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soggy-platee · 3 years

Text

Doubt

Rating: M

Pairing: Din Djarin x gn!reader

Summary: You get hurt doing something stupid, Din has to confront his feelings for you.

Crossposted on ao3 here!

This was bad. Like, bad bad. You had gotten into fights before, of course, been roughed up more times than you could count. But previously, you had always been able to make it back to the Crest and hide the evidence before Mando got back. This time, however, you weren’t even sure if you would make it back to the Crest alone, much less heal yourself.

Tatooine, of all places, was where you were currently limping through, Mos Eisley to be more exact. Mando had stopped for repairs and you had made the usual excuse to get yourself out of mechanic-assistant duty, yelling something about supplies over your shoulder before hustling to the nearest cantina. Mando and you had been on countless missions over the years, sometimes staying and working together for months at a time. This current run was one of the longer ones, being on your third month-long job with the Mandalorian. Honestly, you had no idea why the hell he kept working with you. You were his total and utter opposite. All talkative and friendly, and a total ass most of the time. Your skills didn’t exactly make up for your personality either, you were a half-decent hunter at best. You liked to think it was because you always filled the silence of the old ass ship he insisted on using.

You had a feeling that if he found out the stupid shit you were always getting into, it might be your last time with him. It was some fucking dumb wager you made, betting on a brawl you knew nothing about. Somehow you won, and that seemed to piss a lot of people off. You had managed to fight most of them off, everyone underestimated you at first because of your small stature. But that element of surprise only lasts so long, and there were just too many of them this time. A slash to your thigh with a rusty knife took you to one knee before a first connected with your temple, sending you sprawling on the dusty floor. After that, it had been a flurry of hits and kicks before the owner chased them off. You had lain there for a while, trying to regain some sense of up and down through your obvious concussion. When you finally lifted yourself to your knees, the only thing that was clear in your mind was the idea of Mando seeing you like this, realizing how reckless and useless you really were. That’s why you were so desperate to get back and cover the evidence. As much as you hated to admit it, you liked working with him, loved it really. It had nothing to do with the little crush you had been harboring on the metal man, you often told yourself.

The port coming into view shook you from your thoughts. No sign of the Mandalorian yet. You tried to hurry, but the deep cut on your thigh stung in protest. You tried to walk as smoothly as possible, the last thing you needed was some other low-life on this dump planet to try to rob you in your weakened state. The high walls of the building loomed over you, casting you in shadow as you moved through the entrance. You moved as silently as you could, listening for the slightest movement to indicate the presence of your partner. The place was silent besides the small tinkering of the pit droids in some corner. You grimaced to yourself, at least this was working out for you .

You limped up the ramp into the dark hold. Making your way to your bunk, you fumbled around in the darkness for your own little stash of medical supplies. You only ever took from your personal stuff; the last thing you needed was being caught because Mando noticed his shit was missing. He had enough of his own wounds to worry about. You precariously gathered all your things into one hand, the other holding your upright. A bacta shot slipped, clinking loudly on the floor as a wave of dizziness came over you. Your hand immediately shot to the wound on your thigh.

Fuck , that was way more blood than you thought. You dipped down to grab the shot, the same dizziness doubling with the movement. Finally, after a few seconds of fumbling, your bloody hand found the cold tube. At the same time your fingers closed around the object, the cockpit door slide open with a metallic hiss. Your head shot up to the sound only to find the large outline of Mando hovering over you in the doorway. He was silent as were you, caught in a contest in the near-darkness of the hold. You swallowed hard. He was usually quiet, but this time, you could feel the anger radiating off him in waves.

Finally, he moved, hitting the first rung and the second before leaping down with a resounding thud . The moment he landed you shot up as fast as your injured state could allow. You both rose straight in tandem. He was directly in front of you, making your height difference more than noticeable. It made you feel even worse, even more, insignificant compared to the warrior in front of you. It was still too dark to make out his features, or lack thereof, but you could hear the creak of his leather gloves as his gloves clenched and unclenched.

Holy shit, he was pissed.

Your mind was racing, maybe you could still get out of this. Apologize like crazy, get out of his sight before he could realize just how bad you had fucked up, how hurt you were. You just hoped to God that he wasn’t using any special settings in his helmet to see you in the dark.

Finally, the damn broke.

“What the fuck did you think you were doing?”

Your brain went into overdrive, getting ready every half-assed excuse you could. Before you could get a word out, he trampled over you nearly shouting, “You were gone for an hour , and now the whole fucking town is talking about the brawl that you were at the center of? Over a fucking bet ? How reckless can you -”

Your anger grew as he grew louder, words getting harsher. Who the hell did he think he was? Yeah, yeah you fucked up, but he wasn’t your fucking dad. W hy did he get a say in what you did anyway?

“Sorry, we can’t all be as fucking upstanding as you, okay? I was blowing off a little steam, Jesus , it’s not that big of a deal…”

You could hear his surprised grunt under your tirade, actually physically moving away an inch at your verble assault. He recovered quickly though, leaning back toward you, leaving only inches between you as he growled, “ Not a big deal ? You know what kind of people are on this fucking planet, how much trouble you could get into?”

You paused, confused. Wait, was he mad at you because you got into trouble or because you could get into more?

Your pause made him continue, lecturing you firmly about how reckless and stupid your actions were. You just took it, hoping he would give up soon and leave you alone. He would have to quit soon if there was any hope of still hiding your injuries from him, you were growing fainter by the second, all previous anger seeping out along with your strength. The blood from your leg had to be pooling onto the floor by now.

There was a break in his speech, so you interjected in a feeble attempt to end the conversation. “ I’m sorry... I get it. I was wrong.” you practically whispered.

“You’re sorry ? I don’t-”

Suddenly, the ship was filled with an overwhelming light. You lifted a hand to shield your eyes, shoulders hunching as the light hit your face. Mando spun in comparison, stance low as he searched for an assault. After a moment, you both realized that the floodlights of the hanger had come on, compensating for the now-low light of sunset outside. In the same second, you realized what Mando would turn to see. You tried to hide, pulling your injured thigh as far back as you could without falling over. But it was no fucking use, bruises smattered your face and arm, dried blood leaving a trail from your brow-

He turned, freezing once his visor met your pained expression. He stood still for a moment and you started with your excuse, “Listen, it’s not as bad as it looks. I can do it myself if you just-”

He was on you a second, grabbing you by the shoulders and pushing you back to sit on the lip of your bunk. You were shocked as you were sat down, he hardly ever touched you, let alone with the firmness and caring that he was using now. His hands moved to cup your face, turning it back and forth, taking in the damage. You braced for a lashing.

Instead, his voice was deadly low when he asked, “Who did this?”

You jerked in his grip, “What?”

He gripped your face tighter, thumb brushing over your cheek before repeating, “ Who did this ? Just give me a name and they’re fucking dead.”

Your dumbfounded expression was reflected in his visor. Wasn’t he just mad at you?

“I’m- I’m sorry. I shouldn't have reacted like that. I didn’t know you were...hurt.”

Whoops, you didn’t mean to say that out loud.

His hands probed their way from your temples down your body, noting every bruise and mark. Finally, he reached the cut on your leg, hissing through his modulator as he felt the sticky fabric around the opening.

He sighed your name as he took in the extent of the damage, “God this is- Why didn’t you tell me ?”

You shifted nervously on your bunk, you couldn’t tell him the truth. It was lame, it was weird . It would freak him out, how much you wanted to stay with him.

I’m so desperate to stay with you I’d rather bleed out than tell you I fucked up.

Yeah, that would go over well.

So you simply acted aloof, hoping to God that he would buy it. As he continued to inspect you leg, you plastered a fake grin on your face and spoke down to him, “Come on Mando, you don’t think that I can handle some cuts myself?

His helmet shot up to your face so fast your expression faltered, giving way to wide eyes and parted lips. He seemed pleased with himself at breaking your facade, grunting in approval as he returned his attention downward.

The both of you were silent as he dug his hand through the medical supplies you had retrieved initially. He started at the cut, snipping away the fabric with careful precision. You had a death grip on his shoulder while he cleaned and cauterized the ugly thing. He kept checking with you, breaking every few minutes with “Are you okay?” , “You’re doing great” , and “Almost done, just hang on.”

What the hell did you do to deserve this, all his devastating kindness?

When he moved to the cuts on your head, you were totally unable to keep your face neutral. Your eyes were saucers, desperately trying to burn this image into your memory. His soft gloves brushing your hair away, helmet titled in concentration. As he cleaned the various areas, one hand soon came to rest on your hip lightly, helping him maintain his crouched position. You couldn’t help the soft smile that overtook your features. You doubted he even knew what he was doing, doubt he knew just what the hand was doing to you.

The pain was getting to you now. Through the bliss of Mando’s hands on you and the numbness of the blood loss, each breath shot stabbing pains through your body. You tried your best to be quiet, accept his treatment without any fuss, but as he reached on a particularly bad cut just above your brow, a whimper of pain slipped from your pursed lips. He pulled back instantly, visor pointing to your eyes. You gave him a tight smile in return, grunting, “I’m good. Keep going.”

He sighed, weighing your words, then slowly returned to his task. God, it felt like molten lava on you, every brush of the cloth made you impossibly tense. No doubt Mando felt you tighten under his grip as he spoke, “What can I do?”

You didn’t even think before you responded through clenched teeth, “ Just talk ...please.”

To his credit, he didn’t laugh at your request. Didn’t even hesitate in fact. He just started talking, to your amazement.

“You know, I was fucking pissed when I was in town and heard you had gotten into that fight... God , I was fucking angry with you…”

You winced at his words, even though you knew the sentiment was well deserved.

“But then I was scared. You could’ve...I was scared you were hurt. I started toward the cantina to find you before, before-I just kept picturing you hurt and it scared the shit out of me.”

You didn’t know what to say, silence falling over the hull once more as you fell short. He had to be kidding, just something to keep you occupied.

You knew that was wrong, as his hand had fallen from your face long ago. It wasn’t a distraction, it was a confession. You should be overjoyed, it was absolutely everything you ever wanted to hear from him. So why weren’t you?

Your brain couldn’t process why, so your mouth took charge, words tumbling from your mouth in a desperate attempt to understand.

“But I didn’t-that was all my fault . I was stupid, reckless , you said it yourself. You shouldn’t- I don’t want you worrying about me over that shit. I fucked up, I fucked up big and -”

He cut you off with a squeeze of your hip, skating his helmet back and forth to your confusion.

“I was just scared and I took it out on you...I’m sorry for that. I don’t like that you think that way. I don’t want- ” he took a breath, collecting himself by ducking his helmet down before returning to face you.

“What I am trying to say is that I don’t care what you did, I just want you safe.”

Tears pooled in the corner of your eyes, all the stress of the say leaving you all at once as you sagged forward, head dropping. You were overwhelmed, but happy. So fucking happy. Everything had just fallen into place and you just couldn’t hold it in.

Mando, unfortunately, took your actions to be ones of injury, as he quickly moved one hand to your jaw, fingers wrapping around your chin tightly forcing you to face him. A tear fell off your nose onto his glove, making a pleasant plopping noise.

He spoke hurriedly, “Hey-hey look at me. What is it? Something hurt?”

You grinned in his grip and grabbed him by his ammo sling. Pulling him close, you leaned forward and rested your forehead against the cool metal of his helmet as he let out a grunt of surprise.

You were both silent for a moment, breathing in tandem before his hand left your chin and came to rest in your hair.

“Not hurt, then?” he guesses. You can hear the smile in his voice.

“No, not hurt.” you choke out around your tears.

Another beat of silence, then, “Wanna tell me why you’re crying?”

You let out a quick laugh at his tone, it was interesting to hear the Mandalorian so hesitant.

You sighed, then said, “I was so worried when I got back here. I thought that, if you saw what I got myself into, you- well, that you wouldn’t... want me anymore.”

His hand gripped tighter in your hair, pressing his helmet more firmly into you. “ Nothing could make that happen. You hear me? Nothing .”

You brought your hand to his still on your hip, gripping it softly. “ I hear you .”

#the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian #fanfic #ao3 fanfic #ao3 #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #mando x you #pedro pascal #din djarin

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floraliaison · 4 years

Text

[ melodrama ] ― track i | homemade dynamite

political au. ushijima wakatoshi x fem! reader.

3.1 k

masterlist. next.

If there’s any one word you would prefer people to describe you as, it would have to be unquestionably loyal.

After all, it’s just past seven, and you haven’t yet drunk enough whiskey as you would like to, but when Oikawa tells you about a new guy you must hate, you don’t even think twice before agreeing.

He shifts the drink in his hand, ice cubes clinking together while he side-eyes the group of men from across the veranda, no doubt burning holes into the back of his intended target’s head as he mutters, “And there he is.”

You whip your head to the right, not caring enough about subtlety because this is your house and you can and will look at whoever you damn please.

His directions don’t really help much, you soon realize, because there are a hundred and one of Eita’s friends huddled around the end of the buffet table where the drinks are located.

“There are a bunch of ‘he’s over there, Oiks. Which one?” you hiss under your breath, craning your neck to see if you can pick anyone out from the crowd.

There’s Leon, Kenjiro, Hayato, and a handful of other people you recognize but can’t recall the names of. All that matters is that they’re all annoying, and they’re all here.

You’d think Oikawa’s taste in men has improved in the six years you’ve been gone, but if he actually says it’s one of them then you’ve apparently thought wrong.

“The tall one, Y/N,” Oikawa says as though this is the most obvious thing in the world. His rings glint in the dim light as he discreetly points at one in the far back. “The one with the white jacket.”

Finally, you spot whoever it is he’s referring to, and the next thing out of your mouth is a crisp “What the fuck?”

Oikawa snorts in derision – why he would when he’s the laughingstock in this particular situation, you’ll never know, but that still doesn’t stop you from echoing the sound back.

“I leave my best friend alone for a few years, and when I come back you’re suddenly all broken-hearted about Ushijima Wakatoshi?” You say, equal parts incredulous and disappointed. Said best friend only shrugs in response, chugging the rest of his rum before slamming the empty glass down on the table.

“Save it, princess. Iwa’s already lectured me about the whole ‘you have terrible taste’ and ‘you should stop going after guys who you know are only going to break your heart’ thing,” he shoots back, his use of air quotes telling you that no, he didn’t – and probably still doesn’t – follow Iwaizumi’s advice. You roll your eyes, comeback already on the tip of your tongue, when —

“Hold on,” the boy next to you suddenly sits up straight, eyes wide open and staring at you. “How come you know him?”

“Well who doesn’t know him?”

Although you deliver it in a way that comes off as mildly sarcastic, all of his prominent social, athletic, and political embellishments have served to establish Ushijima Wakatoshi as a household name; both in Tokyo and throughout the rest of Japan.

But while that’s true, you for one can’t say that you know the man in the way that Oikawa is implying. Despite belonging in the same political circle, what with both your fathers’ professions, you have yet to properly interact outside of the social niceties required for the few parties and fundraisers you’ve seen him at.

From what you are able to discern the first few times you have been able to talk to him though, you are one hundred percent certain that you disliked the man to an almost frightening degree. His stoicism, apparent indifference and boundless pride rub off of you the wrong way, and you’ve been actively ignoring him at every meeting afterwards.

Your friend lets out another snort – you’ve half a mind to change his contact name to horse at this point – while you raise an eyebrow at his accusatory finger-wagging, almost daring him to say what’s so clearly on his mind.

Because despite wearing a short white number to stave off the summer heat that dominated the venue just hours prior, you have absolutely zero qualms about giving Tooru a thorough beat-down if necessary.

“There you guys are.”

Someone plops down into the vacant seat to your left, and when you turn to see a familiar, non-douchey face, you break into a smile.

“Hey, Haji,” you greet Iwaizumi as you lean against his side.

The faint blush that spreads across Oikawa’s face doesn’t escape you when you sneak a glance at him. Despite having his mind preoccupied by Ushijima, it looks like the brunette still hasn’t let go of his little crush on the final member of your trio. “Iwa-chaan, we waited forever. What took you so long?”

“Got lost, your house is fucking huge Y/N,” Iwaizumi explains, setting down his glass of his newest alcoholic concoction as he rolls up the sleeves of his dress shirt. “Good thing I ran into your brother, few more minutes and I would’ve lost my mind in there.”

You snicker at him, a low mumble of “and you claim Tooru’s the stupid one” escaping you because honestly, your house isn’t that big. He might just not admit it but it’s common knowledge that Hajime’s a bit... directionally challenged, to say the least.

Ignoring the glare he sends your way, you nonchalantly pick up his drink and take a sip. “Ah, very nice. You really should consider bartending, Haji, you’ve got the talent for it,” you remark, handing Oikawa the glass for him to taste.

Iwaizumi’s skill in mixing spirits was one the three of you discovered during one of your first parties, when you and Tooru had complained about how shitty the drinks were. Hajime, in a true gentlemanly fashion, had grabbed a couple of bottles off the counter and kept the two of you well-provided for for the remainder of the event. (and for every other event that came after it.)

The spiky-haired lawyer only rolls his eyes at your words, plucking the crystalware out of Oikawa’s hands before he could finish it off amidst the latter’s ungodliest of whines. “What were you doing anyway? Looked like you were discussing some deep stuff when I came in.”

You separate from him, putting your hands on your hips and adopting a haughty tone, “We are slandering Ushijima Wakatoshi, and his ways of ill-repute. You, by declaration of the Mistress, which is me, and by Friendship Code 70040, is hereby required to join as well.”

“I’ll pass, Wakatoshi’s cool,” Hajime comments around a sip of alcohol, and the casual use of Ushijima’s first name is enough to give you pause.

“Okay, first of all how are you on a first name basis with him and second, you’re a guy.” you exclaim, throwing your hands up for emphasis. “Of course you’d think that!”

“First question: I worked with him for a bit two years ago, not gonna say anything more because company rules, but we talked and he’s really nice,” Iwaizumi holds up two fingers. “Second, sure I am, but even your brother thinks so, too.”

“The world doesn’t just consist of Eita.”

“Alright, you both better shut it because the topic of your very heated conversation is heading right here,” Oikawa interrupts, poking you in the side and sending a look at Iwaizumi.

You groan in response and shake your head. Even during your time abroad, you’ve been unable to escape his presence; from the posters promoting his team for the 2014 World League to the numerous brand advertisements three years later, Wakatoshi was everywhere.

But - and you’ll never admit to this out loud, not ever - even though all you’ve seen of him was in print, on the television, and in the occasional social media update, you could never deny the fact that the man was handsome.

Tooru is attractive, as evidenced by the sheer number of his admirers in high school, Hajime has received his own fair share of confessions and Valentine’s Day chocolates, and you have to admit that your brother is objectively good-looking as well.

And while it’s a confession you have to make under duress, Wakatoshi is a completely different case altogether. You’d thought you were stunned when Miya Atsumu came to your offices to help promote the newly rolled-out banking app, but even he can’t really compare.

Nothing can really do with perfectly gelled olive hair, pristine three-piece suit slightly strained against a muscular build, and the undeniable aura that exuded power and demanded respect.

One would have to be practically blind not to feel attracted to Ushijima (but even then, you think that the timbre of his voice can still make anyone weak in the knees), but because you have no shame and are definitely not above pettiness, you maintain a disgusted-looking sneer as you watch him make his way to your table.

“Hey Toshi,” Oikawa says, the red from before making a reappearance as he takes in the newcomer with eager eyes.

“Good evening, Oikawa,” Ushijima replies, but it’s clear that his attention is focused elsewhere; namely, on you.

Your skin crawls at the weight of the stare he’s pinning on you, but you veto the urge to flip him off right then and there because that would be against proper decorum. Your patience is running thin though, and he needs something else to stare at immediately or so help him God you will do it.

“Wakatoshi,” Iwaizumi intervenes, bless him, and offers a hand towards the taller. “It’s been a long time.”

“Hajime,” Ushijima grasps the appendage and gives it a firm shake, but his gaze still hasn’t left you. ”It’s good to see you.”

“Yo Ushiwaka! Get back over here!” One of the miscreants across the veranda calls out, standing beside what seems to be a set-up for a round of beer pong. You can’t help but make a face when you catch sight of it because what did they think this was, some messy Saturday night college party? These guys really had no taste.

Ushijima finally turns around to head back to his friends, but not without shooting you one last cursory glance over his shoulder; a glance that you dutifully avoid despite every single cell in your body pushing you to return it and have him catch sight of the hellfire burning in your gaze for doing whatever it is that he did to Tooru.

Because damn it, no one hurts your friends or family and gets away with it. Not even over your dead body, because God knows you will rise from the dead just to get retribution on their behalf.

The minute Wakatoshi’s out of earshot, you scoff into your glass of whiskey, hastily downing it in one go because you’d need more of it in your system if you wanted to survive tonight with him around.

In the entirety of your 26 years, never have you once thought yourself as unlucky. Horribly ill-timed, sure, but unlucky? Nope.

Or at least, not until tonight.

“If it isn’t Miss Semi,” a smooth baritone sounds from behind you, nearly causing you to drop the container you’re holding in surprise. “Good evening.”

You seethe, ready to give the person a piece of your mind for almost being the (however indirect) culprit to the destruction of a 20-year old piece of china, and you have the gall to be so confrontational because you actually know who it is. Only one person in this entire house can be in possession of a voice that deep.

True enough, when you turn, it is Ushijima Wakatoshi who stands at the entrance to your kitchen in all of his six-foot-three glory, eyebrow cocked in a perfect arch as he regards you. He’s holding an empty wineglass in his left hand, and it looks like he’s come in here to have it refilled.

You aren’t sure what exactly about the situation brings all the blood rushing to your face; be it the anger you feel at seeing him so callously walk into your kitchen like he owns it instead of going to the refreshments table outside, or the feeling of something else at the sight of him in only his deep purple dress shirt; sleeves rolled up and top two buttons undone.

That, along with the fact that his hair is now slightly tousled, leaves you thinking that he looks positively sinful, if not for the smirk that’s painted on his stupid face. That one tiny detail pushes you to choose the first, and safer, option.

You roll your eyes.

“Yes, hello Ushijima,” you respond drily, slamming the cabinet shut to punctuate your tone. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

He simply raises the glass in his hand in response, and you are unable to get a biting comment in about how he should instead look for a refill outside instead of in here like some privileged dick when he speaks.

“Congratulations on the announcement,” he begins, stepping beyond the threshold and into the kitchen, thick carpet muffling the sounds of his polished Italian leather shoes as he makes his way towards you.

