#pulled out the rubber band again today for the first time in months | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

julemmaes · 3 years

Note

ahem... cassian taking nesta to that bookstore (fluff, don’t try making shit sad aight?)

Our First Non-Date

SURPRISE I GUESS!!

Nessian Archeron x Cassian

You can find the first part here.

A/N: this month has been really nice on me. I finally feel better, not crying every day for literally nothing and I wanna dedicate this to my fren Sim (@perseusannabeth) cause homegirl just finished the offcampus series and she's grieving. I know she is. So yep. Take some Nessian fluff

And Nina, I had to add some angsty parts, but they're not Irene Angst Level, okay?

Word count: 6,833

When Cassian had called her back the night after their outing with Amren and Varian, she'd stared at the phone for a full minute until it had stopped ringing and she could go back to reading the article on poisonous plants that Elain had sent her.

It hadn't even been five minutes before the words had been obscured from the call screen again and the name "Cassian Navarro" appeared.

When she had ignored the call for the second time as well, he had decided to change tactics.

Hi Nes, I was thinking about when you'd be free to go to the library. I need a couple of manuals because I'm building a little gazebo in Rhys and Feyre's garden and your sister is putting a lot of pressure on me, so I was wondering if you had the day off tomorrow.

Nesta was stunned at the amount of useless information he had given her, but managed to reply with a simple, Working tomorrow, day off on Wednesday. Sending you the address later.

She certainly hadn't anticipated how hard it would be to get up that day, her will to live must have been hiding somewhere under her bed and Nesta didn't know if it was directly related to their going out or just her stupid brain not being able to connect to real life.

The only other worst thing she'd been able to think of at that moment was having to explain to Cassian what was going on, so, pulled out of bed by the future embarrassment they'd feel in such a situation, she'd managed to dress, wash and style her hair so that she had a braid crowning her head.

She hadn't put too much effort into deciding what to wear, after all, it wasn't a date and Cassian had seen her many times before in far more outrageous and scruffy clothes than the comfortable black jeans and grey jumper she was wearing right now.

The silence had made her uncomfortable at first, only because Cassian seemed to be really stressed - about what, she certainly wouldn't ask - but after about ten minutes, he'd turned on the radio and popped a CD into the player and the melody of a Verve song had filled the cabin.

She'd started humming under her breath and he'd looked at her with a faint smile on his lips and his eyes sparkling. She hadn't mulled over that look too much, but she'd started eyeing him more closely and noticed the way he narrowed his eyes at every street sign and how he ran a hand over his face every time a strand of hair landed in front of his eyes.

When Cassian had to blow the hair out of his face for the millionth time, Nesta pulled a rubber band off her wrist and handed it to him abruptly.

Cassian looked surprised, but took it almost immediately, brushing her fingers. Nesta immediately withdrew her hand, feeling how warm and calloused his were.

"Thanks, my hair is killing me today," he finally spoke.

Nesta continued to look ahead, noticing that they were about to enter the highway. "Well, it wasn't very wise of you not to tie it up before you got in the car. I never drive with my hair down."

He nodded slowly, still with the band clutched between his fingers. And then, suddenly he let go of the steering wheel, "Hold that for me for a second." and Nesta's eyes went wide, launching herself at him to grab it and keep the car in their lane.

"Are you nuts?" she almost shrieked, keeping her gaze fixed on the road and feeling every nerve ending vibrate with anger.

"Relax." he said in a calm tone, shifting her hands and gently pushing her back into her seat one more time. "It wasn't even five seconds."

Nesta huffed out a laugh that lacked amusement, "You do something like that again without warning me first and I'm getting out of the car."

Cassian looked at her with a raised eyebrow, "A bit dramatic, but alright."

She sighed, shaking her head slightly and resting it on her hand propped against the window.

That awkward silence fell again and Nesta couldn't figure out what the problem was. She hadn't felt any kind of unease three days before, but after all, they'd been with friends and busy walking, not stuck in a car for two hours with no chance of walking away or splitting up.

And in that moment, the reality of their situation overwhelmed her.

She forced herself to steady her breathing, opening the window slightly so that more air could get in. She forced herself to think about all the things she would see today at the library and how beautiful and spectacular it had looked from mere pictures. She wasn't going to let her twisted mind stop her from having fun with someone who was desperately trying to be her friend.

She took a deep breath and a surprising calm enveloped her. She looked to her left to see if Cassian had noticed that temporal change in her behaviour, but it seemed to her that he was just as fidgety.

She was about to ask him if he was okay, because the knee that kept bouncing and the fingers opening and closing on the steering wheel were obvious nervous tics, when he did the eye thing again, this time leaning forward over the dashboard as well, and the sharp turn he took to the right caused her to shift in her seat so much that she bumped her shoulder against his.

Cassian grimaced, "I'm sorry," he murmured.

"What's wrong?" she asked, readjusting in her seat.

"Sorry?"

"What's the matter? With your eyes, I mean."

"Oh." he seemed surprised by the question, almost as if he hadn't realised she'd been observing him for the last twenty minutes. He cast her a curious glance immediately returning to the road. "I wear glasses when I drive, but I couldn't find them this morning and these contacts are the wrong shade and I can't see very well."

Nesta nodded thoughtfully, "Where do you normally keep them?"

"In the glove box. But I already checked," he replied, rolling his shoulders. Another nervous tic.

Nesta had to suppress a smile. There was no way he could be so worked up just because they were talking. She looked down at the phone in her hand to check the time, and a flash of light momentarily dazzled her. She blinked a couple of times and then scoffed, "Found them."

She reached a hand towards the hatch compartment and pulled out a pair of very plain black glasses, handing them to him. Cassian seemed to finally relax since she'd gotten into the car.

"Thank fuck." then he pulled into a lay-by and without turning off the car, slipped two fingers in his eye, removing one contact and then the other, leaving Nesta stunned. He put the glasses on his nose and flashed her a smile that went from ear to ear. And Nesta was stunned for other reasons.

She couldn't deny that Cassian was an attractive man. She wasn't stupid or blind, but the man next to her should have come with a warning sign or a bell.

Attention, hot stuff coming your way.

Nesta forgot the comment she had wanted to make about how antigenic and risky it had been to remove his contacts without first cleaning his hands and in such a dirty environment.

His hair tied back in a messy bun, with the hint of a beard he was letting grow, and now his glasses on, Cassian looked like a model on the cover of a newspaper about sexy carpenters. The short-sleeved black shirt he wore that pulled on his huge biceps every time he moved in the slightest was just one more point to add to the list of things that made him appealing.

"So," he began, getting back on the road, "what's your favourite colour?"

Nesta snorted, "Are you serious?"

Cassian seemed to blanch, "What?"

"Have you ever been out with a girl?" she asked him sarcastically, knowing full well what the answer would be.

He clenched his jaw so hard that a muscle popped out on his face, "Only on dates."

"And this isn't a date." pointed out Nesta, holding back a laugh at how tortured he sounded.

"It's not."

Nesta touched the tip of her nose, thoughtful, "Shouldn't this be easier for you then?"

Cassian released a breath through his nose, "I'm under a lot of pressure right now."

"Yeah?" she asked, looking away and smiling.

"Yeah, and stop looking like you're enjoying it." he retorted.

She feigned innocence, "Enjoying what?"

"My pain." he sheeted.

Nesta laughed, unable to contain herself any longer and when he glared at her, she covered her mouth with one hand, laughing harder. Only when he snapped his fingers against the steering wheel did she stop, laying a hand on his arm, just for a few seconds, "I'm so sorry." she wheezed, "I just don't understand. When you're hanging out with my sisters or Amren, or Mor, I don't know, you don't seem to be in this much discomfort."

Cassian sighed again and Nesta chuckled one last time, stopping when he smiled slightly. "I'm just trying not to make you uncomfortable. You accepted I take you on this non-date, and I'm doing my best not to flirt badly with you every chance I get." he confessed, nodding slowly, as if to convince himself that he was doing the right thing and not wasting their time.

Nesta was genuinely surprised at his answer and decided to offer him an olive branch.

"My favourite colour is blue."

"Nice." he smiled, showing a hint of a dimple, "Mine is red."

"It's too bright of a colour," she said lightheartedly.

Cassian chuckled, "I'm pretty sure it reflects my peppy personality."

Nesta nodded, "I read an article once about how a person's favourite colour says a lot about the person themselves," she said annoyed, "It sounded like one of those quizzes you find in gossip magazines, like it was written by a third grader. I hate those things, like horoscopes."

He grunted, "God, Mor's obsessed with horoscopes..."

The conversation continued without any more awkward silences for the remainder of the ride, and when Cassian turned onto a bumpy road, Nesta knew they were close. Of course, even if she hadn't looked at the directions from her house to the place, the myriad cars parked along the road would have been an indication.

They parked in the first vacant spot they could find and as soon as Nesta was out of the car, an icy gust of wind hit her face, making her shiver with cold. She looked over the bonnet at Cassian and found him staring at her with a half smile on his face. He'd left his glasses in the car and had let his hair down again, her hair band on his wrist, and he looked even prettier than before.

"Do you want my jacket?" he asked her, with a conflicted look on his face, as if he didn't want to. Nesta narrowed her brows and he hurried to add, "There's no hidden agenda to my offer, just a friend lending a jacket to another friend."

Nesta watched him for a moment, trying to really understand his intentions, but then remembered reading in one of the reviews that the library was heated inside and shook her head.

Cassian gave a small nod of assent and then pointed down the street, "Shall we?"

From where they had parked to the library it would have been about a ten minute walk and Nesta couldn't help but notice the way Cassian kept his distance between them as if he was afraid she would get scared and run away.

He was back to fidgeting nervously with his fingers and when he realised she was looking at him, he put them in his pockets, smiling tensely at her. He took a deep breath and then said, "So, what do you know about this library?"

Nesta looked ahead, hoping to catch a glimpse of the building, but the foliage of the trees was still too thick and they were still too far away for it to see anything. She brought her hands to her stomach, crossing her fingers, "I actually did a bit of research before I came. Did you know that the Peace Treaty between Prythian and Hybern of 1864 was signed here?" she asked in an excited voice.

Cassian smiled at her so naturally that she felt herself blush. He had an expression she couldn't decipher, but Nesta had never been good at cracking people in general, so she didn't venture to continue until he said, "Tell me more."

And Nesta launched into a detailed description of the events that had taken place inside the building, which only a hundred years before had become a bookstore. Only one wing of the building had been furnished in such a way as to become a real shop, the rest had been set up to be visited as a museum, one of the oldest libraries. She talked about the architecture and how it was obvious that the palace had been built long before it became an important meeting place for scholars and researchers.

"And in 1932 a fire destroyed the science wing, burning more than a hundred textbooks." Nesta sighed, thinking how devastating that loss had been. She lit up with happiness when she remembered what happened next. "But luckily, one of the most important literary clubs in the city got together and they managed to recover a small portion of the books. It took them years to rewrite every manual, but they got help from one of the local researchers, a certain Mr. Hawthorn, I can't remember the name or details of the research, only that he's mentioned often in the article I read."

When she paused to catch her breath, Nesta realised with immense horror what had just happened. Cassian had not spoken a word after asking her if she knew anything about the place and she had monopolised the conversation without even acknowledging him once. She felt herself flare up and knew in that moment that any hope they had of becoming real friends was gone.

Sometimes she would get lost in thought and ramble on about the things she was passionate about. Quite often people had stopped her, letting her know they weren't interested in the subject, but Cassian had never interrupted her and she was afraid to look at him, convinced she would only find boredom and disgust on his face.

That was why, when he spoke, she was struck dumb.

"I'm impressed." he breathed, chuckling immediately afterwards.

Nesta pushed herself to look at him and he stood admiring her with his mouth slightly open, as if he couldn't find the words. She felt her heart clench in her chest so tightly that she didn't know if she could survive the pain. Who knows how many times he'd tried to stop her and she'd gone on and on about windows and arches and treaties of peace.

But when she got a better look at him, stopping in front of him, Cassian looked... happy.

He let out a laugh, running a hand through his hair, and Nesta was distracted for a moment by the sway of his arms before she was brought violently back down to earth when he said, "You surprise me more and more every time, Nesta."

And the way he said her name - Ne-sta - made her toes curl.

"Why?" she managed to throw out in a weak voice.

Cassian laughed again, raising his eyebrows so high they ended under the hair on his forehead, locking his eyes to hers. "I have a degree in history and my final thesis happened to be on this very library." Nesta felt the ground open up beneath her feet and hoped it swallowed her alive. "I came out of university with top marks and various accolades for finishing my studies on time and you, dreadful creature that you are, have just taught me at least three new things about this place."

His gaze was so intense that Nesta had to lower her head to hide the satisfied and surprised smirk that popped up on her lips.

"You're amazing." huffed Cassian, "Perfect in every way."

She shrugged.

"Although," he clicked his tongue against his palate, "You made a mistake."

Nesta looked up at him, frowning, "Oh, yeah?"

Cassian nodded, smirking fiercely, "Why don't you turn around and admire the palace, and once we're inside, I'll explain what it is?"

She must have been so lost in her chatter that she hadn't noticed that they had arrived in the large entrance forecourt, because when she turned, her back to Cassian, the building stood among the forest trees, as imposing and splendid as ever. The photos had not done it justice in the slightest and Nesta was left speechless.

Living in a country with a history going back millennia, it wasn't hard to stumble upon historic streets with old buildings and monuments, but this was completely different.

She was still admiring the way the stone around the windows had been carved to look like trees trying to get into the building when she felt something settle on the small of her back. A hand.

Nesta stiffened slightly, before closing her eyes and relaxing.

Cassian must have noticed her discomfort because a moment later his hand was no longer touching her.

They entered the museum part of the building in silence and Nesta paid the entrance fees, reminding him of the tea he'd offered her last Sunday and Cassian hadn't been able to argue with that.

They had just passed the doors to the first room, the smallest in the entire palace, when he leaned towards her, to the point of touching her ear with his lips.

The fact that he was whispering as if they had been in a sacred place did things to her little icy heart, "Mr. Hawthorn was not a man."

Shocked by that information, Nesta's head snapped in his direction and she realised too late that she had miscalculated the space.

Her lips brushed against his cheek, the corner of his lips, before Cassian reacted so quickly he startled her, but avoiding them both an involuntary first kiss. His sudden movement caused him to lose his balance and he reached out his hands towards her, straightening as he held on to her shoulders.

Both of them were holding their breath.

Cassian cleared his throat, shifting his gaze to the wall of books, but returning to look at her soon after, "I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry, you just surprised me," she said when she had recovered. "I must have read the article wrong."

He was still watching her and shook his head, "Oh no, I don't think it's that. They only found out a few months ago that it was Georgina and not George Hawthorn. They found letters in the house of what was thought to be Hawthorn's wife. Some people think they were just friends, but anyone who has read the letters they exchanged knows full well that they were lovers. Anyone who says otherwise is either homophobic or stupid."

Nesta realised that she could have listened to this for hours on end. And so it was.

The visit continued relatively quietly, Cassian explaining every detail to her, expanding on things she already knew and when he forgot something, she would step in and have her say, commenting on every little aspect.

She'd noticed how Cassian hadn't tried to touch her anymore and how whenever someone was about to bump into her, he'd vocally warn her instead of wrapping an arm around her shoulders to move her out of their way like he had on Sunday.

The visit to the museum lasted less than expected unfortunately, because Nesta hadn't had this much fun in too long. It was becoming easier to smile at him or tease him when he said dumb things and even he seemed to finally be more at ease when he had to make jokes that smacked of him.

When they finally got to the shop, Nesta couldn't stand on her feet anymore, she just wanted to buy all the books she saw and go home and arrange them on her shelves.

"Which section do you want to see first?" she asked him, even though she had started hopping impatiently about the place.

Cassian gave her a smug look, "Why don't you go wherever you want and I'll look for the manuals for the gazebo in the meantime? That way you don't waste time keeping up with me. I'll be right there."

Nesta let out an excited squeal and ran off, hearing only the echo of laughter that shook Cassian from head to toe.

***

As Cassian flipped through the various books to find a picture of a gazebo that looked similar to the one Feyre had requested, he kept casting glances at Nesta.

Her eyes sparkled as she grabbed book after book without even reading the synopses. She was in the romance novels section, from what he could see from where he stood, but soon ended up in the classics, where she grabbed just as many books. She moved to the mystery books section, this time stopping to read the plots and putting most of them back on the shelves.

Then, surprising Cassian, she walked over to where the historical novels were and turned to face him. He bent his head to the side, raising an eyebrow to ask her what she was doing there. Nesta seemed at a loss, trying to move all the books from one arm to the other to point him to join her, but Cassian was already halfway there and when she looked back up at him and found him standing in front of her, she gave him a bright smile.

"Hello." she exclaimed.

Cassian's breath caught for a second before he too sighed a greeting.

"I was thinking," Nesta began, running her eyes over the titles in front of them, "that you could recommend something about..." she wiggled her fingers as much as she could, trying to point to the shelf, and Cassian leaned forward, cursing himself for not thinking of it sooner.

"Here," he removed the first stack of books from her arms and she sagged a little, giving him a thankful look. "I can go get a bag so you can put them all in there and you don't have to carry them like this," he said taking all the books and having her help him arrange them so they wouldn't fall out.

He smiled at her over all the books, looking down at her and she smiled back just as happily.

Hell, if she looked at him like that every time he took her to a bookstore he should do it more often.

He had just turned to go towards the entrance, where he had seen special bags for carrying books, but Nesta stopped him by putting a hand on his arm.

"Wait!" she exclaimed almost impishly.

Cassian turned his head, genuinely worried that something had happened to her in the mere seconds he had been shot. He must have moved too fast, because one of the smaller classics flew off the top of the stack and landed right in her face.

Nesta groaned at the impact and brought her hands to her face, rubbing her forehead where it hurt.

"Oh my God, are you okay?!" he asked with wide eyes. And then Nesta laughed, her eyes sparkling with amusement as she stared at him and he visibly relaxed. "Christ, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to throw a book at you."

She waved a hand in mid-air, to let him know it was nothing, and bent down to pick up what he realised was A Vindication of the Rights of Woman. Of course Nesta was reading feminist classics.

She turned back to the books as if nothing had happened and Cassian had the urge to look for a list of all the bookstores in the world to take her to if it meant having her in such a good mood by his side, it didn't matter if she would never agree to go on a real date with him, he realised. As long as he could see her smile like that, he didn't need anything else.

"So, I was saying, before you battered me with a book-" she cast an amused glance over one shoulder at him.

He frowned, muttering, "I said sorry."

Nesta ignored him, "What do you recommend?"

Cassian blinked.

"You said you read historical novels right?" she asked, looking for confirmation, "You could recommend your favourites. But not the English or Russian classics. Or French ones. Chances are I've already read those."

Cassian was stunned. Nesta wanted advice on books. From him.

They were silent for too long as she turned around impatiently, "You lied?"

He looked surprised, "When?"

"When you said you were reading. Were you just doing it to impress me or were you serious?" she asked and maybe Cassian imagined it, but she looked disappointed.

He was quick to reply, "The Black Coat, by Neamat Imam. It's pretty recent, but set in the 1970s in Bangladesh. It's about a man who needs help and seeks it from a journalist he asks for work and one of the main themes is the famine that hit the country after it became independent. It's not my absolute favourite, but it certainly gives you something to think about."

Nesta nodded, searching through the titles and finding it almost immediately, "Anything else?"

Cassian felt his neck heat up and coughed a little before resuming speaking. "The Long Ships by Frans G. Bengtsson. Set in the tenth century, it's about a Viking who is called Red because of his hair and focuses on the European political outlook in the late Viking Age. Again, it's not as good as the historical classics, but it's nice and shows a way of life that we're definitely not used to. It's different."

After looking for a few minutes, Nesta gave up reading and turned to him, crossing her arms. She tilted her head to the side, watching him closely, "What's your favourite book?"

Cassian shrugged, settling the books against his chest, "I think at the moment it's The King Must Die by Mary Renault. But I change my mind every month when I find something more interesting or captivating."

She nodded thoughtfully, "I'll take that one then."

And Cassian wished he could change the title immediately because... what if she didn't like it? Or if she thought it was a stupid book? What would she think of him then?

But Nesta had already found a copy a few shelves down and there was no turning back.

He could counterattack, though, "What about yours? You're not going to give me any advice on feminist classics or blatantly trashy romance novels?"

Nesta opened her mouth wide, looking outraged as she placed the latest addition on the pile, settling the book under her chin, "How can you say they're trashy if you don't even know what they're about?"

Cassian chuckled, "On the cover of You Came," he said as he gave her a sly look, "there's something called a 'spicymeter'. How am I supposed to take you seriously?"

Nesta blushed, "I read erotic novels, so what? I have to keep myself busy in my spare time somehow."

And then he challenged her, "Get me the hottest book you've ever read," he said in a joking tone, "I'll go get the bag in the meantime."

She had already left for the section when he had an idea that would surely doom him depending on how Nesta would react.

He walked up to the cashier's desk, making sure she didn't notice, and begging the clerk behind the counter to be quick, paid for all her books, gently placing them back in the bags.

When he reached her again, she seemed not to have noticed anything.

"'So, what did you get me? Ride Me? Fucked You Good? Last Night I Gave You A Thousand Orgasms?" he teased her with an annoyed grin on his lips.

Nesta gave him a fiery glance before noticing the bags, quite different from those you put the things you wanna buy in, and closed her mouth tightly. She frowned and looked at them for so long before speaking that Cassian began to feel self-conscious.

"You paid for my books?" she whispered, looking at him.

He nodded.

"It's not a date, Cassian," she reminded him for the umpteenth time.

"I know, but-"

"So why would you pay for things that are mine?"

He couldn't read her. She wasn't hinting at anything.

She didn't look angry but she didn't look impressed or grateful either.

Cassian placed the bags on the ground between them and Nesta followed his every movement with her eyes.

He ran a hand through his hair, sighing, "My adoptive family is filthy rich. I have a trust fund that I never get to spend on things I really want to do, the only way I get to use it is by giving gifts to my friends, so just accept these as my first gift - friend to friend - and call it a day."

Nesta continued to be impassive as she kept her eyes fixed on the books.

Perhaps he had gone too far. After all, she had taken more than a hundred and fifty euros worth of stuff, but he really didn't mind.

He was about to apologise, tell her she could give the money back if it made her feel better. Cassian would find a way to spend it back on her at other times anyway.

Then she raised her head, handing him two books with hilarious covers to say the least, "These two have storylines full of plot twists. You won't be able to put them down, but don't expect big epic battles or Viking warriors. It's just two college kids trying to survive in the modern world while finding solace in each other."

He didn't even have time to thank her that she was already across the room and waiting in line so she could pay them.

He scoffed, shaking his head.

"I guess you'll be paying for these two," he said as he caught up with her.

Nesta didn't even look at him, pulling out her wallet, "A gift from a friend to a friend."

As they walked back to the car, Cassian offered to carry the bags, but she didn't want to hear one more word so they had managed to compromise and had split the load equally.

They'd been on the road for about thirty minutes now and Nesta had gone through every book he'd bought her, talking about all the previous works by the authors she was holding in her hand at the moment.

Cassian could have died like that. Happy, relaxed, listening to the plots of those dirty books with no moral lessons to teach the reader, just pure entertainment.

He wondered at that moment if he would make it through the first few chapters of the books she had offered him and let out a heavy breath through his nose as he turned right towards the coast.

Nesta looked at him wide-eyed, stopping her rant about the headmaster's son getting the occasional model student to fall in love with him. She brought a hand to her mouth, "Oh dear, sorry, I'm boring you. I'm sorry."

He gave her a confused look ready to tell her she didn't have to apologise, but she continued.

"Sometimes I do and I don't even realize it. And I realize they're not challenging plots where you have to apply some hidden lobe of the brain to understand them, but they distract me from everyday problems, you know? It's fun to be able to unplug a few hours after I get home from work and-"

"Jesus, Nesta, stop!" he laughed, placing a hand on her thigh. She sighed. "You don't have to apologise. Not when you're so excited about something." he looked at her slyly, offering her a reassuring smile, "In fact, I'm glad you're talking so much today. Normally I have to pull the words out of your mouth."

She blushed slightly and then grew sullen soon after, sitting up straighter, "This isn't the way to Velaris, where are we going?"

Cassian didn't answer.

"You're taking me into the woods aren't you?"

"We literally just came out of a forest."

She ignored him.

"I knew it. You're a serial killer."

"Nes-"

"You're a little dense though. Why would you spend so much on someone if you're going to murder them?"

He decided to ignore her, chuckling, "I'm taking you to the beach."

"Why?" she asked, somewhat unconvinced.

Cassian shrugged, "I wanted to see the sunset."

"You didn't ask."

He sighed, gripping the steering wheel, "Okay," he whispered, then louder, "You want to go to the beach and watch the sunset?"

She nodded in assent and then continued to read the plots aloud.

And Cassian could have sworn he was in heaven.

***

Nesta gathered more sand, making a small ball out of it and placing it on the top of one of the towers she had made so far.

"Where did you learn to make such good sandcastles?" asked Cassian suddenly from behind her, startling her.

She jumped in the air, turning to face him and noticing the satisfied smile on his face for having taken her by surprise.

Nesta didn't answer him immediately, but allowed herself to admire him a bit.

Since they had arrived at the beach, they had taken off their shoes and were now both barefoot and then Cassian had bent down and started to roll his trousers around his ankles, offering to do it to her jeans as well, but Nesta had refused. She had sat down, looking at the sea for a while, while he walked along the shore and collected stones and shells.

When he had come back to her and shown them to her, asking her to make a sandcastle, she had laughed at first, but faced with his serious expression, she had been unable to do anything but get up and roll up her sleeves, moving to where the sand was a little more workable.

She looked away from that heavenly vision and made another ball, placing it next to the one she had just made. "When I was little my mum never let me do these, she said I'd get too much sun and forced me and Elain to stay under the umbrella all day," she replied truthfully, remembering the cruel bite of jealousy watching the children on the shore.

"And Feyre?"

Cassian had joined her, kneeling beside her and had begun to place the shells so that they served as windows to the towers.

Nesta sighed, "Feyre was still too little when Mini Me wanted to build sandcastles, but as soon as I became 'too old to play like a kid'," she gave him a knowing look, mimicking her mother's voice, "and Feyre started to figure out she was an actual being, Mama let her do whatever she wanted. Even stand in the sun for hours on end." she shrugged. "Whether it was out of indifference or love, I never understood."

