#so many blocks n colors in that build | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lamentationsofalonelypotato · 3 days ago

Text

Chapter 14: Don't Be A Bundt Cake

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV, Soldier Boy POV

Summary: When you decided to work with Butcher and his merry band of supe hunters to take down Homelander, you never expected to be saddled with a sullen, grumpy, jerk like Soldier Boy when the job was done. The more you're around him the more you hate him, but you can't help but wonder, is he really as big a jerk as you think? Reader is a supe with plant powers. This takes place in an AU about a month after the end of The Boys Season 3, in which Butcher has let Soldier Boy continue to work with him on his team. (I'm real bad at summaries, please forgive me!)

Tropes: Enemies to Lovers (Not in this chapter), Slow Burn, Age Difference (Reader is in her 20s), Soft Ben/ Soldier Boy, Protective Ben/Soldier Boy, Miscommunication Trope

Word Count: 13.1K

Warnings: I'm going to label this 18+ because Soldier Boy (he's a warning and everyone knows it), Swearing, Mentions of Sex, Sexual Innuendo, Talks of Death, DENIAL, Idiots in Love, Pining by the Reader (and SB, but he won't admit it) Depressing Thoughts, Mentions of sexual assault/rape (not detailed at all, really just in passing) Talks about weed, Sexist comments, Ben makes derogatory comments, Threatening Ben/Soldier Boy might be a little bit OOC.

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person.

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

A/N: I am so sorry this one took me a bit longer. The writers block was fighting me the whole way, but we are very closely nearing the end of this series and the moment the reader and Ben stop being so stinkin' stubborn.

Reader POV

You lean your forehead against the cool window, watching the world flash by in a flurry of color. The wooded forests had vanished hours ago and all that was left were the yellowed sprawling fields of corn and grain and family farms that were laid sporadically along the interstate. Each one a little world that caught the flecks of golden sunlight as the sun began to peak above the horizon.

The bus rolled smooth and steady over the weathered pavement towards it's destination and was filled with an odd assortment of people young and old. There was man with a brightly colored parrot that had been singing "It's A Small World After All" since you left NYC, a woman with a little boy playing with an iPad and who refused to turn down the volume no matter how many times his mother asked him to, a group of teenagers a few seats up that continued to pass around a flask, and due to how far back you were sitting on the bus an uncomfortable smell emanated from the bathroom each time the door was opened.

But you didn't notice any of it.

The only thing on your mind were the events that happened almost twenty hours ago. They continued to circle your mind, playing over and over again like a perverted cassette tape making you sink further into the worn cloth covered seat at the back of the bus. The images were haunting, some new and some old, but all the more still horrible to re-live.

The song "Nights In White Satin" floating into the backseat of your family's car, the flash of unnatural light you knew was never lightning, the caskets at your parent's funeral covered in flowers that were much to pretty to lay on something so morbid, Elijah's body succumbing to the poppies that ripped him apart, the proud sneer on your brother's face when he admitted to killing your parents, Darren's broken and bloodied body strewn in pieces over the street with the creature standing over him with a dripping red maw, the ruined building that housed "Please Don't Die" reduced to nothing more than rubble, and the look on Ben's face when you turned your back on him and fled the scene.

For some reason that particular image seemed to cling on to you and refused to fade. You'd never seen him look that way, almost… helpless and a little fearful. In all the time you'd known him, Ben had never looked at you that way. Sure you'd seen him proud, angry, cocky, lustful, mischievous, but never fearful. And you were sure that it wasn't an emotion that he was used to feeling, but that begged the question… why?

Why was he looking at me like that? Why wouldn't he let me go? And what was he afraid of?

The creature curled in your lap snorts something in it's sleep, turning it’s head further into the cradle of your elbow to shut out the brilliant early morning sunlight. It was now the size of a toaster and had warranted several odd looks whenever you got off to change buses, but you didn't care.

You weren't sure about anything anymore. Everything your brother confessed to you made you feel like you were living a lie and the revelation of exactly what your powers could do- take life from plants to heal yourself, create whatever the hell it was on your lap, and speak to plants… it scared you.

You thought for so long that you knew everything about your powers, that you were in control, but now you weren't sure.

You felt different, as if something had unlocked deep down that you couldn't shut up again.

You'd felt different after you killed Elijah, but this was more alive, weaving and twisting in the pit of your stomach. You felt more connected to the earth, to the world outside the bus even though you were divided by glass and metal. You could feel the energy that thrummed through the body of the creature on your lap, bending to your will, the life force of the plants it was formed from molding with you, becoming a part of you.

You felt so different than the person you had been before Darren entered the shop, so uncertain, and there was only one place you wanted to be when you felt like this… home. You couldn't wait to run up the worn front steps of your grandmother's house and into her arms. She always knew what to say in times like this.

And you desperately needed the comfort of her embrace.

The phone in your pocket buzzes again and you flip the screen to see the ridiculous selfie Annie and you had taken on Halloween last year. The one that you'd both spent dressed up as the two brothers from your favorite paranormal tv show. It wasn't the first time she'd called. Annie had called and texted you more times than you could count over the past twenty hours but you didn't answer her. You didn’t want to.

It was the first time that you didn't want to talk to her, but talking to her meant that you'd have to re-live all of it again and you were clawing at the last shred of sanity you had left to keep it together.

The overwhelming waves of emotion kept pummeling you, dragging you deeper beneath the white surf. Each one brought the memories of what happened surging over you and were followed by everything that Darren said to you. Years of taking care of Darren and doing whatever he wished were tearing at your soul, years of giving up little things in your life to make him happy, and years of taking care of a man who you thought cared about you, but hated you enough to kill your parents and try to kill you too.

It made your skin crawl. Each time your brother told you that he loved you was an even bigger lie and now that you knew the truth and saw him for what he was, it felt like you were drowning. The darkness that ebbed just on the edge was begging you to leap into the abyss, but you were resisting the best you could.

The tears had stopped falling miles ago, but you couldn't stop the memories or the emotion that formed a cold ball in the pit of your stomach.

A sigh works it's way up and you pull your legs on the seat underneath you, jostling the creature on your lap that raises it's head for a moment to blink it's black eyes at you sleepily.

It was surprisingly docile right now, especially considering that twenty hours ago it had ripped your brother to shreds. In fact it seemed to understand how upset you were and had spent the better part of the last twenty hours rubbing it's head against your arm as if trying to bring you some comfort. It was settled on your lap, the weight of it a comfort, almost like a weighted plushy that gave you something to focus on.

"It's alright buddy." You whisper, scratching him under his chin. "We're almost home."

The phone in your jacket pocket buzzes again, but when you pull it out to turn it off, you catch a glimpse of the screen, and you hesitate. Because this time it's not Annie who's calling, it’s Ben.

The picture that flashes on the screen under the contact name "Gramps" is the picture of Mr. Fredrickson from Up. It always made you smile whenever he called you and you saw the picture because Ben did often remind you of him. He was certainly just as grumpy as Mr. Fredrickson and just as out of touch, but you thought it was cute.

Your thumb hovers over the answer button and you think about talking to him.

But what would I say?

You weren't sure what to say to him, or why you wanted to speak to him so badly, why you wanted him to be sitting here on the bus with you as you went home, and why you wanted him to hold you against his chest while you allowed yourself to break, but you did. You wanted to feel his awkward shoulder pat and his awkward version of hand holding and you wanted to hear him try to tell you to "buck up" or whatever he thought that a comforting word should be.

He's really not the best at that.

You smile to yourself at the memory of how he tried to comfort you back at the hospital, but the longer you sit there and look down at the picture on the screen the worse you feel.

Maybe that scared you more than your newfound powers, how much you were realizing that you needed him, how much you depended on him when things got too much for you to bear. The memory of him appearing as soon as you needed him back at the shop, another of him grabbing Darren and throwing him into the street as soon as Darren insulted you comes in a flash, and finally followed by the memory of Ben carrying you out of Elijah's office while you curled into his chest. You couldn't remember too much from that moment, in fact you'd thought that Ben had kissed you on top of your head, but you ascribed that to the haze of pain you'd been in from your broken arm.

What you did remember was how wonderfully warm he was after you'd been trapped in that damn freezer and how nice it felt to be in his arms. Another memory of Ben sleeping on the couch at the hospital bubbles up and you feel something in your chest begin to crack open. And you try your best to tell yourself the same thing that you always do when you feel like Ben might care more about you that he was letting on.

Ben doesn't want that. He's made it perfectly clear. He doesn't want a relationship. He's only wants one night, that's why he goes out with all those women-

You hesitate, thumb still hovering over the answer button as you do, the memory of the week you'd spent at the apartment with him flickering in the back of your mind. The week where he refused to leave you alone in the apartment, where he refused to do any jobs for Butcher, where he took care of you the best way he could, when he sat with you on the couch and made you laugh with his ridiculous movies, and the week where he hadn't had one date.

Your finger itched to answer the phone, but you couldn't, because you didn't want to feel this way about Ben, not when he'd told you countless times that you kept romanticizing him, not when he told you that he didn't want a relationship, and not when you could feel yourself beginning to fall for someone you thought was the wrong man.

For just a moment you tried to pretend that it was different, that he was different, but you didn't want to. It only made it hurt more.

The phone stops ringing, but the pit in your stomach still gapes open at you and for the first time in twenty hours you feel tears begin to fall. You didn't know why you were crying about this, why the thought of not picking up Ben's phone call seemed to hurt more than everything that had happened, but something made it hurt.

The bus driver announces over the overhead that you're reaching your final destination as he takes the exit for your hometown. The familiar buildings that line the streets are sheathed in a honeyed glow from the sun, the long shadow of the bus darkening them momentarily as it rumbles down the small streets to the bus station.

When it rumbles to a stop at the bus station you wait for everyone else to get off, trying to summon the strength to stand, and swipe the back of your hand across your face to rid yourself of the remaining tears.

The bus station was about a thirty minute walk from your grandmother's house, and you still hadn't called her. You didn't know what to say, didn't know how to tell her that Darren was dead and that he was the reason why your parents were dead.

The creature crawls up your body to drape it's warm body over the back of your neck as you stand. It wasn't bothering to hide, besides the people in your hometown already thought that you were odd because you were a supe and you'd always welcomed it. You give him a scratch on top of his head and his warm tongue flicks on the bottom of your earlobe as if thanking you before it curls further into the side of your neck, seeking warmth.

The first few steps on solid ground are shaky, but you find the strength while taking in a deep cleansing breath of the outside world, letting the gentle warmth of the sun and the tickle of the autumn breeze pull at your coat. You hadn't stopped at your apartment before coming here, instead you had stumbled your way to the bus station covered in dust, flecked in blood, and demanded the first ticket back to Illinois. It was lucky that the next bus was leaving immediately, because you didn’t want to spend another second in NYC, not when all you wanted was to be home.

Plus you were worried that someone had recorded what exactly happened outside the plant shop and you didn't want to get arrested.

It was self defense anyway. Maybe Jake would represent me in court.

The thought of Jake makes you twinge. You hadn't checked to see if he was alright before you ran from the scene. Not to mention you'd destroyed the shop he'd put all his life savings into after he stopped being a lawyer.

Oh fuck, what if he sues me? He can't exactly sue Darren…

You hear someone call your name and you open your eyes.

Your grandmother is standing in front of the same baby blue pickup truck that she'd had longer than you've been alive, wearing a long multicolored skirt and a pressed white blouse tucked elegantly into it. Her silver hair is loose and long, curling over her shoulders in gentle waves. She looks the same way she looked one week ago when she left, and you've never seen anything so beautiful in your life.

You're running before you can stop yourself, crumbling into her warm embrace, with more tears streaking down your face, but she doesn't mind.

"Shh. It's alright honey." She whispers, rubbing her hand over your back, her embrace steady and surprisingly strong. "Let's go home."

Her home is the same as it's always been. A two story Victorian house painted in a happy yellow shade, with a white wrap around porch and two white rocking chairs sitting empty on the front porch. You'd spent more nights than you could count rocking silently beside her with a crochet project in your lap listening to the rain fall and soak the world outside, while the plants sang praises with every gentle bend beneath the heavy droplets.

You could barely remember the home you spent in your early years with your parents, not when you'd spent most of your childhood spending the night here and after your parents died living here permanently. There was still a large oak tree were a wooden swing swung in the slight breeze on the left side of the yard, a gardenia bush that stretched as high as the second story on the right side of the house and brushed it's soft leaves against the sunshine colored outer walls, a garden filled with both flowering plants and herbs that perked up on both sides of the front yard as you walked up the path, and a cobblestone path that Annie and you had spent hours of your shared childhood covering in chalk art.

Neither of you were good, but when the rain would fall and smudge the clean lines, you'd jump in the puddles that pooled along the walkway singing the lyrics to ABBA's "Cassandra" not quite understanding what it meant.

Standing here outside your house made you miss Annie and feel worse about not calling or texting her back, but you didn't feel like talking about what happened and you were sure that Butcher filled her in. The only thing that you wanted was to collapse in your bedroom upstairs and curl under the comforters.

Despite everything the house was a welcome sight, but at the same time it was different. You could feel the plants calling out to you, asking for you, bending towards you just to touch your shoes as you walked by. You'd never felt so connected with them before, not even when you were in your apartment or working at the shop. It was overwhelming.

And although a part of you was frightened by it, another part of you rejoiced in it. You didn't feel alone, didn't feel weak, and you knew that you never would ever again.

The creature nuzzled into the side of your neck with a sigh, soaking up the sun's healing rays as you walked up the front steps with your grandmother following behind you silently. She hadn't spoken since she picked you up at the bus station and you hadn't supplied anything in the ten minute car ride back to her house.

You didn't know where to start and you were still trying to process everything yourself.

The inside of her house was just as cozy and warm as it was the day you moved out. There were photos of your parents and you covering the walls (Darren's had been placed in the closet long ago), half-finished knitting projects sorted in different baskets on both the dining room table and the living room coffee table, spools of yarn were strewn over the couch sorted by color, and the fresh smell of gardenia wafted through the open windows on the breeze.

It was home. This was what you'd been missing the moment everything began to crash over you, but as you stood there in the familiar living room it felt like something was missing. Something tugged at the back of your mind, but you couldn't put your finger on it.

There was something or rather someone that should be here, but you didn't know what or who. And your mind supplied Annie, but you weren't sure that's who you meant.

"Let's have some tea." Your grandmother says from behind you and you feel her soft hands come down on your shoulders to steer you through the familiar creative chaos and into the large kitchen at the back of the house.

The kitchen isn't spared from the madness, it rarely was. There are boxes upon boxes of cookies in different stages of being packaged all over the counter, dirty bowls and a measuring cup stacked in the sink, and a large opened bag of chocolate chips spilling over the flour covered kitchen island.

It wasn't unusual to find the kitchen or the house in a state of chaos, your grandmother always said that a house should look lived in and that the mess was part of the fun of any major project as long as you were responsible enough to clean it up.

"Bake sale?" You ask as you sit down in the breakfast nook, uttering the first words that you'd said to another human being in twenty hours.

The next breath that you inhale was supposed to be cleansing, but you can still feel a weight pressing down on your chest, the same one that settled in the moment everything happened with Darren.

You contemplate again how you're going to tell her that Darren is dead and was the reason why your parents died.

Damn it Darren.

"Mhmm." She hums, filling the well used red kettle. "Annie's mother practically cornered me in the supermarket yesterday and begged me to make cookies. I love Annie, but her mother needs someone to pull that stick out of her ass. It's been up there for so long that I'm sure it's rotten."

The creature crawls down from your shoulders and down your arm to sniff at one of the chocolate chip cookies nearest you. It hadn't eaten since…

Darren.

You wince slightly at the thought and hope that you hadn't created something that needed and craved human flesh. The last thing you wanted to unleash on the world was Audry two especially in the wake of Homelander.

Truthfully you were waiting for the guilt at killing your brother to come, but it never had and you wondered if it ever would.

Probably not. He deserved that, he killed our parents, he tried to kill me, he tried to kill Ben.

The thought of Ben again makes a lump form in the back of your throat. You didn't know what was happening to you only that you felt guilty for leaving him like that, for yelling at him to let you go, and just vanishing on him when he probably thought that you were going back to the apartment.

He doesn't know where I am. Maybe that's why he tried to call, because he got back to the apartment and couldn't find me there and he was worried. You press your lips together. Yeah. Worried. Right.

"Honey?" Your grandmother says in a soothing voice

You look up from the box of chocolate chip cookies that you didn't remember picking up. Even the creature is looking at you with an expression that you can only explain as worry.

"Yeah?" Your voice shakes slightly.

She's leaning back against the counter, arms crossed over her chest, head tilted slightly to the side, her beautiful grayed hair pulled up in an elegant bun, but in her eyes you can see genuine concern. "Fuck." She sighs after a minute.

You blink in surprise. It was the first time that you'd ever heard her say that word in your entire life.

"I shouldn't have left." She breathes. "I told Ben to look out for you. I told him, that little bastard was bound to show up again and what did he do? He left you at that plant shop alone with no protection!"

You'd only seen her really angry a handful of times in your lifetime. Like you, your grandmother often had a gentle disposition and didn't get angry unless the situation called for it.

I mean, Darren admitted to killing our parents and then got fucking ripped apart. But how does she know about any of that? I haven't told her…

"How did you know that he left me there? Did Ben call you?" You ask putting down the box of cookies.

An odd expression crosses her face, as if she's contemplating something. "No." She hesitates again. "I saw it."

"No." Your grandmother hesitates. "I saw it."

"You saw it?" You repeat, confused.

What's going on?

"Too late of course, but I'm a little rusty. I was able to warn Ben that Darren was coming back. That's how he got there so quickly or rather-" She shrugs sheepishly. "He got there in time to make sure that Darren didn't get you to forgive him. Which you shouldn't have at all, but I know he's always had a talent for manipulating you."

"What?"

Is she saying what I think she's saying?

Instead of explaining further your grandmother walks out of the kitchen, leaving the kettle behind on the stove and you in a state of utter confusion.

Is she saying that she can see the future? Because that would mean that she's a supe and there's only one supe in history that I know of that can do that. A supe that no one has seen in over forty years.

You can hear her open the door to the closet under the stairs and the sound of her sifting through all the junk that the two of you had shoved in there over the years instead of finding the right place to put it.

When she comes back into the kitchen, she's holding a giant cardboard file box that you'd never paid attention to each time you opened the closet to find something. Your eyes shift from the box to her still not comprehending exactly what she was saying.

"I probably should have told you this a while ago, but…" She trails off and nods her head at the box before turning back to the kettle on the stove that has begun to scream. "I kept putting it off."

The box is old, worn at the edges, and theres a musty black fabric beneath a collection of yellowed photographs. You pull out the one on top to examine it.

Ben is standing there in his full Soldier Boy regalia outside of Vought tower and the woman standing next to him is Soothsayer. The outfit she wore was familiar, a black-skin tight suit with a blind fold tied over her eyes.

Soothsayer was a supe who could see the future and who was apart of Payback, a supe that had vanished a year before the mission in Nicaragua and no one knew where she went. There were rumors that she'd died and that she'd been a Russian spy, but you'd never believed them. You'd heard Butcher talk about how he tried to find her when he was trying to figure out what happened to Soldier Boy, but he never had. Said that the trail went cold.

But now you knew where she went, because she was standing directly in front of you.

She's Soothsayer? Holy fuck that's why Ben kept accusing her of cheating in the poker game because he knew that she could see the future.

"You were Soothsayer?" You gasp. "But why didn't you say anything? Why didn't you tell me?"

She continues to measure the tea leaves. "I didn't tell anyone."

"Grandpa didn't know? But he was alive when you were a supe?"

Your grandfather had never spoken about a history with supes that you remember.

"No." She turns to look at you, a hurt expression crossing over her face for a minute. "Well, I know that I said I was going to have tea, but if we're going to talk about this I'm going to need something a little bit stronger."

Your grandmother opens a cabinet under the stove an pulls out an enormous bottle of scotch. Truth be told you'd never seen her drink more than just a glass of wine, to see her like this was about as shocking as seeing a polar bear sunning itself on a Florida beach.

"Do you still want the blueberry tea or do you need something a little stronger?" She looks back over her shoulder at you as she pulls down a glass for herself.

"I think I need something stronger." You answer honestly.

Learning about everything Darren had done was one thing, but finding out that your grandmother used to be a famous supe and that she never told you about it was another thing. It was like looking at another person. You'd always loved your grandmother's gentle way, her care for her community and her family soft, but now you weren't sure you really knew who she was.

She sits down across from you and hands you a glass of the amber colored liquid. There's a heavy silence that hangs between the two of you as she tries to find a way to start. The photo of her and Ben is laying on top of what you realize is her uniform inside the box and she smiles down at the photo, just a little twitch at the corner of her lips.

"I met Ben when I was twenty three years old." She begins taking a sip from the glass. "Legend 'discovered' me. I had the injection of Compound V maybe two years before that, not when I was born, but I hadn't gotten popular. Other powers were much more flashy and by then there were so many heroes coming out of the woodwork that someone with the ability to see the future didn't seem as marketable."

There's something reflected in her blue eyes, the same eyes your father had, that you can't place. "I had just moved to New York, I had no money, and the way I was getting it was by pretending to be a fortune teller and betting on some sports events on the side. It wasn't hard to prove that I could see the future, the past was more difficult, but Legend somehow stumbled into my shop and figured out that I was a supe. And he didn't think I was too bad looking so he helped me get big."

"You pretended to be a fortune teller?"

She snorts into her glass. "Mhmm. People really will believe anything if they're desperate enough and back then there was so much turmoil going on with Russia that people were scared and wanted to feel comforted. My job provided some of that."

"But why did you walk away from it if you were such a big hero." You ask. "Everyone knew your name, you were-"

Your grandmother raises an eyebrow at you and you fall silent so she can continue. "When I got onto Payback that's when everything exploded for me, the films, the commercials, the ridiculous ads." She sighs. "That's also when I met Ben."