When he gets dangerously close to the boundary of the minimum three-feet you need to have between you and him at all times, you briefly consider getting violent and chucking the bowl at him just to be done with it, but he seems to have other plans when he stops by the marble island, a full one inch away from your protective perimeter.

Looks like your grandmother’s favorite crucible will live to see another day.

You see him eye you expectantly from his position, and realize that you’ve yet to respond to his statement. “Thank you. I understand that the same is in order for you as well, what with your succession of Madame Junko’s position.”

He nods, less confirmatory and more ‘I’ve found your answer satisfactory,’ and you cannot suppress the white-hot lance of annoyance that shoots through you at the memory that comes barrelling along with the simple gesture.

Suddenly, you’re both no longer OS Post Holdings or The Ushijima Telegraph and Telephone Corporation’s newly appointed presidents and CEOs, but mere fifteen year olds attending middle school at the same time.

Ushijima has always been the star student, and while your father has pushed you to make friends with the quiet boy, you’ve never found it in yourself to brush aside the vast difference present in the way he looks at Wakatoshi, with eyes and gestures full of a soft sense of pride, and then at you, all strict words and interactions that feel more business related than anything else.

You’re not stupid, never was and never will; you know that your father wanted a son to follow in his footsteps. And although he had twins - a girl and a boy - he saw Eita as more of a disappointment because of his unwillingness to live the life the patriarch of the family wanted him to.

So while your brother pursued his dreams in the music industry, you were left to shoulder the responsibility that came with the Semi family name. You studied rigorously, honed your talents, and polished your social skills until you shined, determined to be the brightest gem in the industry and the daughter your father would be proud of.

But even though you were not stupid, you were definitely naive. Naive to have thought that he would be satisfied with what he had, naive to have thought that he wouldn’t look somewhere else to fulfill his own personal dreams.

And that’s how you first met Ushijima, the son of Governor Utsui and your father’s new protegee, as he so proudly told you over dinner with him one Thursday night.

The only thing that kept you from breaking down then were the years spent at etiquette lessons, so you settled instead on gripping your silverware until your knuckles turned white. You could feel Eita’s eyes on you from across the table, and you didn’t have to look to know that they were apologizing for something that he didn’t even do.

The other two males in the room seemed oblivious to your imminent spiral, happily talking with each other and discussing whatever it is that they deemed important, and the fire in your heart that burned for the olive-haired boy grew into a full-fledged inferno.

That day marked the beginning of your lifelong grudge against Wakatoshi, and you still haven’t given it up to this day.

“Attention! I would just like to thank everyone for coming tonight -”

Your dad’s booming voice is what breaks you out of your reverie, and you realize that you have been staring - glowering, really - at the object of your ire for far too long than what can be deemed normal.

An open bottle of Romanée-Conti rests on the countertop by his elbow, and his previously empty wineglass is now half-full, the deep red liquid catching the fluorescent lights as he idly swirls it around.

Much like his wine, there is also something swirling in his sharp eyes, but you neither need to or wish to know what it is. You let out a disgruntled huff before heading out to the living room, shooting him one final glare as you round the corner and disappear.

Wakatoshi sighs to the empty room before he too, decides to head on out and meet with Representative Semi - your and Eita’s father - to offer him his congratulations.

He finishes the drink in his hand, wine tasting oddly bittersweet as it goes down his throat, and as he exits the kitchen, he wonders for the nth time that night how come you seemed to hate him with such a passion.

He’s not stupid, not like the way everyone seems to think he is just because he’s blunt, but if it’s taken him this long to realize that your feelings towards him go much deeper than a simple dislike, then he thinks that he may never find out the real reason as to why.

The thought doesn’t deter him though, and when he catches sight of the back of your head while you talk animatedly to Oikawa Tooru, laughing your heart out as though you weren’t staring daggers at him just minutes ago, he thinks that he will gladly spend a lifetime figuring you out.

You are a mystery to him, and one that he will stop at nothing to crack.

[ note ] ― and there we have it! first time we’re meeting the cast, and if the overly zealous descriptions about ushi isn’t enough to display how whipped i am for him then probably nothing ever will. hope you all like this one as much as i loved writing it <3

also this is dedicated to @cafemiya for giving me the push i needed to make this entire series. hi issy i love you bae 🥺💖

#ushijima wakatoshi x reader #ushijima angst #ushijima fluff #ushijima x reader #ushijima wakatoshi #haikyuu x reader #hq ushijima #hq ushiwaka #haikyuu angst #haikyuu fluff #ushijima x you #草花 #hqradiostation #oikawa tooru #iwaizumi hajime #semi eita

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bold-writing · 3 years

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The One With Whiskey Eyes || 18 || My Peace, Like Shattered Glass

Words: 3200+

Warnings: Trauma, Acts of Violence

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~18~

“Ow!”

“That’s why I wear gloves,” Iris teased gently as she smoothed a Band-Aid over the badly stinging cut that Jessica had obtained when trying to rip open a box—it was basically a papercut, but when it was caused by cardboard, the pain was considerably more; as was the amount of blood that had welled up to the surface of the cut.

“I thought that was to hide the mark,” Jessica admitted quietly, her low voice deliberately making sure that their coworkers didn’t hear what she said. “You’re always wearing them.”

“This is the fourth time you’ve cut yourself this week,” Iris pointed out in counterattack, causing the younger woman to flush in embarrassment before she simply shrugged her shoulders. There was no defense against that. Iris shook her head with a gentle smile, collecting the garbage from disinfecting and covering the cut, tossing them into the nearby trashcan of the office. “You should get a pair, you know. Boxes and books don’t just cause papercuts, but they dehydrate your hands as well. Wearing a pair of these will stop that.”

“Don’t rub it in,” Jessica grumbled half-heartedly. Iris just gave that same smile as she stood up.

“I know it’s a bit earlier than usual, but why not take your break now?” Iris asked instead, briefly checking the time on the bottom of the office computer’s screen. Jessica agreed easily, happy to get off shift and eat something. The two women went their separate ways once they left the office, Iris making her way back into the store as she smiled to her coworkers and reclaimed her place behind the register.

She knew they were whispering about her, confused by why she was constantly smiling and always seemed to be happy. Not that she’d been doom and gloom before, but they couldn’t remember a time when she had smiled and showed her happiness so openly and constantly. Jessica was still the only one to know about her marks—or at least the fact that there is more than one—but they had all been able to notice the change in their manager in the past few weeks. She’d gotten worse, to the point that she had been forced to take time off, before she miraculously got better.

There were still days when they could tell she hadn’t slept well, for whatever reason, but they were few and far between.

Iris wasn’t able to see her soulmates every day, try as either of them might, but they spoke constantly. She would wake up to emails from whoever was in the light that day, but she would usually write to all of them every morning—she hated feeling like any of her soulmates were being neglected. Continuing to do this as more and more of them are met, she isn’t sure, but she knows that she will go out of her way to make sure they are all…loved. Welcomed and acknowledged for their individuality.

It was surprisingly difficult to focus on her work—she had never had anything in her life to distract her before. Even fear of her parents had bled away after a time, but her soulmates were ever present on her mind.

Absentmindedly, Iris stroked a fingertip over the mark on the back of her palm.

They were all so different, it made her wonder who else was in the body of Kevin Crumb. When would she meet Hedwig, the supposed child? Or Jade, a younger female than Patricia?

“Looks like the cold-front has arrived,” Sarah called from the front window, a box perched on her hip as she glanced back toward Iris. The young woman’s eyes turned to the window, blinking in shock at the white-out of flurries that had overtaken the view outside the storefront.

Her face pinched slightly uncomfortably, knowing that her walk home was going to be horrendous. “That’s gunna be so cold,” she mumbled to herself, but it was loud enough for Sarah to hear. It had been chilly enough on the walk in to work, heading home through the snow was going to be so much worse. Sarah gave her a pitying look before she turned to get back to work.

Instead of letting herself become distracted by thoughts of walking home, Iris collected one of the boxes that needed to be scanned through and took it to the main counter. Sarah continued to clean and organize the front displays—it was a quiet day and there was very little to do for the group without more customers coming in.

Iris herself had been there since five o’clock that morning, completing some of the reports that needed to be sent to the owners by the end of that week. Not wanting to wait and rush through it, she decided to come in a few hours before her usual time and get in a bit of silent work. She was feeling more exhausted as the day drew on, but at least her sleep the night before had been a fitful one until her alarm had gone off.

Of course, her day did not get any better when she got a call from David, who sounded like death, saying that he had tried but he wouldn’t be able to come in to work. As an old habit, she didn’t want to bother anyone else and just decided that she would stay for the full shift and close the store down as well. Jessica and Sarah both shooed her to the back for a long break, however, and made sure she ate the soup she had brought and even made her a tea with the kettle they had in the break room.

It made Iris wonder if they had gotten a lecture about how she was always doing things for them. Her boss definitely had not liked how she was always working, taking the weekend and evening shifts or filling in for the others when they did not or could not come in. It wouldn’t have surprised her if her employees had gotten a lecture during her forced days off.

“Do you want me to get you a tea? Or a coffee? How about-”

“Jessica,” Iris interrupted, her voice carrying an amused tone as she shook her head at the younger woman. “Calm down! I’m fine, I promise. There’s only a few more hours before close and the snow kept it quiet today. I promise I’ll head straight home and eat.”

“Remember, I’m opening the store tomorrow so I better not find you here early,” Jessica forewarned, pointing a threatening finger at the frail woman. “I swear, I’ll make you sleep in the break room.”

Shaking her head at Jess’s antics, Iris motioned toward the door. “Go home, Jess. I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon.”

She was given one more warning look before her new friend and old coworker disappeared out the door into the white flurries that had dominated the window most of the day. Supressing a yawn, Iris sat herself down at the main cash with some of the paperwork from the back office—she still had work that she needed to get done, even if she had to stay and help Sarah until closing.

The odd person or two would wander in throughout the day, making small or simple purchases that Iris handled easily and with little thought. Sarah kept up with cleaning and stocking to busy herself, giving Iris several assurances that she would take care of the aisles and to not worry. By the time the final hour rolled around, and it had been at least forty-five minutes since the last customer, Iris was tempted to send Sarah home early.

The shelves were spotless and there were no other boxes that needed to be put out, so there was nothing else for the young woman to do. Iris had even spent a good thirty minutes explaining to her how to run the computer programs that she used to manage all of the store’s books. Sarah just sat with a bewildered look on her face and they both decided that management was not something that she was interested in learning.

“It’s deserted today,” Iris finally declared, leaning against the counter as Sarah wandered by with a dusting rag. “You head on home, okay? I’ll stay and finish my paperwork and if someone does come by I can handle it.”

Sarah blinked at her owlishly. “Are you sure? I don’t mind staying!”

“There’s no point in both of us being bored out of our minds. Head on home, I’ll be fine.”

And then there was one.

Iris fought another yawn as she glanced at the computer screen. Just one more hour. Sitting back in her chair to rub at her tired eyes, the dark haired woman could feel them sting slightly with the effort she had been putting in to keep her eyes open.

She used to have no problem staying up for ungodly hours, but she’d been adjusting to a new way of living lately and now it seems going back to how things were would be impossible.

Sitting forward with a silent sigh, she tried to focus on the paperwork in front of her. Only a minute had gone by before her concentration was shattered, similar to the store window that exploded in a shower of glass as something was sent flying through it.

A shriek of surprise tore from her lips as Iris ducked behind the desk, too far for the object to reach but fear drawing the defensive reaction to the forefront. Her heart had rocketed into a galloping pace in her chest, hands shaking in fright against the edge of the counter. The roar of wind and the tinkling of glass hitting the once clean floors filled the silence of the store.

The rush of cold against her covered arms and bare neck made her shiver, skin already beginning to feel feverish from the sudden rush of adrenaline that flooded her system. Shivering and panting, Iris remained crouched and hidden as she waited and listened for any sign that the person who had broken the window might come inside.

However, even as time passed and nothing happened, she couldn’t bring herself to move. Trembling in fear and shivering from the cold, her hands gripped the desk above her head until her knuckles were white beneath her gloves. Eventually the distant sound of police sirens broke the silence, bringing her mind back to the present. She’d forgotten about the security system—if one of the doors were opened while the code was inputted, the police were alerted, but if a window was broken at any time the police were called immediately.

Trying to force her hands to relax on the edge of the desk, the sirens grew louder until the police cars came to a screeching halt outside of the store.

Taking in deep breaths of the cold air, Iris exhaled through trembling lips as she finally detached her hands from the desk. Shuffling out from her hiding place, she used the desk to support herself as she finally stood up and surveyed the damage. The front was a mess now, a combination of glass and snow covering the floor and surrounding displays.

The first thing that came to her mind was how the books were going to be ruined if they got snowed on.

“Police, don’t move!”

Iris jumped and choked back a gasp, hands shooting up as one of the officers stopped outside of the broken window. She was the only person visible in the store, so she could understand being suspicious.

“I’m the manager!” she shouted, her voice shaking. “My name is Iris Mayfair, my employers are Melissa and Gerald McIntosh. They would have been contacted as soon as the alarm was set off.”

“Please step out where I can see you, ma’am. Do you have ID on you?”

Walking around the desk on shaky legs, her hands still raised, Iris nodded. “My employee card; it’s with the keys around my wrist.” She shook her arm to demonstrate, causing the keys to jingle soundly and flash the little badge attached to it that had a barcode scanner for her to access the computers upon opening. Jess had one as well, for when she opened the store.

“Are you hurt?” the man asked as he stepped forward, some of the other officers entering behind him as they surveyed the damage and entered the store, checking through the aisles.

“No, I was behind the desk-”

“You have glass in your hair,” the officer interrupted gently once he had checked the ID on her wrist, comparing the information she had given to him with the name and photo on the card. Naturally, her hand lifted to her head to feel for the sharp projectiles. Thankfully, the officers caught her arm gently to stop her before she cut her hand. “No, don’t worry. It’s only a few pieces. Shake your head and they should fall right off.”

Iris did as instructed, shaking her head as she closed her eyes. She could feel when the fragments fell out, tapping down past her shoulders before they hit the already messy floor.

“Are you sure you’re not hurt?” the officers asked again—a glance at his shirt revealed his name was Montez—and Iris nodded her head dazedly. “Were you the only one working?”

Iris stood in the storefront with the officer as she answered his questions, giving him the time to write them down between answers. As the wind and snow continued to blow into the store, Iris steadily started to shiver more heavily. The adrenaline was bleeding from her system, causing her vision to blur in and out. Montez must have seen her sway on her feet because he abruptly stopped talking and reached out to claim her arm.

“Woah, let’s go sit you down. Is there a back office in this place? Somewhere warm?”

“Yes, just back down that aisle. There’s a door that leads to the stock-room at the end.”

The place was crawling with police by now, and one of them informed her and Montez that the owners were on their way down. There was a camera out front that might have caught the person who threw what turned out to be an old pipe through the window, but Iris didn’t have authorization to scroll back into the recorded footage so she was no help to them.

As they entered the back office to finish giving her statement, Iris found herself wishing that her soulmates were with her. Glancing at the nearest clock, she realized that they would be home by now and waiting for her to let them know that she was home safe.

Her shift had ended twenty minutes ago.

“Ma’am, are you alright?” Montez asked from across from her, worry clearly evident on his face as she trembled and stared blankly at the clock. “Is there someone you’d like me to call for you?”

Small and pale, Iris look like a terrified, small animal. The chair she was in made her appear that much smaller; her feet didn’t touch the floor and her boney frame was enveloped in the black leather of the chair-back. Montez felt like he was interviewing a terrified child. If she got any paler in her face, he’d be calling in the paramedics to check on her again. She looked on the verge of passing out.

The liquid gold of her eyes watered further as she gave a stuttered nod.

“Kevin Crumb,” she answered meekly. “His number is in my cellphone,” she answered, motioning to where she had left the phone on the office desk. She preferred not to have her cellphone with her when she was working, so she usually left it in the back office.

She was probably never going to do that again, not after what she had just experienced.

Montez nodded calmly, picking up the small phone and having her input the password before he stepped away. One of the other officers, a woman named Sinclair, came into the office briefly to inform Iris that her employers were here and she could leave once her statement was complete, they would help the police with anything else needed.

Iris just gave a short nod as she stared at the floor, yet to regain any colouring in her face.

Sinclair gave Montez a sympathetic look as she left, understanding that speaking to someone who was in shock could be a trying endeavor.

The ringing in his ear cut off, drawing his attention back to Iris’s phone. “Hey, Iris, you get home okay?” The casual question, filled with true concern, almost caused the officer to wince. He hated when he had to tell the unsuspecting spouse or loved one that something had happened. At least Iris appeared unhurt and he could offer that assurance.

“This is Officer Liam Montez; is this Kevin Crumb?”

There was a pause on the other end, silence filling the line for a long beat. “Where’s Iris?” the male voice demanded, upping in pitch as fear sharpened his words.

“Miss. Mayfair is fine; someone threw an item through the window of her store but she is safe and unharmed. It would be best if someone was with her right now, she’s in a bit of shock and will able to leave as soon as we finish getting her statement. She asked me to call you—are you able to come down to Pages of the World right now?”

“Yes, yea, I’m on my way. She’s alright? You said she wasn’t hurt?”

“She was far enough away that she only got a bit of glass in her hair, but no, she wasn’t hurt. I might recommend bringing her something warm, preferably tea or something that doesn’t have caffeine in it.”

“Can I talk to her, please? Just for a second?” the plea in the man’s words were impossible to ignore—Montez was certain, as he turned to hand the phone to Iris, that this was a soulmate he was dealing with.

Iris could barely hold onto the phone as she leaned her head heavily against the cellphone, into the pressure of Montez’s continued grip on the device. He was sure that she would have dropped it if he hadn’t helped hold it up. “Hello?” He couldn’t hear the man’s words, but Iris’s bow-tight body finally relaxed slightly at the sound of his voice.

Definitely soulmates.

“Hey, Sweetheart, it’s Barry. You okay? I’m on my way right now.”

“I don’t feel good,” Iris answered weakly, as though she was ashamed of her body’s reaction.

“That’s just the shock, Sweetheart. I’ll be there in ten, okay? Just try and take some deep breaths. Are you sitting down?”

“Mhm.” The conversation barely lasted a few seconds more before Iris suddenly dropped her hand, letting Montez pull the phone away. Glancing at the screen told him that the man had already ended the call, so he simply placed her phone on the desk as he reclaimed the other chair.

“Are you alright to continue?”

Swallowing thickly, Iris gave a tired nod as she met his eyes again.

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#The One With Whiskey Eyes #Split #Split 2016 #James McAvoy #Dennis #Patricia #Soulmate AU #Soulmate #Split Fanfiction

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everybodyscupoftea · 4 years

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this is the life

ole miss rafe x reader

you and your boyfriend deal with your ~futures~

literally no one asked for this lol, i’m sorry

(warnings: cursing)

Your animal and dairy sciences seminar had a report due that you’d stayed up very late making last minute edits to because you were stressed it was really bad. The next morning was brutal. Not only was in an 8 a.m. lecture, but your coffee machine was out and you overslept, barely giving yourself enough time to get to class before the professor checked attendance.

You slid into your seat, out of breath, just as started scanning the seating chart for attendance. The boy who sits next to you turned to ask, “Library was backed up this morning?”

“What?” you asked, halfway paying attention, still scrambling to get your notebook out.

“Since you’re running late, I’m assuming it’s because the library was busy when you went to print your report.”

Your stomach dropped and you swore, “Fuck. I forgot to print it. Fucking fuck. I submitted it online but I forgot we needed to hand him a physical copy too. Oh god I can’t afford to fail this class.” You were getting worked up and the boy was starting to look more and more like he regretted talking to you in the first place.

“I mean he’s pretty chill, so I’m sure if you explain he’ll let you bring it by his office later.”

The boy had a point, but you were already too far gone. For the rest of the class, you were unfocused, and if someone asked you what he lectured on, you’d have no clue, so preoccupied with rehearsing how you were going to beg him for an extension. You only had one other class, and you’d definitely be able to print it out and run it to him between them, but that was depending on if he let you.

Just as class was ending, your phone vibrated in your hoodie pocket, and you checked it, immediately calmed at seeing a text from your boyfriend. Rafe sent Can’t wait to see you this weekend and whatever had a grip on your chest loosened enough for you to take a full breath for the first time since waking up.

After speaking to your professor and his reassurance that you didn’t really need to worry much about the written report, that it was just to ensure everyone had it turned in prior to class, you left, much happier, but the exhaustion hitting you straight in the gut.

Thankfully, all you had left that day was a communication elective and then to drive to Rafe’s apartment in Oxford. He’d convinced you to make the trip because he wanted to show you around the place he’d called home for four years after leaving behind his “hometown trauma.” His words.

Your class flew by, people were giving speeches and you’d given yours Wednesday, so you sat there mindlessly, half asleep, until she dismissed the class for the weekend. Stopping back by your apartment to pick up your overnight bag, you decided to last minute check your PO Box, it had been a while. To your shock, you actually had mail, and when you saw the return address, the sick feeling returned to your stomach.

There was about a two-hour drive to Rafe’s apartment from Starkville, and you had the option of opening the letter containing either the best news or the worst news of your life before the drive or at Rafe’s apartment. Part of you wanted to know then, but a stronger part of you wanted to be with Rafe so he could comfort you if necessary.

Instead of making a decision, you felt your tired brain could not, you called Rafe. He answered before the second ring and you couldn’t help yourself.

“I see that receptionist job taught you some useful skills.”

“What?” he asked, sounding confused.

“Answering my calls fast, that’s good because my time is money.”

Rafe sighed, “Can I help you?”

“Someone’s mad. But, yes, should I open the letter from the vet school now or wait until I get to Oxford.”

You heard some shuffling around before he answered, “You think you can wait? I actually have something to tell you too.”

“Yeah, um, sure,” you were a little worried, “Is everything okay?”

“I think so. We just need to talk.”

“Right, talk, are you sure everything’s good?”

“Yeah, stop worrying. Just drive on over.”

You had been excited to go visit, but after that phone call you wanted to go back to bed. With a deep sigh, you rubbed your eyes with the heels of your hands and slumped backward. Blinking away the spots, you buckled up, pit in your stomach, and drove to your favorite coffee shop in Starkville. If shit was going to go down in Oxford you were going to have your comfort drink.

