're going to do great. You know this shit like the back of your hand," She mutters some words of encouragement and you know you should fight the urge to look up to see Hotch but you can't help yourself.

As soon as you look up at him, he's looking directly back at you. Your red, swollen eyes must be a dead giveaway, because you swear, almost for a second he looks as if he's going to call out to you. He opens his mouth but the words he speaks are not what you want to hear from him, "Everyone hurry to take your seats. The exam will start in exactly two minutes."

You look around the lecture hall and, of course, the only seat open for you is your normal seat at the front. The thick exam booklet is placed down in front of you, but you don't look up at the man who put it down. You don't need to. You know the way he's looking at you. There'll be something about his eyes that tells you he cares, the soft glimmer you've seen a million times before. But the rest of his face will be stone cold. Stern. Emotionless. You wonder how a person's eyes could say so much while their actions and body language tell a totally different story.

The exam begins, but you just sit there for a while. You never open the booklet. You think about him. You think about the first time you ever kissed him. The way his stubble tickled your cheeks. You think about the way he called your nickname that night. Hey Einstein... Blue... My favorite color. It's blue. You think about how jealous he was when he heard about Charlie, and how attractive you thought that was. You think about the way he showed up at your apartment, no warning. At first, you thought it was creepy, but you grew to appreciate the gesture, seeing as he didn't seem to care who saw him there. He just wanted to see you. You think about the other day in his office when you were able to just exist with one another. You watched him grade, his hand on your thigh. The way he gave you full access to his book collection. You think about your birthday, the way he studied every detail of your face before kissing you.

Did he know then? Did he know he was going to break your heart? Was that his version of goodbye? You think about the small blush that spread over his cheeks when he gave you your birthday gift. The way he kissed you and told you to stay safe. You think about how gentle he was with you while cleaning you up and changing you while you were drunk. You think about how tight he held you while you fell asleep, shushing you softly and rubbing your arm gently.

You think about the way you feel with him.

Being with him is comfortable. He reminds you of a rainy day when all you want to do is curl up in the sheets or sit by the window, watching the rain race down the glass. He's like reading a book late at night when it's storming outside but it's completely peaceful inside. The storm might be banging against every wall of the house, but you feel safe and secure at home, sipping coffee and losing yourself in the words on a page.

That was before. Now every time you look at him you feel this growing sense of dread in your stomach. The scratches on your chest sting.

You sit like that for a while. Just thinking. Your lack of work doesn't go unnoticed by Hotch. He glances over at you every few minutes, hoping that you'll pick up your pen and start the exam soon. But you take your time.

You're delaying the inevitable. Once you finish the exam, once you hand it in, this whole thing is truly over. If there's one thing you've learned, however, is that it's pointless to fight against inevitables. Some things are just born to die. You need to accept that. So you pick up your pen and start writing.

You watch as each student rushes to the front of the room to hand in their exams. A small swarm forms around Professor Hotchner as they begin to heckle him about recommendation letters, internship opportunities, and possible grade changes.

You're slow to stand, holding the thick exam booklet daintily at its corner. The weight of the exam does not come from the nearly 20 pages bound together, but from its implications. You know that as soon as you hand in the exam, you and Hotch are through. He made that abundantly clear the other night. This whirlwind of a semester, the sneaking around, the wild sex, the companionship... it all will come to an end.

And what happens after all this? Are you just supposed to nod at him in the halls? Pretend that he didn't toss you out like trash just when you were starting to feel something real for him?

You feel like you're moving in slow motion as you push past the swarms of students. You push to the front holding your exam out for Hotch to take from you, "Done, Miss Y/L/N?"

"Yeah. I'm done," You attempt to maintain the icy demeanor but you know your swollen red eyes give you away. You want him to think his words didn't affect you. But you swiftly turn on your heel and leave his classroom. You're practically speeding to get out of the stuffy old building and out into the fresh air. When you do, the cool winter chill hits your face, pulling you out of the enchantment that Hotch's presence seems to suck you into.

You're just grateful you never have to take another fucking step into his class ever again.

—————

What you wanted more than anything was a winter break full of meaningless sex, something to take your mind off your brute of a law professor, but as much as you wished, you found yourself unable to follow through. There wasn't a single moment in the day that the memories stayed away.