You take a sip from the glass in front of you, sputtering slightly. It was stronger than you were expecting. "And you two were-"

Please don't say dating, please don't say dating, please don't say…

"Friends. Just friends." Diana sits back against the back of the breakfast nook, sinking into the navy blue pillows. "But he is almost as charming now as he was then."

You cringe at the thought of Ben coming on to a younger version of your grandmother.

She taps her glass with her index finger deep in thought. "But I think that I was the only person that Ben actually talked to, the only person that he was comfortable being around."

"What do you mean?" You ask confused. "Didn't he talk to Countess and to Legend?"

Her expression hardens at the mention of Countess's name. "He didn't talk to her the way he talked to me. Ben is difficult, he always has been and I think that most of the people he meet him write him off as this asshole with a chauvinistic look on the world, but he's not. At least, not all the time. There are so many people that he's met that are never willing to take a chance on him. To trust that there is really something beneath all of that bravado."

It was what you had been thinking for the past week, that there was more to Ben than he was willing to let people see, but you were slowly realizing that Ben was letting you see those parts. In the quiet moments at your shared apartment when he sat with you while you read or made you laugh or walked you to and from work you saw another side of Ben that you never saw when he was around anyone else. The guilt rises again when you think of how you ran from him, how you turned your back and left him standing there to clean up your mess.

I shouldn’t have done that, but it was all just so overwhelming and I didn't want to talk to anyone.

"I think that Ben is the most loyal friend I ever had. No one ever seems to believe me when I say that. That we were just friends, but nothing happened between us."

"You didn't date? Or sleep together?" You ask cautiously. It was difficult to imagine Ben being friends with a woman and not having a sexual relationship with her.

Well. We're friends, but that's different.

The last thing you wanted to think about was Ben and your grandmother having sex.

I would need so much therapy after that. You sigh. Yeah, because after all the shit I've been through and found out about my life in the last twenty hours, the knowledge that Ben fucked my grandmother is what's going to push me over the edge.

"No." She shakes her head with a small smile. "About a week after I met Ben, I was running late to a movie shoot and I stepped off the crosswalk without looking. There was a car coming and I didn't see it. Ironic isn't it?" She laughs at herself. "I can see the future and I didn't see a car coming, but your grandfather did and he grabbed the back of my jacket and yanked me onto the sidewalk, saved my life. And the second my eyes locked with his I saw our future. I saw our wedding, our first house, I saw our son take his first steps and I saw how much I would love him and how much he would love me." She clears her throat for a minute, her fingers tighten on the glass, and her gaze drops to the wedding ring on her left hand. “The future is never set in stone, it’s fluid. It morphs and shapes with your decisions, but in the future I saw, I was so happy. And I didn’t want to lose that.”

Your grandfather had passed a few years ago, but you knew it weighed on her everyday. She had spent the week after he died in her room not saying anything to anyone. And sometimes she'd look out the window into the backyard with an odd expression, but you knew that meant she was thinking of him.

Growing up you'd seen how in love the two of them were, more so than your parents. Seen the flowers your grandfather always brought home just because he was thinking of her, watched him do little things around the house without being asked, saw how they never walked away angry from one another, and seen the soppy expression he'd get when he watched your grandmother move around the kitchen baking with a grace that you'd never possessed.

You reach across the table to touch her hand and she takes it gratefully.

"I didn't want to tell him that I was a supe, and at the beginning I thought I could balance it all, but then Ben started dating Countess." She takes another sip from her glass. "She hated me."

"What? Why?" You ask. The creature crawls across the table to sniff at the glass in front of you, before it snorts and falls into your lap, curling into a ball.

"Countess was a bitch." Your grandmother says mirthlessly, her expression hardening. "She wanted to possess Ben completely. Only loved how famous he was, how popular it made her, and he threw himself at her feet, in his own way, not understanding that love didn’t look that way. He’s never had a good example of it in his life. And she never understood that Ben and I were just friends. By then I had been dating your grandfather for a few months and things were getting serious. It was about a year before everything that happened in Nicaragua."

She presses her lips together as if remembering what happened to Ben there. "She was jealous, possessive, and she came to me one night. Ben was out of town for a film so she knew we wouldn’t be interrupted. She threatened to tell your grandfather who I really was and threatened to kill him.” Her jaw sets. “My powers were never really as offensive as hers were. And she said that Ben wouldn’t ever protect me over her because he loved her and would do anything to make her happy. So I left and I never looked back.”

And here I thought I couldn't hate Countess any more than I did for what she did to Ben.

“You didn’t talk to him ever again?” You wonder out loud.

She left without telling him goodbye?

“There was the occasional phone call. Sometimes Ben would ask me to see who was going to win a ball game or something so he could make a few bucks. He stopped by to say hi a few times because he was in the neighborhood. One time he brought your father a baseball glove that was way too big for a one year old.” She snorts, the memory flashing in her eyes. “I always thought Ben would be a good dad some day. But I think seeing your father was when Ben realized how much he wanted to have kids. And I think seeing the way your grandfather treated me made him start to feel conflicted about Countess. But he respected that I walked away, he saw that I was happy.”

“But what about Nicaragua?"

A dark look crosses her face followed by something that looks suspiciously like guilt. “I saw what they were going to do to him.”

“What? But why didn't you tell him what they were planning? Why didn't you-"

"I tried." She snaps, shoulders tense, but then they drop. "I called Ben, but Stan answered. By then your father was turning two, your grandfather had opened up his practice, and Stan threatened me, he knew where we were and knew everything about us. So I kept my mouth shut and I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.”

You could feel your heart breaking for her.

Ben was her best friend and she had to sit by and watch them do that to him. She saw what they were going to do and they were going to kill her for it, kill my family for it.

The anger that surges in your chest makes the creature in your lap stir and grow a few inches, but you tamp it down before it gets bigger than a small dog.

“Does Ben know?” You ask her to distract yourself.

You didn't want Ben to hate your grandmother for this, didn't want him to hate her for something that wasn't her fault.

She nods. “Yes. I told him everything.”

“When?”

“The moment I saw him in your hospital room. I couldn’t keep it in any longer. I wasn't expecting him to be there, but it all poured out of me. I was so surprised to see him there. I hadn't seen a future where he came back."

“Was he mad?”

I mean… he didn't seem mad when I woke up, not to mention he was upset when she left to come back to Illinois.

“Not at me.” She shakes her head. “He knew how much I wanted a normal life and how much I loved your grandfather. He doesn’t blame me for any of it.”

“Good. I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.”

The glass in front of you is still more than half-full but you don't want to risk another sip of what you're sure is gasoline packaged to look like Scotch. Your grandmother reaches to pour herself another glass.

“I didn’t want to until you were ready.”

“And when would that be?”

Your grandmother shrugs. “Maybe on my deathbed.”

You weren't angry for her not telling you, more surprised, but now that you knew everything about her it was hard to see her the same way you had.

You snort. “And no one knew?”

“Your dad figured it out.”

“How? When?”

“The moment you made that strawberry plant grow from your high chair.” She shakes her head with a smile. “It skipped a generation. Don’t know why, but you got it all somehow.”

“I was never injected?”

“No. That was a lie your father created. He knew that your grandfather didn't know and he knew that I didn't want your grandfather to know."

“Darren thought I was.”

“I know.”

At the mention of your brother's name, you watch her expression harden and she takes another swig from the glass in front of her, not flinching as the liquid goes down her throat.

“Did you see everything that happened?” You ask in a small voice.

You still weren't 100% sure how it was her powers worked, but you figured that she was able to see some of what Darren did and what he said.

“Yes.”

“You heard everything Darren said?"

“Yes.”

You chew the inside of your cheek for a minute hoping that she didn't take it as hard as you did. “Did you know that he killed them?”

“No.” She breathes, rolling the glass between her hands for a moment. “The night they died, I got a vision a few minutes before the car ran off the road. I was the one who called the police and who told them where to look, but I never saw that it was Darren or that it was anyone causing the accident. All I saw was the three of you in the car. I should have known.” Her voice breaks.

“It’s not your fault.” You squeeze her hand.

“And it’s not yours either.” She squeezes your hand back.

The memories are beginning to float up from the recesses of your mind and your teeth clench together as you try to keep them at bay.

“I know.” You breathe. The memory of the ruined shop flashes through your head. “I didn’t know that I could do something like that.” You gently touch your healed right arm and glance at the creature that is nibbling on the edge of the cardboard box with its sharp splinter-like teeth. “I feel so different and I don’t know how to go back to the way I was.”

“I don’t think you ever will.”

"Really?"

The thought was unwelcome. You were hoping that all of this was going to blow over, but you knew it wouldn't. Your powers had changed. There was an energy that thrummed in your veins now, stretching out of the house to the plants that grew in the garden. You could feel them all if you concentrated.

She frowns. “When you told me that you were working for Butcher I was worried about you getting involved in the supe world. I didn’t want that life for you, didn’t want you to suffer the way I did-“

“Was it really that bad?"

“Not all the time, just at the end. But I think that’s why I loved your grandfather so much. Because he was different than all the supes. He was down to earth, not just normal but-“ She shrugs. “I think Compound V does something to our minds, makes them more susceptible and when you’re surrounded by people using their powers and thinking that they’re gods it’s easy to lose who you are. I was glad I left when I did."

“Great." You huff, thinking about how your powers had grown exponentially since you killed your brother. It was scaring you to think that you would reach a point where you acted like Homelander, where you saw yourself as a god and killed anyone who stood in your way.

As tired as the stereotype of you only being able to make the flowers grow, you liked doing that. You liked healing plants, tending to them, and helping them grow. For you it had never been about using your powers the way that you had to kill Elijah and your brother and had always been about spreading a little more joy and love like your grandmother did with her kindness in her community.

Your mind flashes back to the first night that Ben stayed with you in your apartment and he'd asked you why you worked for Butcher and told you that he thought you "didn't fit."

Before you hadn't. You knew that. You weren't intimidating to look at or fueled by revenge or had a bone to pick with supes. You'd joined because you thought it was the right thing to do and because you wanted to be closer with Annie. She had been so involved in the supe world and you'd felt like you were losing your best friend. When in reality being at "Please Don't Die" was the only thing that felt natural for you.

You could feel yourself changing and you weren't sure that you wanted to and you weren't sure if you were changing for the better. Deep down you still felt like you, despite everything Darren had revealed, but your powers were greater than you'd thought they could be.

“No.” She squeezes your hand pulling you out of your head. “I don’t see you losing yourself in this.”

“You’ve seen-“ Your eyes widen.

“The future yeah.” Her lips twitch up at the ends in a smile. “It is what I do.”

“That’s so weird.”

You hadn't meant to say it, but you really didn't want to know too much about your future.

Well, not all that much. Maybe just a little.

“You of all people have no right to judge what’s weird. Not with Godzilla sitting in your lap.”

"Godzilla" yawns, flashing a mouthful of his pointy teeth, before settling back down on your thighs.

You smile for the first time in twenty hours, but then it drops. “I don’t like losing control. I thought I knew who I was but now I don’t-“ The emotions were bubbling up again, chest tightening, and lungs beginning to gasp for air. “I don’t know who I am anymore or what I am or what I can do and-“

“There’s nothing wrong with not being in control.”

“But what if I hurt someone? What if I kill-“ You body shakes as you think about all the important people in your life, Annie, Hughie, Butcher, Kimiko, MM, Frenchie- and then your mind stutters on Ben.

“Your powers are growing and there’s nothing to be afraid of or ashamed of. If you’re afraid of them it won’t get easier for you. You have to embrace the fear to see the lights that line the path through it.”

"I killed Darren, I killed Elijah-"

"Not because you lost control. You did it because you were protecting yourself and protecting your friends."

"But-"

"Who is it that you're scared of hurting? Annie?" Her expression turns sympathetic. "Annie is a supe and understands what it's like to lose control. None of us are in control all the time and it's ridiculous to believe that you won't lose control at least once."

Your throat clenches tightly, because when she asked the question you didn't see Annie's face, you saw Ben's. You knew that it was probably ridiculous to worry about hurting a guy with a nuclear reactor stuffed in his chest or a guy who'd been through every torture known to man, but you were. And you weren't entirely sure if you meant hurting him with just your powers.

Tears crest and fall down your cheeks as you sit there, throat thickening. "I don't want to hurt Ben."

"He's a little more indestructible than us sweetie." She cracks a smile, but you can't smile back and you don't answer because you're unsure how to.

She sits back against the breakfast nook and sighs, examining your face and slowly realizes what you mean. "Ben is complicated. He always has been. I like to think that most of it, is his father's fault. Has he told you anything about him?"

You shake your head.

"He was a dick. Made Ben think that he was a disappointment his whole life. I don't think that Ben has had someone love him unconditionally since his mother died. And loving Countess only made it worse for him. Her love was jealous, possessive, and I don't think that he's really come to terms with what real love should look like." She lets out a breath, tapping her index finger against the glass. "I never saw him as more than a friend, but I do love him. It's not a crime to love him."

"I don't love him." You say it immediately.

"Why not?"

"What?" You sputter. "I don't know what you're-"

"Tell me why you don't love him." Your grandma says methodically, as if she's trying to talk you through it.

"Because I-" The pressure was back in the back of your throat and you couldn't quite meet her eye. "Because-" You scramble for the answer, trying your darndest to keep your heart from clenching in your chest. "I want what you and grandpa had, what Annie and Hughie have, and what my parents had. A strong relationship with someone who sees all my flaws, the little parts, and the darkness and still choses to fall in love with me anyway. I don't want just one night I want every night. I want something real and Ben has said countless times that he-"

"So you've talked about it with Ben?" She raises an eyebrow.

"Only because he kept trying to sleep with me and I told him that I didn't want to have sex with him." You reply exasperated.

"You don't?"

"Gran!"

"What? He's attractive."

"It doesn't matter. None of it does. Because Ben has said that he doesn't have relationships, that he doesn't care about feelings, or emotions." Saying the words that Ben had told you countless times made something inside begin to shrivel up and die. "And I do. And I don't want to manipulate him into being something he's not or force him into a relationship that's doomed from the beginning. Ben is Ben. He's not changing or-"

"He has." She interrupts.

"What?"

"The Ben I saw in your hospital room is not the one I knew." She says it so matter of fact that makes it hard to breathe. "And neither was the one that I saw in your apartment when I stayed with you. I mean he is in essence Ben, but-"

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"He is changing. Not completely, but he's acting differently than when he was with Countess. I mean, I saw all the things he did for her. The way he was around her."

"Why does that matter?"

"Because he loved her."

The words make your heart seize in your chest. "Ben doesn't love me. He's my roommate and my friend-" It was the same thing that you kept telling yourself on repeat to beat back the other feelings that you hadn't quite identified yet. "And he's told me that he doesn't want a relationship and that I should try to meet other people."

That last part was a lie, but you honestly didn't know where she was going with this conversation or why it was getting so hard to breathe.

"Have you thought that maybe Ben doesn't want to love you because he's scared?"

"He doesn't love me and Ben isn't afraid of anything."

"He is. It might not look the same way on him as it does on everyone else, but if you pay close enough attention you can catch it." She hesitates. "And I think if you pay attention to you, you'll see what it is that you're afraid of too."

What does she mean? What the hell am I afraid of? Ben isn't afraid of anything, he's practically shouted that from the mountaintops like Julie Andrews.

"I already told you what I'm afraid of."

"I'm not talking about you hurting someone honey. There's something else that you refuse to admit to yourself because you're scared." She smiles sadly at you. "You should though, because when you embrace it, what comes after is really beautiful." There's a far off look in her eyes and you realize that she'd seen something further ahead that she wasn't letting on.

"And it's all I want for you. To be happy." Your grandmother stands from the other side of the booth "I think you need some rest. You drove all night long and I doubt you got any sleep. And I have to package all of these before Annie's mother calls down the four horsemen of the Apocalypse on me."

"Wait-"

"Please sweetie." She lays her hand down on your arm. "I think you'll feel a little better about all of this when you've had some rest." Her fingers raise to push back some of the hair that's fallen forward into your eyes. "Hmm?"

You didn't want to rest, you wanted to talk about this, but you knew better than to argue with her. Not to mention she was right, you hadn't slept.

"And when you wake up I'll make your favorite for dinner, alright?" She smiles, but there's something behind it that you can't place.

"Okay."

And this time you don't argue with her. You go up the worn staircase that you have your entire life and collapse onto your bed, wondering exactly what it was she saw your future hold, and what it is that you won't admit to yourself.

Soldier Boy POV

There was no light in the apartment save from the burning red tip of Ben's blunt and the bluish glow emanating from the tv that caught the dips and sharp edges of his face. But it was nothing more than background noise.

His hand absentmindedly stroked along Bean's back, his eyes focused on the ceiling above the couch. He hadn't moved in hours. It had been over twenty four hours since everything that happened at the plant shop, since you'd summoned a creature from the depths of the store, since Darren had thrown Ben through the plate glass windows of the bakery, and since Ben had last seen you.

He didn't understand why you hadn't let him take you back to the apartment and why it was that you had to leave. Ben hadn't liked the feeling that stabbed him in the chest when you turned your back on him and ran away. He'd felt the urge to comfort you the way he'd watched Hughie do for Annie in the car a week ago, but you hadn't let him.

Instead all he'd done is stood there and watched you run, still covered in dust, rubble, and blood. Worse was you hadn't let him check you for injuries and Ben hated the thought that you were hurt somewhere and he didn't know where you were.

You were so much more fragile than he was. He was realizing that more every day, was acutely aware of it after everything that happened with Elijah. Honestly, sitting there in the hospital with you laying there asleep with nothing that he could do, but wait for you to wake up had been agony. Not to mention that looking at the bruises around your throat, over your eye, and the bright green cast only made him feel worse. He'd never felt so helpless in his entire life and he hated it. Because Ben wasn't some helpless damsel in distress, he was a man and a man shouldn't wait on anyone or feel out of control, or at least, that's what he told himself.

Ben hears someone walk down the hallway outside the apartment and he perks up to listen, hoping that it's you finally coming home. Ben's mind stutters on the word "home." He'd lived many places in his life, apartments that felt more like way-stations, and the drafty cold mansion back in Philadelphia where he grew up, but neither felt like home. And although he hated how small your apartment was, it was the first place that Ben liked living in. He was starting to understand the word home.

But the feet keep moving past the apartment and Ben sinks into the couch cushions. Even Bean seems to be disappointed. "It's alright buddy." Ben mutters. "She'll come back."

But he wasn't sure.

Ben also wasn't used to feeling this way. It was close to the way that he felt when he went to Boston and was sitting in that damn hotel room waiting for something to happen and he still didn't understand what it meant. He didn't understand why he couldn't stand it that you weren't back yet. It made him feel like a woman waiting for her husband to get home from work when he told her that he was "running late." He'd tried to distract himself by looking at some possible prospects on Tinder, but just like the week after you'd come home from the hospital and just like the date he had in Boston, no one held any appeal.

His mind was awake and roaming around, pacing back and forth. The blunt was supposed to help, but it hadn't.

His phone chirps and Ben picks it up to look at the screen, but it's not you, it's Jake.

Jake: I know that I'm not your favorite person, but thank you for what you did.

Ben huffs and turns his phone face down on the couch once more. "What a fucking pussy."

When you left Ben had realized that Jake was still inside the building and as much as he wanted race after you, he understood that you'd be even more upset if you'd killed Jake. So Ben had tromped back through the building and found him trapped beneath some rubble. Jake was okay, just unconscious, but Ben had carried him out and put him on the sidewalk before he high tailed it out of there. The last thing that he wanted was to be caught with a shredded body outside a ruined building.

I didn't do it for him. I did it for her. Ben thinks to himself, looking down at the text message.

As much as he hated the thought of saving your future boyfriend, he didn't want to see what it did to you if you found out that you killed Jake, so he'd done it to avoid watching you cry again.

Ben didn't understand why he hated watching you cry.

Women cry. They're damn emotional all the time. He tries to reason with himself taking a puff from the blunt pinched between his thumb and forefinger. And she fucking cries way too much.

The image of you crying outside of the shop in the wake of everything that happened pricks something under his ribcage. Fuck.

Ben didn't feel remorse for what happened, well, the only thing he regretted was not getting there sooner and getting to fuck Darren up himself. When Diana had called him to tell him that Darren was coming, Ben had practically ripped the apartment door off in his haste to get back to you. He hadn’t wanted to leave you at the plant shop, but Butcher had told Ben, that he had a possible location for Darren, but it came up empty and Ben had been at Butcher's apartment chewing him out for sending him on a fucking wild goose chase.

It only made Ben more angry to allow Darren to speak to you, but he was trying to let you handle it even though he wanted to handle him. But it had brought him an unholy amount of joy to throw Darren in front of that minivan and to watch that creature tear him apart while the final whitish blue pulses of electricity jumped and crackled down the street making the streetlights shower sparks everywhere.

But Ben was more upset that Darren had been able to land a few hits on you before you killed him.

Ben remembered the giant lizard that crawled out of what was left of "Please Don't Die" and felt his lips quirk up into a smile. As much as he hated the entire situation, Ben couldn't help but feel a little surge of pride at what you'd done to your brother. He'd never seen you look so powerful standing there in the street, your eyes glowing a brilliant green, arms outstretched, and the ground trembling around you as the world begged to be unleashed.

Of course he'd been just as surprised as you were at the fact that you'd healed your broken arm. He wasn't sure if you'd noticed it yet, but you looked different too. There weren't as many lines on your face and your hair was more springy, the few silver hairs that Ben had noticed in passing were no longer there.

He wasn't sure what that meant, but there was something that felt suspiciously like hope tingling in his stomach, hope that you weren't as fragile anymore and hope that it meant you wouldn't die.

When Diana had told Ben that her husband had died, he saw the pain in her eyes when she said it, saw her relieving the memory, and for some reason as soon as she said that he was dead, the first thing Ben thought about was you. Ben hadn't considered his inability to age as much in the past, hadn't cared about outliving anyone before. Seeing Countess as an older woman had made him more aware of it. Looking at the woman who he once thought he loved, had showed him what that was like. Not that he had a problem with daring older women, Ben always thought that women really did get better with age, but it was what came next that Ben wasn't fond of.