StrangeBrew’s drive-thru was packed and you tapped your fingers anxiously on the steering wheel as you waited to order your blueberry cobbler cold brew with soy milk. Right as the barista handed you the to-go cup, your phone vibrated and Rafe had sent drive safe!! <3. The fuck did that mean in the context of your earlier phone conversation?!

The drive to Oxford was boring as hell. You’d made it before, a band you liked had played there one night, and you and some friends had made the reluctant trip to see them. Turning on your podcast, you focused on nothing but the drive, pushing aside relationship doubts and the growing anxiety about the letter sitting in your passenger seat.

You called Rafe when you got close, and he was waiting outside his building when you finally found a visitor’s spot. He jogged over to grab your overnight bag and bent down to give you a quick kiss, before greeting you with, “Hey, baby, how was the drive?”

“Boring as fuck, nothing new.”

“Went smoothly?”

“About as smooth as possible. I’ve had to pee for the last like 40 minutes though, so it’d be great if I could do that now.”

He laughed and turned to walk to his building, motioning for you to follow him. You did, scampering a little to keep up with his long strides, and he unlocked a door on the first floor, holding it open for you, “Bathroom’s down the hall to the left.”

Rafe was sitting on the couch when you made it back out to the living room, and you finally took a good look at him. His laptop was on the coffee table and he was wearing a pair of Ole Miss sweats, a worn-out t-shirt, and a pair of glasses you were unaware he needed.

“Take a picture,” he interrupted your train of thought and you rolled your eyes.

“Shut up, Cameron. Now, tell me what you want to talk about so I can open my letter.”

“No, open your letter first and then we’ll talk.”

You weren’t sure why he was so insistent or why your heart rate tripled, but you were pretty sure it wasn’t the coffee. With shaking hands, you held up the letter from the MSU Vet School. All of your undergrad work came down to that letter, whether you’d have to take a gap year and try to find work to apply again or whether you could move forward in your career path.

Rafe watched on eagerly as you carefully tore it open and started reading. Eyes jumping across the page, unable to focus, you barely made out, Congratulations and We welcome you and We look forward to seeing you next fall.

With a gasp, you launched yourself at an unprepared Rafe and latched on, arms wrapped around his neck. He ran his hand up and down your back soothingly and asked, gently, “Good news?”

“I’m going to Vet School,” you whispered, voice cracking in the middle of your sentence.

“Fucking right you are, my little Rockstar.”

Your face heated up and you buried it in the crook of his neck, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders. Only to come crashing back down a few seconds later as you remembered Rafe wanted to talk. Pulling back slowly, you asked, “So, what was it you wanted to talk about?”

His face lit up and he leaned forward, hanging on to you so he didn’t accidentally dump you onto the floor, and grabbed his laptop. Clicking to his email, he showed you the message he had pulled up from Mississippi State University Department of History Admissions.

“So, you know I’ve been interested in teaching,” he started, “and I’m debating whether I’d like to teach college or not.”

“Yeah, last we talked, you were leaning toward college professor, right?”

“Right. Well, I applied to a few schools that had a PhD program I was interested in, and I heard back from my top choice.”

Your mind was racing, still not connecting the dots, until he motioned at his laptop. Looking back down, you skimmed the email, telling him that he’d been accepted into MSU’s PhD in European History program and gasped, turning back to him in excitement, “No way?!”

“Way,” he told you, wide grin on his face.

Jaw dropped, your mind raced to put together a coherent thought, “How long have you been planning this?”

“The program is good, this isn’t a new thought, but MSU obviously jumped up my preference list to the top after we got together.”

“Fuckin whipped,” you teased and he tilted your chin down to kiss you.

Pulling away he brushed some of your hair back, “Only for you.”

As he leaned in again, you were the one to pull back, “Wait, we have to celebrate!”

Rafe groaned, “No, let me kiss you.”

“No! I want food, I spent the entire ride thinking I was going to get dumped when I got here.”

He furrowed his eyebrows, “What?”

“We need to talk,” you quoted, “that’s one scary fucking sentence, Cameron.”

He smiled sheepishly, “Sorry, sweetheart, I just wanted to keep it a surprise.”

“Well you did.”

Rafe leaned in to kiss you again and pulled back to add, “You really think I’d make you drive all the way here, just to break up with you. I’m wounded you think that lowly of me.”

“You are an asshole.”

Rolling his eyes, he pinched your cheek gently, “Be nice to me, I’m sacrificing my dignity and lowering myself to Mississippi State’s standards.”

Blinking a few times in surprise at his sudden switch, you told him back, “Fuck off, I’m sure you were last choice as soon as they saw where you got your undergrad degree.”

Without saying anything else, he kissed you again, gripping behind your knees and shifting so your back was on the couch. As he lowered himself down on top of you, you decided that food could wait. You had your future to celebrate.

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron fluff #rafe outer banks #rafe cameron fic #rafe obx #outer banks fic #outer banks #obx #college rafe #ole miss rafe

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moldisgoodforyou · 4 years

Text

christmas day

this goes with home for christmas if you want more christmas (with just the fluff)

warnings: cursing, mentions of sex

wordcount: 2.3k

gif from @toesure

____

As pleased as JJ was that Charlie invited him home with her for Christmas, he wasn’t quite sure he could handle two and a half weeks straight of just her family. He stayed with John B at the Chateau most of the break - except he was exiled when Sarah came to stay. On those nights, he packed an overnight bag and showed up at Charlie’s house and was relegated to the guest room in the basement each time, when her dad pointed a finger downstairs and good-naturedly warned “upstairs is off-limits, kid.”

Naturally, Charlie snuck downstairs around 1am each night he stayed over and cuddled into his side, complaining that she slept better when he’s there. (He couldn’t quite bring himself to admit it yet, but he felt the same way.) They woke up to her alarm at 6 each morning, limbs tangled around each other, and she grumbled every time and tried sneaking back upstairs without her parents noticing.

One day she was caught by both her parents, up earlier than she had expected. “Charlotte?” Her mom asked, surprised to see her sneaking up the stairs. She froze, still in her pajamas, hair messy and lips a little swollen. “Good morning! Um, I was just, um, checking to be sure JJ wasn’t cold. Brought him an extra blanket.” Her dad just raised his eyebrows, skeptical as he sipped his coffee. Mrs. Walker let out a huff, shaking her head. “Do you think I’m dumb, Charlotte?”

“No ma’am.” Charlie answered quickly, southern manners trained into her since birth. If she believed her ears, she swore she heard JJ’s low laugh from the bottom of the stairs, but she ignored it (and hoped to god that her mom didn’t hear it too). “Charlotte, I know we haven’t talked about this, but I hope you’re having safe sex -”

“Mom!” Charlie exclaimed, going bright red.

“You are not nearly put together enough to have a child, and as much as I love JJ, I don’t think he is either. You need to be taking your birth control regularly, and -”

“Do I need to be here for this conversation, Suzie?” Her dad asked with a faint scowl, not making eye contact with Charlie. “Yes, you’re her parent too. If she’s choosing to be sexually active, she needs to be safe about it. Secondly! Is that really appropriate for you to be having sex in the family home?”

JJ had been listening from the base of the stairs, amused, then finally came up to rescue her. For probably the first time in his life, he came up for breakfast fully dressed, lightly touching the small of Charlie’s back as he brushed past. “Morning, Charlie. Morning, Mr. and Mrs. Walker. Charlie, still want to go on that run?” Her mom eyed the two of them suspiciously, then redirected the conversation easily - though not without a “you’ll hear about this later, Charlotte.” Her dad was grateful for the turn in conversation and lifted his mug to JJ in acknowledgment. “JJ, kiddo, want coffee?”

“I’m good, sir, thank you.” JJ turned to Charlie and asked her again, a little more pointedly. “Thanks for waking me up to go run, Charlie, but you should probably go change.”

“Right, yeah, of course.” She nodded, grateful for his excuse, and hurried upstairs. Her mom regarded the two of them with narrowed eyes and raised eyebrows. JJ shoved his hands in his pockets, alone for the first time with her parents. “Do you two normally get up this early?”

“No, we’re volunteering this morning.” Her mom explained, still regarding JJ with a suspicious look. “Run often, JJ?” Her dad chimed in, trying his best to bail him out of the awkward conversation. “Ah, yeah. Clears my head. I like going before the sunrise.” JJ nodded, shifting on his feet. Charlie came down moments later, keys in hand. “Ready, J? Figured we could drive out to the beach and start there?”

“Charlotte, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you run for fun ever in your life.” Her mom stated, glancing skeptically at her high-top Converse that were certainly not meant for running. She wore an awkward smile and took JJ’s hand. “Yeah, well, JJ can be convincing.”

“Let ‘em go, Suze, if they’re trying to beat the sun.” Her dad bailed them out, raising his mug toward Charlie with a wry smile. She shot a grateful look back and gave a hurried goodbye before dragging JJ out the door. JJ grabbed the car keys from her, shaking his head. “Converse, Walker, really? Of all your sneakers?”

She blushed, laughing. “I panicked! Oh my god, if my mom gives me a safe sex lecture when we get back, I’m dragging you into it.”

“Unfair! They’re not my parents.”

“Yeah, well, you could probably use a lecture. I remember you skipping out on health class in high school, do you even know anything about female anatomy?”

A wide smirk grew across his face and she rolled her eyes, slapping her hand over his mouth before he could respond. “I know I walked right into that one. Don’t even say it.”

They made do as they could, sneaking in quickies when her parents were out for errands, or her sneaking downstairs and going down on him when he was in the shower, pinching his thigh when he groaned involuntarily.

She cut it off completely when they were almost - almost caught by her eleven-year-old brother, Jamie. JJ was shirtless in her room ‘getting ready’ and two seconds away from pulling Charlie’s shirt off. Jamie had barged into her room like always, and promptly screamed when he saw JJ on top of Charlie. They sprang apart and Jamie had a hand over his eyes as he backed out, and Charlie had to chase him down and explain and swear him to secrecy. He was only bribed with a promise of JJ taking him out to surf for a whole day.

Despite their short struggles, JJ was wholeheartedly embraced into the family traditions.

He snapped off a piece of her mom’s mistletoe and carried it around in his pocket, using it as an excuse to kiss Charlie around her parents. Luckily, her mom thought it was cute, but JJ was hesitant to use the mistletoe around her dad. After he tried, just once, her dad called him on it straightaway. “Watch your hands around my little girl, kid.”

“I’m 21, Dad.” Charlie rolled her eyes and squeezed JJ’s hand under the dinner table. JJ offered a sheepish grin. “My bad, Mr. Walker.”

Jamie was just young enough to still somewhat believe in Santa, so they made cookies the night before and set them out. JJ made up an elaborate story about how they used to leave reindeer food - a mix of oatmeal and cinnamon - out the night before when he was a kid, just to be sure the reindeer knew where to land. Afterward, Charlie nudged him while they were alone, doing dishes in the kitchen. “That story, about the reindeer food?”

“Yeah, what about it?”

“Did your mom do that with you?”

He laughed, dryly. “Not at all. Kie did that with her parents.” He then blushed slightly and shrugged. “I always thought it sounded nice.” She frowned just a little and tucked herself into his side. “We’ll make all the traditions you can think of, okay? Keep ‘em up for years.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep. Might not like me in a year.” He warned.

She frowned more and reached a soapy hand up to his arm. “Hey. Don’t talk like that, I love you. You know that.”

He nodded and pressed a kiss to her forehead, then nudged her away. “I know. Love you too.”

“You’re in it for the long haul with me, Maybank.”

“Yeah? You sure you want that commitment?”

“Positive.” She grinned and kissed him just as he picked up another ceramic dish from Christmas Eve dinner, and it slipped out of his hands and crashed to the floor, shattering everywhere. He froze, ready to be reprimanded, or yelled at - or worse. Her mom came in right away, frowning. “What happened?”

“Dropped the dish, wet hands. My bad.” Charlie apologized for him quickly, moving to grab the broom out the closet. JJ just blinked, not moving. “I, um, sorry. It was my fault.” He knelt down, ready to pick up the pieces with his bare hands. “No need to cover for her, JJ, she’s done this before.” Mrs. Walker rushed over and batted his hands away. “Careful, don’t want you to get hurt.”

The exchange was dismissed faster than it happened and JJ couldn’t stop thinking about it for the rest of the night - he wasn’t sure why he was so easily forgiven.

On Christmas morning, Charlie snuck down to wake JJ up like usual. He curled his arm around her automatically the second she cuddled into bed. “Morning, pretty girl.”

“Merry Christmas, J. We have a couple hours before we have to get up to open presents, so...” She trailed off and trailed her hand down his chest, giving him a shy smile. He grabbed her hand before it could go further. “Don’t start, not fair.”

“I’ll be quiet.” She promised.

He laughed. “You’re never quiet. Ever.”

She scowled. “Could be. If I wanted.”

JJ grinned and kissed her shortly, mumbling. “When we get back, we can have sex as much as you want. At yours...” He nipped her neck. “At mine...” He trailed his fingers up under her shirt, cupping her breast. “Any way you want.” When he tweaked her nipple she let out a breathy moan and he laughed again, quickly cutting her off with a kiss. “See what I mean?”

“That was just for you.” She argued, trying to roll on top of him. He grabbed her forearms and pinned her to the bed. “Charlotte.”

“Now you’re just teasing.” She whined, pushing against his grip. “Not my fault you’re turned on by everything I do.” He smirked, then pulled her back against his chest. “C’mon. Back to sleep.”

Later, after she snuck back upstairs to change and they both made their way up to open presents, Charlie was grateful for her mom turning a blind eye to JJ’s slightly swollen lips. She handed him his gift first and JJ waited until Jamie was occupied with his presents to unwrap his with care, not wanting any attention. She got him a pair of new shoes, leather, after he had complained about having to wear sneakers for a professional networking event at school.

“Charlie, you didn’t.” He breathed out, running his finger over the shoe with a grin. “I can’t - these had to have cost you -” He started, flipping over the box for a price tag, which Charlie had taken the liberty of scratching off. “Hey.” She grabbed his hand and squeezed it. “I wanted to.”

“Well, open your other presents, JJ.” Her mom urged and he glanced up, confused and still a little in shock. “Huh?” Charlie grinned and handed him two more boxes, from both her parents. “You didn’t think there’d just be mine, did you?”

“I never thought - um, thank you.” He smiled at her parents and her dad nodded. “Open them, kiddo.” JJ opened the big one first and grinned at the South Carolina hoodie, pulling it on immediately. The next one was small and he opened it with care and his mouth fell open at the sight of the penknife. He immediately tried calculating how much it was in his head, looking it over.

“You like it?” Her dad asked, trying to hold back a smile.

“I...I can’t, sir. This is way too nice.” JJ excused, trying to hand it over to her dad. Mr. Walker raised his eyebrows and flipped it over, showing JJ the engraving. “Know another JJ we can sell it to, kid?”

It took JJ a second to realize he was joking and he beamed, thanking her parents profusely. Charlie swore she saw his eyes water up, just slightly, and pressed a kiss to his cheekbone to kiss away a stray tear as he turned to her to show it off.

They got through all the presents until JJ handed her a little box, eager for her reaction. “Here. From me.”

Her mom gasped as she pulled out a small ring box and JJ caught on a moment too slow of the implications of the gift. “It’s not - not that. Right?” Charlie quickly excused, raising her eyebrows at him. He nodded but deflated, just slightly, at how quick she was to insist it wasn’t an engagement ring. At his reassurance, she opened it and grinned when she pulled out a hammered gold band engraved with a wave (and his initials inscribed on the inside).

“I made it myself. A buddy does a welding class and showed me how.” JJ held back the full extent of his smile, nervous for her reaction. She beamed and threw his arms around him, grinning. “I love it, J, thank you.”

He relaxed and pressed his lips to her temple. “Welcome, sweetheart.”

“You wouldn’t so soon anyways, right?” Her mom questioned.

“No, we’ve only been dating for...about, four and half months now.” Charlie dismissed.

“Six.” JJ corrected.

“Uh oh.” Her dad commented, leaving the room. Her mom laughed and followed suit, urging Jamie to come along.

“Since the wedding in July. Right?” JJ questioned once they all left, cocking his head. “I didn’t call you my boyfriend ‘til we went back to school in August.” She replied, amused. His jaw dropped and he lowered his voice. “But we slept together!”

“Oh, so you’ve dated every girl you’ve slept with?” She countered quickly.

“Well - fair.” He grinned, smug. “If you really want to go into semantics, it’s been since June. You know, fake boyfriend and all.”

She shoved him away with a faint hint of a blush on her cheeks, shaking her head. “July’s fine.”

He laughed and pulled her back to kiss her sweetly. “July it is. Merry Christmas, Charlie.”

“Merry Christmas, J.”

#jj maybank #jj maybank fanfic #jj maybank fanfiction #jj x charlie #mine #frat jj #college jj

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stellawella97 · 4 years

Text

Atelephobia: The Fear of Never Being Good Enough (Shane/Gender Neutral Farmer) - Chapter 1/3

Just posted 1/3 of my first Stardew Valley fanfic!

Read it below or over @ AO3

Summary:

Shane has got 99 problems but never did he think the entire world losing its colour would be one of them.

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It started off as just any other normal day in Shane’s life.

The chickens clucked noisily outside, the cows joining in their song occasionally with their loud chorus of moo’s. None of these sounds woke Shane up in the slightest - he heard them every day and he’d grown so accustomed to the noise, he figured he’d still be able to continue sleeping even if his bedroom floor caved in beneath his bed.

The slightly battered alarm clock sitting on Shane’s bedside table began its shrill ringing at 6:30am sharp. Shane tended to run by a strict ‘5 more minutes’ rule when it came to waking up in the morning however. Refusing to open his eyes till he absolutely had to, Shane managed to turn off the alarm clock by swatting aimlessly with his hand till it met with cold metal and the ringing stopped.

He tried to fall back asleep for those precious extra 5 minutes of peace before he had to leave for his soul-sucking job at JojaMart. However, memories of the night before began to flood back into his mind. Shane had been up in the mountains late at night, drinking again. He faintly remembered seeing the hermit (Linus, was it?) entering his tent, a plastic bag that was stuffed to the brim with what looked like half-eaten food grasped tightly in his hands.

Shane had drunk a couple cans of beer before he decided to enter the mines nearby. It had been dark and full of strange noises neither human nor animal could make but Shane had managed to make it down several floors with a pickaxe he’d found at the mine entrance in his drunken state. As to why he’d chosen to do this, Shane had no idea whatsoever.

He didn’t remember much else except for the sound of a creature speaking in a garbled ancient language, a warm tingling sensation that filled his entire body, and finally the sharp pain that shot through his head as he finally keeled over from the amount of alcohol in his system, smashing his head against the rocky terrain. Oddly enough, his head didn’t hurt at all this morning. Doctor Harvey must’ve patched him up real good this time. Or maybe Marnie had. Who’d even brought him back to the house?

Just as he was beginning to wonder if he was actually found with trousers on this time, Shane heard the sound of the front door slamming shut. Marnie must have gone out to feed the animals. Shane was just about to roll over onto his side to continue his reminiscing when it began to dawn on him that he’d probably been in bed for more than just 5 minutes.

Shane quickly sat up in bed and grabbed the alarm clock. It was now 7:10am! He couldn’t risk Morris docking his pay again this month - he had to get to JojaMart quick. He jumped out of bed and had just put his leg through a pair of jeans when he noticed that it’d turned from blue to gray. When had that happened? He remembered wearing this exact pair of jeans just two days ago and he certainly hadn’t ever bought gray ones before.

It was then that he realized - everything had turned gray from his walls, to the cushion placed in front of the television set, to the alarm clock, and even his own skin.

I’ve finally done it, haven’t I? I died in those fucking mines last night and now, I’m in some kind of Hell?

The thought ran through Shane’s mind as he spun around, inspecting everything in his room for any sign of colour. This was to no avail. Even his favourite pair of boxers was gray with slightly darker gray hearts dotting it. In a moment of pure desperation, Shane decided to pinch himself as hard as he could on his arm in an attempt to find out if he was in fact still alive. He was.

Rubbing the sore patch of skin on his arm, Shane decided that he didn’t have time to waste standing here and waiting to see if the world around him would get its colour back. If he was still alive, he needed to get to work pronto. He quickly pulled on his ratty, old JojaMart jacket that still did its job and ran out of the house, only just remembering to shut his bedroom door behind him because he just didn’t think he could deal with Marnie yelling at him again about the mess of empty beer cans and pizza boxes in there.

Shane ran through town, almost knocking over Abigail who had just left Pierre’s General Store with a flute in her hands. It worried him to no end that even her usually bright purple of her hair (She must dye it, right?) was now a dull gray, but Shane had no time to be stressing about that now. He’d just have to wait till during his break or after work.

Once he’d arrived at JojaMart, Shane immediately went to the employees office to clock in and change into the uniform. He took a moment to glance at his reflection in the mirror and sighed as he noted that the usually bright blue uniform was just as unflattering as always in a gray shade. He walked out onto the shop floor and began stocking the shelves, determined to just get through the day now.

However, he must’ve done something to offend Yoba because Shane’s shift did not go well at all. He’d first managed to trip over his own feet and crashed straight into the display of limited edition shrimp-flavoured Joja Cola that he’d been hard at work stacking up for over an hour. As Shane was stomping angrily back onto the shop floor with a bucket of soapy water and a mop in his hands, he’d then bumped into Pam who’d screamed in rage when she discovered her brand-new jumpsuit was now soaked. Even though he’d apologized profusely to Pam, Shane still had to sit through an hour and a half of Morris’s lectures as well as had his paycheck docked for the day to reimburse Pam for the damages.

Just as he thought his day couldn’t get any worse however, Shane was just about to clock out for his lunch break when Morris asked him to help Sam unload the delivery trucks that had just arrived with a new shipment of powdered butter, gluten pucks and Carbo Cones. This meant he had to endure almost an hour’s worth of listening to Sam go on and on about how awesome some indie band in Grampleton was - which on some days, was fine. Just not today, for Yoba’s sake. Instead of putting up a fuss however (Morris wouldn’t care anyway), Shane simply gritted his teeth and headed out to the back of JojaMart.

It wasn’t till 2pm that Shane finally managed to clock out for his break. He flopped down onto a seat at a small round metal table in the employee’s break room and stared at the silently humming vending machine in the corner of the room. The vending machine sold only JojaMart products, all of them disgusting and overly sweet - Shane had tried each one. At first, he wondered to himself ‘Wasn’t that vending machine blue before?” before it dawned on him for the second time that day that he hadn’t been able to see colours all day. As crazy as it sounded, he’d just been so distracted with work that he hadn’t had time to notice.