Beyond the memories, it was impossible to exist at school without feeling his presence. It wasn't that you saw him constantly, you avoided him like the plague. You weren't even ashamed to stop and turn in the opposite direction when you saw him coming.

But besides that, there was always this lurking feeling that he was just a few feet away from you. The idea that he's just a classroom over or just a flight of stairs away or he could be just around the corner of every hallway haunts your every moment on campus. Even now, as you attempt to simply hand in a paper to your professor, your mind wanders to last semester.

You walk down the all-too-familiar halls, looking for office #336. You know exactly where it is. Directly across the hall from Hotch's. You come to find your legal methods professor's office door shut and hear him chatting away with another student. As a result, you're forced to wait outside, your focus unwavering from Hotch's closed door.

You can just picture him: sleeves rolled up, tie askew, hunched over a student's paper, grading furiously. You feel a smile prick at the corner of your lips, thinking of taunting him about his furrowed brow and harshly bitten lip.

A small timid voice strikes you from your thoughts. "Excuse me? Is this Professor Hotchner's office?"

You resist the urge to laugh at the girl. She practically shrinks away under your gaze and you see fear dance around in her shimmering eyes. You want to laugh, seeing as she's probably older than you, but you can tell she's new from the shy way she looks at you. You simply raise a finger, pointing at the nameplate besides the door that reads:

#335

Aaron Hotchner, J.D.

Criminal Law

She nods and looks down at the paper she's clutching against her chest. Your eyes wander and you see a large red C that is circled and Hotch's unmistakeable chicken scratch handwriting scrawled just below the grade that reads: 'Come see me. Immediately'

That's when it really sinks in. Hotch was right. You weren't anything special. You were just a momentary obsession. You were convenient. It was easy. You fulfilled his needs just for him to toss you away once it became too complex. Too inconvenient.

Your heart is racing, anticipating Hotch opening his door first. You let out a small sigh of relief when you hear the office door of your professor open, but at the exact same time, the door opens across the hall. The young girl immediately explodes with nerves, "Professor Hotchner, sir. We need to discuss my grade, I really put a lot of work into it."

You know you shouldn't look, but you do. You glance over at his office door, your eyes locking with his immediately. At least this time, it's not completely obvious how much he's hurt you. The last time you saw him, your eyes were bright red and irritated from lack of sleep and tears that were wasted on him.

Your presence doesn't faze him. That unmistakable voice like velvet and the words he says to her are not ones that are unfamiliar to you.

"Call me Hotch," His smooth voice is unwavering, "Come on inside, we have a lot to talk about." His eyes never leave yours until he places a hand on the small of her back and leads her into his office, the door slamming shut behind them.

And you're grateful that's the last time you ever see Aaron Hotchner again. At least, that's what you thought.

"It is invariably saddening to look through new eyes at things upon which you have expended your own powers of adjustment" — F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby

A/N: And that's the end of part 1! Part 2 is going to be so much fun...

Part 2: Chapter 12: II.I →

#aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #wanna be yours fanfic #hotch #hotchner #hotch x reader

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ivarthebadbitch · 4 years ago

Text

Strange things can happen

Chapter 17 summary: The real work begins.

Canon divergent, everybody lives, arranged marriage AU after 4x14. Read this chapter on Ao3.

Previous chapters: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [13] [14] [15] [16]

On Ao3: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [13] [14] [15] [16]

Pairings: Ivar x OC, Ivar vs. basically everyone

Warnings: None

Word count: 1831

Notes: This is it! Thanks to all for the likes, reblogs, comments...every single one is appreciated <3

Tagged: @youbloodymadgenius @heavenly1927 @nukyster-blog @bae-roman @adhdnightmare @danisnotsosecret @punkrocknpearls @istorkyou

CHAPTER 17: Strange things happened

“Well, this is unexpected news,” Ecbert remarked over breakfast to his granddaughter and her husband. “You’re absolutely certain you consummated the marriage?”

Aldreda and Ivar glanced at each other and then looked away, both turning red. Ivar cleared his throat. “You did instruct me, King Ecbert.”

“So I did,” he said. It still seemed rather unlikely. He glanced at Ragnar on the other side of the table, who was rubbing his eyes blearily as Ubbe leaned over to whisper something in his ear. For once, the Northman seemed significantly more hungover than Ecbert after a late night of drinking, discussion, and sundry other activities. Ragnar briefly met his eyes and then slumped down in his seat, tilting his head back.