And for some reason thinking that one day he'd wake up and see the marks of age on your face or one day he'd wake up and he wouldn't be able to annoy you or hear you yell at him made his chest tight.

Ben takes another hit of his blunt. The longer he sat there the more then unnatural feeling stirred in the pit of his stomach, thrumming through his veins, the feeling that he was trying to avoid. He thought that the joint would calm him down, but he found himself jumping at every creak and footstep in the apartment building, perking up each time and hoping that it was you coming home.

He didn't know where you were. You hadn't answered any of his texts or calls and Ben was ashamed at how many times that he had tried to call you.

Get a fucking grip. He'd thought to himself when he typed out another text message to send you, stopping himself from sending it.

But he'd been so desperate to hear from you that he'd actually gone to talk to Annie who seemed upset that she couldn't get ahold of you either. When Hughie and Annie had seen how upset Ben had been, Hughie had laid his hand on Ben's arm and told him not to worry. Ben had yelled at him that he "wasn't fucking worried and to mind his own business" and had shaken off Hughie's comforting hand before stomping out of the shared apartment.

No one else seemed to be as concerned about finding you. Butcher, MM, and Frenchie were all deeply involved in trying to figure out the cover-up for what happened outside the plant shop. By some miracle no one had caught a picture of your face, but there was little they could do about Darren's body that had been strewn across the street. Annie was having to deal with the repercussions at work, trying to handle what the news was calling a "super villain threat."

Personally, Ben thought that since they froze Homelander, the Seven looked weak and Ben believed that the superhero team that represented America shouldn't look weak. Of course before Ben had also thought that they looked like a bunch of pussies and again felt himself sink deeper into the couch when he thought about what his supposed son had become.

He shakes off the feelings he has about it and his thoughts turn back inevitably to you.

Ben wasn't used to thinking about someone as much as he thought of you, but each time he settled back into the apartment and you weren't there he was hyperaware of how quiet it was.

Maybe I should call Diana. She might know where she is.

As soon as Ben thinks that, his phone begins to ring, but Ben doesn't bother to look at who it is before he answers it.

"Hello?" Ben huffs out a breath of smoke that hangs in the air in front of his face, catching in the bluish light coming from the television.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" The voice on the other side of the line yells at him.

"Di?"

"Yes it's me. Who did you think it was? Santa Clause?" Your grandmother snarks.

"Why are you calling me and why the fuck are you so mad? What did I do?" Ben answers slightly annoyed.

As much as you got under his skin, your grandmother had been the same way. He actually thought that it was amusing that even before he figured out that she was your grandmother that he had often compared you to her in his mind. You had the same mannerisms, the same defiant and stubborn attitude that drove Ben up the wall, and you were just as beautiful as she was.

Ben was okay with admitting that he was attracted to you. To him that felt normal, it was the other feelings that he was conflicted about, the ones that he'd never felt before stirring in his chest that made him feel "too emotional" and "woman-like."

Truthfully, Ben was sure that if your grandmother had given him a shot that maybe he would have felt that way about her too. She was the only person that Ben actually trusted in the 80's, the only person that was brave enough to call him out on all his shit. You did that now. But he liked her husband also, so Ben was content with letting her go. He liked how happy that Henry, your grandfather, had made her. He knew that she wasn't happy as a supe and seeing her so happy and in love made Ben feel something that was close to happiness.

And it was seeing the way the two of them were together made Ben wonder if what he had with Countess was the same thing. Because he did have feelings about her that were different, but each time he went to visit Diana and saw your father playing on her lap he felt that there was something missing in his life.

It was the same way that he thought something was missing when you weren't in the apartment, but Ben hadn't realized that yet.

"Because I don't understand what the hell you're doing!" Diana replies and Ben honestly doesn't know why she's angry with him.

"About what?"

"My granddaughter."

Ben sits up the blunt in his fingertips forgotten. "Is she there with you?"

"Yes." Her voice softens for a moment.

Ben relaxes and leans back onto the couch, sighing in relief. "Good. That's good." Relief swelled in his chest when he thought about you staying with her, safe.

That's what she meant when she said that she wanted to go home. Home is with her grandmother. Ben stopped the next thought before he could go there.

The thought that home wasn't with him.

Ben was trying not to think about that or think about you hating him. He didn't think you did, well, didn't think you did anymore. At first it really was touch and go, but now he was almost eighty percent sure after you'd told him more than once that you weren't afraid of him and didn’t hate him that you sometimes wanted him around.

"No, not good."

"What do you mean? Is she okay?" Ben's grip on the phone tightens so hard that he's sure that he hears the screen cracking.

"No."

"What happened?" Ben's voice is a growl, the feelings of relief evaporating as soon as they had begun to bloom in his chest. He mentally calculated how long it would take him to get to you.

"Her entire life fucking fell apart and where are you? Not here!"

Oh. Ben relaxed a little bit.

"I don't need to be there." He says on an exhale of smoke.

"Yes you do!" Diana presses.

"No, I don't. She a big girl she doesn't need me there, she's-" Ben takes a puff from the joint.

“If you were any denser you’d be a Bundt cake Benjamin!” She says exasperated.

"What the fuck are you talking about doll? I am not-"

“Let me guess." She interrupts and Ben can imagine her tapping her foot. He hated when she did that. "You’re moping around smoking a blunt on the couch probably with a glass of something that you're hoping to numb whatever the hell it is you're feeling."

Ben's eyes shift to the bottle of whiskey on the coffee table that he hadn't touched in a few minutes.

“I’m not fucking moping and stop spying on me!” He snaps back at Diana.

He hated how well she knew him. She was his best friend in the 80's through all the shit, she had seen him at his worst and at his best too many times to count.

“I don’t have to use my powers to know what you’re doing. I know you Ben.”

"Sorry to disappoint you sweetheart.” Ben grits his teeth, temper flaring hot. “But if you know me as well as you fucking say you do then you then you know that this is-“

“You avoiding your feelings by acting aloof and brooding like a fucked up version of Mr. Darcy.” She interrupts.

She certainly hasn't changed.

“I am not avoiding-“

“She needs you here Ben.” Diana stamps her foot, the same way you do when Ben pisses you off, and Ben can hear it.

“She doesn’t need me! She said that she wanted to go home, that she didn’t want to be here with me! I tried to-“ Ben shouts back standing up. It was the exact thing that he'd been thinking for the past twenty four hours, that you didn’t need him and that you didn't want to be any where near him.

That last thought made an uncomfortable sensation prickle in his gut when he thought it, because all it did was remind him of how you acted when the two of you first met, when you didn't want him to live with you and tried your darndest to make him go away.

He didn’t want to and he wasn't sure why that was.

“Try harder.” Diana interrupts him again and frankly it was pissing him off.

Ben clenches his jaw. “I think that you’ve confused me with someone else baby.”

“Don’t you 'baby' me Benjamin! We both know that you’re doing what you always do when things get hard for you.”

“And what’s that?”

“You pretend not to care and shut out everyone who tries to care for you. Not to mention you drown yourself in drugs, booze, and women.”

“She doesn’t care about me!” He spits.

“She does!” Diana snaps back. “And believe it or not she needs you here and she wants you here.”

"But-"

"Ben please." It was the first time that he'd heard Diana sound softer and almost pleading since the conversation started. "Don't do this to her. She's worth more than Countess and all those other women you've fallen into bed with."

"Do you really think I don't know that?" He roars. The answer surprises himself. "Do you think I don't know that she's different?"

Wait what?

"If you know that, then why aren't you here?"

He hesitates.

Everything you said to him the night of the party comes roaring back. You looking beautiful in a dress that made his throat tight, and you telling him that you just wanted to be friends and that you understood that he wasn't the type of guy to have relationships. He didn't understand why it stung a bit when you said that, but it had.

Ben thinks about the week that the two of you spent together after Diana went home, when he tried his best to take care of you, distract you from everything that happened with his movies, and would sit with you and try to make you laugh. He'd never wanted to take care of someone before.

Not to mention he kind of liked the way you laughed. He wouldn’t admit that to anyone, but each time you did, it made him want to laugh too. That had never happened to him before. But he wanted to make you laugh to forget everything that happened with Elijah. His fist clenches when he thinks of exactly what Elijah tried to do to you and it makes him feel so mad that he feels close to spontaneously combusting. Ben might not be the best role model when it came to women, but he couldn’t imagine the type of man who would force himself on someone else.

It had made him angry when he thought that you were suggesting that he would try something when he first moved in, because he wasn't that type of man.

Ben was trying to be better for you. He wasn't admitting that, but he really was trying to be better. He didn't understand why. You'd told him countless times that you didn’t want to be with him, that you wanted to be with someone else like Jake.

Ben frowns when he thinks about the man he'd pulled from the rubble of the shop. And again thinks to himself that you should be with someone different, someone who was a supe and could understand you. Ben had seen how difficult it was for Diana when she was keeping her supe life a secret from your grandfather and he didn't want you to have to do that with someone.

"Because I'm not-" Ben begins to say, but he holds his tongue. It was too honest, too raw, too unlike him to admit this to anyone.

Because I'm not this guy. Because I'm not the one she wants. Because I'm not some knight on a white horse. Because she's everything right with the world and I'm just a fucking asshole who sleeps on her couch.

"Ben." Diana breathes and he can practically hear her pinching the bridge of her nose. "In all the years I've known you, you've never done what you did for her with anyone else. You carried her out of that warehouse, you stayed with her in the hospital even after she woke up, you took care of her when she came home, you protected her from Darren. You can't ignore all those things."

"I'm not ignoring them. She's my friend." The word sours in his mouth as he says it. "And she would have done the same thing for me." He knew it was true.

She's a good person and she wouldn't let me chase her away if any of that shit happened to me and I told her to leave me alone.

"Yes she would. Because she cares about you." Diana sighs.

"She doesn't."

"Why don't you believe me?"

"Because she's told me what she wants!" Ben shouts so loudly he can feel the room shaking. "She wants to be friends-“

"Because she doesn't think that you want a relationship you nitwit!"

"I don't." Ben spits the words before he can stop them, but as he does something tightens at the base of his throat.

"How is it that it's been forty fucking years and you're still able to dance on the grave of my last nerve?"

Ben chuckles. "I missed you too sweetheart."

She sighs into the phone again making it crackle in Ben's ear. "She needs you.” Diana repeats. “And I think you need her too.”

His temper was flaring again, the thoughts that his father pressed into him surging up before he can stop the words. “I don’t need anyone. I’m Sol-“

“If you say that you’re Soldier Boy, I’m going to reach through this phone and slap you silly.” She snaps. “And you do need her, but you’re still just too stubborn to admit it.”

“I-“

“Ben I know that everything that happened with Countess was fucked up, but my granddaughter she-“ Diana pauses before she changes the thought. “You say that you know she’s different, but right now you’re treating her the same way you treat all those other women.”

“I’m not-“

“My granddaughter has decided you’re important to her and once that’s happened it’s hard to make her let go. You saw the way she was with Darren and that guy was a manipulative asshole. Imagine what she thinks of you.”

“I-“

“Stop making excuses!”

“You didn’t even hear what I was going to say!” Ben shouts.

“And I don’t need to! Think what you want Ben but if you’d stop acting so stubborn and so ridiculously blind to what’s right in front of you. I promise that what comes next is worth the risk.”

“Don’t go all fucking mystical on me doll.”

“And don’t go all macho- no feelings asshole on me! So stop being so damn stubborn, get on a plane and get your ass here.” She retorts. “Don’t fuck this up Benjamin because if you do I’ll fuck you up.”

The line goes dead.

Ben sat there for a minute in the silence still holding the phone up to his ear, listening to what your grandmother said to him ring around in his head for a second.

No one ever spoke to him that way. In fact, Ben had never allowed anyone to speak to him the way that she did, well, not until you came along. You reminded him so much of her that it was astounding and he wasn't going to admit that maybe it's why he liked being around you so much.

Ben frowns at what Diana said, thinking about the unusual feelings that were swirling in the pit of his stomach. He felt wrong and the feelings were odd for him. He hadn't felt anything remotely like this ever in his life, not even for Countess.

And although Ben refused to be afraid of anything, the feelings he was having scared him. He didn’t understand and he wasn't sure that he wanted to. He wasn't sure that he wanted to see where this ended up. He felt like he was in too deep.

As much as he wanted to go to you like Diana ordered him to, he wasn't sure that he should. Something was holding him back, digging it's heels in and refusing to budge.

But why do I feel like-

His phone rings and he doesn't look at the caller ID when he picks up, expecting it to be Diana again, yelling at him.

"Di I-"

But it's not Diana.

"Hello Ben. It's nice to hear your voice again." The familiar voice says, sounding calm and collected.

"What the fuck do you want?" Ben snarls.

"I thought it was time the two of us had a chat.”

A/N: At this point Diana is really just trying to give both Ben and the reader the kick in the pants they need. And yes I know another cliffhanger, but you know you love it. 🤭😉 We are quickly reaching the end of this series, but that means the confession scene is coming and I am so excited about it!!

As always thank you so much for reading! Reblogs, likes, and comments are not required, but are always appreciated. I love hearing what y'all think! If you'd like to be added to the taglist for this series let me know. 😊

Taglist:

@roseblue373 @mrsjenniferwinchester @corruptedcruiser @winchesterwild78 @the-super-who-locked-wizard

@criminalyetminimal @52ndstreeet @bitchykittenconnoisseur @anna6307

@faephoria @possiblyafangirl @jqtaro @quietlybitchy @tinydancer40

@roger-that-cap @megara0224 @miskwaadesiwag @rainyeggvoidpurse

@soldiergrimes @tiffsbagels @podiumackles

@ifyouwerethemoon @ririshkin @peachhiz @fitxgrld @sukunassfinger

@xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @ej13928 @deans-spinster-witch @kr804573 @modiddys-blog

@acciosherlockholmes @minas-fantasies @fireskyy

@n-o-p-e-never @nesnejwritings @am0rem @tpwkcalli @momggn

@fitxgrld @whimsicalcherry @ladysparkles78

@spxideyver @zepskies @impala67stellawinchester

@reidtomewinchester @samanthadegaro @glossy01 @nikimisery

@tunnelvisionlove @incandxscents @winchester-stark @samahanta

@melonmochi

@kamisobsessed @whichwitchwanda @karolina-12110905 @jcollins03-blog

@pixviee @filmologetica @yvonneeeee @c1nnamong1rl29 @kmc1989

@livya99 @cherrygirl444

#jensen ackles #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x you #jensen ackles soldier boy #soldier boy x female reader #soldier boy #soldier boy/ben #soldier boy fanfic #soldier boy fic #soldier boy fanfiction #the boys series #the boys fanfiction #the boys fanfic #the boys

166 notes · View notes

tayraedoll · 18 days ago

Text

My Compliments to the Chef

You and Alastor face-off in the kitchen. Who will be crowned the superior chef? And what will the prize be?

TW: Swearing, mentions of death, mention of fire, death by fire, self-loathing, enemies to lovers, SLOW(ish) BURN, mention of drug addiction, mention of dementia, angst, some fluff towards the end.

Word count: 3,721

Salt. Fat. Acid. Heat. These four simple elements were the building blocks to every culinary masterpiece. You lived and breathed by them, working tirelessly until you had perfected each individual component. Thousands of hours spent in the kitchen using every kind of stove, range, and grill; finally, all that hard work had paid off when you opened your own restaurant. The critics raved about your cuisine, you had a full house nearly every single night, and the headlines were calling you the next celebrity chef. Everything had been an absolute dream, until it became your worst nightmare.

You try not to think about the fire, although it was nearly impossible not to. You weren't sure how it started, just that is spread within seconds and engulfed everything in its path. You didn't even have time to run before you the flames completely surrounded you; you can still feel how excruciating the smoke felt in your lungs...and how you burned.

*BEEP BEEP BEEP*

The kitchen timer pulls you from your trance with a gasp. Your eyes quickly dart around as you momentarily struggle to gain your bearings. Right, you were in Charlie's kitchen at the Hazbin Hotel...and your pork chops were burning.

"Shit!", you exclaim as you scramble for your oven mitts. Luckily, you got to the meat just in time and started simmering your green beans and mashing your potatoes as the pork rested. The kitchen was your safe space, something familiar that brought you comfort as you struggled to process your death, how ironic it was that it was the same room you died in. It was more than just the familiarity of the space though, it was also that the kitchen was the only room that did not have any mirrors.

Accepting your demonic body proved a greater struggle than accepting your untimely death. You still looked very human, much more so than most other residents of the hotel, but your skin was littered with angry, red splotches- permanent burn marks. They were not raised and did not hurt, but were certainly unsightly(to you). Your hair was the same color it was when you died, but was singed on the ends and your eyes were now a fiery orange, the amber color far from a natural shade for a human. Most say you were lucky to get such a tame demonic appearance, but it only served as a reminder of how your skin crackled under the flame.

You were just stirring the sour cream and cheddar cheese into your mashed potatoes when the hotel guests started filing into the kitchen for dinner.

"Mmm smells great Y/N!", Charlie smiled at you before taking her seat.

"Yea Toots, I'm starving!", Angel called out as you were chopping the chives to garnish the meal with.

Everyone loved your cooking, immediately digging in as soon as you handed them their plate. Well...almost everyone anyways, there was a certain scarlet cervid demon that you could never get a read on whenever he ate what you prepared. Most of the time he just ate in silence with that spine-chilling smile on his face, not giving you a single clue as to what he was thinking.

Alastor and you were not exactly friends. The kitchen was his sanctuary as well, this particular kitchen in the hotel was his domain long before you ever showed up. But you refused to let him frighten you from the one place you felt at peace; so you struck an agreement that you would rotate meal duties and stay out of each other's way. You two really brought the old "too many cooks in the kitchen" phrase back to life.

The worst part of the whole ordeal for you was that you desperately wanted his approval. Alastor himself was a masterful chef, having a century of experience blending flavors together creating symphonies for the pallet. His creole meals-cooked entirely from just his memory- were absolutely to double-die for and you knew you would never come close to replicating them even with the best ingredients Hell had to offer. You had tried every kind of cuisine you could think of to impress him, from steak to lasagna and enchiladas to scotch eggs. He still gave you nothing- just a quiet meal, but at least he always cleaned his plate so that had to count for something.

But tonight you were hoping for a true reaction. This meal was the house specialty at your restaurant; you were hesitant to make it, there was so much emotional baggage attached so this once beloved dish. You took your time picking out the right pork chops- they had to be of even thickness and trim, as the star of the dish they could not be any less than perfect. You then made sure to get the freshest spices and produce you could find and pulled out every trick you knew from searing the meat in garlic butter to your added secret ingredients to the spuds This meal put you on the map in the living world, you were hoping it would at least put you in Alastor's orbit.

You carefully watched The Radio Demon's reactions as you ate, you were pleased with how it turned out- the pork was juicy and tender with just the right amount of crust seared into the flesh, the green beans had a crispy garlic taste, and there was not a single lump to be found in your potatoes. Everything was perfect, magazine-worthy just like you relentlessly crafted it to be. So why did the crimson asshole look so fucking unimpressed?!

"How's the food Alastor?", you couldn't take this anymore, you needed to know what he thought. His blank and bored expression snapped your very last nerve; you were tired of being patient and waiting for some inkling of sentimentalization to form on his ever-stoic face. If he wasn't going to volunteer it himself, then you would pry it out of him forcefully. You turned toward him expectantly, effectively putting a pause on all dining table chatter.

The demon stilled momentarily, not expecting your abrupt outburst. He eyed you for a second before speaking "It's fine", and resuming his meal, that unimpressed mask back over his face.

You flinched back as if he had slapped you, your jaw nearly dropping to the table and eyes wide in bewilderment. "Fine? That's it?! This very dish was going to win me a Michelin Star and you say it is just FINE?!!", your voice grew louder as you spoke. This was outrageous, the ultimate insult to you as a chef, the AUDACITY of this cherry-colored prick to sum up what you slaved your entire life away on in just a seven-letter synopsis.

Everyone else was staring at the two of you with wide eyes as you bristled, turning your entire body toward Alastor with a white-knuckled grip on your fork like you were preparing to stab him with it.

Alastor's response to your sudden rage was to calmly place his own fork down and fold his fingers together in front of his chin with his elbows on the edge of the table. He closed his eyes for a second before fixing them on you intently, however, his voice was calm when he finally spoke again.

"That is your problem Dear. Yes, the food is fine- it is very good actually- but you cook for praise, for critics, for awards. In doing so your cooking has fallen flat, it lacks originality, heart, dare I even say soul; in all the meals you have made for us I have yet to taste YOU in your own cooking. You have mastered every physical component of the process, but until you learn how to put yourself on a plate I'm afraid each dish will only ever be good- never transcending into great. I suggest you stop cooking for others and begin cooking for yourself Darling."

You gaped at him, mouth opening and closing like a fish as you fumbled over your own thoughts before saying the only thing that came clearly to mind, "Fuck you!!", you stood abruptly, desperate for any sort of upper-hand no matter how delusional that upper-hand really was. To his credit Alastor remained calm, looking like a patient parent waiting for their toddler to cease an illogical tantrum, which only served to piss you off more. "Well if you deem my cooking to be so unworthy of the The Radio Demon's stomach," you spit his self-proclaimed name out like it was a dirty word, "then how about you prove why that is? Face off with me in a blind taste test", you gestured to your audience of hotel guests. "If you are so much better than me then prove it- without magic! Compete with me on completely equal standing, just our own skills in this very kitchen", you cross your arms in front of you and glare down at the deer.

Alastor chuckled at you, "Very well Darling. Pray tell, what does the winner of this little competition receive?"

"Whatever they want."

"Hmm...are you sure that is a wager you want to make with me my dear?", his aura turned slightly green and symbols of his magic began to swirl around him as his eyes flashed to radio dials for a brief moment, the static in his voice getting thicker. But you were not going to let him scare you...you had something to prove.

You raised your chin defiantly at him, "Absolutely certain- who knows?- maybe I will own your soul after I win." You let that idea simmer in the air between you two as you grab your plate to wash it, noting with satisfaction how his smile tightened and posture stiffened slightly.