Shane leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms, biting his lower lip in concentration. How had this happened? Had something happened to him in the mines? Maybe he should pay Doctor Harvey a visit after work, he would know what to do.

“Knock knock!,” a familiar voice suddenly came from the direction of the door. Shane, who had been staring blankly at a spot on the table, looked up to see who had managed to sneak into the break room in surprise but flinched almost immediately, bringing a hand up to shield his eyes from the sudden burst of colour amongst the gray. Once his eyes had adjusted, Shane saw that the voice belonged to the new farmer that had recently moved into the farm out of the town. They were now standing by the door, their hands clasped behind their back.

He must’ve been staring at the farmer for just a moment too long because they’d then asked “Shane? Are you okay? with an eyebrow raised questioningly. Shane cleared his throat and stood up from his chair, moving to stand in front of the vending machine. It was hard to tell what he was looking at when all the cans were the same gray colour, but he pretended to be deciding which drink he was going to buy to buy himself some time. His heart was beating so fast in his chest, Shane began to wonder if he was about to pass out.

Why’s the farmer the only one who’s in colour? Why of all people has it got to be them?!

Just as he thought of something smart to say, Shane heard the sound of the break room door opening again. He spun around to find the farmer already halfway out the door. However, the farmer noticed at the last moment that Shane had finally turned around and was now looking at them. They hesitated for a moment before saying with a shy smile tracing their lips “I’ve gotta go now but...I’ll be stopping by the Stardrop Saloon tomorrow night, I hope I’ll see you there there?”

“I-I’ll see you there!,” Shane blurted out, feeling his cheeks begin to heat up. The farmer flashed him a warm smile before shutting the door behind them. Shane fell back into his seat and buried his face in his hands, mentally screaming at himself for two main reasons. One, he had sounded way too excited at the prospect of seeing the farmer again. Two, had the farmer just subtly invited him on a date? And did he just...agree to it? What was going on today?!

Not once did he stop to wonder why the farmer hadn’t turned gray like everything else, himself included.

Shane managed to breeze through the second half of his shift at JojaMart without any further mishaps, and had made it all the way back home with his head high up in the clouds. He popped a frozen pizza he’d stolen from JojaMart’s freezers into the oven and entered his bedroom, kicking his shoes off at the door.

He was just wondering if people still brought their date flowers in these modern days when he noticed a small slip of paper that was being held in place beneath a small stone that was smooth to the touch. Written on the paper in a barely legible script were the words ‘Lost your ability to see colour, huh? If you want it back, meet me at the mines tonight at 11pm’.

Shane looked around his room and decided to check the windows. They were locked. Whoever had delivered this note must’ve come in from the front door but Marnie who had been home all day would have said something to him if someone had come looking for him. She hadn’t though, so they must have snuck in without her seeing. Now he knew how they got in, there was still one question left unanswered:

Who sent me this note?

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Author Notes:

Part 2 will be up sometime later this week so stay tuned for that.

If you'd like my work and would like to support me, please consider donating to my Ko-fi @ https://ko-fi.com/stellawella97 where I am offering custom fanfic commissions for a cup of coffee! It'd really help me out. Thank you <3

#stardew valley #stardew shane #stardew farmer #stardew fanfic #gender neutral fanfic #sdv #sdv shane #sdv farmer #fanfiction #fanfic

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rowanwhitethornisbae · 4 years

Text

Faking It Ch 3

A/N: I don't remember Aedion’s mom every being explicitly named in the series so I just kinda made up a name. I picture her as being the young cool aunt so that’s just my portrayal, not canon lmao.

Also I'm going to reveal what happened between them in the next few chapters so send me some theories in my asks!!!

Despite Aelin's attempts to forget about Rowan, the day continued to drag on slowly. First science class, where somehow her brain managed to relate molecular compounds to Rowan's face. Then lunch, when luckily Aedion had managed to distract her with donuts for the short fifty minutes. Now she was back in the last period of the day, left to brew in her own apprehension as the on-screen lecture lapsed by and turned into silent reading.

Rowan had agreed to drive them both to her house after school, saving Aelin from walking back in the crisp autumn weather. She’d put more energy into her appearance today than she’d like to admit. If Aelin had one thing she love about herself, it would be her style. Today she was wearing a slightly too short wrap skirt and a loose satin black button up which she tucked one side into the skirt. She had chosen to wear her platform Doc Martens, naively assuming she could handle the ankle pain. Her hair was done up in a tight bun and she pulled back her short layers from her face with gold pins. Aelin fiddled with her hoop earrings as she watched the second hand move around the clock.

“You’ll be fine.” Lysandra whispered, her head still staring down at the book they were supposed to be silently reading.

Aelin scooted her chair a little closer to her friend, careful not to make a squeaking noise against the marble tile. “But what if I'm not?”

Lys didn't look up but Aelin couldn't tell she was no longer actually reading. “Then call me and we’ll get white girl wasted and watch pride and prejudice for the hundredth time.”

Aelin laughed under her breath, images of Mr. Darcy’s hand flex flashing though her mind. “Can you blame me? I’m a sucker for enemies to lovers.”

Lysandra shot he a conniving look. “Maybe this is your chance to experience your own enemies to lovers?”

Aelin scoffed a little too loudly and someone behind them glared. “It would be more like friends who slept together to lovers to enemies to awkwardly fake dating to lovers.”

Lysandra stifled her laugh and went back to reading. Aelin was glad that she had someone to talk to about whatever the fuck she and Rowan were about to do. Saying she hadn't thought several times about putting the breaks on this whole thing would just be a futile lie. Rowan resented her, he’d made that much clear over their very brief and clipped conversations. A part of Aelin was holding onto a hope that today they’d be able to work some shit out at least. If not, she was in for an incredibly uncomfortable few months. If they even lasted that long.

Unable to focus, Aelin began doodling on the front of her binder. She was about to run out of space when the bell signalling the end of school rang at last. Aelin swung her bag onto her shoulder and grabbed Lys’ hand, pulling them both out of the classroom.

“Holy fuck you are so pale.” Lysandra exclaimed.

Aelin released her and offered a small apologetic smile. “I feel like I might throw up.” There was a moment of awkward silence before Aelin spoke again. “Will you walk to his car with me?”

Lysandra grinned at her. “Duh! What are best friends for?”

Normally Aelin would've hugged her but she was too focused on not emptying the contents of her stomach on the school floor. Lysandra was going on about something trivial in her attempts to distract Aelin when she spotted him.

He was leaning against his car talking to Lorcan and Fenrys. Or more, Fenrys was talking and the other two were listening. Aelin approached him carefully, Lys an ever steady presence on her left.

“Hey.” She said softly. Fenrys’ talking ceased and all three massive males turned towards her. They all seemed to bear matching expressions; disdain. Despite Lorcan’s body language suggesting indifference, his eyes held a hatred Aelin had rarely seen before.

She swallowed nervously and bumped Lysandra lightly. Lys, thank god, received the message and smiled widely.

“I’m Lysandra.” She said, her voice filled with fake sweetness.

“We know.” Lorcan grumbled at the same time that Fenrys said “Nice to meet you.”

They both then shot each other matching looks and fell silent. “I’m fine guys.” Rowan said at last, his first time speaking thus far. He had yet to look straight at Aelin. “I’ll come over after.”

They nodded reluctantly and walked away, Lorcan fighting back a laugh at something Fen said.

Aelin pulled Lysandra into a long hug. “Call me if you need anything.” Lys whispered in her ear. Then they pulled away and her friend was gone, leaving Aelin and Rowan alone.

“Hi.” She said again.

He only nodded at her and walked around to the drivers seat of his car. She groaned internally, already dreading the next few hours.

The car ride to Aedion’s house, where Aelin had been living for two years, was deadly silent. It wasn't really awkward, just the type of tension that you were too scared to break in fear of a storm.

When they finally pulled into the driveway, Aelin unbuckled her seatbelt and was halfway to the door before Rowan even got out. She unlocked the door with a spare key and walked into the house. Aedion and his mom, Althea, lived in a small semi a few miles from the high school. Upon Aelin’s parents sudden death, the spare room had been shifted into Aelin’s room and Althea had taken her in with a warm heart.

“Althea I'm home.” She called out into the house.

A voice came from the kitchen. “I made some sandwiches.”

Despite herself, Aelin smiled at the prospect of food. Without turning around, she led Rowan through the small hallway and into the kitchen.

Her aunt was sitting at the island, munching on celery and dip when they walked in. Upon recognizing Rowan, she dropped her food, mouth agape.

“Althea,” Aelin spoke through her teeth. “You remember Rowan. We’re going to study for a bit.” She silently begged her aunt not to question it.

Ever so slowly, her aunt nodded. “Of course. It’s nice to see you again Rowan.”

Aelin swiped the plate of sandwiches off of the table and handed them to Rowan. “Take these to my room. I’ll be up in a minute please.”

He nodded and turned on his heels quickly, clearly desperate to get out of this room. Once Aelin was sure he was out of earshot, she turned back to the kitchen.

“Oh my god.” Her aunt whisper shouted. “Is that the same Rowan who’s dick I walked in on you sucking.”

Aelin cringed at the reminder. She selectively tried to forget about that very awkward encounter that had traumatized all involved parties for several weeks.

“Yes.” Was all Aelin could manage to say.

“The same Rowan who’s heart you shattered on my front lawn while me and Aedion watched from the upstairs window.”

Aelin began tapping her foot. “Still mad at you for that.”

Her aunt wasn't deterred. “The same Rowan -”

Aelin put up a hand to stop her. “From now on how about we just assume it’s all the same Rowan. It’s probably wise considering I only know one.”

Althea let out a small laugh at that and shooed Aelin out of the kitchen. She walked up the stairs slowly, her steps unhurried on the wearing carpet. Upon arrival at her room, she found Rowan hovering over her desk. He was looking at the pictures she had framed, none of which included him. There had been a time, when nearly every single one those pictures had been him and Aelin together. In the heat of the moment, she’d smashed them all on the ground, glass shattering on her wood floor. She’d immediately regretted it, but the damage was done. Over the months since, she’d gradually replaced the photos with new ones. Her and Lysandra smiling from pool chairs. Her and Aedion drunk and laughing at something Aelin could no longer remember. There was one on the far left of her and Chaol at junior prom that Aelin had forgotten to remove. She looked beautiful that night, with a stunning pale blue dress that shimmered in the moonlight outside the venue. Chaol had looked handsome too, but he wasn't who Aelin had really wanted to be there with.

It was that photo which Rowan was now staring at, his back to her. Leaning against the door frame, Aelin cleared her throat. Rowan whirled around, his face red as if he’d just been caught in the midst of something illegal.

“I was just - uh...” He ran a hand through his silver hair in a way familiar to Aelin.

“It’s fine.” She said, waving her hand dismissively.

They both took up positions on opposite sides of the bed, Aelin at the head and Rowan at the foot. He crossed and uncrossed his legs a few times before deciding at last to lie on his stomach, legs hanging off her bed.

“This is awkward.” He said, surprising Aelin enough that she fumbled with the sandwich in her hand before regaining control.

“Yep.” She nodded, and took a bite to refrain from having to answer.

He shook his head as if he wanted to say more and pulled out a notepad from his bag. “Let’s make rules and a contract.”

Finished chewing, Aelin halted to gape at him. “Are you seriously going to make me sign a legally binding contract or some shit. Rules make everything less fun.”

Rowan didn't meet her eye when he spoke again. “I’ve learned not to trust your word.”

A blush crept over Aelin’s cheeks and she ignored the sudden pain in her chest. She opened her mouth to speak, to say what, she didn't know, when Rowan interrupted.

“Besides, this isn't about fun. It’s a mutually benefitting deal.” His voice was dead serious but Aelin couldn't help but scoff.

“You’ve always been good at making fun things sound like physics homework.”

“And you’ve always been good at taking nothing seriously and thinking only of yourself.” He looked dead at her when he spoke, his features stone cold.

Aelin froze up and placed her half eaten sandwich back on the plate. “You’re being mean.”

A smirk crossed his lips, although she read no real amusement there. “My apologies, your highness.”

“Fine.” Aelin said, turning away from him to blink back a few barely there tears. “Let’s make rules then.”

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

Rowan was being a dick. He knew that. And yet somehow, every time he opened his mouth something mean and condescending came out. Clearly, he wasn't as over Aelin Galathynius as he’s convinced himself to be. Sitting on her bed after school, scrawling notes in a notebook and eating sandwiches brought back memories he’d honestly rather forget. Maybe it had been her Aunt’s reaction to seeing him, or the picture of Chaol on the dresser, but all Rowan knew was that somewhere between the threshold and here, he’d turned into a douchebag.

Currently, Aelin was rummaging through her desk drawer for a pen. She returned a moment later and handed it to him, careful to avoiding their hands touching.

“Fake Dating Contract”

Rowan scrawled a title messily at the top of the page, trying to ignore Aelin’s eyes on him.

“So what’s number one?” He asked out loud.

She tucked a few loose blond strands of hair behind her ear and bit her lip in the way she always did when she was thinking. Unable to watch the familiar motions anymore, Rowan turned back to his paper.

“Tell no-one.” He suggested dryly.

“I already told Lysandra,” she admitted guiltily, “and I’ll have to tell Aedion as well.”

He had already been expecting that response. “That’s fine. I wanted to tell Lorcan and Fenrys anyway.”

She nodded in his peripheral vision. “But no one else. If this gets out I'll be the laughing stock of the school.”

“Of course princess. How dare I endanger your precious reputation? Need I remind you that this was your idea.” His tone was mocking, even as his brain scolded him for the cruel words.

Aelin blanched and shot him a glare. “Don't act like you don't need this either. I’m getting you what you always wanted.”

“How are you even planning on doing that anyway?”

She wouldn't lie to him about this. Would she?

Then it crossed his mind, he had no fucking clue what she would do. There had been a time when he thought he knew every thought that Aelin had. But then she’d broken his heart and altered his view on people forever. His distrust was both justified and entirely her fault.

“You won't like it.” Aelin said softly.

“I don't really care how you do it.” It was a lie. Despite his disdain for her, he didn't want her methods to be anything that put her in danger.

They went silent for a moment before Rowan spoke again. “What are the limits?”

Aelin arched an eyebrow at him. “Limits.”

“Yeah.” He sat up, suddenly feeling too uncomfortable to be lying down. “Like if we're going to make people believe it then we’re going to need some displays of public affection or whatever.”

Rowan didn't even need to look to know Aelin was delighting in how red his face had gone. A wicked smile crossed her face, “Are you trying to seduce me Rowan Whitethorn?”

He couldn't help the short laugh that escaped his lips. “Stop that,” he grumbled halfheartedly. Aelin had always been the best at making him blush.

“We’ll kiss here and there, go to a few parties together, and hang out with each others friends a few times. It won't be too hard.” She shrugged as if they were just discussing the weather.

“Alright.” If she wasn't going to act like this was a big deal, than neither was he.

Half hour of back and forth conversation and a few snide comments later, the rules were complete. Rowan ripped out the looseleaf paper and held it up for Aelin to read.

Fake Dating Contract

1. Tell two people each ... ONLY

2. No making out for longer than 30 seconds.

3. No being rude or resentful to each other in public

4. Rowan must fake date Aelin for four months or until she says otherwise.

5. Aelin must get Rowan a football tryout by week two

6. Rowan and Aelin’s friend groups have to sit together at lunch

7. ANY RULES BROKEN RESULT IN THE SAID RULE BREAKER BEING BURNED ALIVE.

Rowan had added the second one, much to Aelin’s amusement. She had stolen the paper at the end to add the last one and sign her name at the bottom, handing it back to Rowan to do the same.

Once both their signatures were at the bottom, he pocketed the paper and stood to leave.

“You’re leaving?” Aelin blurted out, clearly uneasy.

“Why would I stay?” He meant it to come out rude, but it sounded more like a plea for a reason to.

Aelin hesitated for a moment before offering him a small smile and turning away. Sighing, Rowan quickly exited the room, tiptoeing down the stairs and out the door to avoid any awkward encounters. It was only when he got to his car that he realized just how badly he had wanted her to make him stay.

--------

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sleep-i-ness · 4 years

Text

Tear Stains (Part 6)

Synopsis: Y/N was dumped by James Potter and she doesn’t quite know why. At least she has her friends to keep her company, right? Hogwarts drama is bit messy this year.

Series Masterlist | Harry Potter Masterlist | Full Masterlist

“Y/N! Wait!”

Y/N stiffened as Sirius yelled after her. Was what she said not enough? Spinning on the ball of her left foot, she was already opening her mouth to give him a piece of her mind when she caught sight of his dishevelled appearance. Her thoughts stuttered to a halt as she choked on the words, eyes widening as he sprinted towards her. His sleek hair, which he apparently spent hours on in the morning was already mussed up, past the point of I-woke-up-like-this and a bit more like I-was-dragged-through-a-bush-backwards.

“Here.” Sirius passed over her bookbag, giving her a sheepish smile. Oh. Of course, he’d done something nice for her to try and make up for getting her in trouble. Typical. Remember, no more second chances. “I forgot to tell you I grabbed it for you while you were getting lectured with your friends. Also, just wanted to clear up your false information, um, we didn’t say anything about last night. Trust me,” he laughed drily, “if we wanted ‘revenge’ in some way, we wouldn’t go through the teachers. We’re not snitches, and you know that.”

His words carried a lacklustre bite, half-heartedly trying to seem indignant. Sirius’ usual cocky façade had slipped, his eyes conveying a raw vulnerability that he normally hid so well. This was the only time she’d ever seen him affected by something negative that someone had said. Did he really care that much about what she thought?

Y/N was speechless, flustered heat rising in her cheeks as her embarrassment grew, prickling the back of her neck. And to think she’d jumped straight to the conclusion because it was convenient and a good way of justifying her growing anger.

But, if they didn’t tell the teachers, who did? An envious peer? Or a teacher’s pet? It had seemed so obvious, especially due to their smug reactions.

“Thanks,” she returned the smile, guilt gnawing at her stomach and she swallowed harshly. “Would you like to walk to Potions together?”

The words sounded hollow even to her ears, laced with uncertainty. Sirius’ expression was unreadable, Y/N was unsure whether he was surprised or annoyed by her presumptuousness. The silence between them stretched to a breaking point, his dark eyes roaming over her features. Looking for a catch.

“Sure.”

Y/N would have liked to say that the walk was easy, that they slipped back into their familiar routine. But she was still tentative around him, knowing that as soon as they walked through the classroom door, he would act like she didn’t exist again. That didn’t stop her from at least trying to break the stilted silence that lay between them. They would each open their mouths to start a conversation, before thinking better of it and leaving the other desperate for a respite from the insufferable awkwardness. She’d never seen Sirius so quiet. He usually had a witty reply or dirty comment for any situation which arose, however, it seemed his well of charm had finally run dry.

Y/N paused in front of the Potions classroom door, shifting from foot to foot. She wanted to say something, but nothing came to mind. Nice to walk with you? No, that was horrendous. Maybe she should just thank him again.

Sirius was reaching for the door when she coughed lightly, tapping him on the shoulder. He looked at her expectantly.

“Thanks again, I really appreciate you grabbing my stuff for me.”

He seemed taken aback, eyebrows shooting up. His face cracked into an easy grin, “Saying thanks twice? Wow, our relationship is really coming on in leaps and bounds, darling.”

Y/N pouted as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders. Pushing him off, she laughed at his sulky face. “Don’t push it, Black. I still haven’t forgiven you for acting like a complete prick.”

Sirius rubbed the back of his neck, grimacing apologetically. “Yeah, sorry about that. It was really shitty of us, but you need to talk to James. He’ll explain.”

Y/N scoffed at his awful attempt at an apology, beginning to retort as the heavy door creaked open. They both froze, like deer caught in headlights. The stout frame of Slughorn emerged from the dank depths of the classroom and he frowned at them.

He sighed. “Were you planning on joining my lesson anytime soon?”

They both murmured apologies, sharing conspiratorial looks. Y/N struggled to hold back a giggle as Sirius stuck out his tongue at Slughorn’s retreating back, quickly following him inside the classroom. She caught herself, feet stuttering slightly before she slipped into her seat next to Marlene, who raised an eyebrow.

“Shut it,” Y/N muttered, shooting a sideways glance at Slughorn as she spoke. The professor was still facing away from the students, scrawling instruction onto the blackboard.

Marlene smirked. “I didn’t say anything.”

“But you were going to.”

“Well, clearly.” Marlene hissed surreptitiously as Slughorn turned round to glare in their direction. “You and Black, bantering? I thought you hated the guy.”

“I do! I do, but…” Y/N didn’t know how to phrase it. Why was it so difficult to keep walls up? It was just simpler to slip back into familiar banter with Sirius. She should have learnt that, in some cases, second chances weren’t deserved. He was an arsehole. Y/N knew that.

But something kept pulling her back.

“…Yes?” Marlene prompted dryly, grinning cockily at her. Y/N had seen a very similar grin on Sirius’ face only a few minutes ago and the similarity made her shiver.

“He brought my stuff down from the common room, so I had to be nice to him.” They both knew that wasn’t the full truth, or anywhere near it, but Marlene knew better than to press. She could probably read in the furrowed lines of Y/N’s face that Y/N probably had even less of an idea than Marlene.

“Y/N, Lily, come quick!” Marlene’s voice was shaky as she interrupted their study in the common room, tendrils of blonde hair escaping her plait. Her fingers turned white as she gripped the edge of the portrait hole, legs trembling. “It’s Mary.”

Y/N glanced at Lily in horror, all kinds of scenarios flashing through her head. No one was oblivious to the growing tensions in the Wizarding World, and they had started to translate into Hogwarts. She just hoped that she was, yet again, jumping to conclusions. Without a single word, they sprang up, abandoning their Potions essays.

Stumbling out onto the grounds, Y/N barely withheld a shriek as a familiar red light flashed by the edge of the Black Lake. Above a pair of students floated a limp body, twitching helplessly. Y/N clapped a hand to her mouth to stifle the instinctive strangled yell that rose from her chest; she never thought that Dark Magic would be so openly used on school grounds.

A phantom cackle of laughter rang in her ears and she flinched. “You are such a disappointment to the family.” “We will not tolerate another blood traitor.”