Cassian had been silent the whole time and now he watched her, hands on his thighs as he waited for her to give him more. For her to tell him another little piece of her soul.

So she offered him a forced smile, "So to answer your question, it's all pent-up creativity."

"Well, you're very good at it," he granted her. "I can imagine what you could have done if your mother hadn't been so strict."

Well, yeah.

"What about you?" she asked him.

"What about me?"

"Did you go to the beach a lot?"

Cassian smiled weakly, getting up and heading towards the water to collect more shells. He nodded a couple of times and then said, "My mum and I loved coming to the beach and she loved making castles. And she always put so many 'windows' on the towers-"

Nesta turned to look at their work, realising how many shells he had placed on the piles of sand. She smiled softly, covering her eyes from the sun and watching him walk towards her.

"We always came when she was free from work."

A charged silence settled between them until Cassian chuckled, drawing her attention, "What?"

"You said this wasn't a date. And that we're just friends. Right?"

Shifting her gaze to him, she noticed how he kept his hands hidden behind his back and the mischievous glint in his eyes didn't reassure her at all. Slowly she stood up, nodding.

"So, I must treat you as I would treat my friends. Correct?"

"Cassian, I swear to god that-"

She didn't have time to finish her sentence that something wet and sticky landed in her face with a resounding splash, making her jump back.

She took a deep breath and immediately regretted it when a strong smell of stale water and seaweed flooded her nostrils.

When she opened her eyes again, wiping the seaweed from her face, Cassian was doubled over in laughter.

She didn't even give him time to get up when she started to run towards him - to do what, she had no idea - but he started to run away too and soon they were chasing each other all around the beach, not noticing the sweet looks they were getting from the people around them.

At that moment, Nesta was running so fast that she could feel the wind in her hair and the smell and sound of the sea, together with the laughter of the man who was chasing her, mixed with her own and the continuous tapping of her feet on the sand, made her feel alive.

She felt Cassian come closer every few metres until two strong arms wrapped around her waist and she was pulled up and spun around in the air.

A surprised yelp escaped her as Cassian laughed in her ear, "Gotcha!"

It wasn't until he stopped spinning with her in his arms that they realised the position they were in and immediately broke away, laughing embarrassed.

Nesta turned to face him, her face red from running and her breathing laboured. He was in no better condition. His hair was pointing in all directions and his sculpted chest was rising and falling with haste under the black fabric of his shirt.

He looked away first, scratching the back of his neck and fixing his eyes on the sunset, and offered her his arm as they returned to where they had left theirs things unattended.

Nesta shook her head, laughing one last time and started to run, " Last to reach the castle is stupid!"

Cassian burst out laughing, but he caught up to her in the blink of an eye and they both knew that she had doomed herself to lose. That's why, when he fell tripping over his feet, Nesta knew he had done it on purpose.

She helped him up and they sat back as in silence they watched the sun go down, disappearing past the horizon and the blending lights of the sky created a breathtaking spectacle.

Nesta couldn't have noticed, too busy admiring the clouds, but Cassian had been watching her the whole time, trying to understand how something as sombre and secretive as her could look so bright just by being.

The journey back was silent, but this time the silence was not awkward. They both welcomed it with open arms, a new awareness that there was no need for it to be filled with chatter and that gave Nesta the opportunity to close her eyes for a moment and doze off.

When the car stopped outside her flat, Nesta was surprised to find that she didn't want to get out.

She turned to Cassian after she had gathered her things and nodded, "I had fun today."

He gave her a genuine smile, looking surprised, "Me too."

And then she permanently shocked him, adding, "I'm not working on Saturday, we could do it again. Changing location."

He blinked once. Twice. Then he nodded, "Sure."

He didn't seem to want to say anything more, so Nesta waved goodbye to him and then got out, not waiting for an answer from him.

Cassian stood motionless in the car park of her flat for another half hour, trying to figure out what had just happened, and when the reality of things finally dawned on him, he smiled, "Fuck yeah."

acotar tag list (if you wanna be added or removed just dm me or send me an ask)

@sjm-things @kris10maas @awesomelena555 @sannelovesreading @queenamydien-of-nargothrond @ireallyshouldsleeprn @messyhairday-me @ncssian @observationanxioustheorist @my-fan-side @booksstorm @maastrash @sayosdreams @thedarkdemigod @courtofjurdan @thewayshedreamed @hellasblessed @nahthanks @archeron-queens-blog @sleeping-and-books @bri-loves-sunflowers @thegoddessofyou @ghostlyrose2 @claralady @queenestarcheron @oop-theregoesgravity @firebirdofscythia @anne-reads @fantastypenguins @laylaameer01 @thalia-2-rose @darkshadowqueensrule @bookstantrash @lanyjoy-13 @the-regal-warrior @lordof-bloodshed @dealingdifferentdevils @swankii-art-teacher @rowaelinismyotp

#nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #acosf #nessian fic #nessian fluff #fluff

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barnesandco · 3 years

Note

"i know we're not together but i might die today so i'm going to kiss you just in case there is no later" + mr barnes please ayesha. i love you and this trope v much (you moreso but still)

now you hang from my lips,

like the gardens of Babylon

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Angsttt, sketchy medical science (when isn’t there), and graphical depictions of violence and wounds.

A/N: Wow thanks for breaking my heart, Ari. I love you too but look what you made me do. The title is from Taylor Swift’s cowboy like me, and the “bonsai and gardener” is a reference to this amazing show on Netflix called Feel Good (it’s super gay and super cool and I binged it last week). Anyway, enjoy some tears and some kisses. And the reader is totally not a self-insert, bc who says I’m also shy, “my primary love language is acts of service but i’d never tell you i love you” kind of gal.

------

Selfishly, hopelessly, all you can think when the knife enters his neck is, he doesn’t know. And of course, he doesn’t. He can’t. Not when your affection is obscured in pragmatism -- making sure his water bottle is full in the fridge when he gets back from his nightly run, offering to make his morning coffee hours after the last pot has gone cold because he wakes so late now that he has the luxury to, listening to him talk and talk and talk, and it’s been worth it. In the steady care of your friendship, he has grown.

Bucky, the bonsai, and you, the gardener, and now, he’s dying.

The slow-motion of watching the blade pierce his skin passes like a haze, like smog, thick and captivating, and with the spray of blood, time snaps back into place like a rubber band. There is a flurry of movement, as you register Steve shout and launch a vengeful attack on the remainder of the enemy while Wanda scrambles to cover you as you rush for Bucky. Sam is a blur of red, white, and blue as he dives from his place in the sky, not just a captain but your field medic, as ever.

Upon landing, he begins to bark out orders and while your mind is a flurry of chaos, the instructions stick. Your hands are shaking as you sanitize them, and when Sam asks you to hold the wound in place, you do. The only part of you that is frozen is your mouth, while Bucky’s has gone worryingly blue. Sam’s stitches are as clean as clean can be when the sky is falling -- metaphorically and physically -- but blood is joining the dirt under your fingernails and there’s a puddle of it under his head and his skin is so cold and Sam is calling for you through what feels like miles of water, but then...

Then Bucky’s eyelids start to flutter, and you lean down and press your forehead against his chest, for just a second, say a little prayer and hope it reaches someone’s ears.

You whisper, I love you, and hope it diffuses through the leather covering his chest and makes its way to your heart. All you can think, when your rise again to look at his closed eyes, his blue lips, is, he doesn’t know. He deserves to know.

------

There is a hand holding his, and another, at his neck. The smoke is settling and the battlefield is alarmingly quiet. He breathes and coughs, and squeezes his flesh hand, the one being held. When he opens his eyes, he sees his team around him, and with the sight, return the memories, and so, the literal pain in his neck makes sense. Sam is cleaning his hands and exhales, so Bucky smiles a tight smile, first at him, and then Steve, beside him, who looks close to tears. Wanda is doing her best to conceal her fear, but you, you come into focus and he sees that you are terrified.

Terrified, and oh, so beautiful. You’re talking to him, frantically looking over his wound again and squeezing his hand along, and logically, he knows he should speak, reassure you and Sam and Steve and Wanda, but he’s feeling lightheaded, like the abyss might take him back soon.

So he does the only thing that comes to mind. The only thing that reconciles your fear with the ache in his chest, the product of months of growth. He lifts his metal hand and places it gently on the top of your spine, pulls you down, and kisses you.

The world goes dark, but not before he has recognized jasmine on your lips, even after hours of fighting -- you’re addicted to that tea of yours, but if he could grow plants like you, he might be, too -- and not before he has learnt the way relief tastes on your tongue. If this is his ending, it’s a happy one.

------

He wakes to the sound of machine’s beeping. Steve is asleep on the sofa in his hospital room, and your head rests on the side of his bed by his hand. The urge to run a finger down your jaw is strong, but he resists it. If you’re here, he was right. If you’re here, you know how he feels, and you feel the same.

Sam appears in the doorway and smiles when he sees that Bucky is awake. In his hand is a Nintendo Switch, which he hands over to Bucky, before passing him a glass of water and sitting down on his other side. There’s a bonsai on the window sill, a vine of daisies growing around your forearm, and a pot of jasmine on his bedside. He pours the remainder of his water in the flowerpot. You can both rest, now.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #mcu #writing #fanfic #fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #sam wilson #steve rogers #wanda maximoff

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potter-imagines · 4 years

Text

Flowers in Braids (Fred Weasley)

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader

Request: Could I request something please? 🧡 I just had a thought, a concept if you will, okay, so, Goblet of Fire Fred, and his gf y/n braiding his hair? 👉🏻👈🏻

Warning: None, just fluff

Word Count: 3k (short n sweet, hope you guys enjoy!)

Cloudy rays poured into the windows of Hogwarta giving a small glimpse to the declining temperatures outside. Crowds of students jogged out beyond the castle grounds all meeting up in the small village outside Hogwarts. Hogsmeade was buzzing with life as where the castle was empty besides the students who had yet to reach the age of permission to even enter Hogsmeade. Despite the younger kids cooped up inside their dorm rooms and wandering around the grounds, your boyfriend, Fred Weasley, and yourself had chosen to skip out.

The two of you were locked away in his dorm room, chatting amongst yourself as you kneeled over him, eyes trained on his hair. After working him in for quite some time, you managed to convince Fred to let you give him two French braids. His hair had finally reached the perfectly length and you had been itching for months to try different braids in it.

“Does that feel good, Freddie?”

Your fingertips raked against the skin of his scalp as you reached for another strand. The long orange strands slipped like buttermilk through your grasp. Braiding the outside piece of hair in, you tied it under the middle section of his hair, pulling tightly. Fred jerked back at your force causing his spine to smack against your knee. You mumbled a quick apology, having lost yourself in the rhythm of the weaving pattern. When you braid your own hair, you had conditioned yourself to the scalp piercing pulls. Fred was new to this, so you had to take it easy so he’d let you braid his beautiful locks again. Your boyfriend just smiled smugly with his eyes drawn shut and hummed.

“Mmmhhh.”

Taking a small section of his hair, you braid it into the pile of fiery hair and gave a softer pull to tighten it lightly. The further down you got, the faster your finger moved. Sitting on your knees, you continued weaving while taking a peek at his face. Fred looked half asleep, a small smile displayed across his face. You paused your work to leave a chaste kiss to the side of his rosy cheek. Fred’s eyes pried open by the touch and gazed up at you.

“Is that a yes?” You asked, giggling like a child. Your boyfriend just melted into your touch as you ran your free hand through the left side of his head that wasn’t braided yet. Tracing your fingers through his free strands, Fred leaned further in your touch. He was always a sucker for having you play with his hair.

“Hmmm.”

His hands were folded in his lap, thumbs fiddling quietly. This was by far the most relaxed you had seen him- besides when he was snoring in slumber. Fred was your crazy, energetic, childlike, prankster boyfriend. Although now, he was the exact opposite to his normal demeanor. He hardly uttered a word, basking in the sensation of your touch and pull. His breathing deepened, heavy puffs falling from his chest. You stared for a moment longer then wrapped your hand around the side of his face, other hand holding the end of the braid. Leaning him back a tip, you leaned down to plant a kiss to his lips. Fred grinned against your lips, but soon enough kissed you back sweetly. Whispering you used your hand to guide his head away, closer to the blanket resting on the bed.

“Tilt your head down, love.” You directed him. His ginger hair was as soft as silk, draping over your knuckles with every twist. As your fingers brushed against his neck, you could feel the vibrations of his soothing hums. Reaching around his tall frame, you grabbed a small rubber band and scrunched it around your hand. Hitting the end of the braid, you wrapped the band around the bottom of his hair with ease. Giving one last pull, you took a look at the first finished braid.

“Lemme see, darling.” Fred made grabby hands behind his back motioning for the mirror. You handed him the oval shaped pastel pink mirror and watched on in anticipation. Fred’s eyes roamed your work, examining every detail of your nearly perfectly french braid. He reached up in surprise and lightly tapped the tight weaves.

“Wicked. Are you planning on finishing the otherside or am I meant to walk around like this?” He asked laughing. Handing the mirror back to you, Fred settled into his previous spot, his back pressed to your knees. You giggled at the sight of him. One braid was secured stiffly on one side of his head while his strawberry locks laid past his shoulder on the other side. You rose up so you were kneeling. Fred was quite tall, his towering height made it difficult to see over the top of his head. Grabbing your comb from the mattress, you curled your fingers around the top section, dividing it into three equal strands. You brushed through the pillow soft mane, another hum sounding from Fred.

“What do you think the next task is gonna be? The dragons were terrifying! Still can’t believe you were cheering for the killer dragons over our own friend.” The recollection earned a mental scoff. Remembering the events of last week, you wondered about the upcoming second task. The first task was not exactly your cup of tea. Despite your boyfriend’s astonishment and eagerness over the deathly dragons, you were petrified. Fred kept his hand laced in yours for the entirety of the task. As he cheered crazily with George, he’d squeeze your hand in reassurance to let you know he was still paying attention to you. George would give you hugs every few minutes- half to calm you and the other half to piss his twin off.

Fred chuckled again, leaning his head back so he was looking at you from an upside down view. He puckered his lips causing you to roll his eyes but reluctantly gave in and left a kiss to his ready lips.

“I think you mean amazing, love. Harry’s dragon was by far the best!” His thunderous roar filled the room. George and Lee were out at Hogsmeade, joining the rest of your friends for the day. Any other night Fred and yourself would be taking the long stroll to the village with the group. Hogsmeade trips were highly anticipated but for some reason, neither one of you really felt up for the trip. When Fred woke up, his only plan for the day was to remain attached to his bed. Not having any desires for a busy day, you decided to join him.

“Doesn’t mean you have to cheer for it, Fred.” You commented, snickering to yourself. During the first match, you sat in the stands of the Quidditch Pitch- now dragon arena- in between Fred and George. The twins hollered in excitement when the task was announced. Each competitor that came out, the twins looked through and waited anxiously for the reveal of the dragon. In all honesty, they couldn’t care less about who won or who was competing, they only wanted to see the dragons and their mass destruction. Even when your dear friend was almost killed by the fire breathing monster, Fred and George jumped up and down in delight, clapping their hands and screaming happily, “Go, dragon!”. It was a bit embarrassing to be sitting with them as other students sent dirty looks, especially the Hufflepuffs cheering on Cedric. Fred merely shrugged as you threaded the end of his hair,

“But I wanted to. Anyhow, Harry said it’s got something to do with water and George and I saw Dumbledore and Snape out on the Black Lake so I’d say it’ll be some task out there. Now let me see!” Fred whipped around as lightning speed, looking for the handheld mirror. You could see the excitement on his face. Dragging the mirror towards himself, Fred lifted the glass but just as he did, you snatched the mirror away from him.

“Wait, Freddie, I’m not finished. The flowers, remember? I picked out the purple and white ones just for you.” You squeaked. Fred had promised he’d let you stick some flowers in his braid once you finished. With everything inside of him, Fred desperately wanted to scream no. It already took you months to convince

“But… I wanna go show George my braids and if I have flowers in my hair…” He stopped mid thought when he saw your pouty expression. Puppy dog eyes and a puff out bottom lip, you gazed up at Fred with a begging stare. A smile hit his lips immediately as rolled his eyes. “Okay, fine. But I only want the little white ones.”

Grinning in victory you started separating the stems from the petals. Getting the flowers laid out on the large bed, your eyes darted up to Fred in question.

“The daisies?” Holding up the delicate flowers, you raised your brow to Fred. His doe gleam hit yours then down to the miniature flowers. A cheeky smirk flashed across Fred’s face as he flirted,

“The only flower I know is you, darling.”

Your face went deadpan as you shot your giggling boyfriend a playful glare, feigning unamusement. Fred could be extremely sweet when he wants to do and today, that seems to be his main motive. Rolling your e/c eyes you resumed your concentration on his braided hair and the generous pile of daisies laying next to your thigh. Carefully, one by one, you twist the flowers to snap the excess stem off. Then you individually tucked each petallful bud into his locks, cautious not to go overboard like you would in your own binding braids.

The pale petals poked out, It was the kind of brilliant white that would even make new snow look grey, the kind of white that sears into your retinas and makes you temporarily blind. The bright contrast made the pumpkin orange shade of his hair pop in the light. Smoothing your hand over the bumps, you gazed upon your work. Handing the mirror back to Fred, you informed him that you had finished.

“Do you like it, Freddie?” You placed your hands together, hiding your face behind them. This was the first time Fred ever let you even attempt to style his hair, and to Fred Weasley, his hair meant everything. Now in your sixth year, it has reached its peak. Fred and George were very proud of their shoulder length orange locks, and you could understand why. Dating for already three years, you could confidently declare this style was your favorite. This being the reason you yelled in horror after the stunt Fred and George pulled during their entry, or attempt of an entry, for the Tri-Wizard tournament. After he finished tousling and rolling around on the floor with his twin, Fred ran up to you for help. Much to his surprise, you took off like a rocket in the opposite direction. Your friends all laughed at the sight of the twins until tears were streaming down their cheeks. His aged state, and frizzed crazy white hair was too much for you to process all at once. You nearly cried in joy when the prankster came knocking on your door hours later back to his normal state. Back again were his beloved ginger locks. The traumatic event still haunted you. Since then, you never missed a moment to admire his beautiful long hair.

One thing Fred loved was your need to constantly touch his locks. Sitting in class, Fred will lean his head on your shoulder as the professor drones one. Muscle memory kicks in and your free hand will sneak up his back and start running your runnings through his hair. When names were being drawn out of the flaming goblet, Fred sat in front of you with George. He squeezed himself between your legs, his arms resting on your knees. While the headmasters snatched their slips of papers falling from the fire, you’d be fiddling with strands of his hair, petting over the velvet like hair. To Fred, it was always comforting to sense your hands on him, no matter where.

You waited patiently, nervous for his reaction. Fred’s large hands moved the mirror in various spots, trying to get a peek from every possible angle. Eyes raking over the braids, a twinkle beamed on Fred’s lips as he exclaimed,

“It looks wonderful, sweetheart. I’m so proud of you, I love it!” Your heart jumped with happiness at his approval. Throwing your arms around him, Fred maneuvered so he was fully facing you. He returned the hug, gripping your body tightly in his arms. His lips sneaked a quick kiss to your blushing cheek.

“Serious? Or are you just being nice?” You asked softly.

Pulling away, Fred slid you forward so you were sitting practically in his lap. Once more he sealed a peck to your lips, then left a lingering kiss on the tip of your nose.

“No, really, I honestly love it. We gotta go find George and Lee! They should be back soon. But if they ask for you to braid their hair, please say no, darling. I only want you braiding my hair, not George’s. He won’t shut up about it if you do.” His tone was a facade of chaff, a hint of seriousness shining through. It was clear he was pretending to be all jokes but the sincerity lingered. You rolled your eyes overtly and smacked his chest like a child.

“You’re so dramatic, Freddie. I won’t touch your brother’s hair, Merlin’s sake.”

Just as you went to stand up, a pair of strong arms wrapped around your frame and yanked you to your previous position.

“Where are you going?”

“I thought we were gonna show George and Lee-”

The warmth of his breath smacked against the chilling skin of your neck. His arms were stiff around your waist, not even giving you a chance to escape. Giggles stormed through you at the feeling. Fred’s fingers poked and probed at your sides, starting an attack of tickles. You tried to pin his hands down although he overpowered you in seconds. He paused his tickle war not long after, allowing you to catch a gasp of air. Smiling brightly at you, Fred extended his legs out so you were placed between them.

“But I haven’t gotten to braid your hair yet! Now, turn around for me, darling. Hand me the brush please. Your braid is gonna be all flowers, no hair.” The contagious laughter of Fred encapsulated the atmosphere. Your hands shot up to cover your face in embarrassment. Fred had tried- at least ten times- to get a braid to stick in your hair and he had yet to succeed. His idea of a braid was starting with holding all three strands of hair at once and just twisting them in a repetitive cycle. The thought of grabbing pieces of hair to braid in was just another level of hair styling to Fred. Glancing up at Fred you gave him an unsure gaze.

“I’m gonna look like a clown, Freddie.”

Not missing a beat, your gentleman of a boyfriend just smirked, replying,

“A cute clown, love. A cute flower clown. You’ll have people thinking Halloween came early!” Already expecting what was to come, Fred cowered behind his arms, using them as shield from your hits. You didn’t strike to hurt, just to sting. Part of dating Fred was falling victim to his teasing. As close as you were, his jokes never truly offended you. There was a line drawn years ago and his toes never even grazed it. Crossing your arms over your chest you scrunch your nose in pretend annoyance.

“Freddie! Not nice.”

Your boyfriend laughed gently then reached over to pick up your basket of flowers on the ground. Sifting his hands through the pile, Fred was deep in concentration as he plucked out about five flowers of various shapes. The thing that stood out to you was the color. Although different in type, all the flowers were a pretty lilac tone. You assumed he had chosen flowers for your hair until he spoke.

“I’ll let you put some purple flowers in my hair, if you’d like? Would that make it up to you?” He asked you sweetly. Fred knew you weren’t actually mad, a small part of him wanted pastel purple flowers to begin with. He just didn’t want you telling everyone he chose them himself- this way he could say he had to, in order to make you happy. The words lit a spark behind your eyes and you eagerly pivoted on the bed so your back was against his front. Nodding to yourself you agreed to his offer, trying not to show your excitement too much.

“Now face the wall, love. I’m gonna give you a Italian braid so sit still.” Your eyes widen in confusion as you whip around to face him. Fred grinned enthusiastically, holding a small portion of your hair in his hands. Squinting your eyes, you laugh a bit at him.

“An Italian- Freddie, no, darling. It’s called a French braid!”

His saucer like eyes just stared at you, the terminology flying straight over his head. He flickered between your gape, then down to your hair, then back up. Bobbing his head he seemed to agree with you. He grabbed your shoulders gingerly and positioned you so you were looking at the wall again. Mumbling to himself, Fred whispered words of encouragement earning a chuckle from you.

“Oh, yeah… a French braid.” His hands roamed through your hair, fingers brushing against your scalp. Nimbly he separated your strands into small portions. You felt the strong tug on your hair when he suddenly stopped abruptly and asked faintly, “Sweetheart… how do you braid hair?”

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natromanxoff · 3 years

Text

25 - Just Chatting...

Hello one and all.

It's been a long time since I graced these pages and, believe it or not, nothing much has been happening in my life, apart from the odd soiree or two. Winter has finally left us and spring has sprung, and it's nice to see the sun again. Let's start by wishing my old mate a happy birthday and I hope you all had a little drinkie for him, I know I did. In fact I got legless, he would have been proud of me. Whenever we were in London there was always a party at Fred's on his birthday, be it a handful of friends, or one where he invited half of Britain, but which ever one it was there was always a good time to be had and a lot of chaos. One year he actually took over Pikes Hotel in Ibiza and chartered a private plane to fly his friends in. Roger and myself were already on the island recording some of his solo stuff so we didn't have far to travel to the bash. When I say we were working, it's kind of true as we spent a lot of time on his boat "Ga Ga" whizzing around having lunch and fun. The party was held outside around the swimming pool, now is that an invite for trouble or what? There were hundreds of balloons hanging from every available fixture, and of course there is always an idiot that thinks he's a clown. This particular clown, who will remain nameless, decided it would be funny to light one of the balloons, and needless to say the whole lot went up in flames. Phoebe and Crystal to the rescue. We had to get this "fire" off the wooden rafters before the whole hotel went up in smoke, so we were pulling bits of string while burning rubber was dripping down on us. I was so traumatised by the whole event I had to have another drink ....... a lame excuse I know, but hey, it's my story. Back to the pool. Edwin Shirley, of trucking fame and also an all round good guy after a few too many, decided to have a swim, so he removed his clothing and was flapping around the pool when some daft countess told him to get dressed and behave himself. Wrong move lady. Edwin was not impressed by his telling off and threw her in, and she was even less impressed with that and started ranting and raving, much to the amusement to the rest of the party hounds. She left with her tail between her legs and didn't look at all glamorous in her soaking wet dress, running makeup and failed hairdo. We continued till mid morning and went straight to the airport and caught a flight home. Thanks F for the great parties and good times, you will never be forgotten.

I still get asked a lot if I'm gonna write the "Real" story about Queen. Well the answer is no, and the reason is that the guys gave me a great job and a great life and I have far to much respect for them, their wives/girlfriends, children and families to tell the world what we got up to in private. I feel that is our business and ours alone. Most of us are all in relationships and telling tales could make life awkward for a few people, band and crew alike. I'm sure at some point in time someone from the organisation will write a book, have 5 minutes of fame and make a quick buck, but it sure as hell won't be me, and I'll still be able to sleep at night and when I see the guys I will still be free to say, "Wanna beer MATE."

I've had a few questions asked me that I'm gonna answer quickly.

First off is "Do you have any stories about Freddies cats? (ripping furniture etc.)" Here's a good reply, No. So moving right along, "Of all the famous people you've met, who impressed you the most?" Tricky one this. After years in this "Biz" they all become "Just normal people," and some become good pals, but on one occasion I was in Paul McCartneys studio and I was handed his violin bass and I was sitting there holding it when someone said, "Paul is left handed, hold it like he would." When I turned it around, still taped in the cutout was the Beatles set list from their days in Hamburg, now that impressed me.