"Well, as the one challenged it is only fair for me to choose our main dish. I will procure two identical venison steaks for us to prepare in whatever way we best know how in the same exact amount of time. The rest of your dish I will leave up to you. Sound fair enough for you?", he extended his hand toward you to solidify your agreement to the terms.

"Fine", you deadpan back to him as you take his hand in your own briefly before wiping it off on your pants- a show of dominance The Radio Demon often used himself.

His eyes narrowed at you, "Lovely!"

You were the first to leave the kitchen, followed closely by Alastor; leaving the stupefied and unwitting judges of your cook-off to gawk at one another.

"The fuck just happen?!", Angel was the first to break the silence, looking between each of the other residents in confusion.

"We just caught in the middle of a ridiculous, egotistical contest between our two cooks!", Vaggie huffed irritably.

"I wish they could just work together on meals instead of against one another", Charlie sighed. Vaggie gave her shoulder a comforting squeeze in agreement.

"Sooo...this mean we get two dinners tomorrow?"

You looked over your work station, recounting each and every ingredient at least 3 times. You and Alastor agreed 4 hours was enough time to make your very best venison dish. You were pulling out all the stops, deciding to make one of the most difficult dishes to execute correctly- a venison wellington made with homemade puff pastry. Making puff pastry itself was a long and tedious process and your timing had to be perfect or else the venison would be either underdone or overcooked. You knew that if you cooked this dish flawlessly you were sure to win.

Alastor created two identical workplaces, you agreed that he was allowed to use his magic so that you could cook at the exact same time but that is it. He sat at his own station with nothing but the meat set out and a coffee in hand. He looked up at you, "Are you ready to begin?"

Oh, you couldn't wait to wipe that stupid grin off his face, "Ready!"

With that Alastor started a countdown on the wall and nodded at you before opening his newspaper, not moving to prepare any ingredients at all.

You, however, were a flurry of activity; setting your flour in a small pile to meticulously wet bit by bit until you formed your dough which you then folded over a dozen times and flattened out. Once that was in the fridge you set out to beat your butter until you formed a neat 4x4 cube. Before you knew it an hour had passed and Alastor had yet to prepare anything. You narrowed your eyes at him, what the hell was he doing?

You had no time to fret over the deer demon, once your butter was cooled into a solid mass again you diligently folded your dough and butter together forming dozens of butter-pastry layers. Once that was finally finished nearly two hours had ticked off the clock. Alastor was finally chopping potatoes, carrots, and onions- taking his sweet time like he wasn't on a time crunch.

You couldn't help but smile to yourself, you were starting to feel a bit cocky considering your dish seemed to be far more complicated. Next, you worked on cutting up your own produce- onion, garlic, and mushrooms. As you mixed your spices together you melted butter in a cast iron skillet, watching as Alastor cubed his own venison. You seared your whole backstrap steak on all sides until a nice crust formed before wrapping the meat in a blend of your spices and minced produce before finishing it by wrapping it all in bacon. Finally, you wrapped the whole thing in your puff pastry before setting it in the oven to cook.

You peeked up at the clock- 30 minutes left. Glancing over at Alastor, you saw him standing over a large pot, stirring it slowly and humming a jazzy tune to himself. Was he making a soup? Did he really think that would be complicated enough to win a cook-off?

When your venison wellington was done cooking the crust was a gorgeous golden color. You cut into it and let out a breath of relief that the meat was a perfect medium rare. Everything was textbook perfection, you were about to hand The Radio Demon his ass, you bit your bottom lip to keep from giggling at your apparent victory.

As you were setting out the plates of food for the other residents- who were strictly forbidden from entering the dining room until you and Alastor had left so they would have no idea who cooked what- Alastor came in with his own dish.

"What kind of soup did you make?", you asked a bit snobbishly.

"This, My Dear, is my favorite venison stew", he replied merrily, obviously pleased with his dish and showing not an ounce of trepidation for his impending defeat.

"Interesting that you think a stew is worthy of a cook-off victory."

He stopped to fully turn towards you, eyeing you up and down with a look of disapproval, "Darling, the complexity of a dish is not the most important aspect. Sometimes the simplest dishes give us the most satisfaction."

His gaze was intense, he was boring right into your very soul as if he was trying to convey a secret message with just the look in his eyes. You look down "Er...yea okay", you feel your face go beet red, you could almost get lost in those eyes if he weren't such a dick.

The two of you go back to the kitchen to clean up your stations after letting the other residents into the dining room to eat and cast their votes for their favorite dish. You didn't speak, just let the sweet melodious notes of Jazz fill the silence. Just as you were drying your last bowl Charlie walked in with a piece of paper in hand.

"It...was unanimous. Just so you know we all really enjoyed both meals and it was REALLY hard to choose between them! And we by NO means prefer one of your cooking over the other! We all hope you both will continue cooking and not let this competition stop you from doing what you love!", she spoke in a rush. She carefully placed the folded paper down on the counter before taking her leave.

You snatched it up before Alastor could make a move for it; you took a look at the verdict and your heart plummeted into your stomach. There was absolutely no way, this had to be a mistake. You looked up at Alastor and it was clear he already knew the outcome based on the small but smug grin on his face. Grabbing a spoon you rushed over to Alastor's pot and took a bite of his stew permission be damned.

FUCK!

It was good, more than good it was downright sinful. The venison melted in your mouth like butter, the spices in the gravy transported you back to Grandma's house- visions of dinners together as a family came to mind as the nostalgic taste danced on your taste buds. The whole dish filled you with a sense of comfort and tranquility, like being wrapped in your favorite blanket by a fireplace with a book in hand on a cold winter's night. He made a dish that evoked literal emotions in the consumer...how were you ever going to compete with someone who could do that with a simple stew? He was right...your cooking was flat by comparison, like biting into basic sirloin compared to a beautiful wagyu porterhouse.

Tears filled your eyes but you refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing you cry in defeat. You rushed out of the kitchen as fast as you could not having any particular destination in mind, you just had to get out of the kitchen. You doubted you would ever return to it again.

Your tears steadily streamed down your face as you looked over Pentagram City from the hotel balcony. Questions about your identity plagued for mind- what were you supposed to do now? where did you belong? were you a fraud- an imposter- your whole life? should you just leave the hotel? what will Alastor want for his prize?

The sound of static alerted you to his presence behind you, but like a petulant child you kept staring straight ahead refusing to acknowledge him.

"It was my mother's recipe", he leaned over the railing beside you.

You finally looked over at him,"Huh?"

The deer demon chuckled softly, "The stew, it was my mother's recipe. She taught me everything I know about cooking, most of my happiest childhood memories involve my mother teaching me different techniques and dishes. Perhaps that is why I tend to get a bit possessive of the kitchen and meal prep." He smiled brightly down at you, your face flushed again at this unexpected and rare bit of honesty and vulnerability from The Radio Demon.

"Well you can have it back, I'm done cooking", you respond bitterly, your face hardening in disdain as you stare back out at the pentagram again.

"Well now Darling there is no need to be so dramatic! Why I bet all you need is to go back to your roots, remember why you started cooking in the first place! Now, tell me, what was your inspiration?", he leaned his chin in one hand as he waited for your answer.

You scoffed,"Well, I never knew my father and my mother was a drug addict who left my siblings and I to fend for ourselves most of the time. We went to live with my grandmother when I was eight. She did great raising us at first but then she developed dementia; sometimes she would forget to feed herself, let alone the rest of us. So I guess my inspiration to learn how to cook was the need to not let my family starve."you laugh humorlessly. "Grandma would remember bits and pieces here and there, teaching me certain recipes she enjoyed. Turned out I was pretty good at cooking so I checked out every book in the library on the subject, learning everything I could. I entered a tuition giveaway when I was 18 and earned a free ride to culinary school. It changed my life, I was determined not to let the opportunity go to waste. I swore that I would be the best, always taking my recipes to the next level to prove that I earned the positive turn my life took." You viciously wiped the tears from your eyes as they started up again.

Alastor remained silent during your rant, watching you with a contemplative expression. He understood your demand for approval now, the constant need to show your cooking prowess through complex dishes. You had something to prove, but you didn't realize you were trying to impress yourself more than anyone else.

"What do you want from me"?, you angrily whispered at him, glaring over in his direction. You figured he would ask for your soul, you'd be as unpleasant as you could be to him until you were under his ownership.

The deer hummed, "Join me for dinner."

You bellowed out an incredulous laugh, "We do that quite often Alastor. I told you that you could have your kitchen back, I have no intent on encroaching on your domain anymore."

"No, not at the hotel, there's a restaurant I would like to take you to. I hope you don't mind but I have already taken the liberty of purchasing you something to wear- it is a coat and tie establishment after all!", he twirled his cane in his hand, looking at you expectantly.

"Your kidding me right?", you were stunned.

"Nope! I do not believe I am!"

"You...you want to go on a date?"

"Yes, I suppose that is technically what you could call it. Now, how does tomorrow evening sound? I shall inform Charlie that we will be out, there's plenty of leftovers to keep our residents well-fed in our absence. Meet me in the lobby at 6 PM sharp and not a moment later My Dear!" With that he disappeared into the shadows, leaving you to stare at the spot he just vacated in shock.

You have a date with The Radio Demon...boy does the undead life come at you fast.

To be continued...

#hazbin alastor #alastor x reader #alastor x you #hazbin hotel #alastor the radio demon #alastor x y/n #enemies to lovers #slow burn #angst #alastor fluff

103 notes · View notes

whereianonymouslypostfics · 20 days ago

Text

Art Crawl

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x reader

Word count: ~1.8k

Summary: More Little Nat milestones

A/N: A two in one

Warnings: fluff, cuteness, minor angst, cursing

“Mama look!”

It’s Sunday night and your family is all gathered for dinner at your place. It’s as hectic as you expected with 7 adults, three dogs, and a toddler in attendance. You’re sure that Fletcher’s around somewhere but you haven’t seen her, so you don’t bother to include her. She’ll probably make an appearance at some point, but for now you’re focused on the full living room and kitchen as you help Natasha finish up dinner.

You glance over your shoulder at Natalya who’s still sitting in the living room with her Mama and Bucky. She’s been feely artsy lately, and both you and Wanda had been gifted many, many pictures of varying colors and shapes. You have over a dozen, and Wanda’s already begun to figure out how to hang them all up around the house.

You can’t tell what your four-year old is drawing from here, but you notice that both Wanda and Bucky are smiling widely at the likely incomprehensible picture. It’s mostly your daughter’s adorable smile that is making them happy anyway.

“She’s so cute.”

You can’t help but agree with this and you nod as you hand a serving dish to Nat for the mashed potatoes that you’d convinced Yelena to not add cheese to.

“She really is. I’ll have to show you the picture that she drew of her dogs.”

You definitely wouldn’t have been able to guess that they were dogs if Natalya hadn’t told you what she was drawing. She’d used a green crayon and it ended up looking like a lot of grass, but as always, Wanda fawned over it and added it to the gallery she was setting up.

You glance to Steve, Piet, and Yelena who are standing outside drinking or helping grill part of their dinner. The door’s opened so the dogs can come and go, but they mostly play out in the yard while it’s still light out. You turn your attention back to your daughter who’s already great at multi-tasking. She holds her crayon in one fist as she grabs a stray block and hands it to Bucky. With his help, but mostly on her own, she’s been building a tower of blocks that’s even higher than the table she’s sitting at. You’re pretty sure that if Natalya stood up, it would almost be as tall as she is.

“Uncle Bucky here! Please. Thank you!”

That’s another thing that Natalya was great at. She’d learned to say please and thank you early on, and she said them both almost always at the same time. You and Wanda figure you can wait a bit to correct her. It was just so cute.

You and Natasha finish up dinner around the same time that the trio outside does. You smile as you watch them all step into the living room with the dogs on their heels. You are walking out of the kitchen toward the table with the potatoes in hand when Rogue runs to greet Wanda. Unfortunately, he knocks over Natalya’s block tower in the process and sends them scattering with his tail.

You wince and Wanda opens her mouth to scold Rogue, but both of you fall short when Natalya speaks up.

“Shit!”

You nearly drop the bowl in your hands. You have to hurry to set it down as you stare at your daughter in shock. Everyone else has frozen, except the dogs, with similar looks of disbelief on their face. Unfortunately, Wanda looks horrified and is the first one to react. Pietro eventually looks like he’s about to start laughing, but luckily Wanda speaks up before this happens.

“Natalya! Don’t say that, please. It’s a bad word.”

Everyone watches with bated breath as your daughter mulls this over with a frown. She looks to her mama before turning to her drawing that you can see looks like a black hole now that you’re closer. You ignore Boone when he comes up to you. Your full attention is on your wife and daughter as Natalya’s expression turns petulant.

Uh oh.

“Why?”

Wanda reminds herself that Natalya likely doesn’t know that what she said was bad. Even if she does, Wanda needs to be careful with how she explains this. She knows her daughter is smart, but even at such a young age, she sees a rebellious streak on the horizon and she doesn’t want to encourage that so soon. She takes a deep breath and resists the urge to look to you for help as she shakes her head with a frown.

“Some words shouldn’t be used. There are better ways to say how we feel.”

All of the adults who are still paying attention wait for Natalya to agree and move on. Hopefully she’ll continue drawing while the table’s set and then this entire ordeal would be forgotten. At least for the time being.

However, when Natalya looks to you, you feel as if you’re about to be thrown under the bus.

“But Mom said it! When she was singing.”

You want to crawl into a hole, or better yet, fall into the black hole that Little Nat had drawn when your wife turns to you. The look in her eyes tells you that you’re in trouble later, and you try not to shrink back in fear and shame. However, now that you’ve been dragged into the conversation kicking and screaming, you suppose it’s your turn to say something. For the life of you, you can’t remember what Natalya is talking about. You’ve always been very careful to not curse around her. You had been determined not to be the reason why Natalya knew curse words.

Obviously, you’d failed.

When you manage to find your voice, you have to clear your throat because it’s dry all of a sudden.

“Singing?”

You should have left well enough alone. Or at least been more specific because you forgot how toddlers took everything literally. Sometimes it was cute, but right now it was really, really annoying.

Natalya’s face lights up as she starts to sing before returning her attention to her drawing. She probably figures that she’s about to end the conversation instead of make it worse.

“Yeah! The “I’m Like a Virgin” song!”

You feel your face heat up and it’s only a millisecond later that you hear Pietro start to cackle. You turn to him and see that Steve’s covering his mouth while Yelena’s smiling widely. You turn to look over your shoulder when you hear Natasha clear her throat. Great. You’re glad that everyone is entertained. That they’re enjoying your misery.

Wanda’s eyes widen and you know for sure that you’re in for it because she shoots you such a ‘are you kidding me’ look that you have to turn away. You decide that you have to try to fix this now, or you’ll certainly be sleeping on the couch for the foreseeable future.

You ignore your friends that have started to scatter and help set the table, to move toward the couch. You watch Bucky escape to the kitchen as you nudge Rogue out of the way before sitting down beside Natalya. You sigh and pointedly don’t look at your wife as you reach out for Little Nat’s shoulder.

“Your Mama’s right, Nat. I shouldn’t have said it, so you shouldn’t either okay?”

Natalya glances up from her drawing with a worried look that you hate you may have caused. You risk a glance at Wanda and as expected she’s focused on Natalya. You resist the urge to squeeze your daughter’s shoulder tighter in hopes that this will somehow communicate your desire for her to help you out. You know there’s no avoiding Wanda’s wrath, but hopefully it will be a little less…intense after this.

“So, I’m not in trouble?”

Natalya’s shooting you such a hopeful look that you can’t help but shake your head immediately. You quickly realize that you should be more specific because it’s only come back to bite you in the ass once already.

“As long as you don’t say the word again, no. You’re not in trouble.”

Natalya smiles at this before nodding and returning to her drawing. She starts to happily hum, luckily not“Like a Virgin”, under her breath, and you finally breathe a sigh of relief. You shoot Wanda an apologetic look that she just frowns at before standing up.

“Natalya we’ll be right back.”

You cringe but don’t hesitate to stand up and follow your wife into the den. You walk past your snickering friends and move to sit on the couch as Wanda slides the door shut behind her. You take a deep breath preparing to apologize, but Wanda beats you to it.

“Seriously, Y/n? What happened to not cursing around Natalya?”

You shake your head before you groan under your breath. You still can’t remember when you would have done this. Sure, you sang out loud sometimes, but it was never something so inappropriate. Actually, you’ve been singing Disney songs for the most part because they were the safest. Certainly, safer than Madonna.

“I don’t know, Wands. I really don’t remember what she’s talking about.”

Wanda’s frowning as she puts her hands on her hips and you honestly feel like a chastised little kid when she uses her ‘mom’ voice on you. You’re not sure when her stern voice transitioned from mob boss to mom, but you aren’t sure you like it any better.

“Well obviously you did since she heard you.”

Since there’s not much you can say to make this better, you just stand up and reach out for Wanda. You’re not surprised when she shakes you off and shoots you a glare that pins you in place. You switch tactics and look down at the ground before managing to meet your wife’s annoyed gaze with a contrite one.

“I’m sorry, Wands. I’m really sorry. I promise I won’t do it again. I won’t ever curse in front of Natalya again.”

You think about falling to your knees and pleading when Wanda just stares at you, but eventually she sighs in defeat. You still think you’re going to have to apologize again, but when Wanda just shakes her head and turns toward the door you decide that it might just have to happen later. Wanda might just need some time to forgive you.

“Alright. Well let’s go eat now. Everyone’s waiting on us.”

You follow Wanda out with your head held high like you didn’t just get scolded. You see that most of your friends are standing around the table talking to Natalya, but you don’t see your brother-in-law. You turn and spot him in the kitchen, and you frown when he smirks at you.

“I made it through the wilderness…”

You roll your eyes and scoff at Pietro before shooting him a glare.

“Fuck off, Piet.”

You failed to realize that Wanda had stopped to wait for you until you hear her gasp from behind you. You curse yourself again and close your eyes with an inaudible groan. You’ve really done it now.

“Y/n!”

Little Nat Adventures

#wanda maximoff x reader #silver springs drabble #silver springs #natalya maximoff #little nat adventures #post mob au #post mob life

84 notes · View notes

halloweenbitch2764 · 16 days ago

Text

It's A Scream, Baby! (Reboot)

Billy Loomis x Reader x Stu Macher

Chapter One

F/C- Favorite Color

Y/N- Your Name

F/B- Favorite Book

I sighed as the last box sat in front of me on my bed. This is what I needed, a fresh start. My first year at college wasn't horrible, but it wasn't great. I needed a college that would better suit my major, and I found one. It was in a small city located next to the infamous Woodsboro. I didn't even live there to see what happened, but I did some digging, and it wasn't hard to figure out. The whole situation left a bitter taste in my mouth.

A killer had terrorized the town a few years before, "Ghostface" as they were called. They would break into unsuspecting teenagers' houses and kill them viciously. Somehow, the police had never caught the suspect, and the killings had stopped. People still hadn't stopped talking about it online. They desperately wanted to be the one to figure out who did it.

I snapped myself from my thoughts and opened the box. The box mainly contained school supplies. I pulled out my backpack and started packing the supplies into it. Pencils, pens, notebooks, and much more were loaded into the F/C bag. Suddenly, the door opened.

A woman with strawberry blonde hair and green eyes entered the room. She had a box in her arms and walked to the bed opposite me, setting it down. 'I forgot I had a roommate. I think the paper said her name was Ashley Hansen.' I thought. She turned to me and eyed me up and down, seeming to size me up. "Oh hi, I'm Y/N-" I barely got my name out before she spoke. "Listen, I don't really care what your name is. We aren't friends. We just share a room. Keep your stuff on your side, and we shouldn't have any problems."

I was taken aback by how blunt and rude she was. 'Well, this isn't off to a great start.' I thought. I just nodded to what she said and went back to unpacking. After a couple of hours passed, I had everything set up the way I wanted it (making sure none of it ended up on my roommates side). I dusted my hands off on my pants and decided I wanted to go for a walk. I didn't really want to be around Ashley.

I left my dorm and started walking. The campus was fairly big, and I walked on the sidewalk, simply observing the buildings and their names. I crossed the road and made it to a small park that sat across from campus. It had a playground, some benches, and some trash cans. It wasn't anything impressive. I walked into the park and sighed softly. Traffic whizzed behind me, but the trees blocked some of the noise.

The noise became more muffled the deeper I went into the park. I heard a noise and stopped, looking down and noticing a paper. It looked old. It was crumpled and slightly torn. I bent down and picked it up, smoothing it out and reading.

"Meet at the south side of Saint James Campus at midnight."

I furrowed my eyebrows in confusion. What was this referring to? Had this already happened? Was it happening tonight? Many questions fluttered through my mind as I read and reread the note. I checked my watch to find it was around seven o'clock.

As if knowing the time as well, my stomach growled. I folded the note and stuck it in my back pocket. I decided to head to the dining hall.

Once I got seated after getting my food, I began to eat. Questions about the note still weighed on me. "Can I sit here?" A feminine voice asked. The voice snapped me out of my thoughts, and I looked up at the woman. "Oh, yeah - Sorry I wasn't paying attention." She smiled and waved her hand, sitting down. She began to eat her food, and I slowly ate mine. "So what's got your mind going?" She asked between bites of food. "Oh, well..." I wasn't sure if I should share what I had found.

I grabbed the note from my back pocket and unfolded it. "I found this today. Do you have any idea of what it could be talking about?" I asked. She read the note a couple of times before shrugging. "I have no clue. I don't recognize the handwriting. Though it does kind of look how the rumors describe..." She trailed off. My curiosity instantly piqued. "What rumors? I'm new to campus, so I haven't heard anything." I explained. She nodded.

"Well, basically, there's rumored to be a cult on campus. One that worships Ghostface. Have you heard about them yet?" I nodded. "Well, supposedly, that's happening, but nobody has been able to prove it. It's basically just an urban legend." She explained. I nodded again. "Weird." She hummed before taking another bite. Her eyes suddenly lit up, and she quickly swallowed her food. "I'm sorry, I forgot to ask you your name. I'm Amanda." I smiled at her. "My name is Y/N. Nice to meet you." She nodded in agreement.