“Crucio!”

One of the hardest things to learn in Defence Against the Dark Arts was that to cast an Unforgivable Curse, the caster must possess a deep desire to cause the victim pain and to take pleasure in their suffering.

A blinding white rage flashed red-hot, temporarily blinding Y/N from reasonable thought, and she stormed towards the pair. Her hand shook as she raised her wand high. Her veins buzzed with coursing adrenaline. Cold dread gripped her heart as she took in the scene.

She recognised the faces.

“Avery? Mulciber?” Her voice was barely audible as her words suppressed her vocal cords; tongue dry like sandpaper.

Two leering faces turned to face her, sporting matching grins of delight. “Come to join us? Finally, being a real Pureblood?”

“Pureblood bitch.”

“You’ll never be part of this family, blood traitor.”

Y/N baulked, pressing the heel of her hand into her nose. Merlin, she was weak. Barely able to pull herself together to confront Avery and Mulciber. Haunted by the voices of her parents and… Potter. She dug her nails into her palms, the sharp pain shooting through her like a sudden bolt of clarity.

“Put her down.”

Mary’s body was held in a frozen contortion of pain, her face wrenched into a wretched expression. A wave of revulsion rolled over her and Y/N shivered, barely able to look at her.

This was her fault.

She knew what they were like. She’d heard them talk and laughed, albeit uncomfortably when needed. How could she have ever excused their actions. Maybe if she hadn’t been so complicit this would have never happened.

“Put her down or I swear to Merlin that I’ll hex you so hard you’ll never be able to have children.” She seethed; free hand clenched tight as she gritted out her words.

They let Mary drop with a thump, limbs flailing like a rag doll and Y/N shuddered. Her head lolled to one side, body limp on the rocky shore. Brown tendrils of hair caressed her pallid features, colour completely washed from her skin.

“Are you threatening us?” Avery hissed, stalking towards her. An amusing mental image of him as Gollum from Lord of the Rings, a Muggle book she’d managed to smuggle a copy of, popped into her head and her lips twitched. Y/N blinked it away. Her fear must be manifesting as hysteria.

“Blood traitor.” Mulciber snarled, cornering her from the other side. Y/N raised a trembling hand, willing her hand steady to cast an effective spell. “It’s just a Mudblood.”

“Mary is my friend. And she is a thousand times better than you could ever wish to be, you fucking blood supremacists.” Y/N spat; bitter resentment acrid in the back of her throat, like bile. It was taking all her resolve not to lash out and cause them harm, to get revenge on Mary’s behalf. She was too cowardly to antagonise them like that.

Avery tilted his head curiously, a sharp animalistic glint in his eyes as he licked his lips. A foul sneer crossed his face as he too raised his wand in response, and Y/N knew what was coming next. She closed her eyes slowly, sighing as she prepared herself mentally for the excruciating pain that was about to come.

“Mr Avery! Mr Mulciber! Come with me at once to the Headmaster’s office.” Y/N had never been so delighted to see her Head of House, body slumping with relief at the sight of the severe figure. Avery and Mulciber glared before marching away. Not even they would dare to defy the orders of a teacher. “And you, Miss Y/L/N, I will be seeing you in my office after you’ve helped Miss Macdonald to the Medical Wing.”

Oh Merlin. She hadn’t even done anything wrong this time.

Y/N paused outside the heavy wooden door of McGonagall’s office, hand hovering tentatively as she contemplated knocking. Exhaustion had settled deep into her bones and she really couldn’t be bother; this day had been a train wreck.

She frapped gently on the door, knuckles barely making a sound against the thick oak. She almost hoped McGonagall wouldn’t hear so she could leave and pretend she came when she was out.

“Come in.” The severe voice startled her; Y/N hadn’t really expected a response.

Pushing open the heavy door, Y/N smiled cautiously at her Head of House, who looked up at her from her desk. The small room was warmed by a roaring fire, which crackled and popped as she slipped in. Her fingers brushed the edge of the door as it slammed shut behind her and Y/N flinched apologetically.

“Take a seat, Miss Y/L/N,” McGonagall gestured to one of the plush armchairs next to the fire and Y/N nodded quickly, perching on the edge of the seat. McGonagall left her waiting as she finished writing on a piece of parchment and Y/N let her eyes wander around the room.

She’d rarely been in here; often avoiding punishment with the Marauders as Potter would shoo her away under the Invisibility Cloak when a teacher arrived. When they were younger, they had all mostly fit under it but once most of the boys had grown over about 5’8”, it was a lucky day if more than two people could be squeezed under it.

When she had ended up in McGonagall’s office, under her stern stare, it had never been alone and there was something about getting into trouble as a group that was so much easier. Her leg bounced up and down as she tried to relieve her jittery nerves, hands picking at the skin round her nails.

“I have to admit, after your appearance in the Great Hall, I was surprised to see you about to duel two of the people that seemed to be your friends,” McGonagall’s musings served only to anger Y/N and she bit down on the inside of her cheek to hold back any potentially disrespectful remarks from coming out. No need to get herself further in trouble.

“With all due respect, Professor.” Whoops. Y/N froze, the phrase dripping with sarcasm had forced its way out of her mouth and now McGonagall was giving her a curiously amused glance. Huh. “I find it offensive that you’d assume that I would tolerate anyone using the Cruciatus Curse on my friends. Avery and Mulciber previously being my friends is unimportant.”

McGonagall smiled, the opposite reaction to what Y/N had expected to her impertinent comment. “I didn’t call you here to lecture you, do not worry. I wished to commend your bravery and award you 50 points. I saw your readiness to take the brunt of their attack to spare Miss Macdonald.”

Y/N gaped, rendered speechless by the praise. That was unexpected.

“Thank you.” She stuttered, a small smile twitching at her lips.

“I have no doubt that you will wish to see your friend in the Medical Wing as soon as possible, so I will not keep you long. But I need your statement as a witness to the attack, can you confirm for me what spell they used?” McGonagall’s tone was suddenly grave, pursing her lips as she spoke. A quill hovered over a blank piece of parchment on the desk as she waved her wand wordlessly.

“Yes, I did not hear them recite the incantation, but I am sure it was the Cruciatus Curse. I have seen it cast enough times to recognise the red flash it causes.” Y/N refrained from clapping a hand over her mouth as she realised what she’d admitted to. Her eyes widened as she scanned McGonagall for an adverse reaction, anything to suggest that she’d understood the implications of what Y/N had said.

“Thank you,” McGonagall’s quill continued to write freely, presumably recounting word for word what she had said. “Now, Y/L/N, I cannot pretend to be ignorant of the parenting style of the Pureblood families and so I will not report back on that part of your statement. However, if you ever require medical supplies to take home with you, Madame Pomfrey would be more than willing to supply.”

Y/N offered her a genuinely thankful smile. She understood that they were unable to do anything else; unlike in the Muggle world, the governmental system did not have rules surrounding concepts like child abuse or bad parenting. The only thing the school could offer was a break, even during some holidays, when she could elect to stay.

“Go, see Miss MacDonald.” McGonagall shooed her out of her office, something oddly akin to fondness in her eyes. Y/N had always thought her Head of House only just tolerated, if not outright disliked her. But the entire interaction had felt… warm, rather than the cool severity she usually associated with her.

“Heard you got Avery and Mulciber into trouble.” Evan was waiting for Y/N when she left McGonagall’s office, eyes glinting maliciously. He languidly pushed himself off the stone wall, matching her stride.

Y/N scoffed, unsure whether he was really being this ridiculous. “They were torturing my friend, Evan. Merlin. That’s what got them into trouble, not my interruption. They’re fucking psychopaths.”

Evan laughed menacingly, slinging an arm over her shoulder. Every hair stood on edge as she shivered under his touch. She almost felt trapped under his arm, as if he were physically trying to keep her in line. “It was a harmless prank and besides, it’s just a Mudblood. Under the Dark Lord, they’ll all be culled anyway.”

Y/N wrenched herself out of his grip, disgust digging in deep where he’d been touching her. It was the apathy in his voice, the total acceptance, that really affected her. How could he be so nonchalant? “The Cruciatus Curse is not a prank, you monster. How can you care so little about the torture of a person?”

She made to walk off, holding her head high as she blinked back unwanted tears. A firm hand snatched her wrist into its grasp, Evan’s, and he laughed again. His fingers dug into her skin, the blood seeping away from his clutch.

“Oh, relax, Y/N. They’re barely people anyway. Get off your ridiculous moral high horse and see the real world. By slumming with those Mudbloods, you’re running your good family name through the dirt. Now you wouldn’t want to be seen as a blood traitor like James Potter or your cousin, would you now? I’m sure your parents would be very displeased.”

In the past, such a veiled threat would have immediately put Y/N back in her place, where she’d nod meekly and allow them to talk about Muggles and Muggleborns as if they were animals. Not anymore. She was sick to the back teeth of their blood-purist tirades and tyrannical views, of the way she was trapped in a family of psychos (which was probably a result of all that inbreeding).

“You know what, Rosier,” Y/N’s eyes flamed as she stared him down. “I couldn’t give less of a fuck about what anyone like you thought. I am so done of falling quietly back in line because someone threatened to report back to my parents. Why should I care what those monsters think? And you, you disgust me.”

Y/N left Evan standing there, gobsmacked, a triumphant pride filling her chest. Oh, it felt so good to stand up for her views, to escape their sick ideologies, and to finally be free.

She just hoped Mary would be okay.

Tear Stains Taglist: @blackpinkdolan @greatwombatblaze @peasantview @shydinosaurcreator @clockworkherondale @eastcoasthaven @lullabylike @barikawho @writtenbypics @malecfeelsss @eggingamazinglove @falling-stars-never-cry @theworldisugly-22 @unabashedlygrumpy @summer-writes @scaredofvscogirls @vivalakatee @eyelash-curler

All HP Taglist: @missmulti @dreamer821 @1marvelavengers1 @samnblack @neymarlionelmessi7

Sirius Black Taglist: @holybatflapexpert @methamphetaminee @thefernandasantana @uglipotata72829 @cheapglitter @mvdblood @lozzybowe @persephonehemingway @sunandmoonchild158 @blisfvll @marsdior @bloodblossom73 (if you’d like to be added, fill out the form on my page)

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hopelikethemoon · 4 years

Text

Jealous (Javier x Reader) {MTMF} [smut]

Title: Jealous Rating: Explicit Length: 3100 Warnings: Smut (jealous bathroom sex) Notes: You can find everything about Maybe Today, Maybe Forever here. Set August 1996. Jealous Javier, as prompted by the glorious @rzrcrst. Summary: Javier gets jealous.

@grapemama @seawhisperer @huliabitch @pedropascalito @rogrsnbarnes @thewallpapergoesorido @twomoonstwosuns @gooddaykate @livasaurasrex @ham4arrow @plexflexico @readsalot73 @hdlynn @lokiaddicted @randomness501 @fioccodineveautunnale @roxypeanut @snivellusim @lukesrighthand @historynerd04 @mrsparknuts @synystersilenceinblacknwhite @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead @exrebelshocktrooper @awesomefandomsunited @ah-callie @swhiskeys @lady-tano @beskar-droids @space-floozy @cable-kenobi @cool-ultra-nerd @himbopoes @findhimfives @pedrosdoll @frietiemeloen @arrowswithwifi @random066 @uncomicalhumour @heather-lynn @domino-oh-damn @cyarikaaa @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @im-still-a-pieceofgarbage @ksgeekgirl @yabby-girl @xqueenofthecraziesx @punkass-potato @coredrive @pascalesque @theduchessofkirkcaldy @queenquazar @sabinemorans @buckstaposition @holkaskrosnou @yespolkadotkitty @fleetwoodmactshirt @seeking-a-great–perhaps @kochamcie

Tonight was long overdue. Javier had just wrapped up his first week of teaching at the university and you were ready to celebrate his new beginning.

As much as he had loved staying at home with Josie, it had been patently clear all week that he had needed something more. Teaching seemed to really suit him. He was meticulous with his lecture notes and you’d helped him work on his transparencies for each class. You were only mildly disappointed that you couldn’t be one of his students, because you knew he’d be a hell of a teacher.

You glanced at your watch again. It was all of two minutes closer to six. Javier got off at half past five and it would take him half an hour to get to the bar.

“Would you like a refill on that?” The bartender questioned as he stopped in front of you, gesturing to your half-consumed cherry martini.

“Can you just hit me with a little more of the soda water?” You questioned, pushing the glass across the bar towards him. “Thanks.”

“Well, look who it is.” Drawled the familiar voice of Smith Nyman, one of the liaisons with the The Narcotics Bureau that worked across the hall from you at the department. “Who knew you could clean up on your time off.”

“Cute.” You rolled your eyes, “I didn’t know you drank here. Guess I’m gonna have to find somewhere else to drink.” You laughed, thanking the bartender as he returned with your topped off martini. You took a sip, before turning back to your co-worker, “How are you doing, Smith?”

Smith tucked his hands into his trousers, shrugging his shoulders. “Looking forward to the weekend.” He settled down on the barstool beside you, ordering a gin and tonic from the bartender. “Mind if I keep you company while I wait on a friend?”

“Yeah! Of course,” You glanced at your watch. “Javier should be here in about fifteen.”

“He started teaching this week, right?” Smith questioned, cocking his head to the side.

You nodded, taking a sip of your martini, “Honestly, I think it’s a perfect fit for him. I’m sure it’s killing him not to be home with Josie, but it’s a great gig.”

“I don’t know if I could do the stay-at-home-dad thing,” Smith admitted, picking up his glass as the bartender returned with it. “Hell, I don’t know if I’m ever going to be a father.” He dragged his fingers through his hair with a shrug.

“I never thought I was going to be a mother,” You confessed, running your finger along the rim of your glass. “And I don’t think Javier ever expected to be a father. Sometimes you’ve gotta let life throw its surprises your way.” You gestured towards Smith, “So who are you waiting for? A lady friend?” You wiggled your brows suggestively.

Smith chuckled with a shake of his head, his cheeks reddening with a blush. He took a sip of his gin and tonic, tapping his fingers against the bar as he stared straight ahead for a moment. “Not a lady friend.”

Your brows furrowed together for a moment, before you read between the lines. That would make sense. Smith did tend to get a bit antsy when the other guys would run their mouths about their wives and girlfriends. “Oh.” You nudged him in the arm. “Good for you.”

“Thank you,” He seemed to relax a little then. “The rest of the guys from the department don’t usually make it out this direction.” He gestured around the bar. “I figured it was safe.”

“It is,” You promised him, giving his shoulder a pat. “I am surprisingly good at discretion. Your secret is safe with me.” You took another sip of your drink, swirling the liquid around in the glass. “What’s his name?”

“Troy.” Smith tapped his fingers against the bar nervously. “It’s a second date.” He took another swig of his drink, sitting the glass back down on the bar. “How’d it happen for you and Javier? What date did you realize he was the one?”

“Well,” You made a face, biting down on your bottom lip with a short laugh. “There weren’t exactly any dates. But we had been working together for about five years before our relationship began.” You weren’t ashamed of how the two of you ended up together, but you tried to avoid the scrutiny of a one night stand that ended in a pregnancy. “I think I always knew he was the one.”

Smith hummed thoughtfully, “I haven’t figured out if Troy’s the one.”

“Maybe you’ll figure out tonight.”

He tilted his head to look at you, “He thinks I’m the one. Well, at least that’s what our mutual friend told me.”

“Oh.” You took another sip, glancing past Smith to search for Javier. He should be there soon. “Just play it by ear. It’s always fun and exciting in the beginning. Troy’s probably just smitten with you.” You gestured to Smith as you turned your attention back to him. “Who could blame him?”

“You flatter me.” Smith winked at you and you couldn’t help but laugh, shoving at his arm lightly.

“Just have fun.” You told him, brushing your hair behind your ears.

“This seat taken?”

You jerked your head to the left, eyes widening as you were surprised to see Javier standing beside you at the bar. “Javier!” You grinned, “I didn’t even see you come in.” You slid off the stool with your glass.

“You were occupied,” Javier retorted, his jaw clenched as he nodded his head towards Smith.

“This is Smith,” You told him, reaching down to take Javier’s left hand into your hold, slotting your fingers in between his. “We work together.”

Smith held his hand out and shook Javier’s hand, undeterred by his somewhat icy greeting. “I have heard many good things about you, Javier. You’re a lucky man,” He pointed at you. “This one keeps us on our toes.”

“What he means is, I’m a real ballbuster.” You snorted, shaking your head. “They all sat around eating donuts before I showed up.” You teased, trying to alleviate the slight awkward air that had settled between the three of you.

Javier chuckled, but the amusement didn’t quite reach his dark eyes as they flickered between you and Smith. “Don’t let me interrupt.”

You rolled your eyes, giving Javier’s hand three tight squeezes, “Smith’s waiting on his date.”

“Enjoy your dinner,” Smith offered with a warm smile. “And thank you… for the advice.”

“Anytime,” You said kindly, before you steered Javier away from the bar and towards a table near the back that the waiter had already set up for you. “Bad day at work?” You questioned as you sat down across from him.

“What?”

You arched a brow at him, giving him a pointed look. “If looks could kill, I’m pretty sure Smith’s date would be arriving to find a cadaver right about now.”

Javier shrugged, his jaw still noticeably tense. “I’ve got a stack of essays to grade, but aside from that, work was fine.”

Your lips parted, a response primed on the tip of your tongue, but the waitress appeared with two menus and interrupted you before you had the chance. You couldn’t believe he was jealous.

Except, you couldn’t exactly blame him. Smith had a look about him that actually reminded you a bit of Lance. The only difference was that Smith had a strong Boston accent. He was tall, fit, blue-eyed, and had sandy blonde hair that wasn’t entirely dissimilar from your ex-boyfriend. Oh, and he was apparently not into women.

It didn’t help that you had just seen Lance last week — a fact that you knew had gotten under Javier’s skin.

“Javier,” You started once the waitress had taken your drink orders.

“Hmm?” He questioned, lifting his eyes to meet your gaze.

“You’re going to break your teeth if you clench your jaw any tighter.” You reached across the table, taking ahold of his hand. “Don’t be an asshole.”

“I’m not being an asshole.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, cocking your head. “Just a little bit.” You rubbed your thumb over the side of his hand. “You’re jealous.”

“Of him?” Javier scoffed, shaking his head. “I’m not.” He shifted in his seat, his gaze flickering back towards the bar where Smith was sitting. “I’m not.”

“You’re a terrible liar,” You released your hold on his hand, winding your fingers through your hair as you sank back in your seat. “Not gonna lie, this jealousy thing could work for me.”

His brows rose upwards, “I’m not jealous.”

“We’ll go with that,” You rolled your eyes, sitting up straight when the waitress returned with your drinks. “Anyways, we’re supposed to be celebrating your first week back in the workforce.” You raised your martini glass. “Shall we toast?”

Javier held his whiskey up, clinking his glass against yours. “To my first week.”

You smiled at him, nudging his foot under the table. “I’m proud of you. Your students are extremely lucky.”

“I think it’s going to be a great semester,” Javier took a drink of his whiskey, rubbing at the back of his neck. “The other faculty are a bit old school, but I think I can break them out of their bullshit.”

“What? Are they still picking your brain for tales of Colombia?”

“Every fucking day.” Javier huffed, shaking his head slowly. “I get it. We were part of something that they all think is exciting.”

“And it was awful.” You pressed lips together as you stared across at him, your eyes flickering over his face.

“A fucking nightmare.” Javier clicked his tongue against his teeth. “Do they ask you about Colombia?”

“Sometimes,” You shrugged. “I’m not the one whose name is known, however.” You pointed out, “Most of the time people want to know about us.” You gestured towards the bar, “Like Smith and everyone else from Narcotics. They’re curious.”

Javier pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek as he sat his whiskey back down on the table. “I don’t think that’s why they ask you about me.”

“You are jealous!” You slapped the top of the table and laughed. “Javier, you’re such a goddamn idiot sometimes.”

“He was hitting on you!”

“He was not.”

Javier knocked back his whiskey, sitting the glass down heavily on the table. “You always tell me when waitress and fucking dance moms are hitting on me.”

“Smith wasn’t hitting on me.” You insisted.

“Maybe you just didn’t realize he was.” Javier gritted out through clenched teeth. “But he was.”

You took a sip of your martini, before following suit and finishing it off in one drink. “I’m going to the bathroom.” You were going to take advantage of that buzz you felt from two martinis.

“Baby—“ Javier tried to catch your hand, but you moved too quickly.

You turned around, taking a few steps backwards as you caught his gaze, before you headed down the hallway that led to a short set of stairs that led to another hallway where the bathrooms were.

No sooner than you had stepped inside the bathroom and shut the door, Javier was knocking at the door. He was no fool — he knew what you were angling for.

“Are you going to admit that you’re being jealous?” You questioned as you opened the bathroom door to let him in.

“Oh, fuck you.” Javier seethed with a wicked smirk as he closed the distance between the two of you and kissed you with all the heat he had in his gaze. He pinned you back against the door, one hand at your hip as the other fumbled with locking the door behind you.

You curled your fingers around his tie, loosening the knot enough for you to start unbuttoning his shirt. “Jealous.” You taunted, nipping at his bottom lip — just to get a rise out of him.

Javier’s fingers tangled in your hair, cradling the back of your head, his mouth hot and greedy as he trailed kisses down the column of your throat. “I’m not,” He drew back, meeting your eyes. “Jealous.”

You cupped his cheeks with both hands, grinning up at him as you tilted your head to kiss him again. “You are and I love it.”

He groaned against your lips, his tongue sweeping out to drag over the roof of your mouth. Javier ran his hand down your side until he reached the hem of your suede skirt. His fingers met the soft skin there and he slid his hand up over the expanse of your bare leg to grab at your hip.

You arched your back, pressing towards him as you curled your fingers around the back of his neck. “Javi,” You whispered as he pulled back, his dark gaze settling on yours.

“I just fucking hate it sometimes, baby.” Javier admitted, working his jaw as he kept his eyes on you. “I don’t fucking deserve you.”

“Yes you do.” You surged forward and kissed him again as you ran your hands over his bare chest and stomach, until you reached for his belt, working to unfasten it. “I love you.”

Javier peeled your skirt upwards, bunching it around your hips as he slid one hand in between your thighs, his fingers ghosting over your cunt through the fabric of your underwear. “Yeah? Do you?”