Deaky and myself were the only two reggae lovers in the outfit, and Bob Marley turned up to see the show at Madison Square Gardens. Strange choice of show for Bob, but he loved Another one bites the dust, and he happened to be in New York on a stopover on his way to Germany for laser treatment. Show time and our intro tape was playing, and someone told JD that Bob was in the audience, so he cranked his bass up and played "Lively up yourself" over the tape. This was very possibly the last time Marley ever heard this played as he died shortly after. I didn't get to meet him, but I did get to meet Tyrone Downie, Bobs keyboard player in the Wailers, and Tyrone and myself got up to all sorts of mischief that night. RT on the other hand hates reggae music, but I did manage to drag him to the Circus Krone in Munich to see Peter Tosh. I loved it, he hated it. I look at this as payback because years before he insisted that I went to Hammersmith Odeon to see Laurie Anderson, of O Superman fame. This show he loved, but I put it alongside Cher as one of the worst concerts I have ever seen. Needless to say I have also met a couple of stars that I didn't see eye to eye with. Like the American rock star we encountered in a club one night, and he was such a pain I had to take him into the toilets to have a quiet word with him. He finally got the message so I released my hand from around his neck and let him drop back down to the ground. To finish this segment I wanna tell you something that Bev Bevan said. Bev was the drummer with ELO, and them and us were touring the US at the same time, and as it turned out, staying in the same hotel in one city. Roger and myself were leaving the hotel and waiting for the elevator. When the doors opened Bev was in there and him and RT said their hellos. Rog then said, "Bev, this is Crystal, he looks after me." Bev turned to me, shook my hand and said, "Pleased to meet you. If it wasn't for guys like you, guys like us wouldn't be where we are today." He didn't need to say that, and was genuine when he did. I wasn't impressed with meeting him, but he is certainly in my top ten of nicest people I have ever meet.

Over the last few months I've spent a lot of time in the Chatroom, and I highly recommend it to you all as it can be a bit of a laugh. For anyone who has never visited the room please remember a couple of things, if you come in and start swearing you will be kicked out. I know, it happens to me all the time. Also don't come in and start going on about knowing axemen and murderers and other such garbage, cause that also warrants a kicking. Some buffoon from Ireland, who went by the name of "Death" turned up with an attitude and was going on about how f***ing awesome Queen were at Slane Castle. He was not known by anyone in there so I asked him to watch his language. He said he was the Grim Reaper and could do and say what he liked, so I told him otherwise and he was most put out when I kicked him. What a fool. A while ago there was some prat who called himself F***queen, good name eh! Anyway, he/she/it was picking on a lovely young lady called Raisa, and was saying some awful things to her and completely freaked her out, so I went to her defence and FQ turned the attention my way. As far as I'm concerned it's only letters on a screen and it didn't phase me at all, but at least he/she/it gave up on Raisa. In all fairness to FQ, whoever you may be, he/she left a message on the Bulletin Board saying sorry to Raisa and myself and would never do it again. So FQ, from the both of us, thanks for the apology, we accept it. What other weirdos have we had? Well, there was a brightspark who decided it would be funny to use the nickname QueenRshite, another bad move from this person who was honoured with a ban.

While in there I've seen a lot of friendships made, and a couple that have fallen apart. I got a private message one evening from a very drunk girl who, how shall we phrase this, offered me her body and wanted to do all sorts of naughty things to me, I thanked her and declined...must be getting old or something. I have also witnessed relationships being made and, usually there is a lot of humour involved, but needless to say some arguments do occur. I have also seen some of the daftest things said. One guy was so convinced that one of the regulars was either Deaky or she was chatting with him in private that he actually started tracking her every move on the net. He also told me about some highly illegal activities he was up to concerning the band. I wouldn't have thought I was the best person to tell such stuff to, and needless to say I had a go at him. Just to add to his stupidity he's been recently boasting about his affair with an underage girl, and I reckon if he had any more sense he would be half witted. Having mentioned all the twits I'd like to say a quick hello to all the regulars, White Queen and Killer Queen, the lovely girls Blue Rock and Rannnnnnni, SQJan, Mayflower and her boys, Farookh (aka Leroy Brown) MarshMallow, the three Tigers - Babe, Lily and Stripes and the mighty Falc, also to all the rest who I haven't mentioned by name, you know who you are. I'd also like to say hi to Daddy Cool who is the singer in the Dutch cover band Miracle, and Dad, if you never make it as a singer you could make a great career from being a stand up comedian. Finally an extra special hello to the gorgeous MTB, who is about to make an honest man of me ;)

Before I go I'm sure I don't need to remind anyone of a certain date in November that is engraved in all of our minds. And I know that a lot of you will be heading to Garden Lodge to leave flowers. I don't wanna preach and tell you what to do, and I know flowers are a nice gesture, but they do die and the only people to really benefit from this is the florist. This year lets all give a donation, no matter how small, to Aids research, this way the cash will be used to try and stamp out this awful disease. If you really wanna leave flowers, buy a smaller, cheaper bunch and donate the balance of what you would have spent to these charities. It's been said a million times before but it is true, Every penny counts.

As always, Loadsa Love.

Crystal

#queen #queen band #freddie mercury #john deacon #peter freestone #crystal taylor #crystal's tales

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neonponders · 3 years

Text

I need a comfort fic so I’m giving myself a sequel to this part 1 (also on ao3).

Originally for @withoneheadlight 💋

based on their post here about hair stylist!Steve 🔥( • spicy ahead • )

• • • • • • •

“Mr. Harrington? He’s ready for you.”

Steve startled a little in the waiting room chair. “Okay, thanks,” he said, reaching for his bag. Unzipping it, he rummaged through his traveler’s cases of shears, combs, disinfecting sprays, brushes, and his travel mirror. Everything was in order, even after the building’s security team when through it.

Steve hadn’t seen Billy Hargrove in a month. Maybe more, he lost track. The salon finished renovations, finally, and he threw himself into his work to forget the sickening anxiety of a police cruiser showing up at any moment to take him in for questioning.

What is your involvement with William Hargrove?

Why do you visit his work?

Why did he visit your home on the night of the seventeenth?

Why are there remnants of his hair and someone else’s blood in your apartment?

But no one came. No one asked questions. Billy’s weekly visits to the salon ground to a halt and Steve only just this morning answered a call from the familiar secretary.

She showed him into Billy’s expansive office. More like a suite. Steve didn’t know if he lived here. He probably could; Steve had washed his hair in a bathroom too luxurious for an office.

The office looked different today. A small conference table had replaced the sitting area in the middle of the room while Billy’s large desk sat on the far end, parallel with the wall of windows. Papers and files littered the table. Billy perked up when Steve appeared in the doorway.

“Steve, good morning.”

“Hi,” he tried to reply with the same balance of neutrality and pleasantry. It wasn’t easy when the apex of his legs ached with a sore spike of pleasure in his muscle memory. The last he’d seen Billy, Steve had just cut a fade around the man’s skull and left the top a chic, loose length for business.

The length had grown long enough for Billy to have a tiny bun on the back of his head. It looked cute. It looked ridiculous. Steve swallowed thickly and held his bag in front of his pelvis.

Billy thanked his secretary and showed Steve into the en suite bathroom. Per usual. A chair had already been placed in front of the pale granite vanity, in which Billy took his customary place. Steve hung his bag on his arm while he opened the tall cupboard off to the side and shook out the cape from it.

“I didn’t mean for it to get this long, but I think I’m inspired.”

Steve threw the cape up and let it drift over Billy’s front as he snapped it behind his nape. “It’s okay. Are you growing all of it out?”

He put his bag on the counter. He set out his customary tools, returning to the cabinet for the spray bottle and electric clippers as Billy replied, “Just a trim and a refresh on the fade.”

“Long on top, short wrap,” Steve reiterated for his own focus. “Do you want a wash first?”

Billy had an elbow on the arm rest, his thumb worrying the stubble on his chin before he waved the offer aside. “I’ll shower after.”

Steve washed his hands and went about carefully removing the tiny rubber band from Billy’s hair. He mussed it loose and informed, “Rubber bands aren’t great for hair. I can get you better options.”

“Scrunchies?” Billy said, but Steve couldn’t tell if he was teasing or serious.

He met Billy’s gaze in the mirror’s reflection with lifted brows. “Do you want scrunchies?”

The latter chuckled, closing his eyes for Steve to wield the spray bottle. “Maybe when it’s longer.”

Steve moved the comb mindfully through the strands and the tighter curls on the ends while spraying him down. There wasn’t much to work with since Billy had asked Steve to dock his long mass of hair. It had felt a bit sacrilegious, like shaving a lion.

Except Billy was beautiful either way. He pliantly let Steve tilt his head this way and that, bend his ears down for the clippers, and touching his chin to his chest for Steve to work on cleaning up the V formation on the back of his head. Steve’s palm cradled Billy’s forehead, easing his head back up so he could examine Billy’s hair in the mirror.

He swallowed again when he realized clear blue eyes watched him. Steve reached toward the counter for the buffing brush and swatted away the little pieces of hair on Billy’s neck. Not that it mattered, if Billy intended to take a shower,

But.

Steve had run out of things to do. “I think you’re done.”

“Thank you, Steve,” he said as the cape slithered off his crossed knees.

“Sure.” He went about shaking out a small towel from Billy’s collection, laying out the clipper guards, combs, and shears he’d used so he could spray them with disinfectant. Apart from the one occasion, Billy was an easy client, so it was easy to clean up afterward.

Steve put his things back in his bag while Billy rummaged in the walk-in closet. His secretary handled payment, so...

Steve wavered just outside the bathroom, unsure whether to say goodbye or just leave. He didn’t know where he and Billy stood, after...

After Billy let him into his little criminal underworld. Just a little.

After Billy stayed the night in Steve’s humble little apartment and made Steve feel anything but humble. Had left Steve high as the stars and drifting for a month, heady and sweet until he needed a place to land -

“Steve, come here.”

He didn’t know if Billy heard him pathetically pacing between the office door and the bathroom or if he needed to talk about canceling this whole personal salon thing after -

Billy stepped into view in his slacks, but his torso stood bare apart from a towel around his neck. Steve had but a second for his throat to go dry before Billy’s hands caught his nape.

Somehow

Steve had forgotten how soft his lips were. The tingles of fingers pushing through the hair at the base of his skull darted to his groin and ping-ponged back up to Steve’s chest. A clumsy sound escaped him as one kiss easily fell into two, Billy softly, ravenously plundering his mouth. Filling Steve’s head with syrupy clouds of lust. His hands found the towel on Billy’s chest -

“Have you been all right?”

Steve blinked drunkenly between the frame of Billy’s thumbs on his cheeks. “Huh?”

Billy kissed him again, and that was fine by Steve -

“Safe.” Kiss. “Happy.” Kiss. “Comfortable.”

“Are we kissing or talking?” Steve blurted a little frustratedly.

Billy chuckled, barely separating them as he pulled Steve with him until his rear met the side of the vanity. Steve hummed again into his mouth, wanting, craving, slaking his desire for Billy’s taste, the smell that had tormented brain for a month because Billy soaked his sheets -

“Take a shower with me.”

“Mhmm,” Steve answered in their kiss, before Billy’s hand gripped him through his khakis. He gasped and spasmed, his swollen lips grimacing through a quiet whine. It melted into a moan as Billy left a trail of kisses across Steve’s cheek to his jaw, cupping and stroking through the fabric.

“Shower,” he swallowed. “Shower, okay.”

“Good boy,” Billy purred into his neck.

Steve thought his eyes might’ve rolled inside his skull if he hadn’t felt inclined to huff, “Don’t say that.”

Billy laughed again, beginning to draw them toward the large shower cubicle. “I know very well obedience isn’t your thing.”

“Why didn’t you visit for a month?” Steve couldn’t stop himself. Even as Billy worked his pants off and the conversation paused for his shirt to get yanked over his head.

“I was busy.”

“Busy,” he grumbled inside the shirt before his hair ballooned out of it.

“Making sure you were safe. I had a lot to clean up. Still do.”

“So I’m still just a spontaneous walk-in?”

Billy looped his towel around Steve’s shoulders to reel him toward the shower until he threw the towel away. “I don’t let just anyone into my shower, Steve.”

“Yeah, because you’re - mhmm...”

Billy pressed him against the wall of the shower, kissing his mouth, his ears, his throat. “I’m what?”

“High maintenance with low standards,” Steve croaked.

“My standards are extremely high,” he purred, satisfaction dripping through his voice as he watched the wanton grimace on Steve’s face as he stroked his cock. “I’m going to take you now, and then we’re going out to dinner, and then I’ll have you again in bed. Mine, this time.”

Steve held onto his work while Billy - potentially the most dangerous man in town - got on his knees.

#harringrove #ficlet #hair stylist!steve #mobster!billy #mob au #neonponders #pondermoniums #withoneheadlight #hawt #leaving this here because i need to eat

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loveislattes · 3 years

Text

Everything Comes at a Price (Demon!Dark/Fem!Reader) Chapter 1

Commission prompt: Reader is really depressed, and Dark decides to roughly Fuck the depression out of them

Important: Reader has female pronouns and is a vagina owner!

Warnings (For this chapter specifically): Talk of depression and stressful life, mentions of unnamed character death, mentions of beheading/dismembered head and some minor blood/gore (not too detailed), cursing, mentions of family in the hospital, demon!Dark (akin to jinn or genie), and pet names.

A/N: PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS! This first chapter is allllll story setting. Part two will have the good ol' rough and dominating Dark fucking.

As always, if you would like to support me, I have a Ko-Fi (here) for donations and I usually have a few slots open for commissions (unless life gets in the way)!

“Look, I think it’s just best if you take some time off.”

Though worded nicely, you instinctually felt the pang of panic and anger already bristling in your chest.

“Time off…” you murmur, eyes sliding down to your boss’s desk in thought, “As in, a week or two or…?”

You let the implication hang heavy in the air. There was a telling silence that followed your question. When you finally met his gaze again, your boss let out a hefty sigh. Before he even said anything, you knew what his answer was by the sympathy on his face alone.

“We won’t fight your unemployment for the first few months, which hopefully will be enough time for you to find another place of employment. I’m sorry, Miss Y/N, but between the company making cutbacks and your recent drop in productivity, I had to-”

“Don’t you dare,” you hissed sharply, interrupting him before he could finish the excuse.

Rage fueled your motions, forcing you to your feet while your eyes narrowed on the man you’d once thought a decent person.

“A drop in productivity?” you scoffed, “My apartment building was just destroyed in a freak fire two weeks ago that, of course, my insurance refused to cover. I’ve been bouncing place to place between motels and friend’s homes until I can afford another deposit on the measly pay you give us. My mother is in the hospital, in the ICU, after a freak hit and run. My car broke down yesterday and I walked thirty fucking minutes in the pouring rain today just to make sure you assholes weren’t a man down with all this work. And you knew all of this, but you still decided to fire me? I can’t- You know what, fuck you. Fuck you and fuck this place! I hope this whole company shuts down and you get to experience even a modicum of the instability I’ve had to!”

Before he could respond, you slammed the chair back into place against the desk and stormed from the room. You could feel the confused gazes from your coworkers as you marched to the door but didn’t dare spare them a glance. Most of them you considered to be your friends and you knew you’d have to explain everything later, but you couldn’t allow anything other than anger to inhabit your body at that moment. One bit of sadness and you would crumble. Rage would keep you safe until you made it to your temporary home for the night.

Little curses and fury-filled resentment spilled from your lips as you stepped out into the dreary public. Of course, it was still raining. You hadn’t even dried off from your trek to work and now you were thrown right back out into the storm. A timely crack of lightning rumbled across the sky as you shot one last middle finger back at the door.

“I can’t believe this shit,” you grumbled.

Pulling your raincoat up over your head, you kept your gaze down and began your journey back to the hotel. The one upside to all the rain was that the sidewalks were nearly barren. Cars sped by on the busy roads but you were alone on foot. In fact, you didn’t see a single soul until you were on the block housing your hotel, and somehow that lonely occupant still managed to slam into you.

“Excuse you,” you muttered.

“So sorry, please excuse me.”

The person’s voice sent shivers down your spine and every last hair stood up on your arms. Reflexively you pulled back as a hand touched your side, ready to give them a mouthful, but they were moving on by the time you could gather your wits about you. All you caught was a tall form in a black business suit striding off in the opposite direction.

With an irked tsk and a mutter of “Fucking asshole”, you rushed into the lobby, stomping the rain from your shoes along the rubber mat. Sure you were pissed off but you still had the human decency not to create more work for others.

You managed a little nod to the desk clerk on your way by to the elevator. As you watched the numbers climb slowly down, you mentally questioned the fates if the world was against you. The elevator stopped on literally every- single- floor; All 25. Trying to maintain your composure, you leaned up against the wall and let your eyes flutter closed, slowly breathing in and out rhythmically. Just a little longer and you’d be in the safety of solitude. You could let it all out.

The ding of the lift doors opening pulled you out of your little meditative session and you immediately let out a grateful sigh of appreciation upon realizing it was empty. Being stuck in a small metal box with others for an undetermined amount of time made your skin crawl, much less when you were already on the edge of snapping. You mashed the close button repeatedly until the metal doors finally sealed shut and the elevator began to move. The rest of the journey was a blur until you stopped at your room door and fished your card out of your pocket, coming out with not only the plastic key but a large silver coin.

“The fuck?” you muttered.

As the door buzzed open, you flipped the coin over in your fingers, trying to think back on when you had gotten it. You were pretty sure you’d never seen anything like it before; completely void of any details on one side but the other filled with finely engraved words.

The loud startling thump of your keys as you threw them on the nightstand wasn’t even enough to draw your concentration away from the interesting little trinket. It took a few minutes and some good lighting but you eventually figured out what was written; the discovery only confusing you further.

“Clutch this coin to thee whilst ye make a plea

In return ye shall become my endless devotee”

“Yeah… that’s not creepy at all,” you sighed.

Tossing the coin on the nightstand next to your keys, you sloughed off your wet clothes and tossed them in the small hamper next to your duffle bag. After this horrid morning, you needed a long hot shower before you pondered on any strange coins or the mental shithole that had become your life.

You weren’t sure exactly how long you spent under the burning water but, by the time you exited, you were both hungry and in dire need of some caffeine.

“Or a nap. A nap could be heavenly,” you murmured to yourself.

Towel around your head, you dropped into the bed naked and took a moment to revel in the sheets against your freshly lotioned skin. There was hardly a better feeling. Thank god you had the good sense to buy some of your own sheets rather than rely on whatever the hotels had to offer. It made your day the tiniest bit better.

As you leaned back against the headboard, you snagged up the coin once more. The metal was cool against your warm fingers as you flipped it around and around. Did you dare give it a try? What was the worst outcome: You felt silly for believing a random coin and no one would ever know? Although, what if it was legit...?

Now that thought made you feel silly. A little chuckle passed your lips before you clasped the coin between your hands and brought it to your chest, closing your eyes as if about to pray.

“Alright, I don’t know how this works so I’m just gonna state my wishes out loud. I hope that works for, well, whoever you are. First off, I want that backstabbing business ruined. They fucked me over after I bent over backward for them, now they deserve to feel the same. Please. Second, I don’t know how you could do it, but I’d really like my insurance company to finally approve my apartment claim so I can find another place soon. Third-”

You trailed off as emotions immediately welled up behind your eyelids, the burning already tingling in the back of your throat from holding them in.

“My third and most important wish, please, if nothing else, find the one that put my mom in the ICU and make them pay. Those idiots down at the police department couldn’t find them, or so they say anyway, so just… give them what they deserve, please.”

With a stifled sniffle, you wiped away the few tears that had escaped and fell back against the headboard, eyes staring unseeing at the ceiling as you let the pain wash over you; Rage, dread, hope, apathy, desperation. Eventually, the unending barrage became too much to deal with. This wasn't a new thing in your life, but it had certainly culminated into something worse with everything going on in your life; clinical depression exacerbated by a series of unfortunate events.

With no other plans for the day and the weight of your heart heavy in your chest, you chose to simply roll over and bury yourself, and your troubles, in the fluffy comforter. You’d feel better after a nap. You were almost certain of it.

Even as you drifted off into sleep, the tears didn’t cease.

When you first woke, you weren’t sure what had roused you but you knew it wasn’t good; All you could feel was bone-trembling terror. You couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, felt frozen in place with only the ability to stare at the now dimly lit wall; watching the shafts of setting sunlight ever so slowly creep down by the minute.

“Come now, darling,” a low voice crooned in the void behind you, “I know you’re awake.”

Like a rubber band snapping, the grip on your body suddenly released and you shot up in bed, immediately turning around to find out who had spoken. You weren’t sure what you expected but it certainly wasn’t the devilishly handsome man that was seated next to the window. The sunlight pouring down on him made it very obvious that his skin was lacking any range of melanin, rather being pallor shades of whites, blacks, and greys, but that didn't detract from his appearance at all. In fact, he looked like something out of a Gothic romance novel or a Tim Burton movie. Once the enchantment of seeing him began to wear off, you finally noticed what sat on the table next to him.

A human head.

“Holy fuck!”

A hellish screech escaped your lips as you hastily scrambled backward, trying to get as far away from him as quickly as possible, only to go careening off the edge of the mattress. The pain of impact on the floor couldn’t even deter you. As your back hit the wall, you kept your eyes pinned on the intruder, watching for any sign that he was going to follow you or attack.

“While I’m certainly not minding the show, don’t you think you’re rather underdressed for this occasion?” he spoke suddenly.

It took a few moments for his words to sink in but the moment they did, you launched yourself back at the bed with a hushed curse and promptly pulled the sheets up around your naked body.

“Who are you? How did you get in here? I-Is- Is that real?”

Long clawed fingers made their way into the matted, bloody mess of hair and pulled the body part free from the table with a sickening pop.

“It is undoubtedly real, but I figured you’d believe me much quicker if I had a visual aide to my claims,” he replied, dropping the offending thing before tossing you a sharp, seductive, smile, “The name is Dark. I’m a demon and the owner of the coin you wished upon.”

Your tongue felt too heavy to move while you watched in horror as he licked the blood from his fingers like a cat bathing itself.

“I- I don’t-”

“You don’t understand,” he supplied helpfully.

As he rose from his seat, you stared at him owlishly, unable to take your eyes off his graceful form as he nearly glided across the floor to stand in front of you.

“That coin,” he hummed, pointing at the metal disc in question, “It belongs to me. When someone makes a wish while holding it, I’m able to hear them. In your case, I heard all three.”

Trepidation tickled the nape of your neck when your eyes slowly rolled over to the head once more. It was as if you couldn’t breathe. Sick crawled up your throat and it took every ounce of your strength to keep from vomiting at the man’s feet. You don’t know how long you sat there, struggling to breathe and ease the nausea but, when it finally went away, rage took over.

“I didn’t want you to actually KILL them!” you shouted.

The demon casually arched a brow in your direction before saying, “You specifically wished for the one involved in your mother’s accident to get what they deserved.”

“Yeah! Like prison! Not death!”

A soul-trembling crack resounded through the small hotel room as he slowly craned his neck side to side, ethereal pulses of red and blue emanating from his being. Some of the previous ire slipped from your hold when he moved even closer, step by step until his knees were touching yours.

“I will never understand you humans and your sense of righteousness. Would it ease your mind to know this wasn’t the first time they had committed such heinous crimes?” he asked.

“W-What?” you questioned softly.

“I will not delve into details but rest assured that your embarrassing sense of compassion was lost on them; they were vermin,” he explained, “Now, that makes three wishes fulfilled. You have two remaining.”

You thought back on exactly what wishes you had made and were immediately overcome with dismay.

“Wait, what did you do?!” you demanded, jumping to your feet and glaring up at him, “You didn’t kill anyone else, did you?!”

A twinge of disdain passed through his features. His hand landed heavily on your shoulder and you were shoved back down onto the bed with a 'tsk' of disapproval, as if scolding a misbehaving child.

“Fortunately for you, no. Your previous place of employment has simply been condemned for multiple code violations that have mysteriously come to light during a surprise investigation, and your insurance company has been informed that they’re facing a lawsuit if they don’t reevaluate your claim with a more positive outlook.”

Relief flushed through your veins and you thanked him meekly. You wouldn’t have been able to live your life knowing you had caused the deaths of so many people, let alone friends.

“So, what now?” you asked.

“You have two more wishes before your soul belongs to me.”

He said it with such finality and ease that you almost didn’t react at first. Once his words settled in though, oh, panic quickly followed.

Gaping up at him in wide-eyed disbelief, you tried to stammer out some rebuttal or plea, but nothing would come out. Panic soon gave way to defeat as you realized there was no obvious way to get out of this ordeal. It had been clear as day on the coin.

Thinking on the offending piece of metal, you looked over and snagged it up, reading the inscription once more.

“Clutch this coin to thee whilst ye make a plea

In return ye shall become my endless devotee”

“So that’s what this meant,” you sighed quietly, before gazing at him once more, “And there’s no way to bargain out of this?”

He looked mildly pleased by your inquiry, letting out a little hum before falling back into an ornate chair that definitely hadn’t been there a few seconds ago.

“And what would you bargain?” he purred, “What could a simple little human such as yourself have to give to me, other than your soul of course.”

You cursed his infallible logic and stayed quiet as you tried to think over your options. Truly, you had nothing else to give him; no money nor gifts. Your soul was the only valuable thing you owned, and there was no undoing what had been done. A person had died because of your wish.

With a heavy sigh, you sat up to your full height and prepared yourself mentally.

“Is there a time limit? Do I have to make my wishes today or can I think about them?” you asked.

“You’re free to use them when and wherever you wish. However, do not think this a loophole. Choosing to postpone your wishes until death does not release you from this contract. Your soul will still belong to me when you die.”

Well fuck. There went that option. If you were doomed no matter what, you might as well make use of the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity... right?

“I’m going to need time,” you whispered.

“Fair enough,” he replied, finally taking a step back, “You have my calling card. You can call for me if you have any questions, otherwise, you know what to do.”

He strolled back to the window and snagged the dismembered head, flashing you a wide smirk that framed his fangs perfectly.

“I’ll just be taking this with me. Hope to hear from you soon, darling.”