We spent a little bit eating and conversing about where we came from and why we were going to college at Saint James. Suddenly, her pager beeped. She looked down at it, and her eyes widened slightly. "I hate to cut this short, but I have to take this. I'll see you around?" I nodded, and she smiled, taking off to take care of her business.

I got back to my dorm around eight-thirty and found Ashley was not in the room. She had seemingly unpacked as well. Only a couple of boxes sat on the floor by her bed. I sat on my bed, grabbed F/B off my nightstand, and began to read. I waited for Ashley to return, but each hour passed with no sign of her. I would be lying if I said I wasn't happy about it.

Eleven-thirty rolled around, and I decided to head to where the note said. I exited my dorm and headed for the south side of campus. The walk wasn't too long since the south side was close to the dorms. I arrived about ten minutes early to see people already arriving. They wore masks, similar to the one Ghostface wore but more homemade and black hooded robes. They seemed to be setting candles up in a certain formation and lighting them. I hid behind a tree and watched them. Was this the cult Amanda had spoken about?

As the time drew closer to midnight, more people came dressed in the same attire. Suddenly, one of the members turned in my direction. Before I could duck back behind the tree, they spotted me. They walked over to me and grabbed my arm, pulling me out and towards the other members. I struggled, but it was no use.

"Well, who do we have here?" A masculine voice asked. I looked in the direction of the voice. This member stood out, having a red robe instead of a black one. "Are you looking to join us, perhaps?" It was then that I noticed the knife gripped in his hand. "O-Oh well, actually -" The man cut me off. "You've heard of the all mighty Ghostface, correct?" I nodded slowly. "So you'd like to worship him with us?" I noticed the members beginning to close in around me. I noticed each of them also had a knife. They were different from the man with the red cloak, though.

"U-Um...okay." I felt like I didn't have a choice. Join their cult or be crucified to Ghostface. I didn't feel like being murdered today. "Fantastic. Let us begin intitiation. What's your name?" The members backed away and formed a circle around me, and the candles with the man in red at the front. "Y/N."

He beckoned me to him as I stood, frozen in the center. "In order to prove your loyalty to Ghostface Y/N, you have to cut the back of your hand. You must make it deep enough to leave a scar. Once that is complete, you will officially become a loyal servent." I started to panic internally. A blood ritual? Just how crazy were these people?

All of the members started chanting a phrase as the man in red approached me. He offered the blade to me. It seemed stained with a rust colored substance. It clearly wasn't new. "Before you cut yourself, know that this blade was Ghostfaces. This blade ended the lives of many people. Respect the blade." I nodded before reluctantly taking the knife.

I pressed the sharp edge to my skin. I felt so many pairs of eyes on me. It sent shivers down my spine. I took a deep breath before pressing down on the back of my hand, dragging the knife across the flesh. I bit my lip to avoid crying out and pulled the knife away. Blood seeped from the wound and dribbled onto the dirt below.

The members lowly chanted something before ceasing all at once. "Welcome to the group."

#slasher x reader #slasher fandom #slasher fucker #x reader #billy loomis #stu macher #billy loomis x reader x stu macher #billy loomis x reader #stu macher x reader #its a scream baby #scream #scream 1996

56 notes · View notes

sunvmars · 10 months ago

Text

a quiet hue || s.r.

pairing: steve rogers x reader

*navigation/directory | request box | taglist | masterlist | latest fic

word count: 5.1k summary: desperate for a cure for your blocked creative flow, you take a trip to the roof of your apartment to overlook the city for inspiration. that's where you meet Steve, discovering he's your new neighbor. needless to say, meeting him aids your motivation, and opens up the possibility of something more. warnings: brief almost sexual encounter, swearing, four uses of 'y/n.'

Dull moonlight streams through the open window of your apartment, coating your studio room in a soft white tinge. The faint bustling of the city outside and the hum of your favorite vinyl record provide a constant, soothing backdrop. However, the familiar sounds do nothing to aid your frustration as you stand in front of your easel with a blank canvas on it.

Your brush hovers mid-air, desperate to pick up any color to put down on the clean slate. Yet, when you try to come up with anything to paint, you end up coming up with nothing at all. All inspiration and creativity have been slipping through your fingers like water for the last few weeks. You spent many hours of those last few weeks in your studio alone, and it's starting to feel pointless to even try anymore.

"Come on," you huff in irritation. "Give me something, anything."

Your phone buzzes in your pocket, breaking you out of your concentration. A groan escapes you as you pluck the phone out of the pocket of your painting apron. You crack a smile upon reading the notification, a text you'd gotten from your best friend, Elizabeth. She's urging you, yet again, to introduce yourself to the "hot guy," who just moved in across from you.

Elizabeth lives four doors down from you and has always taken it upon herself to tell you every time someone new moves in. The guy had only moved in last week, but she already insists that you two would be perfect together. How she knew that after only meeting him once, you weren't sure.

You respond with, "Liz, I've been in a creative crisis for three weeks. No time for 'hot guys' right now," before slipping your phone back into your apron. Your attention returns to your pitifully plain canvas as you mentally curse your idea-void brain.

After a few more minutes of nothing but frustration, you finally give up. You step away from your easel and sigh, deciding to go to the rooftop to relax. On most occasions, you would keep trying, but maybe some fresh air and raw sunlight could help you, you figure.

When you step out onto the rooftop, you can't help but be amazed by the view of the city. The skyline stretches out before you in muted blue and black hues, and the moon bathes everything in a cold, white glow. The city's constant motion, the people and cars below, are a stark contrast to the stillness that has enveloped your artistic abilities.

You plant yourself in a chair that overlooks the city in the corner of the rooftop. Over the last two years that you've lived here, said corner has managed to accumulate quite a bit of furniture. Now it's decorated perfectly with an outdoor couch, two chairs, a small table, a few potted plants, and globe string lights that stretch across the railing. The quiet oasis has often provided you with solace, and you hope for it to do just that tonight as well.

Leaning back in the chair, you close your eyes and allow the gentle breeze to caress your face. The cool air seeps into your skin, and for a moment, you feel a sense of peace. Distant noises and the bright lights of the surrounding buildings have become a familiar comfort for you. In fact, it's so soothing that you've gotten lost in thought, not hearing the door creak open or the footsteps approaching you.

"Mind if I join you?" a deep, but kind, voice asks, effectively startling you out of your tranquil thoughts.

Your eyes open immediately and land on the man standing beside you. He's fairly tall with blonde hair that almost looks like honey, and he has crystalline blue eyes that make your heart skip when your gaze meets his.

Instantly, you realize that you've never seen him around the building before. So, at first, you don't recognize him, but he seems familiar. Then it suddenly connects; he's Steve Rogers, meaning that Captain America himself is your new neighbor. And Elizabeth had definitely left out that tiny detail on purpose. She knows you don't care for titles or status, but it's still a little jarring.

"Oh, no, not at all," you respond meekly.

He offers a warm smile as he sits in the chair beside you. "I'm Steve," he says, his eyes lingering on you.

"Y/n," you introduce yourself. "You must be the hot new guy."

Heat makes its way to your face as soon as the words leave your mouth. Your gaze drops to your lap, suddenly feeling nervous under his friendly stare. Steve chuckles heartily, and it puts you at ease a little, a smile growing on your face.

"I'm so sorry, those were not my words," you explain.

When you look back up at him, he has an eyebrow cocked up and a slight smirk tugs at the corners of his lips. Embarrassment crawls back into you as you realize, yet again, you'd said something that was easily misinterpreted.

"I did not mean it like that. I meant that my friend, Elizabeth, said you were hot, not that I did- not that you're not attractive, but-" You cut yourself off with a groan, briefly covering your face with your hands out of mortification. "She has been trying to get me to meet you, in her words, "the new hot guy," since you moved in. She's convinced that we're soulmates or something. Now, please say something before I embarrass myself again."

Steve laughs a soft, genuine laugh, finding your rambling nothing short of adorable and endearing. "No worries, I'm flattered by your friend's enthusiasm," he reassures you, "But for the record, I don't think that I'm the attractive neighbor here."

Picking up on what he's insinuating, you shift in your chair slightly as you speak. "I- I...uhm... Thank you," you stammer nervously.

He hums to acknowledge your appreciation before leaning back in his chair with his hands clasped together on his chest. "So, what're you doing up here by yourself? Just enjoying the view?" he inquires, his attention switching to the city overlook in front of you.

"I guess you could say that. Really just having a creative block, and this is the only place that distracts me from the frustration."

"I get that, it is beautiful out here," he says in agreement. "What kind of art do you make?"

"Out of all the creative hobbies, how'd you know I make art?"

"I just had a feeling. You've got a certain...energy, I guess, that seeps from you."

"The stereotypical miserable and struggling artist energy?" you joke, chuckling momentarily. "I usually just do paintings, mainly on canvas or paper, but sometimes I do little sketches."

Steve's interest piques as he listens to you talk. He sits up some, his head turned to you, giving you his full attention. "That sounds fascinating. I used to dabble in drawing myself, so I'd love to see your work sometime."

A small smile forms on your face. "I'd be more than happy to show you. Once I get out of this little rut, that is," you respond. "Why did you stop drawing? Do you not enjoy it anymore?"

His gaze shifts away briefly, his expression turning more contemplative as he speaks, "I guess life just got in the way at some point. When you're caught up in a world that's moving so fast, sometimes you lose touch with things that used to bring you joy."

You listen intently as he speaks, his words resonating deeper than you can explain. Even though you've clearly led and lived two different lives, you feel a sense of instant connection based on the few words he just spoke. More than anything, though, you both admire and appreciate his vulnerability with you- a total stranger to him. His openness makes you all the more comfortable around him.

"I understand what you mean," you reply empathetically, "sometimes you just need a little spark, something that reminds you how much you love your passion, y'know? Maybe you'll find that soon."

"I hope so," Steve says with an appreciative smile, his eyes locking with yours once again. "Or maybe I've already found it."

"Already? Please do share the secret as to how you did that so fast."

"Well," he starts, "she's sitting right next to me."

His words linger in the air and a warmth spreads through your chest, igniting something that had been dormant for a long time. You chuckle for a moment in an attempt to brush off the nerves pooling in your stomach. After a second or two, you build up the courage to speak again.

"You're quite the charmer there, aren't you? If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were flirting with me, Steve," you tease with a playful glint in your eyes.

He responds to your teasing with a chuckle of his own. "I suppose I am being a tad forward, but I just couldn't resist. Is it working?"

Your cheeks feel just as warm as your chest, and you find yourself caught in his magnetic gaze. "I would say it is, but you are my first real conversation in weeks, so take that as you will," you admit, a shy smile spreading across your face.

"I'll take that as a win, then," he replies with an endearing grin.

Time seems to go by quickly as you two continue to talk. Sometimes you both go off on random little tangents, straying off-topic before finding your way back. You talk about what got you into art in the first place, your time in school, and how you ended up in the city. Typically you're more reserved than most, but his genuine curiosity about you makes you feel chatty. It feels like you've known him for years rather than a short hour and a half.

He's more of a listener than a talker, you observe. He mostly sympathizes with you, occasionally sharing related moments from his past, and sometimes he'll briefly mention his job. Nevertheless, you don't mind him hardly speaking of his work, because even though it's interesting, it's not what you care about most. And luckily for you, the simple human under the heroic title is much more interesting, and has more in common with you in terms of interests, beliefs, and hobbies.

Steve sits straight up in his chair and breaks the comfortable silence that had settled, "I think this might be the most intriguing and honest conversation I've had in a while. So, thank you."

"It's no problem, Steve. And thank you for helping me get some of my inspiration back, and for listening to me ramble," you reply softly.

He turns his gaze to you, his eyes twinkling under the lights and his expression warm. "I'm glad I could be of some help. I must say, your company has been the highlight of my day- my month, really. Maybe your friend was right, but I think I was the one meant to meet you and not the other way around," he muses truthfully.

"And I think you may be that spark I needed," you smile, inspiration now running freely through you, "I suppose I'll go try my hand at that canvas again now."

You rise to your feet, eager to see what comes from your newfound muse. "It's been nice meeting you, and I'd love to talk longer, but if I lose this ounce of motivation then I just might so crazy."

Steve also gets up from his seat, a genuine fondness in his eyes as he says, "No worries. It's been a pleasure, but I've got an early morning tomorrow anyway. Would you like me to walk you back?"

"Seeing as you're across the hall from me, it'd probably be an awkward walk back if I said no," you joke.

Steve lets out a hearty laugh, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "You've got a good point there. Let's go, then."

You nod in agreement, your smile matching his. Together, you walk back to your respective apartments, grateful for each other's company. As you unlock your door, you turn to face him with a thankful smile.

"Again, thank you. I look forward to seeing you again sometime," you say, pondering on your thoughts for a short second before adding, "I'm usually out there around the same time every evening; if you'd like to come out again tomorrow, I'd love the company."

"It's no problem, truly," he replies, offering you a reassuring smile. "And I'd love to. I'll be up tomorrow to visit you, but you know where to find me if you need me before then."

You hum in approval, stepping inside your apartment. Before you can close the door behind you, his voice speaks up again.

"Oh, and y/n?"

Opening the door fully, you look at him from across the hall, his figure standing facing you in his doorway. "Yes?"

"Thank you for treating me like I'm just Steve and not like, well, a 'hero.' It's a nice change of pace."

A welcoming smile graces your lips as your head tilts slightly to the side, your voice soft-spoken, "Well, that is who you are, isn't it? To me, you are just Steve."

The corners of his lips tug up, and his eyes hold a mixture of gratitude and sincerity. "That means more to me than you know. Have a good night, okay?"

"You too, Steve."

With that, you both close your doors. You return to your studio and throw your apron back on. This time, it's easy to come up with an idea and let your brush ghost over the canvas. Strictly from memory, you paint the skyline from the view of the rooftop tonight. You paint all the stars, the dark clouds, and the moon before stopping for the night.

It all comes naturally until that point because, unexpectedly and ironically, you had taken your own advice.

You found your spark.

The very next night, Steve meets you on the rooftop again, just as he promised. And every night since then for the last three weeks, he'd met you on the rooftop to catch up and share your progress. There wasn't but one day when he didn't show up, and meeting to chat had become like a routine. Because of that, the two of you hardly messaged each other throughout the day even though you had exchanged numbers. Some days, however, he'd text you simply to check in on you.

The man has had an irreversible effect on you that you can't deny; he keeps you level-headed, and he's almost like a muse to you.

After you finished the skyline painting of the night you met, you kept up with the theme. You did other random sketches during the daytime, along with commissions to make money, but always painted some semblance of the night sky when you got home from talking with Steve. You'd decided to turn the paintings into a collection, and last was the piece that completed said collection.

You also decided that you would finally take Steve up on his interest in seeing what you've painted. So, you told him before you parted the previous night to come over around the time you'd usually meet.

Now, it's the night he's supposed to come over, and you invited Elizabeth over after her shift to watch a movie to pass the time. That's how you ended up on your couch, Liz sitting opposite of you with your legs across her lap. You're holding your fourth glass of wine, your hair is messy from laying down, and you've got a blanket slung lazily over your legs.

The fact that Steve is coming over had slipped your mind as soon as Liz put that third glass of wine in your hand. Had you remembered, you would been wearing more than you are. But thanks to the alcohol, you got distracted and forgot to change into more...conservative clothing. Now you're left only wearing skimpy shorts paired with your favorite painting shirt from earlier; a thin, black button-up that's now unbuttoned almost halfway, and your red bra visible underneath.

Contributing to your distraction is none other than Liz. She's currently talking your ear off about her new situationship. And you don't mind at all, taking more interest in her life than the movie.

"Wait, wait, wait," you interrupt her, giggling as you try to piece together your words. "He took you on one 'date' to a car meet in his fancy car, and that's all it took to have you wrapped around his finger?"

Liz chuckles and takes a sip of her wine. "I mean, it's not just the cool cars, or the fact that he drives a Corvette. He's sweet, really, amongst other things," she says with a sly grin.

"Are any of these "other things," including being good in bed?" you question, an eyebrow raised expectantly at her.

She bursts into laughter, her cheeks flushed from the wine and her confession. "You know I'm a sucker for that," she admits as she tucks a strand of her dark red hair behind her ear.

You join in on her laughter while bringing your glass to your lips. "You're shameless, Lizzie," you tease playfully, shaking your head in faux disapproval at her.

Unfazed by your sarcastic teasing, she grins mischievously. "Shameless and proud, my friend."

"And that's why I love you," you smile.

"I know, I love you too," she replies with a yawn, "But as much as I love you, I think I better get going."

You lift your legs, grumbling dramatically at having to move, and swing your legs off the couch. She chuckles at your exaggeration, placing her glass on the coffee table before walking to the shoe rack near your front door. She slips her shoes on and then walks over to the counter to grab her purse. As she prepares to leave, you stretch out your tired limbs, sighing at the feeling.

You stand up straight, walking towards her to offer a hug, your arms outstretched. "Thanks for coming over, Liz. Be careful out there," you say, embracing her tightly.

"I live four doors down, honey."

"Oh, right," you respond with a smile as you pull away from the hug.

"Get some sleep, bug," she chuckles. "I'll talk to you-"

A knock sounds on the door, cutting her sentence short. Her brows raise at you before she looks at the door and then back at you.

"You expecting company?" she questions.

"I guess so," you mumble, hurrying to the door.

When you open it, you're met with the sight of Steve, dressed in his usual casual attire. His hands are in the pockets of his jeans, and his eyes trace over you quickly before his expression becomes slightly flustered.

"Hey there," he says, giving you a meek smile. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything."

"You're not. Come on in," you reply, your cheeks warming as you realize how little you have on. Steve steps in, and you glance back at Liz, who's trying to stifle her laughter with her hand over her mouth, "Elizabeth was just leaving," you say with eyes narrowed in her direction.

Liz clears her throat, still trying to contain her laughter. "Oh, we're doing legal names now, l/n?"

When your eyes narrow at her once more, she finally lets out a laugh. "Alright, alright. I'll get back to 'just leaving' now," she says, slinging her purse over her shoulder, and slipping out of the door between the two of you.

She turns to give him a brief nod, but offers you a smirk, and then makes her way out. She sings, "Have fun," teasingly when she's just out of the door. You can't help but roll your eyes at her, and Steve chuckles.

"Thank you, Elizabeth," you remark sarcastically, closing the door behind her.

Steve speaks as you turn to face him, "She certainly gives quite the introduction."

"That she does," you sigh deeply, "I'm sorry for my underdressed state, Liz brought wine and I completely forgot you were coming tonight."

His gaze rakes back over you. "It is quite the surprise, but I don't mind," he starts, his eyes twinkling with something unknown as he takes in your flustered state, "Besides, you look fine- well, more than fine honestly, so I'm not complaining."

A shiver runs down your spine under his gaze, and you try to suppress a nervous laugh. You definitely hadn't expected that reaction, or that compliment, and it only adds to your nerves. It wasn't him you're nervous about, it's the attention that's unusual for you.

"Thank you," you say with a sheepish smile. "Uhm, I actually wanted to show you something. Follow me."

Steve hums, a smile crossing over his features, and he tries to force his eyes to stay off your figure while he follows you to your studio. He fails, though, and he catches a glimpse of your lower half when you walk. A deep blush tints his cheeks, and he's glad that you can't see it, but an obvious tent grows in his pants.

Upon entering your studio, you catch his flustered expression out of the corner of your eye. "You sure I don't need to change? Seems like I'm distracting you," you tease.

He clears his throat, stammering as he tries to regain his composure, "No, no, you're not... I mean, I just get distracted easily, but that's not me saying you look easy, or that you don't look great, 'cause you do, really, but I- uh, I'm so sorry."

A chuckle falls from your lips at his adorable, but not very common, nervous state. "I was just teasing. It's okay, Steve. Never thought I'd see you all shy and stuttering instead of me, though."

"You just have a way of making me feel... off balance, per-say," he says with a bashful grin.

Again, Steve's embarrassment is a definite contrast to the confident demeanor he usually carries, so you can't help but find the reaction endearing.

"Trust me, the feeling is mutual," you reply truthfully. "Now, back to the matter at hand. I wanted to show you these."

You gesture up at the collection of paintings that litter your longest wall, and Steve's eyes follow your direction. His gaze sweeps over the paintings, which he had missed initially due to his focus being primarily on you.

He takes a few steps closer to get a better look at the art in front of him. Each one displays a different variation of the sky and city lights, the canvases vary in size and tone, and every piece reflects a different emotion. Although they're all of the same sky, some are from different perspectives, and all of the cityscapes have a few differences.

You speak up after a few seconds and break the silence, "So? What do you think?"

He lingers on the paintings out of admiration, taking in every single one of the details of each painting. "They're stunning, I love all of them," he finally says. His voice filled with genuine awe as he adds, "You're incredible, truthfully, and I'm so proud of you."

"Thank you, Steve, but they wouldn't exist without you."

"Without me? What do you mean?" he questions, an eyebrow raised as he turns to look at you.

You smile and walk over to stand in front of him. Your eyes lock with his blue ones. "You're the inspiration for them- all of our conversations, the last few weeks we've met up there. Honestly, you've become my source of inspiration, and I can't thank you enough."

He lets your words soak in with softened eyes. Then his hand reaches out to delicately cup your cheek, and his thumb brushes your skin tenderly. Goosebumps litter your skin the second his hand meets your skin, and you feel your cheeks heat up, his touch making your heart pound in anticipation.

"I'm more than honored," he says, his voice warm and affectionate. "I'm glad I could be of help to you. You're truly talented, honey."

With each passing moment, you can feel your connection deepening, and so can he. The air in the room seems to have become charged with an unspoken understanding of yours and his feelings. His hand on your cheek, the feeling of his slightly hot skin on yours, has nerves pooling in your stomach. After a second, you find yourself leaning into his touch. You even allow your eyes to close for a brief second to savor the moment.