You dragged your teeth over your bottom lip as you sank back against the door, angling your hips towards his touch. “Asshole.” You hissed out as you tugged at his hair, pulling him back towards you.

His nose brushed against yours, lips barely meeting your lips as he breathed out without reluctance that he loved you too.

You worked his slacks open the rest of the way, shoving his boxers down far enough to free his cock. There was nothing elegant about fucking in a bathroom — but there was something about it that you absolutely loved.

This had you wondering what things would’ve been like, if you had capitalised on Javier’s bad attitude when you had dated Lance. He had been a perpetual dick those first few months and now you wondered if he would’ve fucked you in a bathroom all those years ago.

“Turn around.” Javier ordered, his voice low and rough and you felt that pool of arousal in your lower belly burn hotter.

You rested your forearm against the door, resting your forehead against your arm as Javier’s hands skimmed over your bare legs. He crowded close to you, your back to his chest as he slid a hand around to cup you through your underwear again. He was teasing you — on purpose.

His fingers pushed the crotch of your underwear aside, sliding between your folds before he worked one digit into your slick center. “Fuck, baby. Look how wet you are. Is that all for me?”

You bit down on your bottom lip as you nodded, your inner walls fluttering around his fingers as he worked a second into you, working them in and out of you. You could feel his cock pressed against your ass, hard and hot and everything you wanted pounding you into that door right then and there.

Javier’s tongue teased at your ear, his teeth catching your earlobe with just enough pressure to make you moan.

“Is that all you’ve got?” You quipped, grinding back against his cock. He had mercy on you — he swiftly withdrew his fingers, nearly ripping your underwear down your thighs before he replaced his fingers with his cock in one rough thrust.

You cried out, louder than you should’ve in a restaurant bathroom — but the angle had him hitting your sweet spot every time he slid into you.

Javier curled his fingers loosely around your throat, drawing you back against him as he snapped his hips into you again and again. “You have any idea how fucking lucky I am to have you, baby?” He rasped out, his lips brushing over your jaw. “You drive me fucking crazy.”

You reached behind you, fingers gripping at his hair as you rocked back into his thrusts, “Then show me.” You managed, your nails scraping over the back of his neck.

He groaned out your name as his fingers curled around your throat tighter. Javier’s hand grabbed roughly as he picked up his pace. “Fuck, baby. You feel so fucking good.”

“I’m close,” You warned him, letting your head fall forward against your forearm.

Javier gave you exactly what he wanted. He grabbed at your hip roughly, holding you steady as he slammed into you again and again — driving right into that sweet spot until he had you seeing stars as you came for him.

He was fast behind you, but he didn’t stop pumping into you until your inner walls had milked every last drop of his release from him.

“I love you,” Javier whispered, turning your head so he could press a kiss to your cheek, his breath dancing over your skin as he lingered there.

You played your fingers through his hair as you reached behind you, “I love you too.” You laughed breathlessly. “Especially after you fuck me like that. Jesus Christ.”

“Yeah?”

“My legs are trembling.” You told him, biting down on your bottom lip as Javier ran his hand along your inner thigh. “Did you rip my underwear?”

Javier snorted, nuzzling at the crook of your neck. “Maybe.”

“You’re a menace.”

He gave your ass a playful swat, “Which is exactly what you love.” Javier reluctantly pulled free from you, keeping an arm wrapped around your waist to keep you standing.

You turned around in his embrace, looking up at him from beneath your lashes. “It’s true, I do.” You admitted as you ran your hand over his bare chest.

“I’m sorry I was a jackass,” Javier told you gently as he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“You should be.” You tilted your head to look up at him, “Especially when we go back out there and you see Smith with his boyfriend.”

“What—“ Javier’s brows drew together. “Well, shit.”

“Mhm.” You shoved him in the chest. “Like I said. He wasn’t hitting on me.”

He dragged his fingers through his hair, “Now I really do feel like a jackass.”

“It’s a good thing I love you anyways.” You gave his cheek a pat, before you kissed him again. “Why don’t I close out my tab and we go home?”

Javier nodded, “We’ve got leftover pizza.”

“You’re speaking my language.” You winked at him as you reached out to work at his buttons.

As much fun as it sounded to spend the night out, an evening in after a long week seemed even more appealing, especially with the mess you’d made of each other.

#javier pena #javier pena x reader #pedro pascal x reader

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unholyobsessions · 4 years

Text

And life goes on (though not always in the right direction)

Spencer Reid AU

Description: Spencer Reid has lived a horrible life, and every time he thinks it’s getting better, it somehow gets worse.

Warnings: Bullying, Self harm, Suicide, Kidnapping/blood, Rape/Sexual assault, Depression, Death, Cussing, Drug use (if there are any others please message me and I will gladly add them. There is no warning too small.)

Word Count: 5.4k

The first time Spencer gets beat up it is his eight birthday. He doesn’t celebrate. His dad gets “stuck at work” (in reality he is out cheating on his wife with his assistant) and his mom forgets. He goes to the park with a book knowing that would be the best way to spend his birthday. A group of neighborhood kids walks up to him and asks him if he wants to hang out. He, of course, says yes.

Oh stupid and naive little boy.

They guide him to the bleachers and push him to the ground. Spencer looks up at them through teary eyes and they laugh. The first punch breaks his glasses and the second breaks his nose. The kicks against his abdomen bruise his ribs and cause him to throw up his breakfast. They all keep laughing. It isn’t until an hour later when they finally get tired and leave. Spencer curls himself into a fetal position and tries not to swallow the blood gushing from his nose.

He walks alone to the hospital. His mother doesn’t notice he’s gone until the doctor calls her and asks her to pick up her son. His dad shows up with her. Spencer thinks he looks embarrassed. He refuses to meet his eyes. At first he thinks it’s because of his now crooked nose that will certainly need surgery but he later realizes that he is embarrassed of him. He is ashamed of who his son is. That is the first time that he cries himself to sleep. He gets beat up regularly after that.

. . .

Spencer is ten when his father leaves. He tries to convince him to stay. He keeps reciting statistics about how a divorce could affect a child but all his father does is look at him with disgust and walk out the door. His mother has one of her episodes later that same night. Spencer can’t bring himself to calm her down so he locks his door and picks up his physics text book. Half way through the chapter he feels tears falling down his cheeks. He does his best to wipe them away but it’s no use. He allows himself to cry as he thinks about what his father leaving will inevitably cause. His mother is in no condition to hold down a job and he has no way of making money to pay for food and electricity. He’s glad that their medical insurance takes care of all of his mother’s medication. He eventually settles down and brings his blankets over his body, the distant sounds of his mother practicing for a lecture that will never come lulling him to sleep.

The next day he goes straight to the local newspaper station and asks if he could have a job delivering the papers to the local neighborhoods. The owner is apprehensive at first until Spencer explains his situation. The man sighs and hands him a bag filled to the brim with the day’s news. Spencer rushes out of the building and jumps on his bike. He delivers newspapers everyday at six in the morning for the next two years.

He becomes used to hunger. He can’t buy books anymore as he is barely scraping together enough money to have a decent meal everyday. He never complains though. He forces the tears away and keeps moving forward. Things will get better.

. . .

When he’s thirteen when he leaves for university. Cal-Tech. It’s the start of a new life. He enjoys his classes and regularly converses with his professors. Every time he gets the chance he takes the trip down to Las Vegas to check on his mom. She always assures him that she is perfectly fine (even though she isn’t) and he needs to stop worrying so much.

He gets a job at the library. He puts the books back in their respective shelves and his eidetic memory certainly makes it easier. It isn’t fun, not in the slightest, but it pays better than selling newspapers and he’s in desperate need of money. He stays at the library between shifts and works on his homework. He uses the library’s computer since he can’t afford his own.

He excels in all of his classes and makes extra money out of tutoring. The older students don’t take offense to a fourteen year old correcting them on their mistakes, for that he is extremely thankful. Still, it doesn’t mean he has friends. Most twenty-year-olds don’t want to spend their free time hanging it out with a know it all pre-teen.

. . .

He slides a razor blade against his arm for the first time when he is fourteen. He doesn’t know exactly what makes him do it. The stress of college at such a young age or maybe the fact that he is completely alone in California. He considers the fact that it may be from the bruise forming on his lower abdomen, courtesy of a group of Frat guys. Maybe it’s all of the above.

The only thing he knows for sure is that he relishes in the pain it gives him. It isn’t the same type of pain he feels whenever he gets beat up, no this feels better. He gives himself two cuts before hiding the blade and cleaning himself off. He wraps a bandage over his forearm and goes to class.

The next day he sits in the bathroom and debates whether he should do it again. He knows he shouldn’t. He is aware that this is not good for him. He thinks about going to the campus therapist but quickly shuts down the idea. He can’t talk about what he is going through. He has no right to feel the way he does. He is going to a prestigious college on a full ride scholarship. He is passing all of his classes, he finds them easy. But he can’t help the way he feels. He looks at himself in the mirror and feels disgusted with what he sees.

He has no one. No one to take care of him. No one to talk to. No one to ask him how his day went. He understands why his father left. He wouldn’t want to have himself as a son either.

He slides the blade three times.

Two weeks later he is up to six cuts per day. The scars are ugly but Spencer can’t bring himself to care. He avoids looking in the mirror, it only makes the desire to feel the cold blade on his skin worse. No, he isn’t suicidal, at least he doesn’t think so, but he can’t help but throw his head back as blood gushes down his arm.

. . .

He is sixteen when his mother dies. He has just finished his first PhD and comes home to visit and celebrate. At one point he goes out to the store and comes back to find his mother on the floor.

She isn’t breathing.

He eyes the bottle of pills on the floor and then looks to the counter to see another one.

They’re both empty.

He cries. He cries for over an hour before he gets up and starts packing his stuff. He takes all of his money as well as some clothes and other necessities. He calls the paramedics on his way out the door. He takes the first bus out of Las Vegas and never looks back.

He doesn’t return to Cal-Tech. Social Services finding him will be too easy if he does. He’s a minor and his guardian is dead. He has two options. He can either find a way to contact his dad (which social services probably does) and go live with him. He doesn’t dwell on the thought long. Option two is to allow himself to be turned over to the state and be inevitably placed in an overcrowded foster home that only takes children in for money. He dismisses the thought quickly. He ends up choosing option number three.

He runs away. He ends up in Arizona. He doesn’t remember how many buses it takes him to get there. He stays at a cheap motel and has to resist the urge to walk to the bathroom and open old scars. It’s been months, he tells himself, you have to be strong. He makes a call to the University of Oxford. They had offered him a scholarship when he had originally applied when he was thirteen. He declined their offer, obviously, and decided to stay closer to home. Closer to his mom. Who is dead now. He shakes his head and forces himself to stop thinking about it. He requests to talk to the Dean. He gives his name and he is quickly transferred to his office.

Yes, they do have a place for him in school. Of course, they would be honored to have him complete his studies there.

Spencer hangs up the phone and calls the airline. One way ticket to England please. The next day he lugs his belongings all the way to the airport, not having enough money for a cab. He boards the plane and stares out the window officially saying goodbye to his life in the states.

. . .

Maeve is dead. He is twenty years old and he is tied to a chair staring at his dead fiancée. He sees the blood pooling around her body and his throat feels raw from all the screaming. This isn’t supposed to happen. His life was finally good, stable. The first real glimpse of happiness he’s had since he was ten. Life can’t have gotten this bad.

They have both been held captive for four days. Spencer being forced to watch as the man who took them repeatedly raped the woman he is in love with. Forced to endure having the shit beat out of him. Having to endure the feeling of the needle piercing his skin and ultimately enjoying the high that came afterward.

The man smirks at him, the gun still in his hand.

“YOU SON OF A BITCH!” His voice comes out hoarse, not even he can recognize it. The man simply laughs and walks over to him. He holds the gun to his head and Spencer closes his eyes. He’s going to die. He wants to die. He craves the feeling of vast emptiness that came with death. He doesn’t think that he can deal with any more pain.

The pressure of the gun leaves his head. He looks up and the man smiles at him, but there is no sincerity in his eyes. He hears the man saying something along the lines of “death is too easy” before plunging another needle in his vain. Spencer’s eyes roll back as a feeling of ecstasy overcomes his body. He hears the man walk away before he passes out. He wakes up to see officers untying him. He sees paramedics close the black bag over Maeve’s face. He feels tears fall down his face.

“No,” he repeats over and over. He hears paramedics ask him his name. Does he remember how he got here? Can he tell them where he lives? Their questions fall on deaf ears. All Spencer can think about is how when he eventually gets out of the hospital he will have to go back to an empty apartment. He will have to pack up Maeve’s stuff. He will have to face her parents and tell them what happened. He will have to tell her dad that he will never get to walk his little girl down the aisle and her mom that she would never take her dress shopping. Spencer would never meet the eyes of the woman he loves as she reaches the altar. He will never get to say ‘I do’ and call her Mrs. Reid.

He finds a dealer as soon as he gets home.

. . .

He’s twenty two when he gets his fifth PhD. He has been clean for a little under a year and it is all thanks to his boss. He’s been living with him since he moved out of his apartment. He works at the local police station. He gives profiles on serial criminals. No one is ever going to have to go through what he went through. Not if he can help it.

He based the past two years of his schooling solely on his new career choice. He gets an internship two months after the incident.

He’s high most of the time.

He still passes all of his classes with flying colors but his new boss knows that something is up with him, even if he has only known the kid for a month. The police chief approaches him one day when Spencer is sitting on his desk going over a cold case file. He invites him to dinner at his house and Spencer is both relieved and worried. Relieved that he wouldn’t have to go back to his god forsaken apartment for a few more hours and worried because he doesn’t know how bad his craving will get. He has developed a routine. Shoot up, go to school, go to work, come home at five, shoot up again.

An hour into dinner and his boss asks him the question. Are you okay? It’s a loaded question, they’re both aware but Spencer notes that the man is genuinely concerned for his well being. He breaks down. He tells him everything. He doesn’t know why he is sobbing in front of a man who he has only known for a short while. Why he is telling him all of his problems. Why he rolls up both of his sleeves and shows him the scars that graze his inner elbow, and the ones that have healed over his forearm.

From a psychological perspective he knows why he is doing it, why he allows himself to be so vulnerable in front of the man. He longs for a father figure. For a man to comfort him and care for him. He wants what his father never gave him as a child, what he never gave him as a teenager, what he never gave him as an adult.

“I’m sorry sir,” Spencer sniffles. He is being unprofessional.

“You don’t have to call me sir, you know? You can call me Roger.” Spencer nods, not having the strength to speak up again. “You’re staying the night and then tomorrow we’ll go to your apartment to pack up your stuff and you’re moving in. I’m going to help you get clean.”

Spencer is shocked but can’t bring himself to argue. He is exhausted. The next day they do just what Roger said they would do. It is a long journey. He will stay clean for about three weeks before something happens that makes him fall back to his disgusting habit. Roger will sometimes come home to see Spencer sobbing in the bathroom, a syringe lying next to him. He immediately pulls him close and assures him that it’s okay.

He beats it though. It will be a year next month since the last time he had any drug in his system. He’s proud of himself.

Roger walks over to him as he closes his phone. They are in one of their co-worker’s backyard. They all insisted that they needed to celebrate his new achievement. Spencer had rolled his eyes but accepted their kind gesture and is now sipping his drink and making conversation when Roger calls his name.

Roger takes a second to mull over the progress Spencer made. He’s proud of him. He loves the kid like his own but the future of their father-son relationship will be determined what he is about to say.

“Hey, what’s up?” Spencer asks casually, pushing a hand through his long hair.

“I just got a call from Interpol,” he pauses, Spencer freezes. “They have offered me a position.” He waits for Spencer’s reaction.

“You’re leaving.” Spencer can’t believe this is happening. Not again. He starts to wonder if life will ever allow him to have even a sliver of happiness.

“I am.” Spencer avoids looking at him. “But I want you to come with me.” That catches his attention.

“What?”

“I told them that if they want me then they will also have to offer a position to the smartest and most hard working man I know. I made it clear that I am not going to take the position unless they put you on my team. So what do you say? Want to work at Interpol with me?”

Spencer is shocked to say the least. It’s a great opportunity. Tears well up in his eyes as he looks at the man who cares for him like a son. The man who encouraged him to beat his addiction, who makes him feel like he is worth something. He nods his head and hugs him. He hears their co-workers cheering behind them and he lets out a laugh. Maybe life will allow him to be happy.

. . .

Wrong. Life always likes to give Spencer a nice kick in the ass. He has been working at Interpol with Roger for about a year and a half and at the ripe age of twenty-four he is one of their most valued members. He is seated quietly at his desk, nursing a horrible migraine when a file is dropped in front of him. He looks up at Roger and sees the sympathy in his eyes. He furrows his eyebrows in confusion before picking up the file.

His breath hitches in his throat.

Couple kidnapped and held for four days. Woman shot execution style with evidence of repeated sexual assault. Male beaten brutally with traces of narcotics in his system.

He can’t breath. He tries but he can’t seem to make his lungs work. He starts to hyperventilate. He can hear Roger saying his name but he can’t focus enough to respond. He’s back. It’s been four years and there has been no cases with even a similar M.O. He is aware that he is having a panic attack but he can’t bring himself to even try and match Roger’s breathing. His inner elbow itches.

No.

It would make things easier. No dealing with the pain.

No. No. No. I won’t do it. Not again.

It’s only once. You want to. You’re weak.

No. I’ve come so far, I will not give it up.

Then how about the blade? Just like when you were fourteen. Weak little Spencer Reid. You’re pathetic.

NO!

He doesn’t remember passing out.

He wakes up with Roger standing over him. He apologizes and Spencer reassures him that he is fine. He wants to work the case. No, not wants, needs to work the case. Roger refuses. But he knows the case better than anyone. They argue for a while. In the end Spencer wins (he always wins).

Roger informs him that a team of profilers from the FBI is coming to help solve the case. The killer wasn’t dormant, he went to the United States and continued killing there. Same M.O. Only last week did he return to the U.K.

“The FBI has worked this case and they want to continue working it,” Roger explains.

Spencer nods and walks back to his desk. He starts going over the file and victims. He realizes that his name isn’t listed. The victims start with his first kill in the U.S. He feels relief at the fact. He studies the file for a few more hours before Roger tells him to call it a night. They walk to the car together and head home.

The next day the FBI team arrives. The Behavioral Analysis Unit. Spencer has heard of them, he even studied some of their cases when he first started profiling. They walk in and go straight to Roger, completely ignoring Spencer. He’s not surprised. Strangers never seem to realize that he actually works here. He doesn’t exactly have a sign over his head that reads “I have an IQ of 187 and have five PhDs. I also have an eidetic memory and can read 20,000 words per minute.”

Roger greets them and introduces them to Spencer.

“This is Dr. Spencer Reid, he’s my lead on the case and my second in command. If I’m not available, anything he says goes.” The team all wears various expressions of shock.

A white male with dark hair, who Spencer assumes is the leader, breaks first and introduces himself and the rest of them. “I’m Agent Hotchner, these are SSAs Rossi, Morgan, Jareau, Greenaway, and Prentiss and our technical analyst Penelope Garcia.” He holds out his hand and Spencer hesitates.

“Oh uh I don’t shake hands.” Roger snorts fondly while the team all assumes the Dr. to be a pretentious asshole (he isn’t) (most of the time). They were all led to the conference room which Spencer has already set up. There are two maps on the walls, one of England and the other of the U.S. There are tacks placed at the places where all the victims were held.

The FBI has been here for three weeks and are no closer to catching the killer. Two other couples have been taken. Spencer never goes to the crime scene. He is barely holding it together, the itch on his arm getting stronger as he clutches his sobriety coin, he can’t bear to look at the scene that is almost identical to the one he found himself in four years ago. Of course the team doesn’t know this. They all think that he doesn’t have the guts to do the job. They often find themselves discussing the young man’s incompetence and how if he can’t handle the case then he shouldn’t work it. They always stop the conversation when he walks in though. One day however, they don’t hear his approaching footsteps as they make fun of him.

“How old is he? 15? The kid is too damn young to be working a job like this.” Morgan pops a peanut in his mouth after speaking.

“He probably fucked his way into his position,” JJ says.

“I mean the way he handles the files. He can’t even look at the pictures. He looks like a baby watching a horror movie,” Prentiss laughs.

“I still don’t understand. Who let him in here? This isn’t a daycare or a kindergarten.” All three agents laugh at JJ’s comment before a voice shuts them up.

“You don’t know me.” Their heads snap up to see the man in question standing in the doorway. “You have no right to judge me.” The glare he is giving them is scarier than Hotch’s.

“Kid we-” That draws the line.

“I’m not a kid Agent Morgan. The only people acting like children in this building are you three. You have no idea what I have been through. I’m sure you wouldn’t even be able to handle a fraction of the shit show that is my life.” His breathing is heavy and his voice is rising along with his temper.

“We’re sorry it’s just that you’re so young. We didn’t think-” Spencer cuts Prentiss off.

“Exactly. You didn’t think did you? Well let me enlighten you. I was brutally bullied since I was eight. My father left me and my paranoid schizophrenic mother when I was ten. I had to work to pay the bills and to be able to have a meal at least once a day. Then I went to college and things got better right? Not really since I still had no friends so I decided self harm was the way to go. Oh and my mother died when I was sixteen. The only person who ever gave a shit about me, killed herself. I came home one day and she was lying on the ground with an empty bottle of pills next to her. I packed up and left because I refused to go with my father or go into foster care. Do you think my life got better after that?” He waits to see if they will answer. They don’t.

“Well for a while it did. I met the love of my life and we were going to get married. And then we were kidnapped. I was tied to a chair and drugged regularly as I watched my fiancée get raped. Then the psychopath put a gun to her head and shot her in front of me. I watched as the blood pooled around her body and I kept wishing that he had killed me as well. I kept doing drugs. Believe it or not, four days of getting shot up with dilaudid made me an addict. It took me a year to be able to get clean. And when I finally thought it was over a file got dropped on my desk. He was back. The reason for my nightmares, the man my therapist keeps trying to make me forget, was back,” he paused and took a deep breath. “So I’m sorry agents if I can’t go and examine the scene. I’m sorry that I get a little jittery when looking at the case files. But don’t you ever accuse me of not being able to do my job. I’m damn well good at what I do, despite my age. Yes I am only twenty-four but you three have made it quite clear that I am much more mature and capable of doing this job than you are.” With that he turns around, only to come face to face with Roger. He nods at him, a sign that he can leave. Spencer walks out of the conference room and toward the elevator. He gets in, waits for the doors to close and bursts into tears.