#Demon!Dark #Dark/reader #female reader #PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS PEOPLE #This chapter is a little dark #heh... dark #pun not intended #two part series #Chapter 1

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just-a-real-human · 4 years

Text

Stress

(heya! this is my first story and i’m still not that good, so keep that in mind as you read ‘^^ please give any constructive critisism you can give to help me improve! i’ll write in mostly metric to make it easier on myself, let’s chalk it up to the translator being extra nice today) (extra note, i’m Dutch and English is actually my second language, so keep that in mind as well)

The classroom was filled to the brim with all kinds of aliens, from the wonderful to the weird, speaking in all their exotic languages. all the conversations differed and the translators they had really started to prove their worth! the only thing that truly stayed constant was the subject of their conversations...Humans. That was because this was a special class all about Humans, given by the head of research on humans, or ‘anthropology’ as the humans call it, an alien called Kr’kn. Kr’kn was one of the first to spend an extended amount of time in the company of humans, going on to become a famous figure in the galaxy.

After a couple minutes of this exitement in the classroom, it all suddenly went silent as two figures walked onto the speaking platform. the first being Dr. Kr’kn himself, a Molusk-like creature having some resemblance to an earth octopus, but with about 12 tentacles, 4 for locomotion, which are place under his body, giving him an upright gait and making him stand about 1.4M tall and 8 tentacles for manipulating the environment. But perhaps even more exiting, behind him followed a Human! The human followed Kr’kn closely, fidgeting with something grey in his hands. when they reached the speaking platform, The human promptly took seat in a chair next to the speaking platform, continuing to play with the thing it was holding, yet hiding it from view, looking around the room, but never looking directly at any of the students. Dr. Kr’Kn looked over the room and took a deep breath before saying.

“Humans, strange creatures aren’t they? Very, very complicated ones as well, there is much more to them then any sensory organ could perceive. They are loud, but can be almost entirely silent. They are social, but they need privacy and alone time frequently. They are tall, yet can blend with many environments, even without technology. I could go on for HOURS about the uniqueness of humans, and i probably will sometime! But not now, because over the course of these months i will teach you all i know of humans, starting not with the very basics, but the more advanced things as through (their equivalent of internet), reading and lessons you’ve learned the basics of them. So let us start with a subject not often touched on in education, stress and, unavoidably, rage.”

The students sat, watching the doctor, and occasionally the human, with wide eyes. they had indeed learned the basics of human biology. they had briefly touched on hysterical strength and subjects like that, yet they still didn’t have a very good understanding of humans, simply because nobody had. Except of course them one teaching them.

Dr Kr’kn continued. “We all know stress, most species have it. But in humans it can be especially prevalent. Stress in humans can drastically affect their mood, emotion, sexual interest, concentration and even lifespan. It can induce depression and loss of interest and a whole managerie of different effect on humans, nearly none being benificial. Often stress quickly can lead to anger, and is oftened compared to a rubber band, each thing that stresses them out tightening the band and if they are too stressed, they get angry. Humans have dubbed this stress-overload as ‘snapping’, and it can range from shouting at someone to assault and even death, both for the human and the one who made them ‘snap’. Humans can be quite easily stressed, for instance my dear friend here gets stressed by crowds, eye contact and meeting strangers, as well as a looong list of other things. this is partially due to mental disorders, but mostly due to personal differences.”

Many of the class nervously eyed the human after he said this, the human did seem a bit uncomfortable, what if he ‘snapped’ here? This seemed to be a stressfull environment, why would he be here? Was he forced?

The Doctor looked around, noticing the nervous glances and chuckled. “No worries, my friend here is calm as can be. This actually leads very well into the next part, how do humans relieve stress? Well, there’s some ways, that you’ve probably already learnt, and seeing as that’d be a little embaressing to go over for my friend, i’ll go to the less well known ones. A very popular one, maybe even more popular then any other, is music. An immense amount of emotion can be transferred into music, ranging from happiness to sadness, even anger can be put into music! The best example of ‘angry’ music is probaly a kind of music humans dub ‘metal’. Anyone sensitive to rythms, loud noises or things like that, please cover your ears.” He said, swiping a few times on the tablet infont of him, a large hologram raising infont of them before saying once more “I repeat again, if you are sensitive to fast rythms or loud noises, please cover your ears!”

He then pressed the play button and the music started playing, and indeed, as he said, the pure rage put in that music was so overwhelming some students actually seemed afraid, as if the humans on the hologram could jump out and attack at any moment! The human accompanying Kr’kn seemed to enjoy it, moving his head up and down in the rythm of the music a little.

Dr. Kr’kn paused the music, swiping it away. “Well, i suppose you get what i mean about anger being conveyed in the music? And despite its seemingly simple nature, metal often has deep symbolism, especially compared to the simple first impression. It also happens to be one of the most difficult forms of music to play. Another good way to relieve stress for humans are video games, especially either calm and cute ones, or the most violent ones they can create!”

The class laughed a little, assuming the doctor was making a joke. As a reaction the doctor pulled up another hologram, showing the class a cute, calm game about finding many orb like creatures with (human) smiles on their faces. It seemed to be a good example of what the doctor meant.

“now, if you are bad with blood, violence or dismemberment, please look away, and if you are sensitive to rythms and loud noises, cover your ears again.”

He then pulled up a video as one specific game, one set in a red, fleshy cityscape, destroyed and overrun with the most disturbing creatures you could imagine. But worst of all, a human was running through! With more of that ‘metal’ in the background the man was running through the creatures, shooting them with ballistic weapons, energy weapons and cutting them apart! It even ripped them apart with its bare hands! Many students looked at it, horrified, some even needing to look away. Kr’kn laughed, swiping away the hologram. “that there is a favorite game among many humans, including my friend here, he is quite skilled at it, in fact, the footage there is my friend playing that game!”

The students looked at the human, terrified. Humans ENJOYED murder and destruction!? They liked such violence and that music?

Dr. Kr’kn laughed again. “Anyways, yet another way of relieving stress, or more accurately, prevent stress, is in the form of a mental support thing. Often that is an object, like in the case of my friend here! If you would please look to him, he will show what his emotional support object is.”

The human seemed a bit aprehensive before revealing the grey thing he was holding and had been playing with...it was a small, grey teddybear with a white scarf. it was clearly quite old, it was clear it used to be coloured something else then grey, but due to years of hugging and washing, it had lost it’s colour, only it’s snout being a little brighter grey with a brown nose.

“Yes, that little thing is one of the most important things in my friends life, so important, in fact, that he has once killed someone for taking it.“

The students gasped, looking at the human, who looked away a bit, now holding the bear closely, clearly regretting what happened back there, and speaking for the first time. “Not JUST for taking teddy...he was a pirate”

Kr’kn laughed, shaking his head “True, true, the fact remains that it is an incredibly important object to him, anything else and he would have waited to sneak up on him, but he instead took the pirate on without bothering to sneak, he shouted so loud the pirate was stunned for a moment before my friend here beat him with a glass and stabbed him to death with the shards! none of us would dare approach him for hours after that...well, the humans kept their distance claiming he needed time alone, but we all noticed even the humans were fearfull. He only truly calmed down when his chosen mate, or ‘girlfriend’ went to speak to him. And that brings me to the most important and effective ways for a human to relieve stress.

Kr’kn let the students stare at the human for a little bit, he knew how they must have felt, humans were terrifying when you learn such stories, and even more if you experience them!

“there are 4 most important ways for a humans to release stress. And they are: Screaming, crying, talking and love. Screaming lets them simply release all the rage in their system in a simple roar, it can be one scream or many, but they are almost always effective. Talking means to simply share their troubles with someone, be it human or not, even talking to a pet, friendly wild animal or book(by writing it down) will help them as they aren’t the only ones stuck with it anymore, and the other might be able to help in some way. And now the two most important ones, Crying and love. Crying is a strange thing, humans will leak water out of their eyes and make a repeating sound, often accompanying screaming, but even more often it is silent, and they usually cry when safe. It releases all their stress and sadness over a period of time and is a very clear way for others to see how they feel, and Love is often a result of it, or what causes it, which is good. For instance the previous story, my friend here told his Girlfriend everything, and a human often gets repetitive when telling something, which you should deal with if you truly care for them. He then simply got a hug, which is one of the most primally loving and caring things a human can do. You all know kissing is something that human mates do, but a hug can be done by any human they care about. Physical contact is important for a human, and a good hug will often make a human cry their worries away, which is an important part of bonding and caring. Now do not go about hugging humans every chance you get, it’s something special, and not every human likes it. For instance my friend is a bit sensitive, so there are few people he allows to hug him, and i just so happen to be one of them.” He said the last part with a certain pride, having his race’s version of a smile as he looked at the human.

“Anyways, this is where my job ends for today, and yours starts. I want you to write a simple list of stress-relieving things for a human, write it as accurately as you can. And even if it isn’t very accurate, as long as your tried, it’ll be good enough for me. Next time i will go over the dangers of a human and what you should do to avoid it. I hope you have a good day and enjoy your time, goodbye!”

The students wished him farewell and Kr’kn walked away, the human joining him, still holding the bear closely. The students exitedly started talking to one another, having learned many things about humans that they didn’t know before. After many minutes of conversation, they slowly started to leave, and after about an hour or so the classroom was entirely empty.

WELL! that was my first story, i hope you enjoy it! again, give your opinions and constructive critisism down there, any ideas and suggestions are welcome as well! have a nice day c:

Good news! I fixed the comments (i think). :D

#humans are space orcs #humans are space australians #humans are terrifying #aliens

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cno-inbminor · 4 years

Text

domus - pt. 3 (final)

a/n: it’s done. oh god it’s done. it’s like 2AM so it’s unedited for now, but i’ll make edits in the morning. i also apologize in advance for the slightly rushed ending fas;elifjac you will need to read parts 1 and 2 (linked below) for context!

plot: when kuroo tetsuro drops the hard-hitting truth that he’s fallen out of love with you, your first thought is to escape. but you find comfort in the least likely person: akaashi keiji, a boy you had grown up with out of forced family interactions, who always seemed so distant from you. yet you probably knew more about him than anyone else.

characters: fem!reader, ex-bf!kuroo, & family friend!akaashi

wc: ~8k

genre/warnings: angst with teaspoons of fluff; mentions of alcohol and getting drunk

pt. 1 | pt. 2

The grey sheets fail to startle you this time around, granted that it’s been about four days since you first arrived. It’s the constriction of cotton around your body that wakes you up on this Tuesday morning, and your brain can’t fathom why your loose pajamas have suddenly become so uncomfortable. But then the threads tickle the skin of your arms, your legs feel the slight scrape of denim, and your toes have trouble wiggling around due to the constraint of…socks.

Why are you wearing socks to sleep?

Much to your body’s protest, you stumble out of Keiji’s comfortable sheets (note to self: ask him where he got them from) and into the reflection of the body-length mirror in his room. Your vision blurs when all the colors of the rainbow come into place, exploding into a million stars as you lose a bit of your balance. Thankfully, your hand finds purchase against the wall and allows you to regain some stability. It only takes a few seconds, overwhelmingly agonizing as they are, before you can properly assess your current state.

Yesterday’s outfit glares back at you, though much more mussed and wrinkled than you last saw it. Similarly, your hair is in a disarray, hands subconsciously trying to take out any tangles while you can. Knowing the state of cleanliness that Keiji keeps his space in, you feel a wave of regret wash over you for having slept in his bed in air-polluted clothes that must have caught who knows how many germs. Immediately, you move to your suitcase to find something to change into, discarding your current outfit into a large plastic bag that acted as your nomadic hamper. As soon as you’re done, you begin to gather up all the layers of Keiji’s bed, fitted sheet and all, and leaving them on top of the mattress in separate piles by how they should be washed. But while you gather the first bundle into your arms, you take a quick look at the clock, slightly flabbergasted that it’s only a little past 6AM.

In your somewhat frantic attempt to atone for your sins against Keiji’s abode, you failed to notice the lack of sun rays peeking from behind the curtains. And much like you’ve done every day since you showed up, you pull the material back and greet the nostalgic view of Tokyo once more.

But serenity doesn’t come to you. In fact, your heart seems to be weighed down by an unknown anchor. Instinctively, your arms come up to hug yourself slightly, knowing that it’s a feeble attempt at best. The weight gradually mixes with a grasp of suffocation and the feeling closes around your throat. Immediately, you seek a source of fresh air, eyes catching a handle on the window that you somehow missed all these days. This means that Keiji has two separate doors to the balcony, including the one in the living room, and you do your best to quickly yet quietly slide the pane open. As soon as there’s enough space for you to slide through, you practically bound out and lean yourself over the rail of the balcony, lungs taking in deep breaths of oxygen.

Below you, the city has already begun to awaken, pedestrians the size of ants seemingly crawling their away down the street. Faint car honks echo through the city, the occasional train horn blaring louder than the rest. These are sights and sounds you find familiar, and somehow, the unease in your chest settles. Everything seems okay again, and you wonder why it crept up on you so suddenly.

The realization creeps through your veins as you drink in the sight of the SkyTree: you’re not quite ready to leave yet. You don’t think you’re ready to hop on a plane back to Sapporo and back to the apartment that you and Tetsuro spent the last few years building together. Every corner, every nook and cranny of that unit was filled with memories upon memories, mostly good and some bad. And even if you want to think back on them, to be able to look at them and recall the moments fondly, you know that Tetsuro’s unfortunate confession would immediately overshadow all of it. They would just leave you in the same pool of broken bitterness that you originally escaped from.

You still haven’t texted him.

He must be worried sick, you think as your feet drag you back inside and grab your device from the nightstand. You check through your notifications as you step out onto the balcony again, and after a few minutes, your thumb hovers over his conversation thread. A stinging pain courses through your system at the nickname you have set for his contact, and you hate it. You hate how fresh it still feels, completely and utterly frustrated at yourself that part of you still hasn’t let go of him. Why couldn’t you be stronger than this?

But despite your distress, you tap on it and hesitate above the keyboard, trying to think of the right words. Only a few come to your mind, and before you can convince yourself to back out (because you owed him at least this much), your thumbs type out two words and hit the send button, immediately locking it afterwards and sliding it into the pocket of your gym shorts. Out of sight, out of mind, right? He wanted a text of confirmation, you give him a text. That’s all you would allow yourself without crumbling again, and you were trying to put all the Band-aids you could on it.

Undoubtedly, Keiji’s presence helps. It’s easy to not think about Tetsuro when you’re around him, busying yourself with either work emails or recipes that you want to try out. The former doesn’t mind being a guinea pig, as he so kindly put it on Sunday. In fact, he handed you a cookbook from his shelf that had some recipes tabbed with sticky notes, pointing out the ones he thought you might enjoy. Surprisingly, they were all very appealing and to your taste, and part of you wonders if it’s just a mild coincidence. So far, you haven’t messed anything up, and Keiji always finishes his portion with slightly veiled enthusiasm. He knew how much you enjoyed cooking and baking for others, evidence presented by the years of instances when you stopped at their house to drop off your newest creations – so whether or not his compliments were genuine, you took it.

What you don’t know is the number of knowing glances throughout middle and high school that Keiji’s mother would give him as he munched on your edible gifts, pretending to seem unfazed though his eyes adopted a slight twinkle as he ate his fair share. If she could see him now, she’d notice the same shine in them.

Part of you itches to see if Tetsuro read your text message, if he will bother responding. The phone burns in your pocket, but you decide against it, letting it scorch against your thigh as you lean against the rail and watch the sky grow brighter. You miss the carefree mornings like these when you aren’t in a rush to leave the apartment. All that’s really on your mind now is what to make for breakfast, mentally running through all the ingredients that Keiji has.

Today seems like a good day for pancakes.

Keiji’s eyes snap open when his phone goes off, mentally groaning when he realized he forgot to turn off the daily alarm he usually sets for going into work. Now that he’s spending a few days at home, there’s been no need to get up so early. He left it on yesterday since they had that early ride on the bullet train, but with all the events that happened last night, he simply forgot.

Keiji sees that his bedroom door remains closed and believes you’re still asleep. But when he stands up to stretch and looks out his balcony windows, he catches a glimpse of your figure through the gap in the curtains. The breeze from the AC slightly causes them to flutter, giving him a better view as he steps around the couch to get a better angle. You look pensive and somewhat defeated, staring out into the open space as the wind from the heights tousles your hair. He wonders if you’ve taken the initiative to let Tetsuro know if you were okay.

At this thought, his eyes are drawn the phone on his coffee table, staring for a few seconds and calculating to see if this is a good idea. Unable to find any issues with it, he steps back to reach for the device. On the off-chance that you did text him, he doubts that you told your boyfriend where you’re staying. Keiji knows that Tetsuro would be worried regardless and perhaps might gain some comfort from knowing that you were staying with a friend. So before he can chicken out, he taps a short text, ignoring the fact that it’s been months since the two had last spoken outside of the group chat Koutaro created for the three of them and Tsukishima.

The lack of an immediate reply indicates that the former Nekoma captain is either still asleep or busy with his residency. Keiji casts one last look at you, noticing that you haven’t moved in the last few minutes. It seems that you’ll be there for a while and lost in your thoughts. There were only a few times in his life when he had witnessed this faraway look of yours, knowing it was better to leave you alone than to try and rip you out of the reverie. Perhaps he’ll take a chance with breakfast today, a small repayment for the onigiri and juice boxes you bought him on the train.

He thinks you might enjoy having some pancakes.

The deafening creak and slide of plastic ripping away from its rubber suction startles you. Much like you did when Keiji first scared you on Saturday morning, you turn to the source of fright with a hand over your pounding heart, staring in disbelief as said man walks out with a tray of food. Though this time, much to your amusement, he looks rather apologetic. The humor quickly morphs into guilt as you notice the two plates of pancakes – just how long had you been standing out here?

In a few steps, you meet him and silently take the tray from his hands, allowing him to close the balcony door. There’s no good place to put it besides the ground, and when Keiji sits next to it – legs stretched out – with his back against the plexiglass, you demurely mimic his movements on the other side of the tray. Without a word, Keiji places his portion onto his lap and grabs his own set of fork and knife. You simply stare at him until he gestures for you to do the same, returning the small smile he gives you. Both of you say your thanks before digging in, and you can’t help but notice how Keiji has drizzled just the right amount of syrup and in the way that you like it.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t help you,” you apologize after a few bites in. Despite how fluffy and soft they are, the pancakes have a hard time going down your throat. Keiji had also gone through the trouble of making some freshly squeezed orange juice, yet the sip of the beverage doesn’t help much.

“It’s the least I could do after yesterday,” he says softly, and his eyes let you know he really didn’t mind. “Really, you’ve been cooking everything else. I saw a chance and took it.”

“But still—”

“I was more than happy to do it,” Keiji interjects. “It’s my way of saying thanks.”

“…has anyone ever told you that you’re too kind sometimes?” It’s easier to swallow now.

“Bokuto-san has mentioned it a few times,” he replies quickly, staring at you before you both burst out laughing.

From there, conversation flows more smoothly, topics ranging from the MSBY practice session yesterday to what mangas he’s been editing. The pancakes quickly disappear as the sun beams through the clouds, gradually heating up the earth until it was becoming somewhat unbearable in the heat. Keiji sports a light sheen of sweat by the time you two decide it’s wise to go back inside. He takes the tray before you can even think of grabbing it, ushering you to go ahead and shower first while he washes the dishes. As a sign of thanks, you give an affectionate squeeze around his upper arm as you walk past him.

Keiji pretends that his skin isn’t burning from the touch.

Right as he’s placing everything onto the drying rack, his phone rings from the pocket of his sweatpants. He’s not entirely surprised when Kuroo’s name flashes on the screen – after his text, he figured your boyfriend would either message back with lots of question marks or simply call to demand answers. A quick exhale leaves his lungs as he hits the green button and brings the device to his ear.

“Hi Kuroo-san.”

“What do you mean ‘she’s staying with me’?”

Keiji glances in the direction of the bathroom and hears the shower still running. Chances of you eavesdropping or overhearing would be low.

“It’s exactly what I mean. She’s staying with me for the time being.”

“Why you?”

“Honestly, that’s a good question.”

“…wait, so you didn’t know she was coming?”

“She called me when she was at the airport,” Keiji sighs, leaning back against the sink to keep a lookout on the bathroom. “I was just as surprised as you are.”

“You’ve been treating her okay?”

“Of course, what do you take me for?”

“Sorry, that’s not what I meant,” Kuroo groans. “I only have about 10 minutes left in my break. How’s she doing?”

“As well as someone can do when their significant other suddenly tells them they’re not in love with them anymore.”

The silence is deafening over the phone. Keiji didn’t really mean to slip up right then and there, but he couldn’t help the simmering anger rising in his stomach.

“…I’m guessing she told you then.”

“Just last night. I asked when she got here, but she wasn’t in the mood to talk about it. We went to see Bokuto-san yesterday.”

“That would explain the weird text I got from him last night. Did it help?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“That’s good then,” Kuroo sighs into the speaker, rubbing his temple with his free hand. “Thank you for taking care of her.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Keiji replies. “Though if you don’t mind me asking…how did it happen?”

“I don’t have a lot of time left so I’ll make it quick. It just – I don’t know, it kinda hit me one morning. I was wondering why I stopped feeling like I needed to get home as soon as possible. Stopped asking for details about her day, or at least nothing more than how it was. I’d forget half the things she was telling me whenever she talked about her job. It was nice coming home to someone after a long shift, but I just…it didn’t feel all that special knowing she was the one waiting for me. I love her like a best friend, just not romantically anymore. She doesn’t deserve to get dragged along because I can’t speak up about my feelings, so I told her. You understand, right?”

Immediately, Keiji wants to say no. No, he doesn’t get it. It’s nearly unfathomable to him that Tetsuro can just slowly stop caring about the things that were important to you. He imagines your figure curled up in bed, anxiously waiting for your boyfriend to come home safely. He imagines you greeting Tetsuro happily, blissfully unaware that the man only kissed your cheek in greeting as a force of habit.

He imagines your face falling little by little as Tetsuro explains himself, your guard failing to mask the anguish you were feeling, and it pains him. Yet his torment at the thought could only be a small fraction of what you experienced – neither was this the time to be heavily biased.

“I don’t have any say in the matter,” Keiji begins and tries to keep his voice as level as possible. “But you know she’s not going to give in to your terms, right?”

“I know it’s not exactly sensible, but I’m trying—”

“Do you really think she’d be happy knowing that?” He nearly hisses into the phone, simply fed up with Kuroo’s stubbornness. “You’ve just told her you don’t love her anymore, insinuating that you’d be happier without her – knowing how much she loves you, do you really think she’d let you force yourself to try for her sake? You know how selfless she is!”

“And I’m trying to give her a chance to be selfish for once – this is on me, and I could at least try! I loved her once, who says I couldn’t love her again? I’ll give her all the time she needs and—"

“If you really cared about her, you would let her go!”

“It’s not that simple!”

Keiji has never wanted to punch someone so bad in his life. “Don’t you understand it’d be nothing but torture for her? Every day, hanging onto some flimsy hope that everything will go back to the way it used to be? There’s a high chance that you’d never feel that way again, so you’re going to let her waste all that time on you? That’s bullshit, and you know it.”

Tetsuro knows Keiji’s right. He knows, and he loathes it. His own fear of drastic change caused him to spill all those empty promises to you, simply refusing to acknowledge that his own selfish desires were the demons speaking.

“…I’m glad you’re the one she’s staying with. It’s better than being alone in a hotel for a week.”

“You’re digressing.”

“Let her go, huh?”

“Like I said, if you really cared, then yes. Anything she asks of you, go with it. It’s the least you could do.”

“…I gotta go, my break’s up. Thanks, Akaashi.”

Keiji isn’t doing it for him. “Bye, Kuroo-san.”

Beep.

“You cannot leave your room until I let you!”

“(Y/n), what—”

“I need to get groceries and what I’m making is gonna take a really long time, but I’ve been dying to try it and this is the perfect time! I wanna surprise you though.”

“You don’t need to surprise me—”

Keiji’s feet are planted in the entrance of his bedroom door, heels digging into the hardwood as much as they can. After he came out of his shower and grabbed a cup of coffee from the kitchen, you were pushing him towards his room, words spilling from your lips a mile a minute.

“Please?” You nearly pout when Keiji turns to get a good look at your face. “You said you need to work anyways, right? I’d be much less of a bother if I was doing something else.”

“You know I don’t mind you being in the same room,” he says gently, hoping that he never said anything that could’ve insinuated your presence wasn’t welcome wherever he was. “Company is nice.”

“We have tomorrow for that, it’s just this one time. Plus, I’m washing the bed and the sheets are still in the dryer.”

“You didn’t have to do that – hey, what if I need to go to the bathroom?”

“You have to promise not to peek!”

“(Y/n)—”

“Pinky promise, right now!” You demand, sticking out a pinky in between the two of you. Keiji pretends to be annoyed at your antics, but he can’t help but smile as your two pinkies link together and thumbs come up for a stamp.

“What if I need to get something to drink?”

“Just let me know and I’ll bring it to you. And no peeking!”

“As I promised, yes.”

“Don’t miss me too much,” you tease, and Keiji can only watch a little despondently as you disappear out the front door. He isn’t looking forward to the same sight that’ll occur in three days, though that time you’ll be lugging a suitcase behind you and potentially leaving for good.

Instantly, the apartment feels too empty. Everything is too quiet again, reminding him why he has a difficult relationship with working from home. Part of him is so used to the hustle and bustle of the manga company that the silence in an empty home somehow feels wrong. And now that some liveliness has been thrown into the mix, painting his abode with splashes of gentle hues, the void feels even more foreign.

You’ll be back within an hour. He just has to bear with it for that short time frame – there’s a decent pile of work waiting for him anyways.

It might be a good time to start practicing being alone again as well.

With determination, Keiji throws himself into his work, only stopping every couple of hours to lean back into his chair and rub his eyes. His little energy bursts come in various forms: when you first came back and greeted, “I’m home!” through his bedroom door, whenever you come in to refill his cup of water, when you come in with two plates of sandwiches during lunch time, and when you bring him some tea as a change of pace in the afternoon. Every gesture is strongly appreciated, and he wishes he could help you in the kitchen.

(He tries to ignore how domestic everything feels. It’s a sensation he finds himself getting drunk on, the bliss encasing his nerves with a pleasant numbness.)

Keiji broadcasts a bit of his work to you, talking you through his process and the things he looks out for when editing. With you, he doesn’t have to worry about leaking spoilers – in fact, you look more enraptured with his set-up than anything. He enjoys the awe and childlike wonder that cloud your face. It’s a far cry from the ruminative expression from this morning, and Keiji hopes that he’ll never have to see that face again.