When you open your eyes, you find Steve's gaze locked onto your lips. His expression is one filled with a foreign longing and desire, along with traces of hesitation.

"Y/n," he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper, "can I..."

Before he can finish, you close the remaining gap between the two of you. Your lips press onto his with your hands on resting on his chest and his hands cupping your face. His response is immediate; he kisses you back softly as a simple exploration of the connection that's been growing for weeks. It's a gentle, tender action, and it's almost like he's testing the waters to see if the newfound attraction is mutual. And luckily for him, it is, and you can feel it in every shared breath.

Steve pulls away to give you time to catch your breath, leaving your heart racing. His forehead rests on yours as he smiles at you. The nervousness you felt has since dissipated, and now it's all been replaced with admiration.

"I've wanted to do that for longer than I'd like to admit," he confesses in a whisper.

"Me too. Is it bad that I'm tempted to ask you to do it again?" you ask, meeting his smile with one of your own.

His eyes sparkle with delight, a light chuckle falling from his mouth while his hand still cradles your cheek. "I was hoping you'd say that," he says, his lips brushing against yours as he speaks.

Once more, he leans down and captures your lips in another kiss. This time, the kiss is deeper, and...hungrier. One of your hands slides up his chest and behind his neck so your fingers can tangle in his hair. In response, his hands drop, his arms encircling your waist to pull you flush against him.

The need that's been simmering for weeks comes to the forefront as your lips move in sync with his. His tongue traces the seam of your lips, seeking entrance, and you part them willingly. Feverishly, his tongue slides into your mouth, the taste of him becoming nearly intoxicating. His hands trail from your waist to your lower back, and he attempts to pull you closer, but there's no more distance between you two to close. Your fingers tug at his hair gently in response, the feeling of his body on yours making your heart beat out of your chest.

Steve's lips move from your mouth down to your neck to leave a trail of fleeting kisses. Your breath hitches, a small whimper tumbles from your lips, and it only pushes him to keep going. His hands roam over your body and caress every curve as he occasionally grabs at your waist or hips. Delicately, his teeth nip at your neck just under your jawline. You whine when he pulls away, your eyes meeting his, your chest rising and falling faster.

"I know. I want you too, honey, but you deserve more," he says softly. "Let me take you out tomorrow, on a real date, and we'll see where it goes- does that sound okay?"

"Tomorrow sounds perfect," you reply with a smile.

He grins, returning your warm energy. "I'll be looking forward to it, but I should probably get going for the night. I'll pick you up at, say, six-thirty?"

You nod in agreement, your fingers twirling strands of his hair around them. "That works for me," you concur. "Let me walk you to the door?"

He hums softly, leaning down to place a kiss on your forehead and then on your lips. When he, reluctantly, pulls away, you miss the heat of his body immediately. Your fingers intertwine with his as you walk him out of your studio and to the front door. He unlocks the door before turning around to face you. Just as he's about to kiss you goodbye, you jump slightly, pulling your hand out of his.

"I almost forgot- just wait here," you speak in a hurried tone, heading back into your studio.

You pull out your desk drawer and take out the painting you had sitting in there. Steve's expression turns joyful when you return, the medium-sized canvas in your hands, and his eyebrow quirks up out of curiosity.

"What's this?" he asks.

With a bashful smile, you hand it over to him. "Just a gift for you, a little thank you for helping me."

He carefully takes the painting from you, his eyes lighting up as he gazes at the canvas. It's the painting you did on the first night you met; a beautiful depiction of the night sky from above with a cityscape beneath it, and two figures in the chairs on the roof. To anybody else, it would look like just that, two figures, but he knows it's the two of you. He recognizes that because, well, he has remembered every night since he met you.

His fingers glide gingerly over the brushstrokes, tracing the image admirably. "Oh, honey, this is beautiful. I'll cherish it, honestly, and I have just the place for it in my apartment," he says, his tone appreciative and endearing.

You beam at his reaction, reaching up to place a kiss on his cheek. "I'm glad you like it."

"I love it," he promises, his cheeks tinted a soft pink from your kiss. He leans down and places a quick, but still lingering, kiss to your lips before saying, "Goodnight, y/n, I'll see you tomorrow."

"Goodnight, Steve," you respond, watching him open the door and give you a small smile before leaving.

Once the door is closed, you lean against it for a moment, your heart fluttering with anticipation. After locking the door, you make your way to your bedroom, and your smile doesn't waver even once. All too eager for your date, you don't bother to change out of your clothes. You climb into bed, and it only takes you a few minutes to knock out, drifting off to sleep with a now content mind and full heart.

And unbeknownst to you, Steve falls asleep with the same level of contentment and joy in his own bed.

taglist!

@pigeonmama @rogersbarber @buckysprettybaby @nicoline1998enilocin @buckylovinglokivariant @mrsevans90

if you'd like to be to my general taglist, feel free to ask or visit my taglist form to be tagged in more specific fics :)

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x reader fluff #steve rogers fluff #marvel #marvel fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #captain america #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers × you #captain america x reader #captain america × reader fluff #fluff #captain america fluff #captain america x you #captain america x female reader #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers smut

207 notes · View notes

coupleoffanfics · 1 year ago

Text

Part 2- y/n becomes a child

Part 1 Here

She seems to be a big fan of cats. Anything with Hello Kitty on it she wants. Will run up to stray cats trying to pet them no matter how many times they tell her not to. “They could have a disease.” “But they’re so cute!”

Doesn’t fully understand when she says, “I’m looking for my parents. We’re playing hide and seek, I don’t really like playing it. I wanted played sequence. My dad must have helped my mom with her hiding spot because I can usually find her first. Once I find them we’ll go back home to my baby and older brother.”

Hearing this Damian goes to Bruce for answers. He knows of everyone’s upbringing, but he often overlooked y/n in the past. Something about her mentally blocking her parents' death. Bruce only says parents, so it makes him wonder whether or not…It doesn’t matter. He just makes sure that he won’t bring up her parents or try to convince her that Bruce was her father anymore. Or that he and the others were her real brothers.

Dick will bring y/n to the water park, zoo, etc for some bonding time. Trying to dethrone Jason’s spot of being her favorite. When going out this usually results in Damian tagging along. Though surprisingly y/n doesn’t like going out as much, so Dick tries to find another way to connect with her.

It's getting late and while in her pajamas jumps down each step of the stairs. Dick notices the book in her hand and offers to read it to her before bed. Look him straight in his eyes to say no and ask if he knew where Jason was.

He lied by saying that he already left even though he was down in the cave and he’ll just take Jason’s place as bedtime reader. She reluctantly agreed. Everything is fine until the story ends. She looks like she is going to burst into tears and he panics. The story didn’t have a sad ending or anything. It was just a frog and toad book.

Asking what was wrong, y/n looks at him. “They’re gone and they’re never coming back are they?” He doesn’t respond, the look of pity in his eyes was enough for her to start balling her eyes out. Crying for her parents. When he is going to get up to get Bruce she eminently freaks out.

“No! Please don’t leave. I don’t want to be left alone. Don’t leave me alone again!” Dick gets so emotional seeing his little sister desperately begging him to not be all alone. He stays behind and comforts her. Not leaving her side once.

The context of how they unintentionally neglected her when she got older made guilt build up.

After that y/n is more open with Dick and starts to follow him around a bit. Jason raises his eyebrow but doesn’t say anything. Dick would be a better influence than him regardless of how bitter it made him feel.

Tim doesn’t go out of his way to interact with little y/n. Though she does come up to him to share what food she has. She will not leave him alone unless he has some of her snacks. Reminding him of when she was done cooking/baking, she’d force him to take a taste test before anyone else.

She’ll go out into the garden to catch butterflies. Will not take a net no matter how many times it's offered. Damian sits back watching her as she creeps up on butterflies like a cat. Every time she goes up to him and asks if he knew what butterfly it is.

Doesn’t have a clue, but after that, he’ll look up all the different butterflies. Their names and small facts about them for next time. y/n inadvertently made Damian a butterfly wiki.

There will be sudden fits where she wants to paint someone’s nails. Goes up to the first person she’ll see. Place the Hello Kitty nail polish bag on the table and ask them, “What color do you want? Sparkly or no sparkle?” There isn't anyone that can say no.

So everyone in the manor will have painted nails. Bruce is in a business meeting, everyone sees his black-painted nails but doesn’t say a thing. If anyone were to ask he’d hold up a hand to show off and explain that his daughter wanted to paint his nails. He is expressionless the whole time, but if they looked hard enough then they could see the smile in his eyes.

Babs and Dick definitely take a few photos of y/n and send them to each other. It’s not every day that adult y/n allows others to photograph her. Now that she is a child without too many insecurities this allows them to take as many photos as possible.

Speaking of Babs, she’s just like Tim and Bruce. Doesn’t go out of her way to interact with her because she doesn't see the reason to do so. It’s fine after a few days until she starts missing adult y/n. The one who brings up random topics and has late-night texts with.

Wonders if she should inform y/n’s friend and boyfriend about this since they’ve been reaching out a lot. But decided against it. y/n is in a vulnerable state of mind and having even more “strangers” interact with her should just be avoided. Barb tells them that she’s broken her phone and is taking care of her sick auntie who is overseas. She makes up an elaborate lie and now y/n’s friend and boyfriend think she has an Italian auntie named Bianca Bellagamba.

One day Dick gets a drawing that he’s always dreamed of. A crayon drawing of his hero persona that had My #1 hearo! Everyone can see him internally squealing.

Everyone got a similar drawing, but she handed his drawing to him first. So obviously he’s the favorite brother and she clearly put more effort into his drawing.

Only Dick and Damian have thought of sabotaging the progress of returning y/n back to normal a few times. They’d be able to keep her in the manor safe and be able to rewrite their mistakes. Jason has thought of this too once, but he knew that it wasn’t right for y/n if they kept her like this.

The only reason Dick and Damian didn’t do anything as everyone was dead set on getting adult y/n back. Even if they were to sabotage their progress, it would just slow them down.

When y/n is turned back to normal she doesn’t remember anything after she was turned into a child. This breaks Dick’s heart more than it does Damian’s. Dick was making so much progress with y/n and now it's completely erased. Damian took this more as a way to understand and learn more about y/n.

y/n awkwardly thanks them before shuffling out manor. Babs will send the pics of little y/n to her later.

Most of the family’s view of y/n doesn’t change except for Dick and to a lesser extent Jason’s. Dick will see y/n even more as a child now. That one night when she begged to not be left alone again will motivate him to reach out to her. Spend more time together to make up for his absence.

Jason might view her a little more like a child, but he already saw her as one. Though this whole fiasco has made him a bit more protective of y/n. When out, he’ll check on her apartment just to make sure that she’s safe at home. If he finds her out for whatever reason when he’s on patrol then he’ll follow her until she gets back home safely.

Damian knows that little and older y/n aren’t exactly the same. It would be stupid to do so because she could grow out of things and has developed as a person. When he breaks into her apartment for a visit he’ll have a type of Hello Kitty memorabilia. y/n clearly hasn’t grown out of her love for the cat with a bow as the next time he breaks in, he sees that she kept the gift.

385 notes · View notes

mhahaikyuus · 6 months ago

Text

mafia geto pt 3

pt1 & pt 2

tags:; established relationship, fighting, angst to fluff, mentions of infidelity, arguing, drinking, yandere geto

word count:; 2.3k

a/n: likes and reblogs appreciated. hope you enjoy this little series

On the rare occasion that you were pissed you went back to your apartment without a word. Geto would check your location and god forbid you turned it off. He would hop in one of his many cars breaking every law with his driving and knock on your door until you answered. He didn’t want to fight but more importantly, he wanted you safe. He was a powerful man and now that you were with him meant a target on your back. Your location off sent chills down his spine.

You were in your bedroom sleeping when pounding at your door woke you up. Groaning already knowing it was your boyfriend with the way he pounded on the door. Grabbing a second pillow you smushed it to the other side of your head trying to drown the annoying noise out.

Geto wasn’t going to leave without seeing you. Leaning against the wall after knocking on that door “Baby just let me know you’re in here.” He called out with no response. “Don’t make me break this lock I’ll do it.” Geto yelled. He was nervous you weren’t answering. What if something had happened?

After hearing his threat you pulled yourself out of bed and swung the door open with the most dead expression. “Geto it is 11pm what the hell are you doing.”

He returned your glare and pushed himself inside. You called him Geto, he hates that. “You turned your location off.”

“Maybe because I have a stalker for a boyfriend and I don’t like you right now.” You snipped closing the door and following him to your couch.

Geto ignored the stalker comment with a roll of his eyes (a habit he had picked up from you). Sitting on your couch manspreading yanking his tie to loosen around his neck, running a hand through his long dark hair.

“I get your mad-“

“I’m not mad im furious. And you being here right now is only making that worse.”

“Do you know what could have happened to you?”

“I could not have you so far up my ass you can taste my spleen.” You snapped. You didn’t want to hear a safety lecture right now.

“Darling you’re not ever getting rid of me. I don’t care how mad you are we will work it out angel and you do not turn off your location.” He yelled standing up to face you.

You rolled your eyes with a small laugh pissing him off more.

Geto just drove all the way across town and you were still being “bitchy” He muttered

He could see your lips twist and your usually warm eyes radiating an ice cold stare at his words. “I will do whatever the hell I want and you’re not gonna tell me what to do.” You yelled back opening your door. “Get the hell out.” Only you could speak to him like this without fearing for your life.

Geto groaned dragging his hand over his face. There was no point in arguing with you when you got like this, he couldn’t talk this out when you were still scowling at him like that. Geto accepted his temporary defeat walking out the door with a slam following his footsteps.

You cried yourself to sleep that night and Geto poured himself multiple drinks to go to sleep, but not before sending somebody to watch your building.

Being your petty self looking at the 6 unanswered messages from your boyfriend and the anger from the recent fight you pressed the block button before throwing your phone away from you. Since you were so bitchy right?

The next morning Geto woke up with a horrific hangover and regret for how he handled last night. He let his anger get the best of him once again and you didn’t tolerate that. He lashed out even worse when he let his fear get the best of him, going through the worst case scenario when you turned off your location. Picking up the phone to call with an apology on the tip of his tongue to find out he couldn’t call you making him frown.

Weird.

He texted you once again for the 7th time and saw a green color instead of the familiar blue.

You had blocked him.

Geto felt his body go cold. Were you really mad enough to block him? And was it for good? No breakup or explanation just cutting off communication and moving on?

“Fuck!”

The bright sun from the morning was what woke you from a rough sleep. You knew that you would have to get out of bed today otherwise wallow in the sadness. All you wanted was a hug from him, but he was a jackass you were prideful. No way in hell were you going to apologize or make the first move when he was in the wrong. Today a couple blocks from your apartment was a farmers market you had been meaning to go to. Spending money you didn’t have to not feel sad was a habit you loved.

Dragging yourself out of bed to throw on a dress and sandals and a near-empty wallet to waste the day outside in the sun instead of the dark dungeons of your bed.

Coming out of your building you immediately noticed a black car down the street with tinted windows and you could almost laugh.

Suguru when you first got together taught you how to spot a tail. So him sending one to follow you was stupid, because not only did you know how to spot but also how to lose one.

Walking down the street with no facial expression you emerged yourself into the crowd and moved until he lost sight of you.

It took about four blocks within the busy city sidewalk but it was easy enough while killing two birds with one stone. The tail unable to find you as you slipped in between pedestrians and using moving vehicles for cover. The farmer’s market was only a block away. You spent the entire day buying whatever you wanted with your money without your phone blowing up.

Geto could’ve put a bullet in his guy’s head. “What the fuck do you mean you lost her.” He almost growled into the phone with an almost crushing grip on the device.

“She must’ve saw me and dipped into a crowd before I had a chance to track her.” The tail said shakily into the device hearing how angry his boss was.

“If you don’t find her I swear to god. You better not come back to this house or you’re a dead man.”

“Yes-yes sir.”

In the middle of you staring at a booth filled with jewelry, you felt a hand squeeze your ass. You jumped at the feeling and turned around ready to kill whoever put his hands on you.

Fury covered your features as you turned and immediately stopped when you recognize who it was.

He was looking down at you with a smile that you were of so familiar with.

“Did you miss me baby?” Haru smiled down at you.

“Stop grabbing my ass you perv.” You swatted him but felt relief. It wasn’t a random creep off the street trying to cop a feel.

“You know I can’t resist your sweet ass.” He joked and you snorted in response

Haru was one of your closest friends when you started college and he was very gay.

Haru wrapped his arm around you and gave you a kiss on your forehead swaying you back and forth. You returned the hug with a smile.

He was always very affectionate with you and it had been a while since you two had seen each other.

“I haven’t seen you in forever, you free to grab food?” He said pulling away.

It wasn’t like you had anything else going on today. “Yep. But you’re paying.” You said as he held hands with you steering you to a nearby street filled with restaurants.

Little did you know that while you were distracted by your affectionate friend, that your tail had found you once again.

He was talking pictures of your interaction from a distance. From the outside it looked really bad. A guy was all over you, groping you, hugging, and giving you kisses. Haru also dressed like a straight guy.

The tail was panicking. He already was threatened before to be killed and now you were cheating with proof.

He reluctantly sent the pictures to Geto’s phone as he watched you and Haru laugh over a dinner table.

You two talked for hours catching up on everything the two of you missed. The restaurant closing was your cue for you to wrap up dinner.

The sun was setting as he hugged you goodbye and you made it back to your apartment.

Unlocking your door you kicked off your sandals and dropped your bags before turning on the light.

Geto was sitting at your kitchen table with a glass of brown liquor in his hands. His eyebags were worse than usual and he had a sad scowl on his face. He had obviously been drinking for a while. His violet eyes bloodshot and heartbroken.

“What are you doing here.” You said with a frown walking further into your apartment once recovering from shock at his presence.

“If you’re going to end things with me. I need you to say it to my face.” He said with a slight slur and watery eyes.

“What the hell are you talking about.” You said with a huff still irritated just by his presence.

“I’m talking about you blocking me and then I see you with some asshole’s hands all over you in the street not even 24 hours later.” He grimaced bringing the glass to his lips with a tight grip and dark eyes.

You snort at him bringing up Haru. “First of all i don’t appreciate you having one of your minions stalking me. You think I don’t notice like i’m stupid.”

“So we're really done.” He said trying to not cry, ignoring your words.

You sighed and sat down in the chair.

“No like you said. We’re never really done. Just because I block you for a day doesn’t mean we’re broken up it means i’m pissed and don’t want to speak to you. And that guy who had his arms all over me. He’s my friend.-

-“What kind of”-

“my GAY friend. Haru is just super affectionate.” You finished before he lost it.

Geto squinted at you, “How do I know he’s gay.”

You stood up and sat in his lap. Suguru immediately wrapped his arms around your waist at your touch. No matter how drunk or angry he was at you, he would never pull away from your touch. You pulled out your phone and pulled up a video you had recorded. It was Haru sloppily making out with another guy in a dark club as you cheered in the background drunk as hell from a year ago.

Geto's bored eyes focused on the screen. You turned off your phone and turned towards him in his lap. You could see some of the tension wrapped around him lessening as the conversation continued.

Wrapping your arm across his back and laying your head on his neck. He rubbed your back as you sighed. He was jealous and very sad. As angry as you were you could tell he was taking this fight a little too hard. You didn’t like him so drunk and sad no matter how you were feeling. If you thought he was breaking up with you or cheating, you would also be in shambles.

“I’m tired can you lay with me.” You said snuggling into his neck.

“You’re not mad anymore?” He asked timidly happy you were still here. He was beginning to sober up a bit as the conversation continued.

“I was but i’m tired now and I would like to cuddle with you. I walked all day my feet hurt.” You admitted. The hot weather, losing the tail, and dinner took all the energy out of you today. Suguru also loved to cuddle you, it was one of the only things in this world that could soothe him.

Geto picks you up hands under your butt and carried you to bed. You tugged him into bed next to you.

“I love you, I missed you.” He mumbled a heavy weight lifting off his chest. You forgave him even if he didn’t deserve it.

“Im sorry I didn’t mean anything I said.” He said with sad eyes as you two slotted in between each other.

“I know. I love you too baby, even when you are a weirdo stalker that follows me and breaks into my house.” You said running a hand up and down his stomach accepting his apology.

Pulling your leg over his you snuggled into his chest and paused when you felt a familiar object around his waistband. You snuck your hand into his pants and pulled out his gun.

“Did you really have to bring this when you were coming to see me Suguru?” You said with raised eyebrows looking down at him from your elbow placing it on the nightstand.

Geto smiled at you using his name again. “I thought you were bringing that guy back.”He shrugged trailing his hand up your side

“And what you were going to commit a murder-suicide?”You asked laying on his warm chest.

“No I was going to put a bullet in between his eyes and take you home.”He said half asleep smelling your scalp, his favorite smell.

“You say that like you’re talking about going for a walk.” You said with raised eyebrows. Suguru rarely talked like this in front of you.

“Because I love you angel and seeing you with another guy makes it very easy.” He replied shutting off the bedroom lamp to finally go to sleep in your arms.

76 notes · View notes

ilyasorokinn · 1 year ago

Note

omgggg happy 3rd anniversary to you!!!! here's to many more to come 🥂 for this celebration can i please request, from the general fluffy dialogue prompt list number 8 + 9 with mat barzal pls? thank you!

WINNIE MARTIN’S FAVORITE PERSON

this is the first of my tumblr-versary blurbs, so if that annoys you, block the tag 'taylor's tumblr-versary' love ya <3

8. "who let you be this cute today?" 9. "can we wait a second? i wanna take a picture of you right now." (from this prompt list)

you tried to go to as many games as you could, but you had a job so making it to every game was impossible. but, when you could make it to games, mat made sure to plan ahead and make sure you were gonna have a good time.

"you have a ride, right?" mat asked from the bathroom where he was still getting read.

"yes, i have a ride." you sighed. a moment of silence enveloped you and you knew something was wrong, "you okay? you need help with anything?" you asked.