Back in the conference room Morgan, Jareau, and Prentiss are faced with an angry Unit Chief and a fuming Director.

“I want you out of here,” Roger looks at the three agents before turning back to Hotch. “I will not allow you to continue working this case with us unless they leave right now. They should get suspended for the trouble they have caused. Dr. Reid is one of Interpol’s greatest assets and I will not tolerate three strangers who got here three weeks ago to stand here and insult him. So Agent Hotchner unless they are sent home, your team is no longer welcomed here. And I will make sure to report this to your Section Chief and the FBI Director.” Roger walks out of the room and goes after his son.

Hotch turns back to his team and none of them think they have ever seen him look as angry as he does that very moment. “Prentiss, Morgan, Jareau, pack your bags, you're leaving. You’re suspended two weeks without pay, effective immediately. After your suspension is over you’ll have a meeting with the director to discuss your future at the Bureau. If it were up to me the three of you would be fired, but sadly it isn’t. You have shamed and dishonored the reputation of the Bureau and frankly I wouldn’t be surprised if Interpol severed ties with us. Now I am going to apologize to Dr. Reid and Roger and I hope to see you gone by the time I come back. I do not want to hear another word out of you unless it is an apology.” Hotch leaves the room but not before sending them one last glare. Rossi, Elle, and Garcia all look at them and follow after Hotch. To say they are disgusted by their teammates’ behavior is an understatement.

Spencer is inside his car, sniffling and trying to get himself together. He doesn’t know what came over him inside the conference room but all the stress from the past three weeks took a toll on him and he found the perfect outlet to release it. A knock on his window startles him. Roger smiles before opening the door and sitting in the passenger seat. They sit in silence for a while, neither of them sure how to approach the conversation.

“You’re not in any trouble,” Roger starts. “If you hadn’t yelled at them son, I was going to and we both know how that would have ended up.” They both chuckle and fall into a comfortable silence.

“Do you think we’ll catch him?” Spencer speaks up.

“With you working the case? There is no doubt in my mind.”

They do catch him. Two weeks later Spencer is standing in an abandoned warehouse in front of the unsub with his revolver raised. The man, Tommy Montgomery, had his gun at the woman’s head, a sick smile on his lips.

“I remember you,” Montgomery exclaimed. “I killed your fiancée four years ago, didn’t I?”

Spencer could kill him right now. “Put the gun down. You don’t have to do this. We can help you if you just put the gun down.” Spencer recites the speech that he has said dozens of times to dozens of criminals.

“Help me?” the man laughed. “You don’t want to help me. You want me to rot in a cell for the rest of my life. We both know there is only one way this can end.” Montgomery raises his gun at Spencer but he isn’t fast enough.

Spencer unloads three rounds straight to his heart. He lowers his weapon and rushes over to him. He places two fingers above his collarbone--he will never admit that nothing brought him greater joy than realizing that he had no pulse. He goes to untie the male victim as paramedics rush inside. Roger walks over to Spencer once they are outside and pulls him into a hug.

“It’s over son.”

Spencer cries and clings onto him as sobs rack his body. He separates himself and takes a few calming breaths. He walks over to the BAU team, which now only consists of three members and their tech analyst. He thanks them profusely and the three of them reassure him that he has nothing to thank them for. Hotch looks at the young genius for a second before making an offer.

“You know we have three spots open on our team now. If you want to, you are always welcomed at the FBI.”

“Oh,” he doesn’t know what to think. He hasn’t gone back since he was sixteen. Was he ready? “Thank you really. I’m not sure I’m ready to go back to the states at this moment but maybe in a few months or years, if you’ll still have me, I’ll gladly join you.” Spencer holds out his hand and Hotch laughs before taking it and giving it a firm shake.

“Good luck Dr. Reid.”

“You too.”

. . .

Five months later Spencer goes back to Oxford. He’s doing better. His cravings don't come as often and when he looks in the mirror, he isn’t ashamed or disgusted at what he sees. His therapist only requests to see him once a week now and Roger doesn’t hover over him at work.

He stands in the cemetery next to the church he was going to be wed at. He walks across the wet grass, scrunching his face at the squishing noises his shoes make. He faces Maeve’s grave and a shaky breath leaves his lips. He sits down next to the tombstone and starts talking. He tells her about everything that happened in the past months and how he finally avenged her death. He tells her about his progress and how his mental health has improved so much since he last talked to her. He sits there for hours during the day and well into the night until he runs out of things to say.

“You would be so proud of me sweetheart. But now to what I actually came here to say. I came to say goodbye.” He takes a deep breath as a few tears roll down his cheeks. “I will love you forever and I will keep missing you every single day. But it is time that I move on. I need to find happiness and maybe that happiness isn’t here. I ran away when I was sixteen and I don’t want to run away anymore. So this may be the last time in a while that I come and talk to you. I love you Maeve Reid, to the moon and back.” Spencer stands up and places the ring he was going to wear for the rest of his life on top of the tombstone. He walks away as he takes out his phone and dials a number he never thought he would actually call. It rings for a few seconds before a familiar voice comes through the receiver.

“Hotchner.”

“Does the offer still stand?”

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chantonyoung · 4 years

Text

again?

summary: what’s supposed to be a peaceful morning is turned upside down when soobin forgets to bring his assignment with him for the hundredth time.

this is part one of a college!au wherein you meet yeonjun through best friend!soobin.

word count: 1.1k

requested? yes (it’s my first one,, so thank you for this!)

Rather than being greeted by the quietness surrounding your bedroom or the sun rays peeking through the thin curtains over the window, you’re awakened by the ringing of your phone first thing in the morning. You growl in annoyance, even though you know your phone must be ringing for an important reason. You’re sure, because you’ve made it clear to your roommate to only call in the morning if it’s important.

You told Soobin about it on your first morning together in the apartment a few months ago. He said that he wanted the two of you to have a comfortable stay under the same roof, so you suggested that you bond over breakfast at least once a week. With his agreement, you comply on the days that both your schedules start at seven in the morning, even if it means eating in around fifteen minutes to not be late.

“Just in case you need to know, my phone is always on ‘do not disturb’ mode in the morning.” You informed your roommate as you both hurriedly ate breakfast on the kitchen island. “Give me a call after another when you need to wake me up for an important reason.”

“No way,” Soobin shook his head before taking another spoonful of cereals, “who dares to ruin the sleep of a snorer?” Even though his mouth was full, he was still able to ask in a matter-of-fact tone as he attempted to continue chewing despite the need of his lips to form a smile.

Upon hearing him, you almost spit in the glass you were drinking water from. You gulped, and watched how he struggled to keep a straight face with his puffed cheeks in sight. Then and there, no matter how funny Soobin looked, you couldn’t help but feel ashamed by what he said. You diverted your eyes to your cereal bowl, before you asked in a hushed voice, “I snore?”

He let out laughter that he had been oppressing as he stood from his seat, and began grabbing his books on the other side of the island. This made you look at him with wide eyes, only to notice that his eyes were squinted from a genuine smile forming on his face. “I’m kidding.” Soobin’s emotions simmered down, and he paused from moving, only to properly face you. “You seriously remind me of my best friend.”

You smiled. “I’m glad.”

He did the same. “So am I. And I know that he will be, too, if he got to know you.” You looked at each other for a moment, before he broke eye contact to grab your bag. “Let’s walk together.”

It turns out Soobin really was kidding when he said you were a snorer. All the while he didn’t react to your phone call policy, you never expected him to call you for important reasons countless mornings. Most of these happen from how he rushes to class, accidentally leaving the most necessary assignments for the day on his study desk.

Now, who’s ringing your phone for the seventh time at this hour again?

“Soobin,” you answer the call half-asleep, “what do you need?”

“Good morning to you too, my favorite roommate.” Soobin responds in a hurried whisper. You figure that he’s calling you as a lecture is ongoing.

“I’m your only roommate.”

“Yet, my favorite.”

You smile, but try to sound serious. “Binie, why’d you call?”

Soobin shifts on the other line, and you can only imagine how difficult it must be for him to bend behind a desk with his tall figure. “Well, do you remember how important this day is for me?” You hum in response as you get up from bed, but he doesn’t hear anything. “It’s my lab examination today.”

“I know, I know.” You briskly walk to his room, and reach his study desk. You’ve always found it endearing to see a desk name plate with the words, ‘FUTURE CIVIL ENG. CHOI SOOBIN’ displayed at the far back. “All I see is your name plate.”

“Just my name plate, right?” Soobin asks rhetorically. “But, I forgot to bring my lab assessment report with me, and I really need my favorite roommate right now.”

You roll your eyes at his attempt to compliment you, but you smile. “Soobin, I don’t want to go to your dean’s office to run errands for you again, especially on the only day I have no classes this week.” Your professor for today is unavailable, so she’s given you free time. You just didn’t think this is how you’re meant to spend it.

Soobin chuckles, and you hear it too well. For someone who’s trying to not get caught during lecture, he’s reckless. “No, no!” He assures you, “You just have to meet with Yeonjun. He used it yesterday to cover up for losing his.”

“Yeonjun?” You find the name familiar, but you can’t think of which instances have you heard it.

“My best friend, remember? He’s the one I usually invite over when you go to bed early on game nights.” There you go, you think to yourself. How can you forget the sleepless nights that consist of Soobin and Yeonjun shouting at each other when they play Overwatch at midnight? You only tell Soobin that you’re sleeping early after five rounds of Mario Kart because you always lose. You spend the rest of game nights in your bedroom, wondering how this ‘Yeonjun’ can have an annoying yet soothing voice. “He’s the one I say you remind me of.”

Ah, right.

You rub your forehead. “So, Yeonjun, your best frie-”

“Well, my best friend after you, ever since you moved in.” Soobin corrects you, making himself smile by the time he hears your giggle on the other line.

It’s true. Soobin has become your best friend over the months of living together. The worst days usually don’t last by the time you step into your shared apartment because Soobin does his best to lift the mood before you decide to end the day. Once, he saw you staring blankly at your canvas out of artistic frustration, so he asked you to meditate with him in the living room for a few minutes. He’s the type to make you hot cocoa when you both pull an all-nighter too, and insists you should have dance breaks in between reviewing to stay awake.

Soobin continues, “I already messaged Yeonjun before calling you. He’s in class, too. I’ll send you the details.” He pauses, and it seems that his phone is taken away from his ear. You overhear a firm voice, followed by Soobin talking with honorifics. After a while, his voice becomes clear once more. “Make sure you hurry, okay? I’m going last, but hurry.”

You’re met with a cut line in a matter of milliseconds. You sigh, but this doesn’t delay your process in preparing to leave the apartment.

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stormyweaver · 4 years

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Borrowed Time || Chp. 1

So my latest hyperfixation has been this show on Netflix called ‘Swee/t Home’. It’s a live-action South Korean adaption of a webtoon comic, and seriously if you’ve never heard of it before, at least watch the first episode. If you aren’t hooked, gosh, I don’t know what could make a person want more! But you don’t have to have seen the show to enjoy this I think, but again I’d highly reccommend checking the series out. I adore every single character and I’ll probably be writing more about them all, but for now I’m focusing on Pyeon San/g-wook because h-he’s my fave... He’s basically a mysterious drifter who dolls out justice in his own badass way, and he’s amazing and a super complex character.

MAJOR SPOILERS FOR EPISODE FIVE, YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED:

This is after Sang-wook kills the pedophile he was hired to find, and then drags his body outside while bringing two other victims who had died to a monster inside the apartment building. It was pouring raining and my brain instantly went: how can you have a out-in-the-rain scene without sickness? BLASPHEMY! Anyway hope y’all enjoy!

The timing might have been slightly comical if he didn't have a splitting headache. Or, was it a concussion? That... nurse had mentioned something similar, but he truly hadn't paid her any mind. Why would he give someone so prying the time of day in the first place? He hated being touched without his permission, no matter the reason; maybe she had simply been trying to help, but there was absolutely no way in hell he was going to let her continue treating him as if he was some weakling.

No, he only... felt weak, due to all of the stress. He would bounce back eventually - he inevitably did. Though he could never fully comprehend why, his body had an uncanny ability to heal faster than most, and bestowed him with a strength that most people only ever imagined themselves possessing. It had served him well over the years, made him capable of surviving on his own for as long as he'd needed to, aided him in carrying out the tasks others simply didn't have the stomach for. It had of course, had it's downsides - there were injuries and ailments he simply couldn't knock in a matter of hours, and those instances where he'd been forced to finally allow his body to rest were intensely irritating.

A bead of sweat rolled down his forehead as he staggered through the dirtied hallway and, sensing that he was finally alone, allowed himself to lean bodily against a flyer-littered wall. His breath was coming in short, harsh pants, almost bordering on wheezing, though his teeth instantly grit at the idea. He wasn't weak-- damn it, if Jae-heon had just left him out there to die, he wouldn't be feeling like utter, completely useless shit right now. The zealot likely loathed him just like the rest, if not fear then at the very least an intense dislike. Only his 'vows' or whatever meaningless word of God had made him keep the gate open. He swallowed- or rather, made an attempt to, and was unsurprised to find that the action was mildly painful. Pair that was the throbbing near his sinuses, the malaise, and the general feeling of being lethargic, it wouldn't take a medical professional to inform him that he was unwell. What was that old saying? Something about only fools catching a chill from standing out in the rain? Nonsense. But... well, he wasn't about to start pondering old proverbs with a pounding headache. At least he wasn't getting a nose bleed. Just a stuffy one. It took Sang-wook longer than he would have preferred to stand up straight again and continue limping down the walkway, but eventually he did, coming to a stop on the corner of a vacant room. He could practically hear his limbs creak as he perched himself on the edge of a step, and one hand automatically slipped into his jacket pocket. Some habits were harder to break than others. And if ever there a time he truly needed a smoke... With the lit cigarette between his lips, he began to ponder what his next move would be. He had technically finished his business there; no other reason to remain other than the fact that fucking monsters were roaming the city. Of all the positively inconvenient bullshit - monsters. Not that he had any real plans after taking care of matters. He never did. Being a drifter meant not making attachments, not allowing himself to get roped into anything unless it was related to his main task. And yet there he was, with an apartment full of people who either saw him as a thug or a threat or, for some irritatingly insane reason, a person to be pardoned. A laughable concept at best. He didn't even want to be pardoned - he didn't regret the things he had done, to begin with. And wasn't that one of the key steps to getting into heaven? Being repentant for your sins? Well, that was already one big strike against him. Just how did that damned nosey priest expect him to continue on, then? Why had he been so adamant about "saving" him? Why? A trail of smoke filtered past his nostrils, nose absently wrinkling as the thoughts only served to frustrate him all the more. What the hell was he going to do... He brought the stick to his lips again, but his breath caught pre-inhale, mouth forming a deeper frown than normal. A small pin-prick had been stinging the back of his nose ever since he'd woken up, but so far he'd been able to ignore it. Until now. He sniffed harshly, once, twice and, thinking that was that, but the moment he closed his lips around the cigarette, he inhaled harshly through his nose. "hH'KGSHHh!" The sneeze jerked his head down sharply, though he managed to keep it relatively quiet. The last thing he needed was some passerby hearing and having the guts to try and approach him. Though containing it hadn't done his headache any favors, and his teeth had nearly snapped the cigarette in half. Hell, he couldn't even smoke in peace. What was the point of still being alive, again? "You shouldn't be smoking," Ah, there it was. Sang-wook didn't need to glance up in order to place the voice - he could smell the self-righteousness from a mile away. Or, he would have, had he been able to smell anything at the moment.

Resisting the urge to sniffle, he made no attempt at offering even a semblance of acknowledgement towards the other. Not that it would stop him from poking his nose where it didn't belong, so it came as no surprise when Jae-heon stood directly in front of him, gradually lowering himself until he was seated similarly to the other with a soft grunt. Sighing, Sang-wook plucked the useless cigarette from his lips and tossed it to the floor, swiftly crunching it beneath his boot. "I'm not,"

Jae-heon hummed in acknowledgement. "I don't say it to judge," Sang-wook wasn't sure why he felt the need to clarify, but his gaze did flit over to the other's general direction for a moment. He could see the glint his blade gave off out of the corner of his eye. Curious. Although he didn't doubt the other's skill, he just didn't see a point in taking it with him everywhere. But that was ultimately his choice, and he didn't have the mental capacity to bother pondering why he did so. "How are you feeling?" The scarred man barely lifted his eyes to Jae-heon, who gestured with his chin towards the direction Sang-wook had originally walked from. "Yu-ri took a look at your head injury, right? Is it serious?"

The only response he gave was a meager shrug. Sang-wook wouldn't willingly give information about how he was feeling when it didn't matter in the long run. Whether he was fine or slowly bleeding out, what difference would it make? You shouldn't be alive in the first place; why does he care? God, thinking made his head throb. Couldn't he just be alone in this god forsaken complex for more than a solid minute?

He heard Jae-heon sigh, noted him shift slightly, but still kept his gaze glued to the floor. "What you did... I can't agree with your actions," Sang-wook almost scoffed aloud. Was he really expected to listen to a lecture about right and wrong? His attention was already split, anyway. The itch sparked in his sinuses still burned, not having been satisfied with the weak excuse for a sneeze, and every facial muscle was tensed as he worked to smother the sensation into submission. At least he always happened to look stoic, so he doubted the other would notice. Still, hearing Jae-heon gear up for a sermon of sorts didn't bode well for his waning resolve. "But I do understand why you did what you did. The others might not - they might still see you as something that you're not-" "What would you know about what I am?" Sang-wook interjected sharply, a scowl evident on his features. Admittedly, it hurt to talk, and he internally cringed at the trace of hoarseness in his voice. But he didn't like anyone thinking of him as some misunderstood wretch worthy of some kind of redemption. He wasn't a hero, he wasn't a villain, not good or evil - he simply was, and he never needed to be more or less than that, didn't need to satisfy anyone's opinion of him. Jae-heon glanced down momentarily, looking as if he were trying to gather his thoughts. Speaking could come as easily as breathing at certain times, and yet there were moments were every point of diction managed to fail him. "I'm not here to pity you. And I wouldn't claim to understand you. Every person has their reasons for what they do - and every person has to stand with those reasons before the almighty. I'm not here to judge," The scarred skin beneath Sang-wook's eye jumped slightly. "Then what are you here to do? Whatever it is, you're wasting your..." He had to pause, throat constricting momentarily before he sighed unevenly through his nose, "... breath. You should be more concerned about yourself," Jae-heon couldn't help but quirk a miniscule smile at that. "That isn't God's way. Besides, I wouldn't still be alive if I had decided to be selfish," His thoughts shifted to Hyun-su, Mr. Han, Ms. Im and Ji-su - he had all of them to thank for his life, for making it this far. People who, while they may not have shared the same faith as himself, had believed that sticking together and looking after each other was the way to survive - was the right path. No matter their differences, they chose to be selfless, and that was what had led them to finding the other survivors. Sang-wook didn't reply, mainly due to the fact that he wasn't sure he could safely do so without breaking his concentration. Though it didn't matter - Jae-heon continued anyway. "You didn't have to bring back Min-Ju and Su-ung. I won't ask you why, because to me, what matters is that you did. That means something," When Sang-wook didn't respond again, Jae-heon opened his mouth to continue, only to be silenced when the other opposite him took in a sharp inhale and twisted off to the side. "hH'GKxnt! h'HCHGnt!" Jae-heon blinked for a moment, not really startled by the sneezes but seeming to examine Sang-wook with a little more scrutiny, to which the the other flashed him a glare. Unfazed, he continued to gaze at the other. "You look pale. You should be resting," Sang-wook simply scoffed, cringing at the phlegm lining his throat. He desperately needed to sniff back the moisture threatening to breach his nostrils, but his pride held the action back as Jae-heon continued to press the issue. "You're up and about after having passed out - and you were in the rain for a good while. You might be getting sick," And if he was? What the hell did it matter? Sang-wook wanted to press both heels of his palms against his eyes and grind until the pressure behind them lessened at least a little. He was exhausted, and fatigue suddenly swept over him like the storm clouds still raging outside. Everything felt heavy and sluggish which, for someone with normally such sharp senses, was more than off-putting. It felt wrong. He felt wrong. Why was the good Christian wasting time worrying about whether or not he was ill when there were literal monsters still roaming the apartment? As if sensing his turmoil, Jae-heon finally moved to stand back up, katana blade resting by his side. "You should go see Yu-ri - at the very least she can give you something for your head," He began to turn away, paused, then uttered something that made the skin on the back of Song-wook's neck prickle uncomfortably.

"Take care of yourself," Jae-heon’s retreating footsteps seemed to echo unusually loud, and it wasn't until he could no longer hear them any longer that Sang-wook finally indulged in a thick, pitiful sniffle and allowed his head to drop into his waiting hands.

#greywrites;#shweet home;#still working on part two but i make no promises lol #unless... heh #borrowed time || part 1

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hesesols · 4 years

Text

Dreamer’s Disease

Day 10 of Ichiruki month 2020

Summary: It takes her the fourth- or maybe the fifth sleepover to admit that she’s catching feelings from him- Ichigo Kurosaki, her sort-of friends with benefits from Physics.

And for the love of God and Chappy, it is not a revelation that she takes well to.

Rating: MA

FF/ao3

Newton's 3rd Law: For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.

The morning light is blinding.

Rukia wakes up to his mouth pressing incessantly against her skin, dropping fervent kisses and the occasional nip or two as she blinks blearily at her surroundings. Sometime during the night she shifted and they ended up in a mess of tangled limbs- hip pressed against hip, his hand woven into her hair, her legs wrapped around his waist. His unspoken invitation to fill an ache that is equal parts of a want and a need earns him a lazy moan- heavy with sleep but he takes it anyway.

It becomes reciprocal enough when she slants her mouth to his and digs her heels into his lower back.

Languid muscles stretch and she maps his body like a canvas, tracing the outline of every bump and scar that she could lay her hands on. Warm hands grip at her hips, spreading her thighs apart as he settles himself between them. Fingers leave their temporary perch at the back of her knee to coat themselves in her warmth, pumping, curling- leaving her with the need for more as he tests her slickness.

The euphoria that she feels flooding her veins is entirely visceral when he sinks into her.

She cries out- in pain, in pleasure. His teeth are sharper than expected, drawing blood when she yields and bares her neck to him. Tentative licks follow but he's too far gone to be entirely gentle with the gesture when his mouth envelops her tender tit and clamps down on her nipple.