“Aldreda,” Ecbert addressed his granddaughter. “Is this true? Lying is a sin.”

“Father…” Aethelwulf complained, gesturing around the table at Aethelred and Alfred, who both were staring very intently at their porridge. “This is hardly an appropriate place to discuss such matters. The children are present.”

Ecbert brushed him aside. “We’re all family here, and besides, the boys will be married eventually and so they should learn now what will be expected of them.” He turned once again to his granddaughter. “Well, Aldreda?”

She blushed and looked away. “It’s true.”

Ecbert considered the pair for a moment, toying idly with his spoon. “Until very recently, neither of you were forthcoming about the status of your marriage. Are we to believe you now? Shall Ragnar Lothbrok and I stake our alliance on your word alone?”

Ivar and Aldreda were quiet, neither daring to even look at each other. Ragnar, though obviously still nursing a severe headache, let out a humorless chuckle and whispered something in Ubbe’s ear. Ubbe snorted in response.

As the silence stretched on, Judith finally cleared her throat. All eyes turned in her direction. “If the marriage has been consummated as they say, it does save the archbishop some paperwork, and the trouble of having to organize a second wedding,” she observed. “No expense was spared for the first wedding, and it would look rather poor to our allies for Aldreda to have to wear the same wedding dress twice in two months.”

“A good point,” Ecbert concurred. “But the validity of Ivar and Aldreda’s marriage should not be subject to doubt. Not in the eyes of our allies nor anyone else.”

“There will only be doubts about the marriage if those of us inside this room allow it,” Aethelwulf argued. He set his spoon down firmly on the table and shook his head. “Judith is correct. Father, your own judgment will be in question if the marriage is disrupted under such circumstances, especially since Aldreda and Ivar both claim it was consummated and they no longer wish to seek an annulment.”

Ecbert looked from Aethelwulf to Judith and back at Aethelwulf again, mildly surprised. It was rare for the two of them to be in agreement. He stirred his porridge thoughtfully, smashing the lumps against the side of the bowl. “I will take your point into consideration,” he said. “However, this matter equally concerns Ragnar, as it affects both of his sons.”

Ragnar, who had quietly been conveying the details of the conversation to Ubbe, finally straightened up with a skeptical expression on his face. Ubbe crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, staring at his younger brother with raised eyebrows. “Come on, Ivar,” Ubbe said in Norse as Ecbert turned his head and pretended to not understand. “You didn’t really do it. Somehow you convinced her to go along with this.”

Ivar rolled his eyes. “I didn’t convince her of anything.”

Ragnar scoffed. “Oh, something was agreed to,” he said to his sons in his own language. “But I don’t think Ivar was the one doing the convincing.” Having turned his head too quickly, he winced and rubbed his temples, and then lowered his forehead to rest on the table.

“There’s something else,” Aldreda spoke up in the silence that followed. “Ivar misses his home, and I would like to see Kattegat. With your permission, we would like to arrange for both of us to return there with his father and brother, for at least a year or two.”

Aethelwulf looked up sharply. “Aldreda…”

“I want to see the world outside of Wessex, Father,” she explained. She glanced at Ivar with a small smile. “And I will not be alone. This is what both of us want.”

Ecbert studied the conflicted expression on his son’s face—pride and doubt and fear. Just over a month ago, Aethelwulf had objected to his daughter even traveling to Mercia. Kattegat was considerably farther away, and not even a Christian kingdom. But finally, Aethelwulf nodded reluctantly. “One year,” he insisted, looking from his daughter to Ivar. “You have my blessing. I trust you will take care of each other.”

Aldreda beamed at him and turned to look at Ecbert. “Grandfather?” she asked in a small voice.

“Hm.” He looked from Ivar and Aldreda, both with anxious yet hopeful expressions on their faces. It was more than saving the archbishop paperwork or the expense of another wedding on Ecbert’s mind, of course: it had not escaped him that it could be very useful indeed to have one of his own in Kattegat to ensure that the terms of the trade deal were being followed and who could reliably report back on other matters concerning the Northmen. And although Aldreda was young, her word would still hold authority as his granddaughter and representative. Perhaps it was time to put her to the test.