Always a man of his word, he stays in his bedroom while you finish making dinner. Based on the smell and distinct sound of something being seared in a hot pan, Keiji gathers there’s meat involved. Earlier, his food processor had been going as well, though he couldn’t exactly place why it sounded like you were beating something against the counter. You might have been butchering something, meaning there was meat involved. But he knows his curiosity will be pleasantly sated and bides his time with mindless YouTube videos.

There’s a quiet knock on his door before it opens, revealing your slightly exhausted frame. Concern washes over him as his eyes frantically assess your current state, flitting around until he spots where your hand seems to be cradling the other. It could only mean one of two possible scenarios, and without a word, he grabs the medicine box from his closet in search of the burn ointment. You begin to try and explain what happened, but before you can even say that you accidentally touched one of racks in the oven with the back of your wrist, you spot the little tube between Keiji’s fingers and fall silent. His eyebrows furrow as he approaches you, standing no more than a couple of centimeters away from you as he finds the burn and begins to apply the balm.

“You should’ve let me help,” he says quietly, regret laced through the words. His lithe fingers hesitate over the mark, hoping that the salve was applied quickly enough to prevent any potential blistering.

“This is nothing,” you try to soothe him. “I was just lost in thought and didn’t realize that my arm was getting a little too close. What matters most is that I still saved the dinner.”

Keiji shakes his head and releases his hold. “That’s not the most important at all. Are you sure there isn’t anything I can help you with?”

“You can help me by waiting here for another 15 minutes until I tell you to come out.”

“You know that’s not—”

“Keiji,” you firmly interject. Your hands grasp one of his, clenching around them to let him know it was okay. The small burn was no one’s fault but yours, and there was no need for him to feel guilty. “I’m okay, really. All the hard parts are over now, I just need to let something cool down and set up the table.”

The man before you releases a defeated sigh and you let go of his hand. Instantly, he misses the warmth and subconsciously flexes his hand in some strange attempt to retain the heat running through his fingers. “Call for me if you need any help, okay?”

“Of course.”

Once more, you exit his room and close the door behind you. He takes this time to stand by and stare out his balcony doors, watching the sun slowly sink below the horizon. A warm, orange glow fills his room as Keiji turns to look at his freshly washed bed, remembering the way you had scuttled in with an armful of linen and batted him away repeatedly from trying to help. He pictures the way you would curl up in sleep, imagining once again just how nice it would be to wake up together with the Tokyo sunrise.

“Dinner’s ready,” your voice calls out from behind him, stealing him away from his daydream. He makes his way around the bed to meet you where you demand him to close his eyes. The skeptical look causes you to laugh as you continue to goad him.

“I’ll make sure you don’t bump into anything, promise.”

“If I so much as nudge a table with my big toe, I will kick you out.”

“So dramatic,” you scoff and roll your eyes. “Come on, please?”

Giving in to your requests seems second nature now, he realizes as his eyes slip shut, relying on nothing but the gentle hold you have on his hands and the sound of your voice. You do well in warning him about any possibility he might bump into something and Keiji’s trust in you solidifies – hell, they could be on the outskirts of an exploding volcano and he’d let you drag him around with a blindfold on. He can feel the nervousness rolling off you as you sit him down in his chair, hurriedly taking the seat across from him and adjusting yourself. “Okay, you can open your eyes.”

Keiji has to blink a few times to refocus his vision and chooses to ignore the way your teeth gnaw on your bottom lip for the plate in front of him. Two slices of beef wellington sit elegantly on the white porcelain, a glass of red wine in the top corner, and a set of a knife and fork on opposite sides. It looks straight out of a cookbook and he loves that you were right – he would be pleasantly surprised, and your hard work would certainly pay off.

But what makes the smile on his face form is the memory of you two discussing different cooking shows on the walk home from school one evening. You had asked him out of the blue if he watched anything cooking-related, and when he had listed some of the channels he watched from time to time, you rattled off a list of things you wanted to try making some day but never could with time constraints. Beef wellington had been one of those items, as well as a croquembouche, Totoro macarons, and others.

“Did you finally get to live out your Great British Bake Off dreams with the puff pastry?” Keiji jokes, lifting his utensils and beginning to cut through the meat. At his question, he realizes you must’ve been pounding out the slab of butter to be used when making puff pastry from scratch.

“That, and try to channel Gordon Ramsay for everything else,” you chuckle and watch him carefully as he chews on his first bite.

“This is really good, holy shit,” he murmurs and relief floods your system. “Are you sure this is your first time making it?”

“Yep!”

“I’m gonna have to get seconds later,” Keiji says, still slightly suspended in disbelief. You’re practically shaking in your seat from how well received the dish is.

“Try to save some room for the dessert wine later.”

“Oh, you bought some?”

“Yeah, they had the brand we like at the supermarket.”

“What’s the occasion?”

You ponder on that for a bit, trying to find the right words for it. What he didn’t know was that you caught the last half of his conversation on the phone with Tetsuro. At first, you felt a flare of anger when you put the pieces together and realized that Keiji had ratted out your location, almost storming out of the bathroom to give him a piece of your mind. But when you heard him defend and stand up for you, you faltered, hand hovering over the doorknob. Once again, he was holding your best interests at heart and risking potentially fraying his friendship with Tetsuro for you. It was exactly the kind of support you needed in that moment.

So you do what you’ve always done to show gratitude when it comes to Keiji: make something edible for him. In middle and high school, you felt that food was the least awkward thing you could give to him if he did something for you, considering that you felt you two weren’t very close. Permanent gifts were a touch too intimate, and you could always hide the fact that you were gifting him something under the pretense of wanting to give it to his mother instead. Any batch of cookies, muffins, palmiers, or pastries were mainly meant for him, saying thanks for walking home with you, driving you home, entertaining you during get-togethers, letting you win in Monopoly for once, and many more. That was something you originally planned to take to your grave since you figured that Keiji would find it weird or disturbing, but now…now seemed okay.

Just not this exact moment.

“To a new beginning,” you decide and lift up your glass, angling it towards him for cheers.

“To a new beginning,” he echoes. Keiji clinks his glass against you and you both take a sip, his eyes glimmering over the rim.

You are very tipsy. Borderline drunk. You honestly can’t remember the last time you got wine drunk, but somehow you just couldn’t stop drinking. If you had to give your best estimate, about 70% of the red wine had been consumed by you. And now that the dessert wine was open, you were nearing 60% of that as well.

Keiji sits on the opposite side of the couch from you, indulging you by letting you watch Ouran High School Host Club through some streaming service on his TV. It had been ages since he last saw anything from it, though he mainly focuses on your how far your inebriation is getting ahead of you. An hour ago, he had placed a cup of water by your side, though there was still half of it left. He wonders if he should be cutting you off soon, but you look too carefree and happy. And from experience, he knows that you could easily walk in a straight line if told to. It was an uncanny ability that you possessed, one that was somewhat showcased when you and Tetsuro showed up at a house party in college he just happened to also attend. Smashed overexaggerated your drunken state at the time, but the glossy look in your eyes now was very similar to that incident all those years ago.

The laugh that erupts from your chest as a result of Haruhi’s deadpan humor is slurred and lasts a little too long to be considered normal. Keiji feels his chest ease up when you reach for the water this time instead of the alcohol and chug it all down. He freezes when you turn towards him with a lazy smile spread across your face, but it turns into a pout when you hand him the now empty mug.

“Keiji-kun,” you mumble. “Please gimme more water?”

“You can’t get it yourself?” He taunts, chuckling when your pout intensifies.

“I don’t wanna acci-acc-accid-accidentally break the mug. You brought it from your parents’, right? I used this one all the time back then.”

“Mmm,” he hums, prying the porcelain from your hands and standing to comply with your request.

Not even a minute passes after he returns when you clumsily shift closer to him. He doesn’t even have to time to internally gasp when you lay down on your back and plop your head onto his thighs, his arms now slightly suspended in the air because he honestly has no idea what to do with them. The best he can come up with is resting one arm on the back of the couch, the other tentatively placed on top of your head. He fights the need to run his fingers through your hair, although knowing it would bring you some comfort as the world begins to blur. It takes everything in him to not look down, but he’s not absorbing anything from the anime. The sounds fall short to the pounding in his ears, and the only time he can remember being this nervous was their last volleyball match during Nationals.

“Thank you, Keiji.”

“Hm? For what?”

“…sticking up for me to Tetsu.”

“…didn’t your mother ever tell you it’s rude to eavesdrop?” Keiji attempts to digress, pinching the shell of your ear.

“It hurts!” You cry out, overstating the pain you felt. In his defense, he barely put any force behind it. “I just wanted to say thank you, ‘s all.”

“It was nothing, I—”

“You really think we’re friends?”

Keiji frowns. “I said that before, didn’t I? Did you ever think we weren’t?”

“Honestly…no, I didn’t,” you confess. It’ll be a miracle if you remember any of this tomorrow morning. “You always seemed so far away…there were a few times when I thought you maybe hated me, only tolerated me because you’d never hear the end of it from your mom if she ever caught you being mean to me. I mean, if you ever think about it…you never talked about yourself, y’know?”

Keiji pauses the TV, throwing the apartment into complete silence. He only hears your shaky breathing and the AC running.

“Anything I ever heard about you was from your mom because she’d tell my mom, and then my mom would gossip,” you continue, chuckling bitterly at the end. “I knew you, but did I really know you? It felt so weird, walking by you in school and knowing what you were struggling with. But then you’d just smile at me like nothing was wrong and that hurt.”

He’s been staring at the same frame for the last minute or so and feels more and more awful with every word that leaves your lips. Somehow it’s everything he’s wanted to hear for years, but it’s also so bittersweet and tragic. But the more important matter currently at hand is the sound of your sniffles. Oh god, are you crying? Keiji finally has a reason to look at you now, studying how a forearm is strewn across your eyes – but he can see the tear tracks and feel the dampness on his sweatpants as they slide down your face. He attempts to move the limb away but you resist as much as you can, though it doesn’t take much. Keiji reaches over and plucks out a tissue to help clean you up, trying to placate both you and the semblance of a heartbreak.

“I was always worried that you were just – hic – hiding your emotions, bottling them up inside until it’d burst one day. But then I had to – hic -- remind myself that you had other close friends to confide in. With how much you got along with your teammates, I figured they’d keep an eye on you…but I still worried a lot. I hoped that you’d finally open up during our family dinners someday. Instead, it took a break-up and me getting drunk.”

He’s frozen when you lift your hand to his face, the tips of your fingers barely ghosting over his jawline. The anguish in your eyes is palpable; he can’t help but broaden the contact, leaning into your palm until it’s cradling his cheek while maintaining eye contact with you.

“You were okay, right?” You whisper. “You could talk to Koutaro? Or Akinori?”

Keiji’s gaze softens considerably. He analyzes the drooping of your eyelids, how they fight to stay open until you receive a desirable answer from him. It’s incredibly touching how much you wanted to reach out to him during all those years, waiting, wishing, hoping. You were right – he did expose some of his more vulnerable moments to his teammates. But that doesn’t mean he didn’t have days where he ached to call you and spill every negative emotion he was feeling.

“I was okay, I promise,” Keiji reassures you, giving in to comb through your hair. “Thank you, (y/n), for caring about me.”

Your arm slowly drops from its hold and curls up against your chest. Even in your drunken state, you feel at peace, like the world has finally been lifted from your shoulders. It’s the answer that you’ve been silently searching for all this time, the unknown stewing and festering in the back of your mind.

“I’m…glad…”

Keiji observes as you fall asleep and your breaths even out. With a heavy sigh, he gathers you into his arms bridal-style, hoping that the jostling doesn’t wake you up. Just like last night, he tucks you into bed, though not without leaving a gentle press of his lips against your temple.

The futon is cold and lonely. He’s really starting to not like it very much.

Wednesday and Thursday fly by so fast that he wonders if he accidentally time-traveled into Friday. Before he knows it, you’re rolling your suitcase out of his bedroom and towards his front door. As you slip on your shoes, your mind rattles off the locations of your important things: phone, wallet, keys, passport, driver’s license, and more. You turn back to look at your gracious host, shooting him your most appreciative smile.

“Thank you for everything this past week, Keiji. You don’t know how much it means to me, and I promise I’ll pay you back somehow.”

“I was happy to have you, and you’ve done more than you needed to in trying to pay me back. Are you sure you don’t need me to drop you off at the airport?”

“I couldn’t impose on you any longer,” you wave off. “An Uber will do just fine.”

“You’ll let me know when you’re there? When you get back to your apartment?”

“Yes, mother,” you poke fun at him, laughing at the way he rolls his eyes.

“I’ll let that one pass for now. Remember, you can call me anytime, okay? About anything, it doesn’t matter. Just don’t be a stranger.”

“I’ll remember that. See you around then?”

“See you around. Be safe.”

Neither of you make a move, not until Keiji steps forward to wrap you in a tight embrace. You do your best to return it ounce of ounce, bundling the back of his shirt in your fists. The last seven days have been pivotal to your friendship and you’ll never forget everything he’s done for you. Minutes pass, neither wanting to pull back until you can’t anymore, needing to meet the Uber outside. Keiji doesn’t have the heart to walk you all the way to the main entrance of the apartment complex, and you don’t force him.

Sitting in the airplane back to Sapporo is much less nerve-wracking than you originally predicted. You already have a list in mind of how to clear things out with Tetsuro, what steps you two need to take to make this split as seamless as possible. Various apartment listings had been bookmarked over the last couple of days, units big enough for just one person rather than two. The wound is still somewhat fresh, but scabs have already begun to form. You have Keiji to thank for in this process of healing.

As promised, you update him whenever you can, the final notice sent when you stand outside the door of your and Teturo’s apartment. It’s impossible for the nerves to not strike you now, even more so as you slowly unlock the door. The work shoes to the side of the doorway indicates that he is home, probably passed out in bed after a long shift. You quietly pad around the unit while putting some of your stuff away, though leaving the suitcase in the living room for now. When you step into the bedroom, Tetsuro is curled up on your side of the mattress, breathing deeply and soundly.

Two months ago, you would have peppered his face with kisses, demanding that he give you enough room to cuddle next to him. He would have opened his arms willingly, trapping you effectively in his new cage and you would’ve never thought of wanting to escape from him. So much has changed now, you think as you sit on the edge. You believe your action was subtle, but he stirs from his asleep, addressing the fact that you have returned. There is no screaming or crying, no tears or pleading. Instead, he shifts closer to give you an awkward hug around your waist while still laying on his side. It’s not the kind of hug that says, “Welcome home,” or “I miss you”, though.

It says, “I’m sorry,” and the placement of your hand on his embrace replies, “It’s okay.”

2 years later

Keiji likes this new routine with you.

For the last year and a half, you two schedule a weekly video call to catch up with each other. He likes this because he can watch you pull yourself together, adjust to the new life without Tetsuro. He gets to hear all the work stories that the other stopped bothering to pay attention to, no longer waiting for your next Snapchat or Instagram story update. Keiji’s at the friendship level now where he knows something has happened before you even post the photo. Sometimes you both cook together, finding a recipe that you’ll want to try. Other times you might just want to watch an episode or two of a show that’s caught both of your interests, swearing to each other that you’ll avoid spoilers or watching ahead.

It’s not the kind of relationship he truly wants with you, but it’s close enough and he’d be a fool to not take it.

Last week, you had to miss the video call, saying that your boss dropped a massive project onto your desk. You were going to be pulling overtime, and Keiji reminds you to take the necessary breaks. Texting is sparse and he feels the worry exponentially grow – were you pushing yourself too hard? Were you eating foods other than convenience store bentos and onigiris? Were you getting enough sleep at night?

His phone blares your custom ringtone from his kitchen counter and Keiji practically lunges for it, quickly picking up and holding the phone to his ear.

“Hello?”

“Have you had dinner yet?”

What is this feeling of déjà vu? “I was about to start cooking something up just now, why? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. I was so busy, I’m sorry we didn’t get to talk last week. What about you?”

“I’m good, everything’s normal. Where are you?”

“I’m on my way home. By the way, I bought you a gift. They said it got delivered not a few minutes ago.”

“Really? That’s weird, the front desk usually notifies me as soon as they get it. But you shouldn’t have.”

“Consider it an early birthday present,” he hears and relishes in the warmth your words bring. “Why don’t you go downstairs and check?”

“I guess I can. Stay on the phone with me?”

“Of course.”

“What’d you get me?”

“What’s the point in me telling you when you’re about to open it in a few minutes?”

“Well,” Keiji starts and wrenches open the door. “I—”

He stops in his tracks, voice caught in his throat. You stand sheepishly before him, phone still at your ear as you drink in his stunned expression. Keiji doesn’t get taken by surprise very often, and you wish you had a camera for this moment. Koutaro would’ve loved it.

“Hey there,” he hears from you and through the speaker, a slight delay between the two phrases as his mind grasps at the situation.

“Why are you here?” He asks, hanging up and letting you in. Keiji hopes it doesn’t sound as rude as it might’ve come across. Like a gentleman, he takes your jacket and allows you enough space to take off your shoes.

“They’re doing renovations at my new apartment so I can’t really move in yet…I was wondering if I could stay here for a few days?”

Wait, new apartment? “Are you moving back to Tokyo?”

Excitement isn’t enough to describe the pure feeling of joy that runs through his veins when you nod. This is what you must have been so busy dealing with, packing everything up and scheduling a small moving van. All you have is your purse and a large suitcase, meaning that the rest of your belongings must still be en route.

“You can stay for as long as you need to. Take the bed, I can—”

“Actually, I lied. Not about moving to Tokyo,” you quickly defend when he seems to bristle at your words. “There aren’t any renovations and the rest of my stuff is coming tomorrow…but I purposely booked a ticket to get here today. You’re the first person I wanted to see.”

Not your parents, not some of your other friends. Him. You wanted to come and see him first before anyone else. The tone in your confession holds so much weight, a fondness in them that’s too intimate for someone who was just a friend. This was your way of trying to let him know that there was something more going on, but you were afraid that he would reject you. The ball was in his court now, and it was entirely up to him to decide how to proceed.

No one knows you better than him. No one is in tune or in sync with you as much as he is. It’s terrifyingly thrilling, but you want this. You want him.

So he takes one stride forward, cradles your face between his hands, and crashes his lips onto yours with a searing passion that’s been kept under lock and key for far, far too long. It’s perfect, you smile to yourself. But most of all…

It feels like home.

Bonus (a week later):

[Konoha]: hey, kou, is keiji dating anyone????

[Bokuto]: not that I know of??? why???

[Konoha]: apparently he just rsvp’d to my wedding and said he’s bringing a plus one??? i’m so confused, why wouldn’t he tell us??

[Bokuto]: did your fiancée see a name anywhere?

[Konoha]: hang on, she’s checking.

[Konoha]: oh shit.

[Konoha]: OH SHIT.

[Konoha]: HOLY FUCKING SHIT WHAT THE FUCK

[Bokuto]: WHO IS IT YOU BETTER TELL ME RIGHT NOW

[Konoha]: HE’S BRINGING FUCKING (Y/N) JESUS FUCKING CHRIST

[Bokuto]: ABOUT GODDAMN TIME

[Konoha]: YOU OWE ME 5000 YEN, PAY UP

526 notes · View notes

katehuntington · 4 years

Text

Title: Ride With Me (part 25) Fandom: Supernatural Timeline: 2008 Pairing: Dean x Reader Word count: ±6900 words Summary series: Y/N is a talented horse rider who is on her way to become a professional. In order to convince her father that she deserves the loan needed to start her own farm, she goes to Arizona for six months, to intern at a ranch owned by Bobby and Ellen Singer. Her future is set out, but then she meets a handsome horseman, who goes by the name of Dean Winchester. A heartwarming series about a cowboy who falls for the girl, letting go of the past and the importance of family. Summary part 25: Y/N and Dean struggle with the aftermath of their split. Working together proves to be difficult, but other relationships within the ranch family took a hit as well. When the cowboy thinks the day can’t get much worse, complications arise, forcing him to make yet another difficult decision. Warnings series: NSFW, 18+ only! Fluff, angst, eventually smut. Swearing, smoking, alcohol intoxication, alcohol abuse. Mutual pining, heartbreak, slowburn. Crying, nightmares, childhood trauma. Description of animal abuse, domestic violence, mentions of addiction. Financial problems, stress, mental breakdown. Description of blood and injury, hospital scenes, character death, grief. Music: (opening scene) The Eye - Brandi Carlile. (Ride with Meadow scene) Home - Hans Zimmer. Follow ‘Kate Huntington’s Ride With Me playlist’ on Spotify! Author’s note: Beta’d by my mom (yes, you read that right. My mom reads my stuff and is on Tumblr). Thank you, @girl-with-a-fandom-fettish, @kittenofdoomage, @manawhaat, @waywardbeanie, @atc74, and @winchest09 for helping me with this story. Also a special thanks to @jules-1999, who has offered me her knowledge about rodeo events like these, and @squirrelnotsam, who knows Arizona like the back of her hand.

Ride With Me Masterlist

With frustrated motions, Y/N stuffs her clothes into a bag, not even bothered to sort the items out. Her cheeks are tear-stained once again and she wipes at them angrily. Stop crying, it won’t get you anywhere, she scolds herself, done with feeling this emotional. After all, today is Monday, just another day at the ranch, and they have a lot of work to do. Garth and Ellen did the necessary stable work, but the horses which are usually trained by Jo, Dean, and herself had three days off while their riders were in Flagstaff.

Dean. Just the name reverberating in her head forces her to pause her actions. She dips her chin, closes her eyes, and takes a breath. Why? That’s the question she keeps asking herself. Why did he break up with her? Why did he pretend to care, only to hurt her the way he did? Why has he become so bitter, so selfish, so unlike the man she thought he was?

The questions remain unanswered, and she doesn’t expect they will give her any consolation either. That was the whole issue to begin with, wasn’t it? He can’t be honest. Apparently, he doesn’t think she’s capable of bearing the load he is meant to share with his partner. Apparently, she’s not good enough. Just like she didn’t meet her first boyfriend’s standards, who got tired of her spending more time with her horses than with him. Her second relationship ended in a fiasco as well, this time it was his jealousy of her success that caused the split. Yesterday proved that the third time clearly isn’t a charm. But neither of her previous significant others ever caused a cataclysm as the one Dean has left behind. Her heart is a wasteland now.

“Are you leaving?” She’s pulled away from her thoughts by Jo’s voice, her tone matching the horrified expression on her face. She stands in the doorway, looking down at the open suitcase on the floor and the unzipped bag. All of a sudden, Y/N realizes what the scene must look like. “No. I’m just sorting out my washing,” she says quickly. “Oh…” the blonde cowgirl sighs, relieved. “For a second there I thought--” “I won’t let your scumbag cousin chase me away, Jo,” her friend assures her.

Truth be told, though, she has been thinking about it. Last night she had typed down her information on a booking website, ready to confirm her flight back to Freeport, but as her finger hovered over the ‘confirm’ button, she closed the tab and slammed her laptop closed. The intern came here on a mission. She is going to prove to her parents and to herself that she has what it takes to run her own ranch and that she deserves that business loan. She is not going to abort just because her heart is broken, come hell or high water.

“Well, good. I would have roped you like a cow and tied you to the saddle anyway,” Jo scoffs, leaning against the doorframe.

The cowgirl chuckles as she collects the last of her dirty laundry, zips up the bag, and puts it on the bed. The sight of the not-particularly comfortable mattress has her wishing she could crawl back under the covers and get some much-needed sleep. That’s not an option, however, and so she takes her hat from the corner bedpost and places it on her head. Before she goes out, she quickly checks her makeup in the mirror, but thankfully her tears haven’t smudged her waterproof eyeliner and mascara, and her foundation is still covering the bags under her eyes. It’s been a while since she hid behind the beauty-products, but the confidence Dean gave her has disappeared the second he ended their relationship, so she put her mask back on. There is no way she will give her ex-boyfriend the satisfaction of witnessing just how broken she is.

Y/N inhales deeply and squares her shoulders, lifting her chin as she stares at her reflection. The woman who looks back at her is fierce and resilient; the complete opposite of the little girl that’s hiding inside. Of course, she doesn’t want to face the day nor the man who hurt her, but she is left with no choice. There is so much more at stake here; her future, her career. This is business, and she will treat it as such. Y/N glances at Jo, giving her a nod, and her friend smiles faintly doing the same.

Rubbing his tired eyes, Dean pours himself his third cup of coffee. Saying that he had a rough night, is putting it mildly. The first digit of his alarm clock had already changed into a ‘2’ when he finally drifted off, only to jolt awake an hour and a half later, his bedsheets clinging to his sweat-covered skin. For the first time in years, a nightmare has caused havoc, images of his worst memories coming through cracks in the walls he built around all that childhood trauma. After freshening up, he laid in bed again while last night’s events alternated with those same disturbing scenes he saw in his dreams, the sad motion picture of sorrow and heartbreak projected on the ceiling. He gave up on sleeping around four-thirty in the morning, got dressed, and sat out on the porch until the sun came up. But no matter how hard he focused on the sounds of the night that tried to soothe him, he couldn't get her out of his mind. The pain laced in her desperate voice, the tears that fell because of him. But after those hurtful images, he also remembers that bright smile, her giggles, the sparkle in her eyes when she has achieved something. Her tenderness, her touch… It hasn’t even been twelve hours and he’s already craving Y/N, fighting an addiction for a drug he can never have again. The girl who is no longer his Yankee.

A door squeaks and Dean glances aside, immediately redirecting his gaze back to the coffee mug on the small kitchen counter when Y/N comes into view, followed suit by Jo. Instantly, the tension in the living room shoots through the roof, the crooked, little bunkhouse barely able to maintain the strain. He doesn’t say anything, but thankfully Garth and Benny do exchange a ‘good morning’ with the girls, the silence interrupted by the casual exchange.

He spots her perfectly applied makeup, her hair tied back in a tight ponytail that doesn’t allow a single strand to escape the rubber band. Her shirt is neatly tucked into her jeans, ironed and spotless, just like the day when she arrived at the ranch. Even though she looks breathtaking, the vision saddens him; she’s back to being the woman who needs to have everything under control. He gets it, though, because when she took his advice to loosen up, she let her guard down. If she had kept both hands on the reins, Y/N would have never allowed him to get so close and comfortable. Dean only made things worse for her, and now she was left to pick up the pieces of all that he broke.