"...yes." he hesitated.

"you can't tie your tie, can you?" you smiled.

"no." you could see the pout on his face as you made your way into the bathroom.

"ooh." you teased, "mathew barzal, who let you be this cute today?" you teased, enjoying the shy smile on his face.

"stop please. just help." he handed you the tie he wanted to wear, but you shook your head, "what?"

"mat, i love you, but your sense of style is awful." you winced, recalling every bad fashion choice you had seen him make. you set the tie on the counter and grabbed a different one, one that better matched the suit he was wearing, and began tying it.

"i should.be offended." the smile on his face told you he wasn't.

"i'm saving you from ending up on people's worst dressed." you shrugged.

he rolled his eyes, "so, before i go, can i see what you're gonna wear tonight?" it was no secret that you loved dressing up for games. it was fun and you liked doing it. you usually had little pieces with his name, number, or team colors. something to show your support, and mat loved it.

"nope." you shook your head.

"what? why not?"

"that ruins the surprise," you told him.

"you're gonna make me wait till after the game to see." he pouted.

"i don't know. maybe i'll be there at warmups." you shrugged, smiling when he perked up, "i think syd's bringing win, so maybe i'll go down with them." she was your ride, so going down to the ice for warmups made sense.

"okay, well, i guess i might see you during warmups." he kissed your forehead.

"maybe." you shrugged, wrapping your arms around his waist, "try not to fall, okay?" he rolled his eyes.

"i don't do it on purpose." he insisted.

you smiled, "score goals." you told him, leaning up and giving him a quick peck.

"for you, always." he hummed.

after he left, you got ready as quickly as you could and before you knew it, sydney martin was pulling up outside your building, "y/n yl/n, you always put the rest of us to shame."

"oh, stop it." you smiled bashfully.

"i'm serious. how you do it astounds me." she ran her finger over the sleeve of your jacket, "doesn't y/n look pretty, win?" you looked to the backseat where winnie was sitting, clutching a stuffed animal.

"pretty." she smiled.

"thank you, miss win." you winked before getting into the passenger side.

true to your word, you followed sydney down to the ice for warmups and helped keep winnie entertained. you could tell sydney was a little tired, so you did your best to keep her attention.

when the boys came out, you couldn't help but smile when mat tossed a couple of pucks over the ice to a few kids. winnie's eyes were glued to the ice as she watched all the guys skate around.

matt skated over, making his daughter laugh, blowing her kisses and even tossing her a puck, which she clutched to her chest along with her stuffed animal.

when your mat finally skated over, sydney took her daughter back so you and mat could have a moment. he smiled, taking notice of your jacket. he spun his finger, and you gave him a little twirl so he could see your jacket.

he gave a thumbs up and a nod, which made you laugh. he tossed a puck over and nodded to a kid behind you, whose eyes were glued. on mat, watching him mesmerized.

you nodded and waved. as he skated backward, he waved and winked. you rolled your eyes before looking at the puck. you smiled when you noticed that mat had signed it.

you turned around to the kid, who looked at you, probably after having seen mat point at him. you laughed before you handed it to him, "this is from barzy." you told him, "have fun tonight."

you turned back to sydney, who had her phone out and was probably recording and taking pictures of the whole thing, "you guys are so cute." she hugged you, "now come on, let's get some drinks." you smiled when winnie raised her arms in your direction, a signal that she wanted to be picked up.

after the game, and an ot goal scored by mat, you waited with sydney and the other girls in the tunnel. you were sitting with sydney, and the entire game, winnie was in your lap. somehow she had gravitated from her seat into your lap, but you didn't mind.

"look, win, there's your dad." you pointed when you saw matt walk out. she gave him a wave, but yawned and laid her head on your shoulder, "i'm tired, too." you patted her back, making the martin's smile.

you waved when you saw mat walk out. he made his way over to you and hugged you, pressing a kiss to your cheek, "i'm proud of you. overtime goal!" you cheered quietly, not wanting to disturb winnie too much.

"i know. all for you." he smiled into your hair before pressing a kiss to the top of your head, "you ready to go?" you hummed.

"wait, wait, before you guys go." sydney stopped you, pulling out hr phone, "can we wait a second? i wanna take a picture of you right now." she begged.

"fine." mat rolled his eyes playfully, but posed for the picture nonetheless. after the picture was taken, you were going to hand winnie off to her parents, but she clung to you.

"come on, we gotta go home, winnie." sydney sighed, flashing. youan apologetic smile.

"how about this? i'll carry you in the car, but after that, i gotta go." you offered, and she nodded, "all right, let's go." you switched arms and started heading int he direction of sydney's car.

mat walked by your side, holding your hand and talking to you about whatever. unbeknownst to you, sydney, who was trailing behind you and mat, was snapping pictures.

you set winnie in her car seat and waved, "bye, winnie girl." you blew her a kiss and she blew you one back, which you accepted and held close to your chest, which made her laugh.

you walked back to mat's car, "that felt very domestic." he told you.

"keep dreaming, barzal. let's stick to babysitting."

"i know, i know." he raised his hands in surrender.

as you got waited for mat to get into bed later that night, you saw sydney's tag and checked out the instagram story. it was a photo she had taken, without your knowledge, of you and mat walking towards the parking garage, hand-in-hand, winnie in your arms, her head on your shoulder with the caption 'her favorite person ever ❤️ @/yourusername'

mat hopped into bed next to you and saw the post, "you're right. we do look domestic." you smiled.

"let's stick to babysitting." he joked.

taylor's tumblr-versary!

356 notes · View notes

lowkeychenle · 1 year ago

Text

Irrevocably (3) (M)

Description: Following the night of the party, all you want to do is be alone. Chenle, on the other hand, has other ideas, and is suddenly hellbent on proving to you he'll be better for you

Content Warnings: Angst (previous content warnings from other parts do apply, please check those out before you continue). Smut: explicit, rough, unprotected sex (let's make sure to use protection y'alllll), multiple rounds, why is chenle always pussy drunk i don't understand, use of pet names baby and pretty girl, temperature play (ice), oral (both), cockwarming (did y'all really think I could end a fic on a BAD NOTE when it's CHENLE WEEK?! no bye)

Word Count: 9,105

Pairing: Zhong Chenle x Reader

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Juliet's Full Fic Masterlist | Requests

Taglist: @anthropologymajorkpopmultistan

You wish you could say things changed for you. That you miraculously felt better after you broke down in front of Chenle. Maybe you’d be in a magical world of bliss at this point if that were the case. He’d finally realize all of the bullshit he did and beg for your forgiveness, but a man like him is too prideful to admit his mistakes. You know that now.

He stayed with you until you were calm enough to think rationally, but as soon as your thinking ability came back, you hightailed away from him as fast as you could. Thankfully, Jisung hadn’t been drinking, so he offered to take you home.

He was probably dying to know—not only why Chenle stormed after you and Mark, only for Mark and Chenle’s girlfriend to both stomp off in anger, swearing they’d never speak to either of you again. Although, it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what was going on. Everyone is suddenly painfully aware that you and Chenle have some sort of history that’s more than what you’d let on.

The first text from Chenle came that night. Apparently, he decided it was time to unblock you.

Chenle: I’m so sorry

All you can do is snort and drop your phone into your lap. You make sure to actually open the message so he sees you’ve read it without responding. He doesn’t deserve anymore of your time. Even if it is to apologize. You want to tear the world down when you see the two hearts next to his name, one in your favorite color, and one in his.

“You okay?” Jisung asks as he pulls up to your building. “I know we’re all friends with Chenle, but you’re important to us, too, okay? Don’t hold anything in if you’re hurting.”

Your throat is dry, and you’re sure your face is still red and puffy from all the crying you did. “Thanks, Ji. I really don’t feel like talking at all tonight. I’m sorry.”

“As long as you know I’m here if you need me.”

You nod once at him and thank him quietly before getting out of his car. Without a single look back, you head into your building. You’re not sure what to expect. Considering how Chenle’s been acting lately, his sad apology attempt is most likely all you’ll get. He’ll go back after his girlfriend, and you’ll end up blocked all over again before the end of the week.

Once you’re inside your house, you have the urge to curl into a ball on the couch with your favorite blanket and never leave the protection of the walls around you. With the door locked, nobody will ever be able to bother you.

Hours turn into days and days into weeks, and the most you’ve done is go to the grocery store once. Delivery has become your savior, but even that doesn’t sit right with you. To your surprise, Chenle continued to message you periodically.

Chenle: You have every right to be pissed at me. I know. All I want is to explain myself, okay?

Chenle: I fucked up so bad I know I did

Chenle: I need you in my life (Y/N)

You’re even more surprised when you don’t hear a single peep from Mark. Chenle was texting you at least once a day, and it seemed that as many times as he sent something to you, you were reaching out to Mark.

You love Chenle. There’s no denying it any longer, but you know better than to love someone who’s not emotionally available to you. Chenle already tore you down to the ground once.

Chenle: I’m not gonna give up until you talk to me. Even if it’s just five minutes

Chenle: I fucking miss you

Chenle: in a real way…i’m not missing anyone. I’m missing you. Please.

Chenle: I don’t even know what to say next, but I’m gonna keep texting you until you respond to me

On week three, he even went as far as to knock on your door. You hadn’t left or ordered any delivery, so you were confused as to why someone was there. Looking out the peephole, your breath faltered at the sight of Chenle. He had no right to show up. You hadn’t responded for a reason, and you’ll apparently have to move apartments to stay away from him.

“I know you’re there,” he says, voice carrying to you. “(Y/N), I really just want to talk to you. I don’t know how many times I can tell you I’m sorry before you believe me.”

You almost laugh and give away how close you are. It doesn’t matter how many times he says it, it’ll take much more than that for you to even consider talking to him. You watch him closely as his face scrunches up and he lets out a sigh.

“I’m not giving up. Ever. You’ll see. I need you and we both know it.”

The door must be thin, because when you let out a shuddering breath at his words, he perks up. It’s almost as if he’s looking right at you through the wood, like he knows exactly where you are.

“Just let me in,” he asks again. “I know what I did was wrong, and I don’t want to ask you to forgive me, but I do want to explain myself. If anything, it’ll give you some closure knowing this wasn’t your fault.”

Your heart rate escalates to the point you’re sure it’ll shatter upon impact with your ribcage. A tear rolls down your cheek, but you angrily brush it away. He doesn’t deserve your time, and he certainly doesn’t deserve to be in your safe space.

“Please. You won’t even have to say anything. Let me say my piece and then I’ll go, okay?”

This isn’t even the same Chenle you knew, you tell yourself. Nothing has changed. All he wants is leverage.

The tone of his voice makes it hard to believe that, but you steel your resolve. You have to ignore him.

After that, he slumps in defeat, sighs, and walks away. You let out a pent up breath, relieved he decided to go.

Or at least, that’s what you thought.

When dinner time rolls around, you don’t have any groceries since you’ve been holed up for weeks now. The only logical response is to order pizza. Plus, after the emotional wreckage Chenle left you in, you’ve earned it.

It takes about forty-five minutes for the food to arrive, and you gladly throw the door open. You recoil in shock at the sight of Chenle holding the box.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” You scoff.

“I gave the dude a $50 bill and he just gave it to me. I really just want to talk—”

“That’s not the problem, Chenle,” you cut him off, stomping off toward your kitchen. “You continue to disrespect boundaries and me, and it’s not okay. I’m having trouble figuring out why you can’t see that.”

“I’m sorry,” he says.

You stand on one side of the island, and he sets the box down on the opposite end, resting his palms against it.

“You deserve an explanation.” His gaze scans over you, guilt written all over his face.

“Another thing you don’t get. If I wanted or needed an explanation, I would’ve asked you. Actually, I did, and you not giving it to me was the answer. You’ve ruined everything for me. I can’t even talk to any of the guys without feeling like they’re pitying me.” You run your fingers through your hair. “You hurt me, and you’re doing it again by showing up when I said I didn’t want anything to do with you. You’re selfish. You only care about yourself and making up your image in my eyes so I don’t hate you.”

“Do you?” he whispers. “Hate me?”

“That doesn’t concern you anymore.”

“Either way, I know you should. I’m not here to make myself look better, okay? I don’t want you to excuse my behavior because it was beyond fucked up, but I want you to know that it wasn’t anything about you that made things work out this way.”

You pause, averting away from the pleading look on his face. “What could you possibly have going on to justify all of this bullshit?”

“It’s not a justification,” he clarifies. “I know it was wrong. All of it. I know I’m a shitty person for putting you through that.”

He takes your silence as approval to continue.

“Honestly, I miss you so fucking much. Before all of this, you were my best friend, and I know I was yours. I never meant for it to get this messed up, you know? I…Towards the end of our, um, situation, I realized I was in love with you. Real love. Love that made me want you in ways I couldn’t, because I already knew there was no way you’d feel the same.

“And so I gave up. I had to press the fucking panic button and get as far away from you as possible. Jia showed up at the right time, and I threw everything I had into her instead. I didn’t tell her about what we’d done, because I also thought that meant I’d have to admit to her what came along with it.

“Things got…serious, I guess. She was around my family and they all loved her. You know how important they are to me, so I felt so much pressure to maintain this relationship because they’d never been so excited about me being with a girl before. So yeah, when we broke up, my first instinct was to come to you. I love you, and it was the first time I felt really happy in months.

“But when she called me, (Y/N), I felt like I didn’t have a choice. You wouldn’t ever want me in the way I needed, my family loved her, and everything fell apart. It wasn’t until she made me block you that I really saw what it was like without you in my life. When I first started dating her, we still talked and hung out all the time, so it was…okay. As long as I could have you both, I was okay.

“And seeing you with Mark fucked me up so bad. I wanted to take you away from him and keep you for myself, but in my head, that never meant you were on the backburner. Everything was you, and even the idea of Mark having you in the ways I did broke me into pieces.

“And I was talking to Jia recently, just to apologize to her for wasting months of her life. She told me that the night everything blew up, she slept with Mark. They were both pissed and wanted revenge, I guess, but I wasn’t even upset. I didn’t care. But if it had been you, I…Nobody has ever had my heart the way you do.”

Tears stream down your face, but you refuse to acknowledge their existence. Chenle’s eyes are welled up, his jaw clenched tight once he finishes his words.

“You’re so fucking stupid,” you choke out, turning away from him.

“I know,” he agrees without hesitation. “I know.”

He makes his way around the counter, and you take a step back.

“Please don’t touch me.” You shake your head.

“I won’t,” he murmurs, standing so close in proximity to you, you smell his cologne. The scent invades your senses, and you suddenly have trouble breathing.

“What are you doing?” you ask.

You recoil in shock for the second time in the past hour when he lowers himself to his knees. He looks up at you, totally defeated as he opens his mouth to speak.

“I’m so sorry.” His voice catches in his throat. “I’m not asking for us to be together, and I’m not asking for anything close to what we had before. I just want us to be friends again. I need you in my life. No matter where that spot is.”

“God, Chenle, get off the floor.” You wipe angrily at the dampness on your cheeks.

“I need you. Please.”

When you look at him, you hate how you see him. How he looks like the Chenle you knew before all of this happened. The sight in front of you makes you want to kiss him and tell him you love him too, but you’re well aware all of this could be an act. Maybe he gave this same speech to Jia, and you’re the leftover—

“Jia’s gone. I promise. You’re more important to me, okay? Whatever you want or need, I’ll do it.” The pleading gleam in his gaze has your frozen heart slowly melting.

You can’t give in. Friendship could be good for the two of you, but if you give him anymore now, you fear it’ll be detrimental for you in the future.

“Friends. That’s it.” You watch him closely as the relief floods over him.

“Thank you.” He stands up and brushes his jeans off. “I won’t do that to you again. I fucking swear.”

“We’re not immediately going back to normal,” you tell him, confidently meeting his stare for the first time in a long time. “You have to prove yourself to me. That you care about me as a person and not as something to take your stress out on. No more out of place jealousy, no more butting into things that have nothing to do with you. Our past doesn’t exist anymore.”

“I’m not going to let you down,” Chenle insists. “I swear I won’t.”

“I guess we’ll see, won’t we?”

One week later, 9:35 p.m., September 15th, 2023, Jaemin’s house

You arrived at the party by yourself, but the majority of the group was already there. Jaemin sees you first, letting out a loud cheer when he makes eye contact with you. It’s the first time you agreed to come out after everything that happened, so they all view it as a big deal.

You laugh as he hugs you, and then pulls you down to sit next to him. Thankfully, no one brings up what happened last month, and you’re able to have a good time with your friends without you feeling like they secretly pity you for all of the shit Chenle pulled.

Speaking of him, he hasn’t arrived yet, but you know he’s coming. He’d never miss one of Jaemin’s parties. That, and he told you this morning in his daily good morning text that he was excited to see you tonight. The entire week, you’d been in contact with him, and you almost hated how normal it felt to sink back into a friendship with him. It’s how you remember him before he started dating Jia, and all you can do is hope that it lasts.

In fact, his text was ‘good morning bighead, it’ll be nice to see you at jaem’s tonight.’

He’s clearly very eloquent.

Although, it did make you laugh. And respond back with how his head is much bigger than yours.

Your guard is still up. You don’t trust him. But it’s not like he can’t build that back by showing you he’s serious. As much as you hate to admit it, your hopes are up as high as the steel wall he’s pulling down piece by piece.

“I’m gonna go grab a drink,” you tell Jaemin, who gives you a thumbs up and delves into a conversation with Haechan. Something about global warming, but you don’t stay around long enough to hear the entirety of it.

Once you return, you notice the extra person. Chenle arrived while you were in the kitchen, and the pain in your chest at seeing him is miniscule. You want him in all the ways you had him—more, even—but you know it’s best for both of you to work your way up. After all, he could still be lying. But seeing him alone and not with Jia also adds to your hopes—maybe he’s being serious. Maybe people can change, and you should give him the benefit of the doubt.

You make a bold move, a show of faith, perhaps, when you go sit down next to Chenle. There’s a decent amount of space between you two, but you don’t miss the way his smile widens.

The night rages on around you, but you’re acutely aware of the way Chenle gets a little closer to you with every drink one of you goes to get, and eventually, you’re laughing together while making fun of Jisung.

Everything is as it should be, and everytime Chenle’s not looking right at you, you’re smiling in his direction, knowing this is who he should’ve been all along.

11:32 p.m., September 17th, 2023, your apartment

“And then, Haechan said Mark and Jia are actually dating now.” Chenle’s voice travels through your phone resting on your chest while you stare up at the ceiling.

Without meaning to, you let out a laugh. “I mean, maybe it’ll work for them. They both deserve to be happy.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” He’s silent for a moment. “You, too, you know. You deserve to be happy.”

“Everyone does,” you reply. “Sometimes, good people do bad things, Le. I don’t think you’re a bad person.”

There’s shuffling on his end, like he’s settling in his blanket. “I’m glad to hear that. We haven’t really…talked about that much lately. It’s not a bad thing, ‘cause it’s probably best to shelve the past for now, but if you want to say anything to me, you don’t have to hold back.”

You contemplate. There are thousands of things you could tell Chenle right at this moment. You could tell him you’ve always loved him, too, or you could tell him how hurt you were. How he tore you up from the inside out and gave you no room to breathe. He infiltrated everything you had and turned it into his own personal playground.

God, you should be mad at him. You should hate him and hang up right now, but you won’t.

“Thanks,” you murmur. “I missed you, too. When you were gone. I’m glad you forced your way into my house with pizza to tell me everything. You were right, I was blaming myself for it.”

“Don’t ever blame yourself for my dumbass actions. I won’t lie to you, not anymore. Um, is it…okay if I ask you something?”

You frown, wondering if it’s a good idea. “Sure.”

“Did you ever feel more for me than friendship? Like when we were hooking up, did you mean all the things you’ve said to me?” He clears his throat, the tone of his voice clearly portraying his embarrassment.

“I’ve never lied to you,” you return, face heating up.

“Next time I see you, is it okay if I hug you?” Chenle whispers. “I miss you.”

“Yeah, I think that’s okay.” A tiny smile forms.

“Okay. I…I’m gonna go to sleep, I’m exhausted. I’ll see you soon?”

“Soon. Goodnight, Chenle.”

10:23 p.m., September 25th, 2023, Jisung’s house

You, Chenle, Jisung, and Jaemin decided it’d be a good night to get together and watch a movie. Jisung has a theater room, so the four of you rest in there. You sit between Jaemin and Chenle, and you quietly let them know you’ll be back in a few minutes.

You go into Jisung’s fridge to grab a water bottle.

“Don’t you have a drink in there?” Jisung’s voice startles you, and you let out a gasp.

“Christ, Sungs, don’t sneak up on me like that.” You smack your hand over your heart. “Don’t you know that’s how you put people in cardiac arrest?”

“Dramatic.” Jisung snorts and grabs a bag of candy from a cupboard. “I just wanted to see how you were doing. It’s been a while since I got to talk to you, and I’ve noticed you and Chenle are friends again.”

“Ah, so that’s what this is about.” You grab a piece of chocolate and unwrap it before putting it in your mouth.

“I just want to make sure you’re okay. We’re your friends, too.”

“Look, I’m not sure how much you know about what happened, but that’s all over. Chenle and I…started over. And we’re friends, and I’d very much like to keep it that way.” You sip your water to wash down your candy.

“Be honest, do you just want to be his friend?” Jisung raises an eyebrow at you.

You laugh. “That’s not really something you should be asking me.”

“I know him, okay? I’m trying to look out for you—”

“I appreciate it, Ji, but I also happen to know Chenle. When a man like him begs for forgiveness on his hands and knees, you give him a shot. I’m not dumb, and I know what that whole situation made me look like, but I never would’ve done anything to hurt Chenle’s relationship when he was in one.” You shift on your feet.

“He just won’t tell us what’s going on, and Mark and Jia aren’t your biggest fan—”

“Jisung, what the hell?” Chenle leans on the door frame, arms crossed over his chest. “What are you doing?”

You recognize this tone of his, and you immediately look at him and shake your head. “It’s not a big deal, Chenle, he’s just—”

“No, it is a big deal. Is this why you invited us here?” He frowns at the younger man. “You thought if you couldn’t get answers out of me, you’d get answers from her?”