She feels limbless and unbound, pliable in his hands as he takes her into his arms and throws her legs over his shoulders. He moans her name, drawing the syllables out, punctuating each one with a hard thrust of his hips.

She gasps.

The new angle hits her just right and the world is beautiful in the way light streams through barely open blinds- the way it gilds him, hits his jawline perfectly and leaves him bronze and golden and a hundred thousand adjectives she can't quite string together as her mind hazes.

The want in her unfurls- feral and a little unhinged in her desperation. She tugs at his hair, hears him hiss when her nails dig a little too harshly into his skin. He pays her back in kind with the near painful nip on her lower lip- a little of a punishment and a warning but Rukia is unrepentant.

Violet eyes burn into his as she gives him a challenging look by way of the defiant tilt of her chin, daring him to do his worst, welcomes it even.

"Brat," he growls, tightening his grip on her thighs and the curve of his lips is almost sadistic as he withdraws- slow and purposeful enough to make Rukia whimper in response only to slam back harder into her.

Her vision swims, body shuddering as he holds her in place, frantic thrusts pumping in and out of her slickness. The sounds their bodies make with each other, her quick, shaky breathless sighs in contrast to his grunts and curses- deep, groaning voice straining, steeped in his ache—

"Look at me."

His hand cups her jaw, husky voice harshly demanding her obedience and she struggles to keep up. Her eyelids flutter but it's too hard, she thinks. And entirely unfair that he's there coherently stringing along full sentences albeit struggling in some parts while she's lying on her back, her pussy stretched out and filled up, too rawed to find her voice.

"I want to see your eyes when you come."

She starts to protest, wants to tell him that it's too hard but the tug on her hair is sharp and sudden and her eyes widen in surprise, blinking away the tears.

She sees him.

Him with his pretty eyes, the hungry gleam behind them and his devastating smirk, the veins in his neck stretching, the bob of his Adam's apple; the shameless way her body responds to his, the squelch of their naked sex as their bodies come together only to fall apart in each other's arms.

She's a lost cause. Her walls clench and she climaxes with a scream that has him tumbling down the abyss after her.

Coming back down from the high is always the hardest part.

Her body is sore and satiated, mind still a hundred miles away as he peels off the used condom and throws it away.

His heat is delicious and when he leans in to plant lazy kisses on her still flushed skin, she's almost tempted to start something else.

She doesn't of course. Class starts in an hour and everyone knows Kurotsuchi is a sadistic motherfucker who likes to sweep in at least 15 minutes earlier and declare whoever that comes in later than him as a latecomer and bar said 'latecomer' from attending the lecture.

"Do you want your eggs scrambled?"

She nods, gives herself a mental pat on the shoulder when she doesn't whimper or reach out for him when he picks himself up- butt naked still and really he knows what the sight of his ass does to her- pads over to the kitchen.

Her brain is screaming at her to leave. She's getting too attached to him- too used to the idea of sleeping over with breakfast served when they both got into the arrangement knowing full well that things were supposed to be fun and casual- read: no strings attached friends with benefits.

Catching feelings for her fellow classmate who may have won the genetic lottery when it comes to bedroom eyes and to-die-for jawline, is the last thing she needs.

But then the aroma of food fills her senses and her stomach rumbles in response.

She sighs. Did she mention that he cooks too?

Rolling over to her side, Rukia tells herself to consider the facts: that Ichigo's flat is only 10 minutes away from campus (6 really if they run), that he's already cooking her breakfast and it would seem so horribly rude if she couldn't even stay after he went through all that trouble- she bites her lips, and reasons that maybe she can stay a little longer.

Like two responsible adults and upstanding citizens in the making, they end up missing the lecture.

A quickie in the showers somehow turns into another thing and this other thing leads into her fucking his brains out- cow girl style (her way of saying thank you for the meal and multiple orgasms among other things) and then by the time she comes to… well- is there really a point to attending lectures or doing anything for that matter when her knees are so wobbly she can barely walk in a straight line?

When she finally leaves his place, it's already the morning after and Rukia knows she has a problem when she can't even bring herself to care about her attendance record.

That was weeks ago.

Now she's avoiding the hell out of him. Ducks into the girl's toilet whenever she sees even a hint of orange coming her way and makes up excuses or straight up ghosts him when he texts her to come over.

Anyone with eyes could see that she's avoiding him and when even the ever-so discreet Rangiku Matsumoto makes it a point to ask you about it- you know you're in deep shit.

So she makes up some half-assed excuse about catching up on assignments. She is an Engineering major- the work is supposed to be gruelling, and it should hardly be a surprise to anyone if she deigns that she's in need of a sabbatical break from the drama and just focus on good old-fashioned scholarly stuff.

Or at least that's what she keeps telling everyone (herself included), however unconvincing they may find her excuses to be.

Of course, it's still entirely possible that he would seek her out himself. It just isn't a possibility that she entertains much given their limited history together- they just share Physics together, united by their mutual dislike of the teaching professor and early morning lectures, they don't even have the same major for crying out loud! The whole sharing bodily fluids business was nothing more than an unfortunate case of alcohol intoxication, human biology and the age-old curse of being at the wrong place at the wrong time.

The subsequent decision to be friends with benefits was clearly the culmination of a series of bad decisions and just as impressive alcohol poisoning.

Rukia hurls the contents of her breakfast into the toilet bowl. Her throat burns and the taste of bile lingers so badly that mouthwash is needed.

Weakly, she creeps out of her bathroom- more crawling than actually walking at this stage and calls Renji.

Her childhood best friend answers on the third ring and judging by his unusually high-pitched voice, was anxious to the point of hyperventilation.

"Where are you, Rukia? Classes started an hour ago! Our presentation is up next!"

She groans. Her stomach does a little flip at the thought of public-speaking and she thinks she's due another visit to the porcelain god.

"Renji, I'm sick."

"Seriously? How?" he screeched.

"Bad sushi," she offers by way of explanation. They got a little too carried away with Nanao's twenty-third birthday last night and decided to splurge. The menu said it was an all-you-can-eat buffet and the sashimi- her face turns green; oh it was definitely the sashimi, she pigged out on them and among the girls, she seems to have it worst. When she finally regains her ability to keep food down and walk like a normal person again, the first thing she is going to do is give the Japanese restaurant a one-star review on Google.

Renji seems to be talking gibberish on the other end and she hisses at him to calm down.

"Sorry, I'm just freaking out right now. You're supposed to be giving the presentation. And you know that I'm not exactly on speaking terms with Shuuhei right now because of you-know-what."

She sighs, ignoring the way her hair is plastered to her forehead in cold sweat. Boys are stupid and their topics of heated debate infinitely stupider. It's something to do with sports, beyond that Rukia doesn't really understand. Nor does she particularly care.

They're both such drama queens. Never again, she tells herself, is she ever going to partner with either of them for a group project.

"Just read out the discussion part. You'll be fine."

Renji has the charisma of a natural-born leader and the confidence to boot, as long as he doesn't freak out from stage fright- they'll be fine. Rukia proofread the report twice. Their maths is sound and the theoretical component to their project, flawless.

"Ok. But are you sure you're going to be fine? I'll drop by after lecture with some soup."

"Ok. Just leave it outside the door. I might not have the energy to open the door to let you in."

"Alright. Sweet corn soup ok?"

She scoffs.

"Cheapskate. You can do better than that," She's due a bit more by way of compensation. As the hard-carry for the team, Renji owes her that much at least. "I want steaming hot chicken and ginger congee with spring onions and a side serving of pickled cucumber."

"Well how am I gonna get that?"

She shouldn't have thought about food. The churning in her stomach is starting again and she dives for the toilet, barely making it in time.

"Figure it out, dumbass!"

She is woken up by the hard thumps on the door. It takes her a while to gain her bearings and get up from bed.

She almost wishes that Renji would stop knocking so loudly. It is making her head pound and the room is spinning until her hand catches on the door knob and twists it open. The breath of fresh air and sunlight on her skin makes the sickness a little more bearable and for the first time in the hours since she's been puking her guts out, she is finally feeling something other than nausea.

"Yo."

She blinks, desperately trying to rub the sleep away from her eyes because she could have sworn that it's Ichigo standing outside the door, arms laden with groceries and food stuff.

Rukia almost slams the door shut in his face. She's suddenly feeling all sorts of self-conscious about her appearance, about her messy knot of hair, her poor sickly complexion, and the fact that she can barely stand upright without holding onto the door.

Clad in her old high school jersey that doubles as her nightie, it takes her a whole minute of standing at the door, gapping like an idiot at the sight of him to realize that she's braless underneath it and Ichigo is staring at her breasts and oh god, she thinks she's going to be sick.

She lets go of the door knob and it's the mother of all bad ideas when she notices that her head is suddenly much lighter than her feet and she's falling—

Strong arms grip at her waist and she is so glad that he's not wearing any cologne as she clings on to him by his shirt. The smell of clean laundry and body warmth- a hint of peppermint from his aftershave, soothes her enough that her stomach stops churning.

"Woah. You're literally falling for me here, Kuchiki. Have some tact. We're still in the hallway. What will the neighbours say?"

Rukia snorts- retort half-forming at the tip of her tongue that he shouldn't be flattering himself but manages only to shoot a baleful glare at him. The lack of a proper retort is proof enough that she truly isn't feeling herself.

His amusement morphs into a look of concern, eyebrows furrowing as he tightens his hold on her.

"You're really sick, huh?"

A weak nod is all that she can manage. When he presses a cool hand against her forehead, it takes her all the self-restraint that she can muster not to whine or whimper. Clammy skin notwithstanding, her body feels hot and she thinks she's had enough of standing up now. He purses his lips, taking charge of the situation as he ushers her indoors and shuts the door behind them.

"Let's get you settled into bed."

He's still there when she wakes up.

The sun has only just set and the glow of her table lamp casts him in hues of soft yellow. She wants to believe that it's something more than pity in his eyes when he locks gaze with her.

"Hey," she calls out weakly.

There's a wet flannel on her forehead and a blanket thrown over her. His weight settles comfortably next to her on the mattress, keeping her warmer still. With his help, she manages to prop herself to sit upright and grabs the glass of water on her side.

"Right back at you, sleeping beauty. Feeling better?"

She nods. The water is refreshing against her parched throat and she finishes it in seconds.

"T-Thank you."

He grunts in response, tucking her back into bed and when she protests, silences her arguments with a firm and sound reply of 'I'm a doctor's son. I know what I'm doing'. Rukia is too weak and her brain too sluggish to come up with a proper comeback, so she begrudgingly obliges.

"I better get going. There's some congee for you in the thermos flask when you wake up. And there's a tub of pickled cucumber in your fri-"

Her hand grabs at his, a weak tug by all accounts but his body stiffens and he stills. Soft brown eyes are staring back at her and it renders her defences futile. This is her at her most vulnerable, stripped down to something that predates her Kuchiki upbringing, before she even knew to arm herself with a tongue sharp enough to cut and wound.

"Stay?"

She's overstepping and pushing boundaries that he's not comfortable with. Wincing when the words ring a little too desperately in her ears and her pride balks at the blank look on his face, she tries to take them back but he beats her to it.

"Scoot over then."

His voice is gruff but he's drawing the blanket up and sliding under it. His warmth presses comfortably to her back and her eyelids flutter shut, letting out a contented sigh when his arm drapes across her middle.

Belatedly she realizes that at this stage maybe they're more than just casual fuck buddies to each other. For starters, he didn't have to come to her door and he most certainly didn't have to stay when she asked him to. Sex isn't even on the table and she's reeling from all the implications.

Does he want them to be something more? Does she?

Is it something that—

"Just go to sleep. I promise I'll still be here in the morning. We can talk then."

Her mind halts at the sound of his voice whispering so tenderly into her ears. She relents. If he's still here in the morning, curled up next to her maybe they'll have the dreaded grownup conversation then.

It's a promise that she holds him to.

FF/ao3

Review, reblog, like, comment or even ask to send some love my way.

#ichiruki #IRmonth2020 #ichirukimonth2020 #day 10: just friends #fanfic #mine #dreamer's disease #these dorks are bad at feelings ok?#do NOT be fooled by the soft-looking cover this story opens with a sex scene #you have been warned #just friends (with benefits)

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emiefaunwrites · 4 years

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helloooo, it's that one anon again with another song request/challenge thing. same prompt as my last ask but with the sing grow as we go by ben platt, please? also a random question: what are your thoughts on listening to classical music or like music that doesn't have words?

Hello again! Sorry it’s taken so long with this one - I wasn’t on my laptop at all yesterday and only had one or two chances to listen to the song and I wanted to do a good job!

I’ll answer your random question first before I go into what I wrote. The short answer is yes, I listen to classical/wordless music. I like a song to tell me a story as I listen to it and I have a few wordless songs in my D&D playlist for my OC. So long as I feel an emotion when I listen to a song, I don’t really mind if it has words or not!

And now for Grow As We Go. Well. This is a song, huh? It’s so freaking lovely! Another one I would never have thought to listen to without you, anon, and has made it into both my D&D playlist and my Broken Arrow playlist (yes, songs go into multiple playlists for me!)

So with this, I could have made it heartbreaking because the song is quite sad. But I decided against it and went with something more...uplifting, I guess? And yeah, I went nearly 2K (I just can’t do snippets I’m so sorry...) and I stuck with Ishileon for this because I could imagine Leon singing it to Taka. And this has taken me 4 hours to write...non stop. Haaaa...

I hope you like this, and please do send me more and more songs. I LOVE this challenge and find it so interesting to write this way.

The cool evening air wisps around Kiyotaka as he looks out over the horizon. Here, above what seems like the rest of the world, he has never felt more at ease. Never felt more comfortable in a place he never thought he would ever wind up. Because in every vision he ever had of his future, he never saw himself in the American wilderness.

He had always had a plan; get himself through school, then college, then university. Get himself into politics. Build up his reputation and popularity. Show the world that the Ishimaru’s are not the monsters that they’ve been portrayed to be and become the best Prime Minister that Japan has ever seen.

For the longest of times, Kiyotaka was fully invested in this plan. The backlash of his grandfather’s downfall has weighed heavily on his parents for as long as he can remember. Their name dragged through the mud, the innocent victims of merciless mockery, working round the clock as a policeman or a midwife just to make ends meet and do what’s best for their son.

So of course, he wanted to give back to them. He promised, back at the tender age of six when he heard his mother crying one night after Prime Minister Ishimaru fell from glory, that he would do what his grandfather could not. He stomped down the stairs and shocked his parents with the announcement, giving up any chance at a normal childhood right there and then.

And it was worth it. He made sure it was worth it. Sure, he had no friends. Sure, he was bullied relentlessly. Sure, he came home battered and bruised a few times a month. But it was worth it because he knew that he would be his family’s saviour in the end.

But things started to change when he started Hope’s Peak.

It wasn’t a big change. Not at first. It started off with friendships. With Mondo and Chihiro, Makoto and Hina, Hiro and Hifumi. People who seemed to see past his name, past his constructed personality, and tap into the real boy. And he found himself having fun for the first time in nearly a lifetime.

And then Leon Kuwata entered his life.

He’d always been on the side-lines, a constant background noise that Kiyotaka admittedly gave very little attention. For the first year and a half of being his classmate, Leon spent his time chasing girls and living it large. Kiyotaka would often head to get himself a glass of water in the night only to see the boy be carried back to his room, blind drunk in the arms of Hiro or Mondo or whatever upperclassman he happened to befriend that day. He seemed to have no regards for his education, his health, or anything whatsoever and that irritated Kiyotaka beyond belief.

It wasn’t until Kiyotaka stumbled across the boy in the toilets one lunchtime, huddled into the furthest stall and crying into his arms, that the real changes started. For the first time, he saw the redhead for who he truly was; a frightened young boy that had built a reputation for himself that was becoming harder and harder to maintain. And Kiyotaka had just happened to stumble on what was one of many moments of weakness that had plagued the boy ever since he set foot in this school.

The two became inseparable in a matter of weeks. Kiyotaka vowed to be Leon’s confidante whilst Leon promised to calm himself down and start taking his life seriously. And he did really well. It was inevitably that he would slip up every now and again because old habits are hard to break. But Kiyotaka would never judge him, would never scold him; only hold him close as he sobbed and promised it would never happen again.

Their first kiss wasn’t exactly planned. Nor was it the most appropriate, Kiyotaka has to admit to himself when he looks back at it. Leon had relapsed after a rough day and gotten blind drunk, calling Kiyotaka in a panic when his senses kicked in, sobbing in his arms and begging his forgiveness. And as normal, Kiyotaka had held him, offered gentle words of comfort, running his fingers through the boy’s hair.

And then he kissed him.

He would like to blame it on the way the moonlight hit Leon’s flushed cheeks that evening. Or maybe how his eyes sparkled like glitter as he finally stared up at him with a wet smile. He’d also like to think that Leon made the first move; that when he leant forward to nuzzle against his nose it was a silent invitation. But in all honesty, none of those were to blame. Kiyotaka had already fallen for Leon long before that night and even though the boy had melted into his embrace the second their lips met, Kiyotaka knew that he had completely taken advantage of his drunkenness and acted on his own accord.

The I like you that followed was disregarded as intoxication. Kiyotaka made sure he stored that away in a locked box in his heart, never to reopen. Although a few days later, it was smashed into pieces as Leon initiated the follow up kiss halfway through their study session and out of seemingly nowhere. Red cheeks and flustered apologies, a heart-to-heart and more I like you’s. And then a promise never to let go followed by soft touches and passionate kisses.

And they didn’t. They stuck together through school and graduation, through college and graduation, through the application to university to study politics. Leon stood by him every step of the way; as his biggest cheerleader, his shoulder to cry on when things got tough, with unconditional love and a heart of gold. They were happy, happier than they’d ever been, and would have been content carrying on as they were for the rest of their lives.

But it was Kiyotaka who changed.

Sat in his politic lecture one afternoon, something shifted in Kiyotaka’s mind. As he stared at the words on the screen and listened to the droning voice of his tutor, Kiyotaka realised that this wasn’t what he wanted. The plan that he’d followed for his entire life, the one that would restore his family name, crumbled in front of him like chalk into dust. And all that was left was a hole of uncertainty and endless possibilities.

He wonders to this day if he should have told his father first. After his mother had passed away, his father had put his everything into supporting Kiyotaka’s dream. So surely he should have been the first to know that things had changed. And there are days, nights when he’s lying awake and staring at the sky, where he feels a small twinge of regret at not telling him. Because he thinks that if he had, things might be different.

But those days are few and far between.

It was Leon he told first. The second the lesson was over, he went straight over to their shared apartment and told him straight: I don’t want this anymore. Politics, education, the little apartment they rented so close to the university. It all felt so wrong all in the space of a split second at 2.48pm on Thursday 3rd April.

And he needed to go. Where? He didn’t know. To do what? Also a mystery. But he just knew that he need to get away from it all and that everything needed to change.

He expected Leon to cry. To beg him to stay, tell him to reconsider giving up his dream and to stop and think just for a moment. But he didn’t. Instead he took hold of his hands and said the five most beautiful words Kiyotaka has ever heard:

Then we’ll do it together.

It wasn’t easy. Dropping out of university was harder than Kiyotaka could have ever expected. He had to give back all the fees he owed, chipping into Leon’s hard-earned income to bail them out of tough situations. There were highs and there were lows, months of living on cold beans and bread. But they made it through together.

And then Leon suggested they go to America.

As Kiyotaka was still unemployed and Leon’s salary was barely keeping them afloat, the idea was ludicrous. They were constantly rescued financially by their families, who surprisingly supported Kiyotaka’s decision to change his entire life, so how could they possibly go travelling in their position? But neither boy could deny the alluring call of a fresh start. Soul searching, Leon called it. And Kiyotaka fell for it hook, line and sinker.

After a year and a half of research, of doing odd jobs here and there to raise enough money, of buying all the gear they could possibly need, of working out and getting in shape, they knew where they were going. The Appalachian Trail; the longest trail in the world. Five to seven months of travel if they wanted to do it all in one go. And they did want to do it all in one go.

So, after getting the blessing of their families, they quit their jobs and headed off. Jetted halfway across the world with no one but each other. And they never looked back.

It’s been hard, Kiyotaka muses to himself as he gazes out at the breathtaking sights around him. Because as beautiful as the trail is, it’s also brutal. They’ve spent a lot of nights cold and hungry after misjudging how far the next campsite is. They’ve slept in poor conditions in a tent that they’ve had to replace a couple of times. They’ve stumbled across the local wildlife; sometimes a little closer to them than they felt comfortable. And they’ve had to ask their families to help them out with their finances on more occasions that either of them would have liked.

But as the night falls around them, as the orange hue of the sunset dims and the blanket of midnight blue drapes over the sky, as his gaze lands on the back of the boy in front of him, Kiyotaka knows he wouldn’t change this for the world. They’ve seen things that they never would have done back in Japan. They’ve met people from all over the world, learned valuable skills that would have been useless in their old life. They’ve done so much that Kiyotaka never thought he could ever have done and impressed himself on so many different occasions in so many different ways.

And it’s all because of Leon.

Stood on the edge of a cliff, the boy has no idea that Kiyotaka’s eyes trail down his body; outlining his relaxed posture to etch this moment permanently into his memory. His hair has grown out and only the tips are red now; the natural brunette strands pulled back into a messy pony tail. The small beard he once supported now long gone and replaced by dark stubble; caked with dirt and grime from the tiring day they’ve just had. The muscles he has always had are larger now; more toned and pronounced even when he doesn’t try.

Leon Kuwata is not the boy he fell in love with anymore. That’s undeniable given how much he’s changed. But as Kiyotaka wraps his arms around him, breathing in the scent of sweat and dirt that has become his favourite smell in the world, he knows he would give everything for the man who leans back into his touch.

“You okay, baby?”

“Hmm.”

“Ready for tomorrow?”

Who knows what tomorrow will bring? Nothing is written in the stars, nothing is set in stone. That’s what his life always used to look like; unbending, unchanging and terribly lonely. But as Kiyotaka smiles into Leon’s neck, as he presses a kiss onto the flesh and his fingers slip against the palm of his lover, he has never felt more comfortable with the unknown. Because at the end of the day…

“So long as you’re with me, I’m ready for anything.”

#kiyotaka ishimaru #leon kuwata #ishileon #danganronpa #song fic request #ask request

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