Without saying a word, he grabs his coffee and pushes the door handle down to make his exit, not wanting to make her life more difficult than he already has.

Ultimately, this Monday was bound to get worse with every passing minute. Dean decided to get an early start before breakfast and got on the tractor, but when the ranch hand tried to back up in order to drag the arena, he couldn't get the old John Deere into reverse. A glance underneath soon determined why and he exclaimed a loud ‘fuck!’ when he detected the puddle of gearbox-oil on the dusty ground. Turning the fresh horses out only added to his agitation, especially when the youngsters stirred up the palomino stallion Led while the wrangler was hand-walking him. The Quarter is still recovering from the nasty tendon injury he suffered on the job, and isn’t supposed to be bouncing off the concrete like a rubber ball on a leash, but tell that to an energetic horse who has barely been out of his box for the past month. Garth readied a horse for his boss, which he managed to ride before breakfast, but Dean was unfocused and gave up after thirty minutes.

Now, they were all quietly eating their breakfast, the delicious meal giving them some consolation. Ellen observes the awfully silent crew, exchanging a look with her daughter, who with a slow shake of her head tells her mother to not bring it up, and so she doesn’t. The head wrangler is the first to get up from his seat, rinse his plate in the sink, and return to the stables. The others follow his example, the barn soon buzzing with activity.

Y/N works like a dog, mucking out the stable in record time without pausing. It’s a good distraction for her reeling mind, the hard labor ridding her of the frustration that boils her blood whenever she thinks of the man who ruined her faith in true love. Garth, sensing that the intern was fine on her own, took the tough job of raking the arena by hand, since machinery has let them down. Meanwhile, Jo and Dean train the animals as per usual, but there’s no bantering between them during the cool down. In fact, the wrangler’s cousin has decided to ignore him altogether.

Getting more irritated with every second passing, the horseman dismounts the six-year-old gelding named Santana, deciding that a light workout is enough for today. The wrangler is always careful to not let his emotions bleed into his work, but he’s finding it difficult to keep himself in check. Jo has already parked her horse next to the bay Quarter and has tacked down the buckskin without granting Dean a look. He sighs; Jo is not easily going to forgive him for hurting her friend, but he still tries to break the stifling silence.

“Can you pass me the water?” he asks, nodding at the yellow garden hose that’s rolled up by the faucet. Without even granting him a look, the ranch owner’s daughter throws the showerhead in his direction, the nozzle clattering on the tiles in front of Dean’s feet. He sighs, annoyed. “So this is how it’s gonna be?” he scoffs. “I get that you’re mad, but you can at least t--” “I have nothing to say to you,” she snaps.

It’s not the first time Jo is angry with him, because the two have a habit of getting on each other’s nerves. This time it’s different, though, and the bitterness in her tone sends a clear message that he has burned his bridges. Gritting his teeth, he lets the comment slide, deciding that it’s useless to fire back a counter. She has a solid point after all; he doesn’t deserve her sympathy in the slightest. Figuring that these will be the only words they exchange for at least a couple of days, the cowboy begins to hose down Santana, when Jo turns on her heels with her horse’s lead rope in one hand and her fist firmly planted on her waist. “You know what? I do have something to say. You just don’t get to speak in return,” she kicks off, about to unleash her wrath. Dean lifts his gaze from the dirt and sweat that he’s washing out of his horse’s coat, for the first time looking into his cousin’s fiery eyes. The petit cowgirl, who is easily nine inches shorter than the man before her, is intimidating nonetheless. He takes a breath, bracing himself for impact. Here it comes.

“You’re a cold-hearted, spineless, self-absorbed dick, know that? For once in your life, you’ve got something good goin’, someone who was willing to look past your gigantic ego and your daddy issues, yet the first thing you do when life gets tough, is drop her like a hot potato. Do you have any idea how much pain you’ve caused the poor girl? Because I do! She wouldn’t want me to tell you this, but she cried for hours, hours, and that’s on you! Guess who had to comfort her, huh?” Jo goes off. “I am so far past mad; I am furious! I really thought you had finally found a reason to change into something better than the abbreviated piece of nothing that you are now, but it seems like Y/N wasn’t the only one who was naive.” “You done?” the wrangler says coldly when she pauses to catch her breath. “Go hump a cactus, Dean,” she sneers.

With those words, Jo strides away, the large animal next to her obediently following her, well aware that now is not the time to be stubborn. The man who’s left with the poignant insults still echoing inside his head, pulls at his bottom lip with his teeth, staring at his feet for a second before he sniffs and focuses on the task at hand again. He might have pretended that her message left him unbothered, but the opposite is true. Jo could as well slap him across the face; it would hurt less.

Defeated, the wrangler takes Santana to his box and removes the halter from the large animal’s head. The sweet horse seeks contact, nudging her nose against Dean’s shoulder. He rubs the Quarter’s withers before he exits the stable, appreciating the only kindness that he’s received so far this morning.

“Dean?” He tenses, not expecting his name to fall off the lips of the woman who he parted from only yesterday. When the cowboy meets her gaze, the look Y/N gives him is as cold as the tone of her voice. “I need a word,” she says, although it sounds more like a demand. “S - sure,” he stutters, glancing down briefly before he looks back up again, suddenly nervous. He’s not sure if he can handle being scolded by his ex-girlfriend as well. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to work together anymore,” she states formally. “I’d like a new supervisor.”

Dean cocks his head back slightly, unbalanced by the appeal. He rubs his temple, averting his eyes but then nods, acknowledging that she’s probably right, even though the request is a painful one. “Yeah, uh - sure. I’ll ask Garth,” he stammers, estimating that he would be the obvious choice since she’s so close with Jo. He wouldn’t want their friendship to be tainted by the difference in rank. “Okay,” the intern responds, her expression stark and strained, before she walks past him.

Motionless, the head wrangler remains on his spot, setting his jaw and closing his eyes for a second. Somehow, he didn’t expect their first exchange to be strictly business. Her stance is so different from what he’s grown used to. Even on the night they met when she gave him a hard time, the tension between them didn’t feel as heavy as it does now. He realized when he called it quits that she would struggle with his decision, but Jo’s confirmation that she spent most of last night crying over their separation has him desperate to ease the pain.

“Y/N…” he says softly while turning before she’s too far gone to pick up on his voice. “I have work to do,” she cuts off, shooting him a short glare over her shoulder.

Dean swallows thickly while watching her leave, fast and determined strides taking her as far away from him as possible. Damn it, he really did ruin his chances of even maintaining any sort of a friendship, didn’t he? He’s not sure what else he expected after the way they parted, but despite the loathing and vexed look she just shot him that feels like a bullet to the heart, he’s glad. Let her be angry, let her hate him. It will be easier for her to deal with those emotions, than just the overwhelming sense of sadness. He knows, because he hasn’t felt this devastated, empty, and incomplete since his family fell apart; he’s talking from experience. Wishing the day was over already, the cowboy adjusts his hat and gets back to work, hoping that riding will offer him the therapy he so desperately needs.

Unfortunately, the day doesn’t pass by nearly as fast as Dean would like to. After riding five horses, he, Benny, and Garth use their lunch break to look at the beat-up tractor that once again has let them down. The head wrangler doesn’t mind skipping his midday meal; he would rather avoid sitting across from Y/N in a room overflowing with awkwardness, plus, he’s not hungry anyway.

The machine from 1979 was bound to die on the crew sooner than later, but after the farrier slash mechanic discovers metal particles in the gearbox fluid, it becomes clear that a simple oil change isn’t going to cut it this time. “Yep, she’s toast,” Benny sighs, wiping his dirty hands with a cloth. “Just what we need,” his friend grunts. He’s not looking forward to his uncle’s response to the setback. “I’ll tell Bobby.” “I can if you want me to,” the stable boy - who is also responsible for the machinery - offers. Dean purses his lips slightly, his thumbs hooked through the belt loops of his jeans while he stares at the old John Deere absently. “Nah, I’ll do it. I got a question for you, though. Do you mind supervising Y/N from now on?” Garth shakes his head, taking in his boss, somewhat confused. “No, not at all.” “Good,” the wrangler replies quickly, thankful that the slender employee takes on the task without question. The clueless young man didn’t pick up on the relationship between Dean and the intern to begin with, and he would rather keep him in the dark, especially now that it has ended. He knocks on the rusty hood of the tractor before he heads off. “I’ll see y’all in a bit. Can you start rolling out the hay to the pastures with the wheelbarrows? It’s gonna take a hell of a lot longer without this old thing.”

The shade inside the stables is welcoming, and not just because it offers cooler temperatures. Dean’s eyes are still painfully sore from the lack of sleep and he rubs at them again, trying to stop them from burning. Shit, and it’s only Monday, he sighs to himself. The three-day event over the weekend means no time off for the employees who attended. The last time he didn’t have to show up at seven in the morning or earlier was late September, which means that he has been working twelve-hour plus shifts for fourteen days straight now. Work never stops on a ranch. The horses depend on him; they will always need food, a clean stable and exercise, no matter how tired, lovesick, or miserable he is.

The cafeteria is already empty. His aunt is probably at the guesthouses to change the sheets and towels, giving the accommodations a quick once-over. However, he finds a post-it on the long table with his name on it; ‘Don’t forget to eat. Bacon sandwiches are in the fridge - Ellen’. As the cowboy smiles for the first time today, he wonders if Bobby has told his wife anything about John’s unexpected visit in Flagstaff, hoping that he hasn’t. Knowing his aunt, she’s going to sit him down for some sweet tea and a talk, even though previous attempts of having a conversation as such proved to be unsuccessful. He appreciates her concern, though, the idea of his surrogate mom caring about him offering Dean some solace.

The wrangler walks through the high barn doors on the other side, the sun doing its very best to cheer him up, but the rays don’t reach his soul. He makes his way to the Singer’s home, reckoning he will find Bobby there. As per usual, Dean takes off his hat and hangs it on the coat hanger, kicking off his boots before he proceeds to the office in the back of the house. After knocking, he pushes the door ajar, finding his uncle behind his desk. The place is still a mess, but the occupant’s features aren’t draped in shadows like the last time he was here. The blinders are open, the window a passe-partout of the Joshua tree, together with the paddocks and pastures surrounding it.

The rancher looks up when his nephew enters. “Hey, son. How’s the tractor comin’?” “Well, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but it’s fried. The oil is swimming with debris,” Dean tells, taking a seat on the other side of the desk. “Metal?” Bobby questions. When the young man across from him nods, he curses. “Balls!”

Dean presses his lips into a firm line, keeping still in the worn chair to prevent it from squeaking. His uncle seemed to be in a good mood after the successful show, but he can tell that this setback has put a strain on the old man’s frame of mind.

“You’re gonna call the service station?” the head wrangler wonders. “No, that’s gonna cost us. We finally managed to make some money, I ain’t planning on spending it on that damned thing.” The rancher adjusts his ball cap before leaning back in his chair. “You boys can give it a go first, open up that gearbox, see what’s broken. I’ll order parts once you figure out what’s wrong with that piece of shit.”

Scribbling something down on a piece of paper, Bobby sighs, but then returns his focus to Dean. “There’s somethin’ else I need to discuss with you.” His right-hand raises his eyebrows slightly, his interest peaked. “What’s that?” “It’s about Cain,” his uncle murmurs. “Apparently MacLeod didn’t tell the entire story.” Dean scoffs, shaking his head. “Should I be surprised? I’m not sure what kinda vibes you picked up from that shady dude, but I sure as hell don’t trust him for the life of me.” “I don’t either. That’s why I think we should reconsider that deal.” Bobby rests his elbows on the armrests of his chair, forking his fingers together in his lap. He expected some resistance from Dean, but not such a strong reaction as his nephew fires back.

“What?! Are you serious?” he counters, perplexed. “You’re just gonna wipe it off the table?” “Not ‘just’, but we need to consider our options,” his boss returns. “How many options do we have exactly? Because the way I see it, this arrangement is a pretty damn good one. It’s good money, a steady income with the prospect of a huge bonus, not to mention what doors it might open for the future. This horse might be the break we need,” Dean advocates, remembering Y/N’s words clearly when she summed up all the possibilities that Cain might bring with him. “Look, I know Fergus is a proper dick, but he has a reputation to protect. There’s too much at stake for him, and I don’t believe he will double-cross us. If we deliver, he’s gonna pay good bucks.” “And that’s where we might have a problem; actually delivering,” Bobby returns, taking in his head wrangler. Dean draws his head back, slightly hurt, frowning at his uncle’s words. “You don’t think I can get the job done?” “I’m not sure if anyone can, son,” the owner of the Gold Canyon Ranch states calmly. “The horse doesn’t just have ‘some behavioral issues’, as Fergus put it. He’s unapproachable, unpredictable, aggressive. That stallion is dangerous to everyone in a square mile radius. Jody rang me this morning to warn us.” “Jody?” the cowboy returns, puzzled. He’s aware that the female rancher knows a lot of people in this business, but he didn’t expect the news of the famous stallion’s arrival would spread so fast. “How did she even know that Cain was coming to us?” “Because MacLeod is a client of hers. Cain is currently in her stables.”

Dean’s eyebrows hit his hairline, emerald greens staring over the desk at the man on the other side. While gaping at his uncle, questions begin to race through his mind. Jody did business with Fergus? Jody is a good trainer with excellent judgment, so if she claims Cain is untrainable, that says something. Their last conversation in Flagstaff comes to mind, the news about Gabe’s hospitalization shocking him at the time. Could his friend’s injuries be the stallion’s doing?

Bobby watches his trusted worker process the information, rolling his chair a little closer and resting his forearms on the varnished wood, closing his hand over his fist. “I know this complicates things, but I’m gonna leave it up to you. If you think you can handle the stallion, I will trust your judgment. But I don’t want you to risk your neck for the money, Dean. We will find another way.”

The horseman chews on his lip as he ponders, his focus capturing nothing in particular as his eyes flick over the items and documents on the desk. “We’ll have a week to evaluate him. I’ll make the call after that,” he decides. “Mind if I contact Jody to get some insight on what I’m up against?” “Knock yourself out,” Bobby consents. “Just leave the numbers that we agreed to out of it.” “Will do.”

Dean gets up from his seat, pushing the chair closer to the desk before he intends to slip out of the office before he’s stopped by his boss. “One more thing,” the wise man says, looking over his enclosed hands. “What’s going on with you and the intern?”

Caught, the head wrangler freezes, eyes wide with shock and pure horror staring into the hallway. Shit. How the hell is he going to answer that? Is he referring to the dance at the opening night of the horse show or the palpable tension that has surrounded the former couple whenever they were in close range of each other? Dean doesn’t know, but he has the feeling that the continuation of this conversation is going to be anything but pleasant. Composing himself before he turns back to face his uncle.

“Nothin’. What do you mean?” He shrugs as the corners of his mouth draw down, pretending to be careless. “Don’t play dumb, boy. I was born at night, but not last night.” Bobby glares at him knowingly. “Are you messin’ around with her?” “No,” Dean says firmly, the truth in his words hurting him deep down. His uncle lifts his chin, holding the cowboy’s gaze while narrowing his eyes. It’s clear that he’s not buying. “You wanna explain then why you two were like two peas in a pot in Flagstaff, but can’t even look at each other now?”

With his hand still on the door handle, his nephew attempts to keep his act together, but then he sighs. Damn it, he was so close to making it out of this meeting alive. Oh well, what’s one more lecture, right?

“Look, there’s nothing going on, not anymore. I - uh, I got carried away and I shouldn’t have let it,” he admits. “I broke it off. It won’t happen again.” “Is this gonna be a problem?” his boss asks sternly. “If you two can’t work together--” “It isn’t. Garth will supervise her from now on. Just to prevent any issues in the future,” he continues, hoping the fact that they actually discussed how to carry on as colleagues from this point forward will put the concern to rest.

“There better be a future for her here on this ranch. I can’t afford to lose a free worker, especially not one as skilled as she is,” Bobby warns, not convinced. “I’d pray that she won’t pack her bags if I were you, ‘cause I’ll give ya one guess who’s gonna have to work twice as hard and whose ass I’m gonna bust.” “She won’t leave,” his head wrangler guarantees, willing to bet his life on it.

His promise might seem based on a hopeful hunch, but Y/N hasn’t given Dean any indication to question her professionalism. She even approached him in order to change the conditions of her internship, which couldn’t have been easy for her. Their interaction will be minimized and strictly business from now on, something he reckons she will handle much more gracefully than he will, simply because she has a bigger purpose to focus on. This placement is a stepping stone to her dream of owning her own ranch, and that goal hasn’t changed. He knows she won’t leave Gold Canyon.

Bobby observes his nephew, still bothered by the fact that he didn’t listen to him when he specifically told the bachelor not to get involved with the intern. He’s going to save the rant for another time, though, the sight of an already dejected man before him having him hold back. It seems like this is doing a number on young fellow, and considering how they were with each other at the horse show this weekend, he’s not surprised. The two reminded him of his twenties when he first got together with his Ellen. The boy is hurting, more than he lets on. “Alright then. Get goin’, I’ve got bills to pay,” he eventually says, shooing Dean out with a flick of the wrist.

Relieved that his uncle is cutting him some slack, he nods and silently pulls the door shut, putting a barrier between himself and the conversation he has been dreading for weeks. If only he could be able to tell Bobby that he’s with the girl he’s in love with; he would have taken the grumpy rebuke with a grin on his face. If only.

While stepping outside, the cowboy pulls his cellphone from his jeans pocket, looking up Jody Mills’ number in his contacts. He begins to slowly stroll back and forth on the porch in its sheltering shade, the floorboards moaning and cracking under his boots as he waits with his Nokia pressed against his ear. The steady tone beeps twice before his friend picks up. “Hey,” it sounds from the other side of the line. “I was hoping you’d call.” “Yeah, Bobby told me about Cain,” he returns. “Kinda complicates things, don’t it?” “I need to listen to me very carefully,” Jody starts, earnest and worried. “Do not take that horse into your stable.”

The cowboy sighs, glancing over the land while hooking his thumb behind his belt. He figured the female rancher would try to convince him to back off. “It’s good money, Jody, and I’ve handled difficult cases before. Cain deserves a shot. I have to try.” “I get it, but hear me out. If Fergus offered you a deal that seems too good to be true, that’s because it is. I know you’re an excellent trainer, hell, the best that I know. But I’m telling you, we’re not talking about a stallion with some authority issues here. That horse is twisted, has wires crossed. I have never seen such behavior,” she presses. “So many people have tried to straighten him out already. I did some digging, and Fergus’ supposedly ‘million dollar prospect’ has moved in and out nine different stables over the past year. No one has succeeded.”

He ponders, not taking her warning lightly. Jody is an experienced equestrian who has dealt with many tough animals. She even passed some horses on to him when she couldn’t get through to them. The woman is well aware of the limits to her expertise and has always been honest with clients when a horse was too much for her to handle, but never before has she doubted that the wrangler from the Gold Canyon Ranch could do the job.

“When Gabe got hurt, was it…?” Dean wonders, hesitant, not finishing his sentence. “It was Cain.”

He sets his jaw, the muscles flexing under his stubble. Although he assumed it was the stallion who has put his former colleague into the hospital, it still shocks him. He continues to pace the deck in front of the Singer’s home. “How is he doing?” he wonders. Jody pulls in a deep breath, the message she’s about to deliver clearly a difficult one. “He’s never gonna walk again. Paralyzed from the waist down.”

Dean closes his eyes and swallows thickly. It’s the outcome they all feared, but hearing the confirmation makes his gut churn. Losing one's legs is a nightmare for everyone, but for a rider? He can’t possibly picture it, becoming wheelchair-bound. Honestly, he would rather die than to never be able to get in the saddle again.

“Dean, I know you believe every horse deserves a second chance, but please, let this one go. He is beyond repair. I’m not asking, I’m begging,” she pleads, a tremor in her voice. “If you take on Cain, it’s only a matter of time before you get hurt, or worse.”

The words are backed up by a heavy silence. The two stay quiet for a while, the words sinking in with the wrangler. Flight animals fueled by fear can do either two things; run or attack. If getting away from the supposed threat is impossible, they tend to go for the last. It’s not something the horse will even think about; it’s a survival instinct. When a naturally kind creature takes a turn like that, it becomes a thousand-pound killing machine. If Cain is truly that far gone, it is likely that he is indeed beyond saving. The trainer has to see it for himself, though, and not just because the ranch can use the cash. He realizes that if he doesn’t take on this task, someone else will, someone with less experience. If this stallion is really that lethal, the next novice trainer might make an error of judgment that will be his or her last. At least Dean has the skills. It seems like he is Cain’s last resort, because if he isn’t trainable, he will get the bullet at some point. He wouldn’t be the first horse to be put down because of similar problems.

“Thanks for the warning, Jody,” he responds after a long pause. “I’ll keep it in mind.” “Dean--” “I know. I know what you’re gonna say, but if I don’t do this, who knows what might happen to him. I’ve got a week to decide if we wanna go through with it. That’s the least I can do.” He can hear his friend grunt, frustrated, probably realizing that changing his mind was a long shot to begin with. “Just… be careful, okay?” “I will, promise,” Dean assures. “Talk to you later.”

The cowboy hangs up, staring at his phone for a few more seconds before he puts it away and steps out into the sun, heading back to the stables. The admonition continues to ring in his ears, and he allows the caution to imprint the decisions he needs to make in the upcoming days. After all, warned is forearmed.

Y/N wishes anyone had warned her how painful it is to have her heart broken by the person who made it beat just for him. Maybe she would have been more mindful then, more guarded. Maybe she wouldn’t have let him have it, had she known how careless he would be.

Around 5 o’clock, her new supervisor said it was okay if she wanted to take her own horse for a ride. Normally she trains Meadow either before or after shift, but she got all the work done at record speed, desperate for a distraction, that all her daily tasks were fulfilled two hours before dinner. Maybe Garth detected that she needed some alone-time with her four-legged friend, because he suggested the ride with a sympathetic smile and a kind nudge, sending her towards the Quarter’s box.

After straightening out the saddle pad, the cowgirl tightens the cinch. Meadow, who can be a bit of a grumpy mare when it comes to tacking up, stands still without moving a muscle, allowing her owner to ready her for a ride without pulling a prank like she usually does. Sometimes the cheeky horse will try to fish Y/N’s phone from her back pocket, nibble at her hat or her sleeve, or refuse to take a step aside when requested, but not today. Maybe she can sense that such an action could set her human off.

The horse accepts the bit when the cowgirl offers it to her, after which she pulls the headpiece over Meadow’s black-tipped ears, securing the straps skillfully. She sniffles, wiping her nose and forcing herself to keep her composure a little while longer. In a few minutes, when she’s away from prying eyes, she will allow to let the tears flow again, but not now, not yet.

Y/N unties her horse, places her left foot in the stirrup, and swings her right leg over the back of her bay mare, softly landing in the saddle. Picking up the reins, she steers her horse away from the tack up area, the smooth leather between her fingers giving her a sense of control that she’s missing in her love life.

Instead of leading Meadow towards the arena, the rider guides her towards the gate that leads to the trail. Her horse had an eventful weekend and gave it her all in competition, so it wouldn’t be fair to put her through a full workout. The performance took a lot out of the willing horse who never seizes to bring her best efforts and more. Even though the freestyle only lasted minutes, the athlete peaked with a brilliant execution of the routine, which takes a lot of skill and strength. Then there’s the ambiance of a show, the new environment, all the sensory overload. The combination of all those factors did a number the Quarter, and she deserves a calm and relaxing ride, much like the young woman she’s carrying on her back. Y/N is in no state to train, well aware that the heightened emotions will get the best of her if something might not work out the way she planned, and that’s not something she wants her companion to bear the consequences of. If anything, Meadow has been absolutely wonderful, seeming to understand that her person is sad and needs someone to lean on.

After closing the fence behind them, the girl and her horse follow the path that leads towards the hills. Cacti flank the road ahead towards the Superstition Mountains, which stand tall in the backdrop. The beautiful amber colored volcanic rock formations seem even more vibrant now that the setting sun blesses nature with a warm glow. The vegetation is much greener than it was when they searched for the herd of youngsters in the reservoir. Autumn is here, and within a couple of months, the ridges that reach for the sky will be covered in snow. It’s supposed to be a beautiful sight, at least that’s what Dean told her.

Now that it’s just her and Meadow, Y/N finally allows the suppressed tears to fall. The battle she has been fighting all day is one she knew she would lose eventually, she just wanted to be with her most faithful friend when the levee breaks. She doesn’t even intend to wipe the drops of despair away, knowing that she has to let it out now in order to keep up the facade later. And so the last rays of the day catch the shimmering pathways down her cheeks, similar to how the water cobbled at Willow’s Creek, where she and Dean shared their first kiss. All the memories, those perfect little moments that she thought to cherish forever, they are worth nothing now. It was all just a dream.

Y/N transits into a slow canter, hoping that the wind in her face will chase the sorrow away. She has to feel something completely opposite to the grief that is ripping her apart. She needs to experience freedom and the bond that comes along with this unique partnership between her and Meadow, the simplicity of moving across the desert like men and their horses have been doing so for centuries. No engines, no computers, no engineering. Just two souls of completely different species merging as one.

Resting her free hand on her horse’s neck and gripping the black mane, she pushes her heels into the Quarter’s flanks, aiding her to pick up speed. The bay mare takes over, her rider is no longer in control, but she no longer has to be. Y/N doesn’t need to direct this movie, because she trusts Meadow with her life. If there is any being on the face of the planet that she would follow blindly, it’s her companion. Meadow has never let her down, not once, and her owner knows there will never come a moment when she will. And so she breathes in, welcoming the wind to fill her lungs with newfound courage, brought on by the majestic animal that gallops across the landscape, carrying Y/N on her wings.

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to like or reblog my work, shoot me a message or buy me coffee (Link to Kofi in bio at the top of the page).

Read part twenty-six here

#Ride With Me #Dean x Reader #Cowboy!Dean x reader #Cowboy!Dean AU #Dean Winchester series #Cowboy!Dean series #Dean Winchester x Reader #Dean Winchester reader insert #Dean Winchester #Dean Winchester fanfiction #Supernatural AU #SPN #Supernatural #Supernatural series #SPN series #Dean angst #Dean fluff #RWM chapter 25 #Kate Huntington

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sinnaminsuga · 4 years

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Title: Bookkeeper

Summary: How you became a bookkeeper to the city's most infamous crime lord was sort of a “right time right place” situation. You used to work in the cash handling office for the local grocery store and even leaders of organized crime operations need to grocery shop right? Right.