“The marriage will not be annulled,” he said at last. “Indeed, any such suggestion that an annulment had ever been considered will be dismissed as baseless rumor. I will also allow one year to be spent in Kattegat. If my friend and ally Ragnar Lothbrok is satisfied with this resolution, then so am I.”

Ragnar shrugged and fixed his gaze on his son. Some silent communication passed between the two of them. Ragnar looked away first and sighed. “I am satisfied.”

A huge grin spread across Ivar’s face, and Aldreda clapped a hand over her mouth as though she could hardly believe what she was hearing. Around the table, the boys were giggling, Judith and Aethelwulf were looking at each other with surprising warmth, and even the skepticism on Ubbe and Ragnar’s faces was beginning to ease. Ecbert tapped the side of his bowl with his spoon and raised his voice.

“Well, that’s all settled, then,” he concluded. “Everyone, finish your porridge; we have much to make ready.”

Despite his order, nobody else was paying much attention to breakfast at that point, least of all Ivar and Aldreda, who still looked rather dazed by the turn of events. Ecbert shook his head, smiled to himself, and dug back into his porridge: the two didn’t realize it yet, but now the real work was about to begin.

It took several weeks of preparation, but at last, everything that needed arranging had been arranged, Ivar and Aldredea had said their farewells, the carriage was packed to the brim with Aldreda’s trunks, and they were on their way to the coast. With Ubbe and Ragnar going ahead of them on horseback, that left Ivar and Aldreda crammed in together in the carriage and practically sitting on top of each other.

“Why do you need to bring so many clothes?” Ivar complained as he wiggled around in the seat to try to get more comfortable, pushing her to the side with his body. “We could find you something to wear in Kattegat, you know.”

She pushed him back not very gently and stared at him as though he had just suggested that she travel to Kattegat naked. “They’re my clothes,” she said, sounding absolutely scandalized. “I need them.”

He rolled his eyes. “When I came to England, all I had with me were the clothes I was wearing.”

“Oh, I remember. You and your father were absolutely filthy the first time I saw you. Some of us have higher standards. Besides, I have to look my best when I meet your mother.”

He grinned and took her hand. “She’ll like you,” he said, and then backtracked. From the impression he had gotten from his father and Ubbe, his mother had not taken well to the idea of his marriage. “Well, maybe not right away. But eventually.”

“That’s why I have to make a good first impression,” she replied tartly.

He smiled and looked down at their intertwined hands. None of this still felt entirely real to him—that they were still married, that both of their families had agreed to it, that they were in a carriage headed to the coast and from there, to Kattegat. “What if they figure it out?” he asked quietly. “That we didn’t really...you know. Consummate the marriage.”

She squeezed his hand. “It doesn’t matter that much if they know or don’t know,” she reassured him. “They were willing to go along with it. Otherwise, we wouldn’t be here, would we?”

“I guess not,” he said, still not entirely convinced.

“The most important thing is that we’ll be together,” she said firmly. “Besides, we will be in Kattegat for an entire year. Who knows what will happen in that much time?”

“It’s enough time to make a pagan out of you,” he joked. “I can teach you how to sacrifice a goat. That would please my mother for sure.”

She smacked his shoulder with her free hand. “I’m sure there must be other ways I can please your mother.”

“Your father tried to make me learn about your bread god,” Ivar complained. “I think this is a fair trade.”

“You had to sit down one time with a priest to learn a prayer, and you didn’t even do that. That’s not the same thing as me sacrificing a goat,” she said dryly.

“Fine, no goats,” he agreed. He looked down, running his thumb along her palm, thinking back to the last time they had been together in a carriage like this.

Aldreda rested her head on his shoulder. “What are you thinking about?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Just remembering the journey from Mercia back to Wessex,” he said. Aldreda had asked him to tell her about Kattegat. He had thought back then about what it would be like for him to take her to see his home and meet his family, and how impossible that had seemed. And something else had happened as well…

“Oh.” Aldreda blushed and sat up. She was obviously thinking about the same thing.

“You kissed me.”

She turned even redder, but she didn’t let go of his hand. After regarding him for a moment, she asked him shyly, “What if...we did it again?”

He grinned. “I thought you’d never ask.”

So she kissed him and laughed, and to Ivar, her laugh sounded like joy, like hope, like the beginning of something wonderful.

#vikings #ivar the boneless #fanfiction #fic: strange things can happen

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