Pairing: Henry x Reader

Word Count: 1,445

Warnings: none (if i missed anything let me know!)

A/N: hello! i had this idea a few days ago and have been struggling with bringing it to life. it's pretty lame and based mostly on my dumb ass job so i'm sorry if it's trash! 😂

*if you'd like to be removed from my tags just let me know!*

Tags: @october505 @infinite-shite @hope-to-hell @inlovewithhisblueeyes @littlefreya @viking-raider @wolvesandhoundshowltogether @foodieforthoughts @raspberrydreamclouds @dancingwendigo @oddsnendsfanfics @its--fandom--darling @the-soot-sprite @connieisland @feralrunaway

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- 8 months ago -

The day you met Henry, he was the next customer in line at register five. The cashier Sarah, a petite shy wisp of a girl, was getting ready to leave for the day and had used the intercom system to page for a drawer count before handing off her register to the next cashier. Henry stood patiently in line just watching the employees scurry around. And that's when you appeared. A door across from the front end flew open and you came rushing out, a separate till braced on your hip and a set of keys dangling off your wrist.

“Good afternoon folks, sorry for the delay. I just have to count down this till real quick and we’ll get right back to scanning your orders alright?” you said to the few people in Sarah's line with a gentle smile. They all seemed to hum or grunt in response as they were absorbed in their phones anyway. Henry however, locked eyes with you and made it a point to say “Take your time sweetheart.”.

You tore your eyes from the hulking man in front of you, fully aware (as was everyone else) of who he was. You pulled the till from the register and popped open all the little spring loaded arms that held the cash down. You set to work pulling each stack of money from their respective slots and began counting. You'd always been good with numbers, especially related to money, so it was easy for you. Your hands flew as you counted and in no more than five minutes you had the drawer counted and reset to its original $200 set up. You were so focused on the task at hand that you didn't notice Henry watching your every move, in awe of your speed and accuracy. The gears in his brain began to turn, coming up with an idea. You patted Sarah on the shoulder and told her she was good to go as you ushered the new cashier up to take her place. Grabbing the till you brought with you from the office, you flitted back to the room and disappeared from Henry’s sight as the door slammed closed.

After making his purchases, Henry stalked over to the door you vanished behind and knocked. He could hear muffled sounds of shuffling paper and rubber bands being snapped, no doubt tying together stacks of money. The tell tale sound of a safe slamming shut was the last sound before the door flung open and you appeared once again with a hand on your hip.

“Can I help you Mr.Cavill?” you asked, your tone a bit stern, to help mask your attraction to the beautiful man. Henry chuckled to himself before offering his hand to you, a business card wedged between his index and middle finger.

“Call me. I think i have a job for you.” was all he said before he turned and walked out the automatic doors at the front of the store. Damn. “I could bounce a quarter off that ass.” you thought to yourself.

You turned the card over in your hands and mumbled “Well, the pay cant be any worse than what I make now.” and the rest was history.

-Present Day -

The room in Henry’s home that you worked in was large with a heavy door that contained a high tech locking mechanism, and a large security guard right outside of said door. The big redwood table you did your work at was covered from end to end with stacks of cash. Henry had stocked the room with everything you'd need to keep his money in order and to balance the books of his “operation”. You didn't know what the operation was and you never cared to ask, as long as your direct deposit hit your account by 8 am every friday morning. His business was none of your business unless there was a money issue. And today, for the first time, there was a money issue.

You ran the numbers in your head over and over and over as you banded the bills together. There was money missing, you were sure of it, but you couldn't figure out where it had gone. You had triple counted every bundle of money that was given to you and it all added up to be about $100,000 short of what it should have been.

You set to counting the money for the fourth time just to be sure when you heard the muffled yet distinct voices of Henry and his two closest “employees” (if you could call them that) coming down the hall towards your room. You paid them no mind as the door opened, and kept working at the task at hand.

“Good afternoon sweetheart! How are we today?” Henry greeted you with a lighthearted tone. You two often playfully bantered, him swearing that if he wasn't such a bad man he’d sweep you off your feet and make you his wife one day, and you responding with “You wouldn't know what to do with me Cavill.” before going about your separate days. But today, you had no time or patience to entertain the bear of man.

“Someone is shorting you.” You said as the money continued to fly through your hands. “E-excuse me?” Henry questioned with a scoff. “You heard what i said. You're $100,000 short.” You continued without looking at him, focused and zeroed in on your task. “You're wrong. You've got to be wrong!” he bellowed at you, hands braced on the other side of the table, his lackies trying and failing to calm him.

You stopped counting. Your eyes snapped up to meet his as you slammed the stack of money you were counting onto the shiny wood of the table. You rose from your seat and matched his stance, palms flat on the surface of the table. Leaning forward you hissed, “I’m wrong? I'M wrong? I’m gonna tell you why i'm NOT wrong. I’m not wrong, because I'm NEVER wrong. I can’t afford to be wrong. More importantly YOU can't afford for me to be wrong. If i had a track record for being wrong, I wouldn't have a fucking job. So maybe have Crabbe and Goyle over there, ” you jabbed your finger in the direction of the two men with him, “look into it.”

Henry cracked a small smile as your chest heaved and your skin burned with anger. How dare he doubt you?! You would never make such a monumental mistake! And now he was smiling?! This bastard really had a penchant for pissing you off today.

“Crabbe and Goyle? Does that make me Draco Malfoy then?” Henry asked lowly, smile spreading across his stupid beautiful face. You couldn't help it and you started to smile too, but you bit your lip to stop yourself. “Tsk tsk tsk, no no no dear. None of that.” He murmured reaching across the rest of the distance between you two to brush the pad of his thumb over your lower lip, tugging it out from between your teeth. The action only stoked the fire building in your belly.

“I'm sorry I doubted you. I should have known better, that you would have been smart enough to double even triple count the money before coming to me about the issue. I'm sorry love. I am.” He apologized, hand over his heart as he came around to your side of the table, leaning against the edge. You crossed your arms over your chest and rolled your eyes as he tutted at you and extended his arms to pull you toward him by your waist.

“Crabbe. Goyle. Out.” Henry snapped without turning to look at the men who were now scurrying out of the room. As he drew you in closer you planted your hand against his chest. The confusion in his eyes evident, assuming he read the energy of the room wrong. You quickly rectified his confusion by leaning in and planting wet open mouthed kisses on his neck, all the way to the shell of his ear.

There was no mistaking the groan and shudder that ran through that dangerous man’s body when you spoke softly into his ear. “Now. Let's talk about your punishment for doubting me. You'll be a good boy for me, won't you darling?”

THE END

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soulwillower · 4 years

Text

crush culture • richie tozier

(richie tozier x reader)

requested: fic where Richie and reader have been best friends since kindergarten, and have always had feelings for eachother secretly, until one day richie gets a girlfriend (just to take his mind off her), and the reader gets jealous and distances herself from him? he obviously gets upset by this- and things go on from there? sorry if it’s too specific! love u!

warnings: swearing, brief mentions of death, fighting, mentions of an abusive relationship, intentionally pissing off richie, a bit of angst, richie is an oblivious idiot, but reader is MUCH more of an idiot, like dude lmao, but i think that’s it, unedited tho

this isn’t rly based off crush culture, but i took the title from conan gray’s song :)

[losers + reader are 18+ in this!!!]

3.8k words L O L :))

♡

you swear to god, you’re getting sick. that’s what this was, for sure.

it started about a month ago, when you started to get headaches and terrible hollow feelings in your stomach. it happened everywhere - in the line for coffee, in class, driving home from school, at the dinner table. but it got a hundred times worse at night and then seemed to triple in force every morning when you woke.

and it all came at you some time after richie announced he had a new girlfriend.

you were really sick the few days after that, enough that you stayed home from school and laid in bed, the pit in your stomach sinking. it didnt take long for you to realize how bad richie’s girlfriend was - she treated him like a dog, like he embarrassed her - and he didn’t even seem to mind. he just brushed off every offhand comment, rolled his eyes with a grin when she told him she didn’t want to see his friends or when she told him to stop talking.

he still seemed to like her, anyways. and that thought made your stomach convulse.

so then you had to distance yourself from richie because it hurt you to see him with her. it hurt you to see him with someone who didn’t treat him like the incredible person he was.

so yeah.

you say you’re sick, but you know that’s not really true. it’s easier than accepting reality at this point, though, so you spew this nonsense (to yourself, mostly) in order to justify ignoring your best friend of nearly a decade because christ, he is becoming unbearable.

like the other day, at lunch while you were all sitting in the courtyard. it was your first time eating with them again after almost a week and a half, as you’d been eating alone in your car recently to avoid richie. “rich, why’d you take off the nail polish?” bev asked, out of the blue, sounding disappointed as she grabbed his free hand and examined it.

he blew smoke out of his mouth slowly and you had forced yourself to look away, the sight of richie doing nearly anything these days being pretty dangerous for you. it also made you sigh a bit - you knew he only smoked at lunch now, since his girlfriend hated it.

“don’t want my paws to be prettier than y/n’s when we hold hands.” he had joked, wagging an eyebrow at you. you’d shook your head and looked to the ground in lew of a real response, just as you had been doing a lot recently.

you'd missed richie’s frown at your reaction, but you did catch his next statement as it was added on, “nah, actually it’s because the ol’ G-F didn’t like it. thought it looked too girly.”

you, stan, bev, and mike all stopped chewing to look at richie, in varying stages of bewilderment. you'd cleared your throat quickly but decided against speaking up just as richie’s phone started to ring. he’d answered it nearly immediately, the enthusiasm of which made you feel like you’re going to be sick again - because richie never answers your calls until the last possible minute.

god, jealousy is a fucking disease.

“hey, sugar.” he had purred suavely into the phone and for some reason, hearing him call someone else sugar had you abruptly rising, gathering your things and nearly running off to put as much distance between you and four-eyes as you possibly could, because you’re not sure how much more you could take.

after that, you were absolutely sure it was just pure denial on your part.

as far as you could tell, richie wasn't noticing too much. he still phoned your house every day, just to be met with your mother telling him you 'weren't available,' and then he'd call your own phone, which you'd let buzz itself into a dark hole on your bedside table while you stared at it solemnly, guilt heavy on your mind as he left voicemail after voicemail.

he doesn't deserve it, you think as you open the doors to the school library, backpack on your shoulders. but you can't help it. you're not his girlfriend, and you're not mature enough to accept that with any ounce of elegance so instead you just ignore him all together. at least you're self-aware, right? that ought to count for something.

you shake your head just as a voice catches your attention, “well look who decided to show up!”

richie's sitting at the usual study table in the very back corner of the library, a spot tucked away by rows upon rows of dusty books and an alcove of couches. bill sits at the head of the table, scribbling his chicken scratch handwriting onto graph paper, mike next to richie with a textbook spread out flat. across from mike is stan, writing out his statistics work.

all three of them wave at you before going back to their work, whereas richie just watches you expectantly. his feet are kicked up on the table, textbook balanced on his lap as he hovers on two leg chairs. his smile is as blinding as always, a dimple faint on his left cheek and full eyebrows raised in jest. his curls frame his face perfectly and you want to scream.

but you take your seat next to stan with a tight lipped smile, not really sure how to respond to richie. are you even allowed to be flirty with him like you used to? he still does it on the rare occasions when you do see each other - but that itself is the issue, you figure. his flirting is just a joke, a tiff from one friend to another. but you can't see him as just a friend, and that’s unfair to him.

so you stay quiet, which makes it infinitely more awkward.

richie clears his throat and you pull out your work with an awkward expression, the minutes slowly churning by in what has to be the quietest hangout with the Losers yet.

you feel the tension building in your body and in the air, and you're not sure what's wrong with you or why you have so much resentment towards richie in this moment, because he's not done one single thing to offend anyone in the last ten minutes.

then richie's phone rings suddenly and mike jumps a bit as he's startled out of the passage he's reading. you all look down to richie's screen, where his girlfriend's name blares up at you and all you can feel is white hot jealousy coursing through your body.

richie looks half way exhausted and annoyed at the call, which you find extremely odd and out of character, not to mention persistently frustrating.

as you all stare at the phone, the tension in the room stretches tighter and tighter, like a rubber band and you can't breathe -

"uh, why is she calling you?" mike asks, as if this was something that was forbidden or shocking in any way, and for some reason, that is finally it.

the rubber band snaps.

"how could you forget, mike? they're in love!" you say with mock enthusiasm.

bill shoots you an alarmed look that you probably should read into or at least consider for a moment, but instead you're looking directly at richie, as if challenging him.

he blinks at you and clenches his jaw, "she and i haven't really been... talking recently." richie says lightly, shooting a glance to mike.

“well then maybe you’re just not right for each other.” you quip, the blood boiling in your veins. richie's eyes snap to you and you see the fire behind them as he suddenly breaks.

“sorry, did i miss the divine intervention when god floated down on a cloud of marshmallows and deemed you expert in relationships?” he says abruptly, making your eyes widen at his outburst. he continues, “because last time i checked, you’re a bit of a failure in that department. so i don't need some jealous, disappearing-act wannabe criticizing my life when she's barely even in it.” he seethes. it’s near quiet in the library anyways, but his words seem to silence the entire town.

with a quick glance to your right, stan and bill sharing an uncomfortable look, and mike is staring down intently at his work with wide eyes.

you want to die.

does richie know? has he known this whole time that you're just deeply, painfully head over heels for him?

"i'm so sick of your bullshit. maybe you're jealous because you want what i had, but you’re being really fucking rude."

you nearly cry. or scream.

“criticism doesnt equal jealousy, okay?” you spit without thinking, immediately regretting even opening your mouth. you're so intent on covering for yourself, you don't even take into account the phrasing he'd used when referring to his girlfriend, instead fighting with richie in order to keep your secret from him.

this is not how you’d intended today to go. he stares at you, eyebrows furrowed in a way that almost makes you keel over in sadness, the guilt of the situation falling too heavily on your shoulders and crushing you.

it’s tranquilizing to see him like this - he's fuming, but he's also got bright, glistening eyes which you think may be filling up with tears.

“i didn’t really ask for your input, though.” he mutters, cheeks reddening as tears definitely well in his eyes behind his lenses. “you can’t just ignore me at your every whim just to come right back and tell me what's good for me.”

you blink, shaking your head quickly, deciding to back off. now is not the time to fight, especially when you know he’s right. you had no idea it was hurting him like this. "richie, i... i just wanted-" you gape at him, extremely embarrassed.

“-i don’t fucking care what you wanted, y/n.” richie says sharply, causing you to shut your mouth so quick your jaw clicks in the silence. clearly, even the other boys are perturbed by richie’s actions and everyone’s staring down in silence at their homework.

it’s quiet like that for a few minutes, the tension so thick that you’d need a jackhammer just to chip away at it. but stan rummages through his bag suddenly, pulling out two painkillers and dry swallowing them. you don't look at anyone else, your stomach hollow and your heart thumping so hard in your chest you think you may explode.

"d-do you have a headache?" bill asks, looking at stan with concern. the sudden voice causes you to perk up, head flowing with humiliation at the fight you and richie had just had in front of your friends.

“yeah, but it’s not that bad. i guess i’m used to it.” stan says, pen between his teeth.

“just because you’re used to something doesn’t make it any less unhealthy for you.” you say louder than necessary, your mouth suddenly deciding to speak without consulting your brain.

the glare of pure frustration that richie throws you pierces your lungs and suddenly makes you feel lightheaded.

your pettiness doesn’t go unresponsive, of course, and mike sighs into his hands, standing up to gather his things. "alright. i can't study when you two are like this. i'll see you guys later."

richie sighs quietly and bill and stan mumble good-bye's. the library goes back to quiet for maybe three more minutes, until you see stanley start to fidget like he usually does when he's anxious. and then you notice it after a few seconds, too.

richie won't stop tapping his foot on the desk.

for everyone's sake, you try to ignore it, because you know richie can't help his compulsions - especially when he's upset (which, your mind painfully reminds you, is all your fault).

but it's driving you crazy.

“-if you keep doing that i’ll throw you out that fucking window rich, i swear.” stan mutters not unkindly, his eyes rolling to meet richie with a concerned gaze as richie stares out the window.

you raise your eyebrows, “what’re you even looking at?” you ask, trying to mend a bit of the open, festering wound you’d created in you and richie’s friendship.

without looking at you, richie shrugs. “checking to see how high the drop is. may be worth it to have schnoz just toss me down. it would certainly do you a favor right? gettin ol’ trashmouth gone for good.”

what was he saying? you look at him, scandalized. stan and bill don’t even say anything about the offensive nickname as you gape at richie. "what the fuck?" is all your brilliant mind can think.

"what, you can dish it but you can't take it?" richie says sharply. he shakes his head, looking upset. "i'm tired of trying to be friends with a fucking brick wall."

then he's gathering his one notebook and swiftly exiting your alcove in the library in a wind of cigarettes and cologne.

you blink, his words sinking in and making you sigh shakily. your stomach feels hollow as you remember the expression of glee on his face when you'd walked into the library, and how completely different and broken he'd looked as he'd left. you think you're going to cry.

“every minute that you don't follow him digs yourself deeper into this grave, you know.” stan says, giving you a stern but encouraging look.

you let out a shaky sigh and scramble to grab your bag, tripping over your feet as you run out of the library, flying down the staircase faster than you've ever gone and making it to your lifelong best friend just as he reaches his car in the parking lot.

"-a brick wall?" you ask, out of breath. you see richie hold back an eye roll, his arms crossing over each other as he serves you a look of discomposure.

he shrugs helplessly, looking as if he's at his wit's end.

"what do you want me to say, y/n? you've been avoiding me for weeks. i know i'm annoying and obnoxious and whatever, but i'm not blind." he says, making you swallow as guilt pangs through your chest. you have been so fucking selfish, haven't you?

it hurts to hear him say that about himself.

he sniffles a bit, sounding choked up as he goes on, "i've had a rough couple of days - weeks, even. but every time i'm near, it's like you've had more than enough, and you just leave. am i that repulsive? why do you suddenly hate me?" he asks, looking desperate as his eyes rim red, filling with tears again.

“what did i do?” his voice cracks as he whispers the sentence and your heart breaks in two.

your own vision goes glassy as he continues, "-i've needed you, y/n/n. i'm lost, i'm seriously not okay and you just don't care at all."

you're stunned for a moment, mouth opening and closing silently as your mind races to rush something out, anything,because you aren't sure you can bear to see richie look at you like this for one more second. but your silence comes off wrong to richie, and tears slip out of his eyes.

“don’t you love me?” he asks, voice hoarse and cutting right through you, deeper than any knife ever could. "don't you want me to be happy?" he adds and you take a shaky breath, looking helplessly at him, where you're met with nothing but glassy eyes and tear trails. your heart is slamming in your chest, tears falling from your eyes and you can't breathe.

"a-are you?" you ask, trying to keep your tone even although it comes out just as vulnerable as you feel. “h-happy. with her?”

richie freezes at your words, mouth slightly open and you watch a single tear course over his high cheekbones and down to his bottom lip as it shakes faintly. you curse yourself for the longing to feel those very lips against yours.

"i was." he whispers, voice shaking as he rubs his face with his hand under his glasses, the moisture of his fallen tears clinging from his long dark lashes onto his slender, shaking fingers. "and then - and then i lost you. and y'know, i got my girlfriend so i could distract myself, but she made me feel like absolute shit all the time and so i went and broke up with her, but -" he hiccups through his tears and you blink, biting your lip as tears cascade down your cheek in wet trails.

they broke up?

he broke up with her, and he's going through this breakup and trying to better himself after she tore him down and you've just been ignoring him - he thinks you don't care about him, that you don't love him. you start to cry harder.

"-i thought she'd distract me from you. i-i'm sorry." he says, his voice muffled by his hands as they cover up his angelic face, his shoulders shaking as more tears fall. "i'm so sorry."he repeats.

you see double for a second, completely shocked by his words as the breath leaves your lungs. he tried to distract himself from you... and he’s so hurt because of what you did.

but finally, for the first time this whole damn day, you find the right words. "i-no, richie, i'm sorry, please - fuck." you break, letting out a sob as you rub your eyes furiously in search of any relief from the guilt ripping you in two. "i didn't mean to hurt you. i'm so sorry, i can't believe i did this, i didn't want to hurt you, i'm just so selfish." you babble, his sniffles making you open your eyes.

he looks so alone and so vulnerable as he hugs his arms around himself in search of comfort, tears still falling from his bright eyes and down his rosy cheeks.

he looks devastatingly beautiful in the golden sunlight of the afternoon, a breeze ruffling his curls lightly. "just please, i can't - i can't deal with you hating me. please, please, please."

he's pleading with you and you think you may be sick from the guilt and sadness that envelopes you, so you spring forward and wrap your arms tightly around him. the force of your body pushes him against the side of his car and the way he clings back to you like you're the last thing holding him to earth just makes you cry even harder.

"i don't hate you, richie. i love you, i love you too much." you say, your body shaking as he just holds you tighter against him. "i'm so sorry, i didn't mean any of it. you're right. i was just jealous... i'm so sorry. i was so jealous of her, i couldn't see you be with her." you mumble. "i'm so sorry."

richie pulls you back gently at your words, his eyes wide and wondering as you look at each other. "what?" he asks so innocently, his eyelashes wet and dark and his lips parted.

you can count the freckles on his nose and cheeks, you're so close. you can feel his shuddering breath against your face as he huffs in a breath. your hands hold onto his shoulders and you decide to fuck it, you just have to tell him how sorry you are, to explain yourself.

"richie, i'm in love with you. and - and when you and her got together, it hurt so much, and i didn't want to deal with the fact that i couldn't have you, so i just ignored you. i’m sorry, i’m so sorry." you say it quickly and in one breath, looking down at your shoes and how they point straight towards his.

"you're in... love with me?" he says weakly, sounding hopeful as you finally look back into his eyes guiltily.

you laugh wetly, "of course i am, richie. how could i not fall head over heels for everything about you?"

he tears up again at your words, but this time it's accompanied by a beautiful smile and a light, wet laugh. he shakes his head, his arms circling your waist tighter as he presses his forehead against yours. your butterflies tickle your stomach at your proximity.

"fuck, y/n. i can't believe i spend my time trying to get my mind off you." he says and your breath hitches a bit. "do you have any idea how long i've been in love with you?" he asks quietly, and you let out another small laugh out of shock, but it's wet and gleeful.

"i'm sorry." you whisper, your finger curling around a strand of the dark hair on his head. he shakes his head, your noses rubbing slightly. "it's okay, y/n. i love you so much. please let me forgive you." he says, pulling a smile out of you that you don't think anybody else ever could. you nod shortly, looking into his eyes as one last tear falls.

he kisses you tenderly then, taking your breath away.

richie fills up your every sense as he clings to you desperately, his lips salty from your combined tears and his arms strong. his tongue is gentle as it runs along your lips and enters your parted mouth, one of his hands sliding up to tilt your head up towards him. you're breathless because of him for the millionth time in your life and you decide kissing richie is the only thing you want to do forever.

you pull away slowly, and as you lean back he presses a chaste second kiss to your lips, causing you to grin.

you barely make eye contact as you pull apart and then you greedily pull him back to you, his lips finding yours yet again with a sweet, loving laugh.

"i love you too, rich." you mumble against his lips. he sighs almost dreamily as you pull back, biting your lip and laughing when he opens the passenger door, gesturing to it with a shy grin.

"now can i please buy you a burger?" he asks, almost bashfully, and your heart does somersaults. you nod and kiss him again, his hand falling to the small of your back, palm wide and fingers lower than you'd expected. he pulls away and his grin is loving, his eyes hooded in pride as you caress his cheek softly before you slide into the car seat.

he holds your hand the whole night and refuses to let go until you slip through your front door at near midnight, blushes on both of your cheeks and lips kiss-bruised.

the butterflies you feel as you fall asleep with a grin on your face are the exact same ones richie feels as his head finally hits the pillow, a giddy smile on his own face as he smiles to himself in the dark halfway across town.

tag list: @gabiatthedisco @blisshemmings @stenbrozier @simplesammyx@brxken-heartsclub @clownsloveyou @baby-yoda-a @moon-shine-baby @daughter-of-the-stars11 @trashedfortozier @oceandog13 @finnskindofwoman @kait-tozier @upamongthestarss @fiantomartell @beverlyparkerr @beauregard-s @leighjaenikhowell @cowbellies @deepestofwaters

#richie tozier x reader #requests #losers x reader #losers club x reader #bill denbrough x reader #mike hanlon x reader #ben hanscom x reader #beverly marsh x reader #eddie kaspbrak x reader #stanley uris x reader

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sparring-hyena · 4 years

Text

the time of our lives.

this one was kinda requested/suggested by @cloakanddaggerthings. they’ve also been a great help in hammering out the finicky details. thanks heaps, mate!

OR, the one where it takes a year for these two goofs to realise they’re in love.

i. New Year’s Eve.

naturally, this is where they start. although, start in a very loose sense of the word. because they were something before tonight. something fiery and intense, but certainly not something real.

they were midnight rendezvouses, sharp remarks that lacked any real malice, and moments that somehow meant nothing and everything. but what they were is irrelevant. because Poppy’s got a reputation and parental expectations, and AJ doesn’t fit into any of that.

so, they stand in the front yard of some frat house, a New Year’s party raging on inside, and fight. they shout and cuss and say things that don’t at all mean but that make this whole thing easier.

it’s with ten seconds of the year left that Poppy says, “i hate you,” and feels something break in her heart.

“i hate you, too,” AJ says as the countdown finally reaches zero.

there’s cheering from inside and then AJ leaves and now Poppy’s standing alone on the front lawn. she ignores the tears that fall down her cheeks and tries to tell herself that everything will be fine.

so, yes, that’s how they start: in the final ten seconds of the year with an i hate you that actually means something else entirely.

ii. Valentine’s Day.

she sees AJ sporadically throughout the day. and that irritates Poppy like nothing else ever has. figures it would be today of all days that she sees her everywhere.

first it’s at the crack of dawn as she walks home after a one night stand that she spots AJ on a jog. they’re on opposite sides of the street, but it’s empty so they see each other.

AJ stops in her tracks and looks right at Poppy, not exactly irritated but certainly not pleased. Poppy fixes her with a glare that says what are you looking at? AJ shrugs and starts up on her jog again, and Poppy huffs and continues on her walk home.

then they see each other on campus way too many times—in the café, on the quad, and in the library. and each time, Poppy’s glare is met with a shrug from AJ.

the last time she sees AJ it’s late. the sun has long since set and there’s a chill that’s set in for the night. she’s on her way home from dinner—some blind date Veronica had set up—when she spots AJ across the street, laughing and walking hand-in-hand with some girl who looks vaguely familiar.

Poppy watches them until she can’t see them anymore, and wonders if AJ saw her this time, too.

iii. spring break.

she goes to Miami for the week with Veronica and Chloe. her intention is to have a fun and carefree week where she doesn’t once think about AJ.

it’s two days into her trip when she finds herself scrolling through Instagram late one night. curiosity nibbles at her restraint until she’s typing AJ’s name into the search bar.

she finds AJ’s profile and the first picture she sees is some candid shot of AJ and that same girl from Valentine’s Day looking at each other with ridiculously cheesy smiles. Poppy switches her phone off and doesn’t dare touch it for the rest of the night.

Poppy goes to a party the next night and hooks up with a girl who looks a lot like AJ. Veronica and Chloe point this out a few days later, laughing over cocktails. Poppy scoffs and tells them that’s complete bullshit and tries to hide her blush by taking a long sip of her drink.

iv. summer break.

the academic year ends and Poppy sighs with relief as she collapses onto her bed. she’s got three months until her final year starts, and three months where she doesn’t have to see or think of AJ.

it goes well at first—the not thinking about AJ. she spends a lot of time shopping and partying and lounging by the pool of her parents’ beach house on Long Island. but there are only so many hours of the day where she can keep her mind busy. so it’s at night, when she’s in bed trying to fall asleep, that her mind wanders back to AJ.

the first time it happens, she groans and rolls onto her side, and tries to flush all thoughts of AJ from her mind. that works. but then it happens again and again, and before Poppy really knows it, it’s halfway through August and she’s thought of AJ every single night since the end of June.

she lays awake in bed and watches the fan on the ceiling spin in lazy circles. her brain summons a long and near forgotten memory of a night a lot like this. she closes her eyes and sinks into the warm embrace of the memory:

she was in bed with AJ. it was either late or early, Poppy can’t quite remember. she decides it probably doesn’t really matter. they were talking and laughing under the quiet blanket of night. and Poppy suddenly remembers how she’d reached for AJ’s hand and never wanted to let it go.

Poppy opens her eyes and glances to her side. the bed is empty beside her, the sheets untouched, and she can almost feel the ghost of AJ’s touch on her hand. she squeezes her eyes shut, trying not to cry, and realises she never did hate AJ. she was probably just scared.

v. Halloween.

there’s a party on campus—isn’t there always? a frat party with costumes and decorations and cheesy music that starts to sound alright after three or four drinks. Poppy slips in later in the night, when everyone’s teetering on the edge of tipsy and drunk.

she moves through the throng of people towards the kitchen to pour herself a drink, and bumps into AJ for the first time this semester.

“hey,” AJ says, awkward and unsure, and Poppy silently regrets everything she’s put her through.

“hi,” Poppy says, smiling and really meaning it.

that seems to loosen AJ up a bit, and she returns the smile in kind.

“haven’t seen you in a while,” AJ says, leaning back against the counter and sipping her drink.

“been busy,” she lies even though that’s something she’s trying to stop.

and AJ seems to understand the lie for what it is. “you wanna go outside for a bit?”

Poppy only nods, afraid that if she speaks, she’ll ruin whatever’s happening right now. it’s quieter outside, the cheesy music and chatter nothing but a gentle murmur. they stand out on the front lawn of some frat house and Poppy gets a strange sense of déjà vu.

“i wish things had been different, y’know?” AJ says, her voice a gentle reassurance.

“me too,” Poppy says, and then: “i’m sorry that i said i hate you. because i don’t.”

a moment of silence passes, uncomfortable and almost tight like a rubber band pulled to its limit. because it looks like AJ’s about to say something important that’ll put them on a better path. but then the front door of the frat house flies open, and a few drunk students stumble out into the yard.

AJ offers Poppy a smile, almost sad and longing. “it was nice seeing you again.” and then she heads back inside.

vi. Thanksgiving.

Poppy doesn’t plan on visiting her parents this year. and besides, they’re going out of town for the holiday. so if she has to be alone, she’d rather it be in the sorority house than in some stuffy brownstone on the Upper West Side.

it’s late in the afternoon when Poppy gets a text from AJ. all it says is are you at the sorority? she stares at it for a moment, debates deleting it and carrying on with her day. but something tells her to respond, so she does.

she says that she is and waits for AJ’s response. she waits five minutes, then ten and nothing comes. Poppy scoffs and tosses her phone onto her bed. it’s not long later when she hears a knock on the front door. Poppy doesn’t think much of it, so she answers it without checking.

she finds AJ standing on the front stoop, grinning like she knows something Poppy doesn’t.

“what are you doing here?” Poppy says. “i thought you’d be on your way home by now.”

“i’m getting an early flight tomorrow.” then AJ holds up a plane ticket, grinning like this has been her plan all along. “and i was wondering if you’d want to come with me.”

“what?”

“come home with me. my parents always cook too much food, so really, you’d be doing them a favour.”

Poppy folds her arms over her chest and studies AJ for a moment. “don’t you want to take your girlfriend,” she says, and maybe she wants her words to hurt a little bit.

“we broke up over the summer,” AJ says, simple and easy.

“oh. sorry.”

“don’t be. it wasn’t working out and hadn’t been for a while.”

“are you trying to use pity to get me to come with you?” Poppy says, and she knows AJ wouldn’t, but it’s kinda fun to mess with her.

“no, of course not! i just wanted to be upfront with you. so, come home with me. please.”

Poppy plucks the ticket from AJ’s hand and says, “i’m only doing this for your parents.”

“of course.” AJ winks and grins. “i’ll see you bright and early at the airport tomorrow then.

the flight is uneventful, although Poppy decides AJ is much too cheerful for seven o’clock in the morning.

when they step inside AJ’s childhood home, Poppy’s immediately struck by just how warm and lived in it all feels. AJ’s mother tells her to mind the mess as she ushers them both inside, and AJ’s father greets them and says hugs’ll have to wait as he gestures to his dirty apron.

they all cram around a too small table in mismatched chairs that creak and rock back-and-forth. Poppy doesn’t care that she’s sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with AJ and one of her sisters. dinner is loud and fun, and AJ’s parents insist on sharing stories from AJ’s childhood. and as dinner winds down and dessert is served, Poppy reaches for AJ’s hand beneath the table and knows that she’ll never let go.

vii. Christmas.

it’s close to midnight on Christmas Eve when AJ appears on the front stoop of the Zeta house. she looks distraught and like she hasn’t had a good night sleep in days. so Poppy steps outside and asks, “what’s wrong?”

AJ looks at her, really looks at her, and Poppy feels something shift in that moment. and then AJ’s talking, words tumbling from her mouth, and it doesn’t look like she can stop herself. then she says i love you and everything goes still.

it takes a moment, but AJ seems to catch up to what she’s just said. her eyes go wide, and Poppy can see that she’s gearing up to apologies. but Poppy doesn’t let her. she surges forward and hug AJ tightly because oh god, i’ve missed her so much.

Poppy doesn’t say the words back, not yet anyway. but she holds onto AJ and tries to show her that she loves her, too.

viii. New Year’s Eve.

naturally, this is where they end. although end in a very loose sense of the word. because they will be something after tonight. something supportive and challenging, but most importantly something real.

they will be promises of forever, witty remarks that are just an i love you in disguise, and moments where the rest of the word falls away and it’s just the two of them together. what they will be terrifies Poppy. because she’s got a reputation and parental expectations, and AJ doesn’t fit into any of that... right?

maybe. but maybe it’s good that AJ doesn’t fit into that. maybe it’s good that AJ had upended everything she thought she knew. maybe that’s what makes what they will be so damn perfect.

so, they stand in the front yard of some frat house, a New Year’s party raging on inside, and finally admit what’s been there all along. they talk and tease and say things they mean with all their heart.

it’s with ten seconds of the year left that Poppy says, “i love you,” and feels that final piece of her heart heal.

“i love you, too,” AJ says as the countdown finally reaches zero.

there’s cheering from inside and then AJ steps closer to Poppy, smiling so bright and warm, and Poppy twists her arms around AJ’s neck and doesn’t once care that she’s probably smiling like an idiot in love.

so, yes, that’s how they end: in the final ten second of the year with an i love you that means exactly what it claims.

#my writing #poppy x mc #poppy min sinclair #queen b #playchoices #this story 100% ignores canon #it also combines a number of holiday related requests i've gotten but just didn't get around to writing #hope that's all good :)

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starr-fall-knight-rise · 4 years

Text

HASO, “It Can’t Hurt to Try.”

My brain wanted to write this today, and so this is what I have written. I hope you all enjoy :)

I realize I have sort of Neglected Adam’s past, though I am not sure how I did that, so today I wanted to write some more.

More than three years ago.

“Mom, you don’t have to really…. I’m ok.” Martha turned to look at Adam and the expression on her face shut him up instantly. He slid back in his seat slouching against the car interior. Off to his left side, his new service dog, who he had named waffles, was lying politely across the seat, her head resting on his thigh, her service vest bright red in the noonday sun streaming in through the window.

The car rumbled under them looking out of place in a city of sleek hover cars. Their tires rolled to a stop at an intersection, as a crash nexus wove itself into existence before the waiting line of cars. Running red lights was a near impossibility in the city and had reduced vehicular accidents by 25%.

Marha turned to look at him over the back of the seat, “Adam let your father and I worry about finances, you just relax.”

He sat up in his seat again pushing his crutches to rest against the window, “But mom do you know how much those cost, I looked it up and….” “Shhhh.” Martha held up a finger, “Just sshhh, your father and I own the house and the car. We could make ends meet if your father was working at the Burger Barn, and I was sitting at home twiddling my thumbs.”

Adam’s usually Laconic father grunted his agreement, “Besides, this is why your mother and I have a separate account for medical emergencies.”

“But what if YOU have a medical emergency.” he protested thinking about the farm and how easy it would be for his father to get caught in an accident with the massive farming equipment they used.”

“Im old.” his father said, though he wasn’t very old at all.

“What does that have to do with-”

“Boy, just shut up, you’re mother and I have made a decision because we love our kids, and if that means selling the damn house and living in a tent we are going to do it.”

Adam lapsed into silence again. His father’s tone broached no argument. A whimper came from somewhere below him, and he looked down to see that Waffles had scooted so her paws and head were resting on his leg, her tail beat against the car seat, and she looked at him with big golden eyes.

Her paws were a might bit large for her, but that was because she wasn’t even a year old yet, but even so she was still the best girl. She whimpered again, reminding him to relax and he took a few breaths.

Adam wasn’t so good at dealing with stress these days, though Waffles turning up in his life had been a marked improvement. The doctors said he had finally turned a corner with his mental health, though they suggested he look into getting a real prosthetic if he wanted to recover any further.

They said it would be good for his morale.

He glanced down at his current prosthetic, no more than a black rod of metal with a spring loaded joint and a fake foot at the end. It was army issue, so complete garbage, and he still had to use crutches when wearing it with the amount he tended to trip. He imagined being able to run again…. To really do anything again, and looked down at his body, which had grown thin and skeletal over the past few months of PTSD recovery.

He hadn’t been eating all that much, and his desire to workout had faded with it, instead he had spent most of his time in a hypervigilant state of alertness that left little time for things like eating or working out. When waffles came along, that had morphed into him lying in bed for days on end sleeping on and off while listening to music or listening to his collection of old Star Trek movies on Repeat.

It had been a hard transition to being functional again, which just meant that he was eating now, and went on walks in the morning with waffles.

He was determined to make it all the way, though he couldn’t say he approved all that much of his parents throwing away so much money on a fancy prosthetic. An older model would have done, but they insisted that they wanted the best.

The car ground to a stop in the parking garage outside of the Elmridge University robotics lab, and his mother walked around one side to open the door for him as he adjusted his crutches and stepped out into the musty underground air. Waffles leaped out behind him, sticking tight to his left side.

“You good?” His mother asked, and he nodded limping his way after them as they made it towards the doors.

Students at this university had been working on prosthetic technology for the pat fifty years, and their minds had spawned some of the greatest breakthroughs in medical technology the world over. Now, they were asking for people like him to come and test their machines. However things didn’t always come cheap and you had to rely on being rich, or getting some kind of funding from a wealthy benefactor.

Adam Vir, who was not rich and had no wealth benefactors was instead relying on his parents and their medical savings, which they had been squirreling away for the past twenty years or more. He estimated that the account would be completely drained by the time they were done here, and the thought made him sick to his stomach.

Waffles touched his hand with her wet nose, reminding him to breathe again.

They made it all the way to the doors and into the university hallway. Adam looked around with some interest. He had what might be considered the equivalent of a masters degree or higher in aviation, but he had never stepped foot inside a university.

He thought he would have liked it, and had to brush away the regret that he had never gone for real.

The flight academy had been enough though.

Though it was likely he would never fly again. Waffles whimpered and jumped up on her back paws seeing his distress and working to keep his mind off of it. He took another deep breath. She was right, he just needed to relax.

Together with his family they walked down the hall and into the waiting room of room 125 where they made him rest in one of the hard plastic chairs as they went up to the desk. He rubbed Waffle’s ears, and she rumbled at him lightly.

“And you all must be with Adam Vir.”

They nodded in agreement.

Adam looked up as the girl came out from behind the desk. She had long black hair tied up in a messy ponytail and wore a band T-shirt over a striped long sleeve shirt. She wore glasses, was his age, and was very cute.

He had to look down at the floor.

She knelt next to him, “Can I?” She asked

Still looking away he untied the rubber band holding the pant leg closed and pulled it back so she could see the stump of his leg.

She pulled something from her back pocket and pressed it up against the old wound. It was cold and soft and he grimaced as he looked down. When she pulled back he realized she had been taking a mold of his leg. She smiled at him, “Just twenty more minutes and we can have you come back.”

He nodded and they let her go. His parents sat on either side of them, his mom took him by the shoulder and shook, “Isn’t this exciting.”

Adam gave a weak smile.

His father picked up a robotics magazine and began to read, showing Adam things of interest as he read them. Adam’s stomach churned with nerves.

After less than fifteen minutes, the girl skipped back into the room, “We’re ready for you.” She announced, and slowly, he moved to his feet limping ack behind the desk and following her down a short hallway and into a large open room.

Here there was a small indoor track, some obstacles, and even a physical therapy table.

A cluster of students sat around the table waiting for them, headed by an older heavyset professor with a short grey beard and a lanyard hanging around his neck.

He reached out to shake their hands as they approached.

Adam glanced at a sleek silver case sitting on the PT table next to the man.

The old professor grinned at him, “Are you ready?”

The students clustered inward eagerly. This was likely the first time one of their creations was going to be used.

Adam nodded nervously, and the man reached forward, snapping the case open and in to reveal….

Adam muttered in slight surprise. The leg looked, good, something straight out of I-robot. It was sleek and elegant with silvered matt titanium and plexiglass casing to fill out the shape of a leg. He could see the fibrous strands of rubberized metal that acted as muscle underneath the plexiglass.

“Wow.”

“Do you like it? My students worked very hard on this project, and the best part is the neron interfacing net that cradles the leg in place and suctions it onto the skin. All across the plexiglass fronting there are microsensors built to detect heat, cold, pressure and vibration. The entire foot is designed to work like a human foot and all the tooes can flex individually. He picked up the leg, reached down and grabbed the foot, behding it around the ankle with a movement as smooth as ice, “The ankle joint can rotate in all the proper directions, and the most revolutionary part, the interface, should collect signals being sent through your neurons to your missing leg, pick those up and interpret them to move the leg just as your own brain would, and better yet send feedback signals in the reverse direction.”

He clapped Adam on the shoulder, “In other words, it will FEEL like a real leg, how does that sound.”

Adam’s mouth opened and then closed and then opened again, “Um…. amazing but…. Impossible if I am being honest.”.

“Well, moment of truth isn’t it.”

He nodded sitting down on the PT bench and rolling up his pant leg again. He tried to ignore all the people watching him, and listened to the professor as he instructed him on how to put it on. It socketed right over his old injury and as it did he felt an immediate and sudden vibration run through his body as if the leg were whirring to life.

And when it did he froze.

He stared down at the leg, and slowly, with all the memory his brain still had, he flexed the toes.

The sensation was instantaneous and glorious. He put his hand over his mouth fighting back tears that began welling into his eyes.

His parents gasped in delight and an overabundance of emotion as the others at back in silence. His mother hugged him tight as did his father, all three of them staring at the machine, which moved on his command.

Before he knew it he was grinning, turning to look around at everyone even as he had to wipe tears from his cheeks.

He could feel again!

The relief was so complete and so overwhelming that he couldn’t pick between laughing or crying

“Take it slow.” The professor said, but he hardly heard him, and with a wobbly step he slowly climbed to his feet. He began to laugh and his parents laughed with him hugging him and shaking him with excited exceleration as he took his first step. He closed his eyes in near ecstasy as the foot bent under his weight, the ankle flexed,and the toes splayed out over the ground.

He dropped his crutches to the floor ignoring the urging of the professor who was only half heartedly telling him to slow down.

He took another step, and then another and then another, slow and wobbly at first but then muscle memory took over after that.

His brain remembered, it remembered and despite months with a missing leg, it woke up the part of his brain charged to deal with that movement, and despite what must have been atrophy after months of misuse, it began to fire again.

He broke into a jog, as his father ran next to him, and then the jog turned into a run, his father fell behind as he broke into a full out sprint around the small indoor track. Laughing the whole way as the leg matched him. The students here cheering and clapping and hugging each other as they watched him interact with their creation excitedly shaking each other and screaming.

Adam, forgetting momentarily how to stop running, ended up tripping on his good foot, flailing around for a moment and falling to the floor.

He didn’t stop laughing though, and crawled back to his feet, with all the ease he might have had when he had both legs.

Waffles barked and wagged her tail furiously as she ran to join him, hopping and bounding over the floor as he played a game of chase with her immediately forcing the leg to its full potential as they made quick turns, stopped and started and leaped into the air. He ran up and down stairs and jumped over their obstacles feeling the shock through his feet and ankles.

Unfortunately for him, months of sitting on his ass hadn’t exactly made him all that athletic and he came to a stop eventually panting like waffles only to grab every one of the students in turn and hug them in an embrace so tight it might have fractured ribs.

He was so excited, so grateful, and so unbelievably relieved.

It was an incredible moment, for him, for the students, for his parents, and for his professor.

He limped into that building but skipped out on his new leg.

Getting in the car its as if he had taken a one eighty in personality. His quiet sullen demeanor from before was replaced with something his parents hadn’t seen in ages.

The ability to not shut up.

He talked a mile a minute in his excitement yammering fit to talk their ears right off, and they let him. It was good to hear him back to his old self for once. His father was smiling more than he had in a long while, and on his left side, facing away from his son and his wife, a tear rolled down his cheek.

***

He wasn’t overly sure what he was doing.

He didn’t have high hopes that they would even take him back. After all, He was set to be honorably discharged later that week, seeing as the UNSC had finally gotten around to dealing with the men and women injured during operation Steel Eye, but he had decided not to do that. He wanted to go back, and he had the paperwork to prove he was mentally stable enough to do so.

Now it was just down to whether they would let him work with a missing leg.

He nervously made his way onto the fort Harmony base where he had been stationed so long ago. Off in the distance he could hear the dull roaring of jet engines as they readied for takeoff, and watched as columns of other soldiers marched in the early morning sun. Light was spilling across, warm and yellow over the dw colored grass as he made his way towards the central building.

He stepped inside and passed a couple other officers in the hallway as he walked up to the offices.

He looked down at the paper he held in his hand.

He had only meant the captain once, and that was very briefly, but he hoped that the man would be willing to hear him out. He paused outside the man’s open door, and then peered inside. The captain was sitting at his desk frowning at the papers stacked before him, tapping his fingernail against the counter. Light glittered off his completely shaved head and dark skin.

He knocked quietly and stepped inside.

“Sir?”

The man looked up frowning at Adam without much recognition.

“Yes?”

“Um, Lieutenant Adam Vir, sir…. I was hoping to speak with you.”

The man sat back in his seat and frowned again, “Adam V-”

He paused, “Wait.”

He rummaged in his desk and pulled out a set of papers, glancing at the name at the top before setting them down, “Ah yes, Adam, I was just getting to your discharge for-” he glanced down at the paper again, and then back up at Adam, and then back down again. Adam stood politely behind the single wooden chair and waited.

When the man didn’t speak Adam awkwardly cleared his throat, “About those papers sir….I…. well I was meaning to talk to you about those.”

“Yes I was going to si-”

Adam shook his head cutting the man off, “No sir, I…. I don’t want you to sign them.”

There was a pause, “You don’t?”

“Yes sir.”

He set the papers down on the desk.

“You have the opportunity to be honorably discharged for services rendered and you…. Want to stay?”

He saw the incredulity on the man’s face as he spoke.

The guy must have thought he was stupid.

The man looked over the desk at him <”Says you lost a leg during the Drev war kid.”

Adam shifted uncomfortably, “Well yes sir.’

“Then by all rights we HAVE to discharge you.”

“No, I got a new one.”

“A new one what?”

“I have a new leg, sir, just as good as the old one. I can pass all the tests, physical, mental whatever you want me to do sir, please, just give me a chance.”

The man stared at him, Adam stared back, “You’re missing a leg kid.”

“Not anymore I’m not. UNSC regulations say that people who have had stem cell organs from their own body transplanted don’t need to be discharged, well this is similar to that. I didn’t have a leg, and now I do, and one that works just as well as the old one therefore it shouldn’t matter.”

He didn’t mean to argue with the Captain, but well that’s what it kind of turned into.

The argument must have been loud enough to attract the attention of some of the other officers and a voice from the door behind them had both of them pull up short, “Is everything alright here.”

Adam turned and his eyes went wide, “Captain Kelly!”

She stepped into full view and his eyes grew wider. He saluted sharply, “Oh, sorry, Major.”

SHe looked at him with her head tilted, “I'll be damned, lieutenant, what are you doing back here.: She looked him up and down, “And in one piece or so it seems.”

“Advanced robotics ma’am…. Maybe you can help us?”

She frowned, “Go on.”

The Captain cut in, “The boy doesn’t want to be discharged. If anything that proves he must be smoking crack.”

Adam frowned, “No Ijust….” he trailed off, “I loved my job…. Before the, losing my leg, bit.” he turned to Major Kelly, “Please Ma’am i’ll prove it. Better than I was before, honest”

She frowned, “It is…. Unprecedented, but…. There aren’t really any rules regarding advanced robotics that I can think of. We will have to talk it over.”

Turns out talking it over meant months of arguing semantics with bureaucrats and even more months of testing and proving that he was, in fact capable of operating like normal. They tested everything, including his prosthetic’s ability to handle G forces…. And he finally got to fly again. It was only by a small margin that he managed to convince them to let him back in, and even then he was relegated to guard detail on what the human medical core was calling an oxyclinic, where a couple of enterprising humans learned that spooning aliens actually helped to treat some mental disturbances in other species like the alien version of depression.

Turned out it was pretty good for him considering he had developed a small fear of aliens since his last encounter. When he wasn’t guarding the clinic, he volunteered to work for them in order to overcome his fear.

He was slowly getting back to normal.

***

Major Kelly sat at her desk looking at the schematics for the new ship under construction. The UNSC Enterprise had been completely decommissioned after engineers determined her to have too many fatal flaws to allow her to fly again. Kelly had only been captain for a little over a year before she had been pulled, and this was her chance to get back on the horse. She looked down at the papers, the schematics and then the second letter from the UN which offered her a second alternative.

A promotion to Admiral, and control over what would soon be a rising fleet of UNSC ships.

It was a hard decision to make. Every fiber in her body wanted to fly again, to see the stars again, and she was halfway to writing her agreement on the captain’s contract when she stopped. She had to think about it, if she took the promotion and gave up the ship, she would never fly again…. But she would have control over the rising UNSC fleet. Under her control she was sure she could help those rising captains avoid the bureaucratic bullshit that was sure to come after them.

In essence, they had one chance to do this right,

And more chances to get in good with the GA. If she took the position, she could fill it with someone she trusted to back the men and get the job done.

herself .

She stared at the two papers torn between her own desire and the path she knew that was right.

It was a matter of milliseconds that allowed her to agree to the promotion, and leave flying behind. It hurt every fiber of her being and even as she sat warm tears dripped onto the schematics of the ship that would have been hers if she had asked for it.

However, her decision made, she was promoted in short order as Admiral of the UNSC rising fleet, and thus had the power to make suggestions for who should take the ship in her stead. She made a decision pretty early on, and reached out a hand to the GA in helping to come to their decision. It was all about making a good impression on their newfound friends, and lending them the UNSC’s first operational ship under new fleet command would, not only give the captain of that ship the opportunity to school themselves in the ways of alien races, but it would leave the GA with a greater inclination of friendship.

She was right in her assumptions, and the GA was more than pleased to have some say in choosing the human captain who would be lent out to them on a probationary bases, as a PR move and as a tactical manuver for the UNSC to learn more about these alien races.

Now she had to compile her list of possible candidates.

There were ten names on that list.

All of them had to be capable of flying the ship, at least and all of them had to have some experience with interacting with alien lifeforms.

Looking at her list, however, she realized that not many people on that list had those capabilities. Sure they could fly but most of them only ever met an alien in passing.

It was sitting in her office late one night agonizing over the names that one popped into her head. She sat up in her chair and stared past her desk lamp and out the window into the darkness.

It was a strange idea.

Crazy almost.

Probably ill advised, but, out of all the people she knew, he was certainly CAPABLE of flying a ship…. And he WAS the most experienced person hse knew with aliens. Perhaps THE most experienced person in the galaxy.

But no…

He was so young, far too young.

But…. why?

It’s not like he hadn’t proven himself, he was loyal, unstoppable and personable, which goodness knows they needed when it came to alien interactions. Looking down at her paper there were more than half of those men and women she wouldn’t trust at a birthday party let alone at a GA diplomatic event.

She added his name to the list. It couldn’t hurt, could it?

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