“Hey, man, it’s not like that.” Jisung holds his hands up in mock surrender. “I’m just curious.”

“You really wanna know that bad?” Chenle steps in, planting his palms on the countertop.

“It’s really okay,” you whisper to him, going as far as to wrap your fingers around his wrist.

“Yeah, I do. Because right now it looks like some girl is tearing apart our friend group.”

“She didn’t do anything wrong.”

“You don’t have to. I don’t care what they think.” You tug him gently, but he doesn’t look at you.

“It was me. I screwed everything up. (Y/N) and I were hooking up for over a year before I met Jia. And when Jia and I started dating, we obviously stopped that. But when she broke up with me, it was because I still had all of the conversations with (Y/N), and she was pissed about it. That night, I went to (Y/N)’s house and we slept together, and I lied to Jia again. Everything that went wrong was my fault, Jisung. She hasn’t done anything wrong.”

Jisung blinks in shock, lips parting as he glances between the two of you. You stare down at your feet, trying not to let the way he defended you seep beneath your skin. Chenle still has a lot of work to do, but you won’t lie and say it didn’t give him some brownie points.

“So why was she with Mark?”

“After I slept with her, I left the next morning when Jia called me. And then Jia asked me to block her, and I did. So all she was doing was honestly trying to forget about me, which is still her best bet.”

Your throat dries as the memories resurface, but even now, you see the difference. The Chenle who walked out on you never would’ve admitted that to another soul. He’s taking the fall. He’s taking accountability for his actions.

“Everything would’ve been fine if I hadn’t stormed up after them at Jaemin’s party. But I couldn’t stop myself, and everyone else there knew it, too.”

“(Y/N), I’m sorry for assuming.” Jisung chews the inside of his cheek. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“It’s okay, Sungs.” You give him a small smile, but Chenle’s hand slides into yours, and the way he intertwines your fingers has your heart skipping.

“Let’s get out of here,” Chenle mutters. “I’ll drop you off at home.”

You nod once at Jisung and allow the other man to pull you out of his house. The car ride is mostly silent, the soft hum of music distracting you from the way Chenle still grips your hand over the center console. You catch a glimpse of him, the street lights reflecting off his skin as they pass.

God, all you want to do is love him. You want to throw caution to the fucking wind and tell him the truth. Allow him to hold you close and feel the warmth of his embrace.

He pulls up outside your building, looking at you with a soft, tired gleam in his pretty brown eyes.

“I’m really sorry,” he says. “Jisung shouldn’t ever have done something like that.”

“It’s okay. And not your fault. I’m aware of what the situation looks like to everyone else, but it’s not their business. Thank you for standing up for me.” You squeeze him gently.

“I’ll do it for as long as you let me,” he whispers.

In your tired, vulnerable state, the rest of that wall crashes to the ground.

“Come upstairs with me?” you ask. “I don’t want to be alone.”

“I…” His eyes close and he rests his head back on the seat.

“I don’t mean it like that. I just want some company.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way. Please. But I can’t.” He forces the words out, palms running down his face. “I know you think you want that now, but I don’t want to risk you getting upset about it later. And part of proving myself is knowing when a decision will hurt you. I don’t trust either of us when it comes to being alone together in a room. Your bedroom especially.”

It stings, sure, but you know he’s right. Old habits die hard, and as soon as he’s in your bed, all bets are off.

You inhale shakily. “Right. Of course.”

“I want to.” His finger guides your chin up until you’re looking at him. He smiles softly. “I’ve missed you so much that I want to be with you all the time. But that’ll come with time when I know you really trust me fully.”

You lean across the center of the car and press your lips to his cheek, lingering for a second too long before pulling away and unbuckling your seatbelt.

“Thank you, Le.”

He nods, watching you closely as you get out and head toward your building. You look over your shoulder once before entering.

His fingers trace over his skin where your lips just were, and relief has his chest deflating.

10:34 a.m., October 14th, 2023, a local coffee shop

Chenle sets a cup down in front of you before sitting down in the booth, resting his head on his palm. You type away on your computer, occasionally glancing up to him to see if he looks bored yet. He seems perfectly content, swirling his own drink around.

“So, what’s that for again?” he asks.

“Just a last minute report I’m typing out for work,” you reply absentmindedly. “Sorry, I’m almost done.”

“I’m not in any rush.” He chuckles and leans back.

You spend nearly every day with Chenle. The two of you have even graduated to spending time alone away from your other friends, and you love how much it feels exactly how it used to. The Chenle that left you has thankfully disappeared into the abyss, and your friend has come back. You two text every day, he buys you coffee, he teases you whenever he deems necessary.

As soon as you finish your report, you sigh in relief, save it, and close your laptop. “Thank you for the coffee. I definitely need it.”

“Anything that’ll give you enough energy for Jaemin’s Halloween party. What are you dressing up as?” He leans forward, resting his forearms on the table. “I still think we should coordinate.”

“I’m not telling you what I’m going as.” You stick out your tongue at him. “You’ll live.”

“Well, Jaemin wants me there early to help set up or whatever, so I will unfortunately just have to see you there.”

“Oh, that’s okay. The goal for tonight is to get as drunk as possible without blacking out.” You grin at him, to which he responds with a quirked eyebrow.

“Calm down there, bighead, you might hurt yourself.”

“Look on the brightside, if I get myself hurt, you get to swoop in and be my hero. Isn’t that exciting?” Despite the sarcastic drawl in your voice, Chenle shrugs.

“I’m supposed to save you from getting hurt, not just help you after the fact.” His phone starts ringing in his jacket, and once he grabs it, he groans. “Yeah, Jaemin?”

There’s a muffled sound from the device that has you laughing at the frantic yelling Jaemin is doing.

“It’s not even eleven yet,” Chenle points out. “I know I said I would help, but I didn’t think that meant twelve hours before the damn party starts.”

“It’s okay,” you tell him. “You should go!”

He glares at you and mouths, ‘not helping.’

After a few more garbled words, Chenle rolls his eyes.

“Okay, I’ll be there in like twenty minutes. You owe me, dude.” He hangs up the phone and gives you a guilty look.

“None of that.” You wave him off. “I need to get home anyway and take my daily rest.”

He snorts. “Alright. Come find me later, alright?”

“Well, duh. Who else is going to stop drunk me from making a fool of myself?”

12:54 a.m., October 15th, 2023, Jaemin’s house

The world spins around you, but the happiness you feel is unrivaled. You and Chenle dance together, where he twirls you in circles despite the beat not matching. He dressed up fairly simply, some dude that wears a trench coat and an odd looking hat, but for the life of you, you can’t remember the damn name.

You barely even recall what you’re dressed up as, but it’s something with a plaid-like skirt and a white top. Whatever, it doesn’t matter. Not until you’re climbing up on the pool table for nostalgia’s sake, and Chenle’s practically begging you to come down.

“Your skirt is a little too short.” Chenle stands in front of you while you continue to dance.

“It’s Halloween, Chenle,” you remind him.

“In the nicest way possible, your costume isn’t exactly modest—why wouldn’t you put shorts on under that—”

The more you ignore him, the more he’s determined to get you to listen. He eventually climbs up next to you, wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you close to him. Your eyes are stuck on his lips, but your vision is blurring a bit too much to tell if they look as good as you think they do.

You miss him. He’s touching you, the warmth of his body ironically freezing yours in its place.

“C’mon, get down.”

“I think you should get down on your—” The world swaying cuts you off, and despite his grip on you, you stumble.

He waves someone else over, and you recognize Luigi. You shake your head and blink, realizing that it’s actually Jaemin dressed up as Luigi. Giggling, you basically drop your head on Chenle’s chest.

“I thought he was really Luigi.” You laugh and smack his arm as if that’ll ground you.

Jaemin and Chenle are talking to each other, but you’re too invested in the way Chenle’s lips look when they move to care all that much on the topic. You allow Chenle to lead you to the edge of the table, and with Jaemin’s help, you’re back safely on the ground.

“I’m taking you home.” Chenle’s lips brush against your ear as he keeps his arm around you and guides you toward the door. The sensation sends a chill down your spine, and you know he feels it through where his fingers are splayed out along the small of your back.

Everything happens in a blur—getting into his car, him driving to your apartment, him bringing you upstairs from the car. By the time you’re home, you suddenly understand exactly what Chenle said about being alone with him in your apartment.

He looks divine. Angelic. And you’re weak, needy, and drunk.

“Lele,” you murmur, leaning on the doorframe to the bathroom. “Help me take my makeup off.”

He follows you in. You know he’s weak for you, too. That it’s been so long since either of you have gotten any sort of satisfaction. You crave his touch, and the alcohol raging in your system does little to help with your inhibitions.

You bend over to grab your makeup wipes from beneath the sink, and you hear him shuffle behind you. Without another thought, you slide yourself on the counter and grab at his tie, tugging him close until he’s between your legs and pressing into you just enough to drive you crazy.

“What are you doing?” he asks, eyes dark as he takes in the situation. Your skirt riding up your thighs as you pull him closer, a short glimpse of the red lace beneath the skirt. You spread your legs a bit farther, craving to feel him right up on your lace-clad entrance.

“You have to get close to take makeup off,” you reply, giggling to yourself.

His jaw tightens, but he starts cleaning you up anyway, ignoring the way you periodically shuffle closer to the edge of the counter. When he’s almost done, you wrap your legs around his waist, grinding your hips up.

“Fuck,” he curses under his breath, dropping what was in his hands. “(Y/N), let me finish taking your makeup off.”

You roll up once more, a soft groan leaving your lips. His hands dart down and push your thighs into the counter, halting your movements.

“C’mon,” you mumble, dropping your head against the mirror. “We both want it. You’ve been good, Lele, and I need you.”

Oh, Sober You was going to regret this. Sober You was going to kick your ass when the morning came, because you knew there’s no way Chenle’s not going to give in. The two of you are too addicted to each other not to.

He drops his head on your shoulder. “Baby, you’re drunk.”

“Please,” you whisper. “It’s been so long.”

“And we can wait a little longer,” he mentions, pushing your legs away from his waist. “Finish taking off your makeup. I’ll get you some clothes to change into.”

You groan when he disappears out of the room, but you listen to what he says. As much as your drunk mind allows you, you wash your face. When you get back to your room, he’s in a drawer you almost forgot was there. Stuff he’d left at your place, all stuffed into one tiny section of your dresser.

“C’mere,” he says to you.

You stop in front of him, the edges of your vision still blurred as you put your hand on his chest. Beneath your palm is an erratic thumping, and you know how much inner turmoil he’s dealing with.

“Chenle,” you murmur. “Help me.”

“Okay, I’ll help. Don’t move.” He untucks your shirt from your skirt, trying his best to avoid skin-to-skin contact with you. Pulling it over your head, he avoids looking down.

He reaches over for the shirt he took out of the drawer, but you grab his wrists, leading both of his hands down to your skirt.

“What are you doing?” he asks. “If you don’t knock it off, I’m gonna tie you up in a very non-sexy way.”

You giggle, wavering a bit on your feet. “Just wanted you to see what I wore for you.”

“(Y/N), I don’t want to leave you like this but I can’t stay if you keep this up. I want you so fucking bad, but I refuse to do this while you’re this drunk.” He shakes his head. “Please.”

“We’ve had drunk sex,” you defend.

“Two things were different then, too. You actually wanted me while you were sober, and we were both equally drunk. I’ve barely had anything to drink.” He brushes your hair behind your ear. “Let me get you dressed so you can get some rest.”

“I do want you when I’m sober,” you continue defiantly.

“(Y/N), I’m not going to argue about this—”

“No, no.” You grab the shirt from him and put it on, almost smiling at the familiarity of wearing his clothes. “I love you. I’ve always loved you, but everything is so confusing.”

“Confusing how?” The guilty look in his eye tells you he already has an idea.

Great. Here comes the part of the night where you cry violently.

Tears well up, and you sniffle. “You hurt me so badly.”

“I know, baby. I’m so sorry.”

“And a part of me knows that.” You’re sure your words are slurred, but he grips onto them like they’re his lifeline. You grip onto his stupid trench coat. “I want to believe it, but I’m so scared it’s gonna happen again, and then all of this is really over. I fucking love you, damn it.”

“I hope you know I love you, too.” His gaze glistens as he furrows his brows. “I’m gonna work so hard to be everything you need. Promise, I’ll never stop trying to be better for you.”

“How do I believe that?” Your voice breaks, and a tear falls down his cheek.

“I…I don’t know. Just let me continue to prove myself. That’s all I ask. We’ll stay just like this until you’re ready.”

You shake him, or try to, in your drunken state while you cry. “Why do I love you? It’d be easier if I didn’t.”

He wraps his arms around you and tugs you to his chest, heart pounding in his chest. For the second time, you break down. For the second time, you’ve put yourself in a position to give him the upper hand.

But for the second time, he doesn’t use it to his advantage.

“It’s okay,” he whispers to you, stroking the back of your head. “Everything’s gonna be okay.”

“What if I’m never ready?” You rock back and forth in his grasp.

“Then I’ll wait forever. I promise you. No matter how you want me in your life, I’ll be there.” He kisses the top of your head, attempting to calm his own breathing. “Baby, you’re drunk. Let’s get you in bed so you can rest.”

“Don’t leave me,” you mutter, holding him tighter.

“I’m not going anywhere. C’mon.”

You listen to him, but before you get beneath your blankets, you slide your skirt down your legs. Once you’re comfortable, he grabs some more clothes for him to change into, and then he’s climbing in next to you, pulling you flush to him and kissing your head again.

“I’ll stay for as long as you want me to.”

‘Forever’ is the last thought on your mind before sleep takes over.

11:48 a.m., October 15th, 2023, your bedroom

The first thing you note when you wake up is the splitting headache raging on in your brain. Next, is the warmth of another body half-draped over you. At the sound of your groan, Chenle shifts back a bit.

“Are you awake?” he asks.

“No.”

He chuckles. “Alright, well let me know when you’re ready to get up.” He pulls you closer again, allowing you to relax against his chest.

“Wait.” You pause. “How long have you been up?”

“Uh.” He ponders on it for a moment, fingers tapping on your back. “I don’t know. Maybe two hours. Or three.”

“You haven’t gotten up yet?” You frown, pushing away from him to force yourself to sit up. Immediately, you groan and smack your hand to your forehead.

“Not sure if you remember much from last night, but I figured it’d probably be worse for you to wake up without me than with me, so I just waited.” He rests his head on his palm, tilting a bit to look at you.

As soon as he mentions it, you curse yourself a thousand times over. You really fucked up, but he’s still here.

“I’m so sorry.” You cringe. “Everything yesterday was so…”

“Don’t be sorry. It was the most fun I’ve had in a long time. And it felt like we had a breakthrough last night, so there’s that.” He grabs your hand, thumb rubbing against your skin. “I told you I’d do whatever it takes and I meant it.”

He meant it.

Unintentionally, you’d given him the biggest test thus far, and he passed with flying colors. He even waited for you to wake up for hours so you wouldn’t be confused or upset by his absence.

“I’m ready.” Your words surprise him, his eyebrows furrowing deeply as he scans over you.

“You…”

“For more. I’m ready for more, Chenle. I want us to be more than friends.” You fidget with your hands. “We’ve always been more than that.”

“And you promise you’re not still drunk?”

You scoff and push his shoulder. “Way to ruin the moment, dick.”

“There she is.” He grins.

“I still want to take it slow,” you clarify. “But I want to try.”

“Is it too fast if I kiss you?” he asks.

You’ve kissed this man thousands of times, but something about his question still makes you blush.

“I think you’ve probably earned it after your torture session last night.” Your headache is long since forgotten when he playfully tugs you to him.

Both of you laugh until he grabs your face and presses his lips to yours. He moves so you’re flat on the mattress, his upper half leaning over you. You melt into his kiss, tangling your fingers in his hair and pulling it ever so slightly. His breath shudders, and you feel the urge to push further, to tell him nothing is too fast anymore.

He pulls away, shaking his head. “I’m taking you on a date. Go get ready.”

You go to get up, but halfway through the motion, he tugs you back to him to kiss you one more time. His mouth works gently on yours, and after a few seconds, he lets you go.

8:47 p.m., November 22nd, 2023, Chenle’s house

Chenle’s birthday party ended a little early, mostly of his own choice. You hadn’t planned on anything happening tonight between you two, but it’d been so long since you’d felt pure, absolute bliss just by being next to him. Every day you’ve spent with him has made you two closer. The trust you have for him has grown tremendously, and as soon as you make it back to his house, you shed your coat from your shoulders.

He grabs it from you, hanging it up before he wraps his arms around you. His eyes droop from the overactivity of the day, but it doesn’t erase the smile he has when he sees you. You press a quick kiss to his lips.

“This is the best birthday ever,” he says, hands resting on your hips. “I love you.”

“We still have a few hours of your birthday left. It could go horribly wrong, you know.”

“Yeah, I think it will if you don’t tell me you love me back right now.”

You laugh, shaking your head at him. “I do love you back.”

“Oh, good to know.” He nods, squeezing you.

“Kiss me like you mean it, bighead.”

“That’s my nickname for you, get your own.” He rolls his eyes, but abides by your request.

His lips meet yours, an automatic sigh escaping you as your back arches you closer to him. You hold onto him tightly, swiping your tongue along his bottom lip. He gladly grants you access, but it’s an instant battle for dominance between the two of you.

You barely even recognize him walking you backward until you're against the wall. With a gasp, you pull away from him, his face still centimeters from yours.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispers, leaving open-mouthed kisses along your jawline and down your neck.

“Don’t.” You shake your head. “Don’t stop.”

His curse is muffled by your skin, but his grip tightens on you. He pulls you away from the wall, allowing his hands to venture down to your ass. You whine when he squeezes.

“This is a very bad joke if that’s what’s happening.” He nips your collarbone. “Are you sure?”

You move away from him, grabbing his hand and leading him toward his bedroom. He kicks the door shut behind both of you, immediately pulling you back to him and meeting your mouth with his. The need radiating from him has your stomach doing backflips. You want him just as badly, and all you want to do is pleasure him.

“Lay down, baby.” He sits you down on the edge of the bed, guiding you until he’s kneeling in front of you.

“Chenle, what are you—”

He flips your skirt up, hands trailing along your thighs, skimming the hem of your lace panties.

“You smell so fucking good, baby. Let me taste it. Please.” His eyes flick up to yours, eyebrows raising.

“It’s your birthday.”

“Best fucking birthday meal ever.”

He waits for you to nod before he practically rips the fabric from your body. His head disappears beneath your skirt, and before you know it, his tongue nudges your clit. That’s the only warning you get before he really begins.

He licks up your entrance, lapping at it like a man starved. You haven’t been touched this way in months, and it takes all of your self control not to buck your hips up against his face. The sound of your wetness fills the room, the heat making you squirm beneath him. Your skirt covers him, when all you want to do is see how much he’s enjoying himself. Fisting the sheets, you whine and cry out for him, rocking back and forth as he brings you closer and closer. Lewd sounds are muffled by the clothing you still wear, the suction between your legs making you shake.

“Fuck,” you whimper.

The next thing you know, two of his fingers slide inside you, the movement quick and easy with the way your wetness slicks even the skin of your thighs.

“Gonna make you cum like this first.” He kisses your clit as he pumps his hand faster. “Then over and over again on my cock.”

You let out a breathy moan, bucking your hips up and grinding on his tongue. He mirrors the sound with his lips on your core, and that’s what’s enough to finally push you over the edge. Thankfully, you’re not in an apartment right now, otherwise your neighbors would be getting a free show when you scream out his name as you finish.

You squirm under him, the only thing holding you down is the dig of his nails into your thighs. When he pulls away, his face shines with your arousal, and your insides clench down all over again. You’ve never wanted him inside you as much as you do right now, and you make it your mission to get him on the bed.

“God, pretty girl, I wanted our first time together to be sweet, but I’ve never wanted to fuck you this bad.” He pulls your shirt over your head, pushing you back until you’re flat on his mattress. He tugs your skirt down, grabbing handfuls of your breasts and squeezing.

“Me too.” You nod. “Just don’t stop.”

He pulls his shirt off, pushing his jeans and boxers down in one go before he climbs over you. Your mouths clash messily, his teeth bumping yours, but it does nothing except add to the aching need you have for him. When he situates himself between your legs, you wrap them around his waist and roll until you’re on top.

You reach down and wrap your hand around his cock, jerking him slowly. He groans quietly, thrusting into your hand. You rub the tip along your entrance to gather your juices.

“I’m not gonna last long with you on top of me,” he admits.

“Funny that you think you’re only gonna cum once tonight.” You barely give him time to process your words before you sink down on him. Moaning, you take him slowly, relishing in the stretch of your walls.

“Fuck, look at you.” He scratches down your thighs.

You give yourself a moment to adjust once he’s fully sheathed in your hole, moving your hands up to squeeze your breasts and tweak your nipples as you grind down. Sounds spill past your lips, and you almost get lost in your own pleasure. When you see Chenle, his eyes are barely open, dark with lust as he thrusts up.

Your walls throb around him, squeezing his cock so hard you feel the way he pulses inside you. Arching your back and resting your palms on his thighs, you start moving on top of him.

“So wet,” he whispers. “You’re soaking me.”

You move faster, the sounds of your arousal emanating around the room. Chenle’s hands find your breasts, flicking your nipples much like you’d done to yourself. Then he reaches between your legs, the arch of your body giving him perfect access to your clit.

“‘M gonna cum.” He drops his head back on the bed, thumb faltering against your sensitive bud. “Fuck, fuck.”

A loud moan escapes him, and the next thing you know, he’s coating your insides with his release.

“Damn it,” he whispers. “‘M sorry, baby, I tried to hold it back.”

You put your hands on his chest, rolling your hips until he groans from the overstimulation.

“It’s okay.” You grin at him. “It’s your birthday, Le. We can have as many rounds as you want. Plenty of time to redeem yourself.”

He chuckles breathlessly, sitting up to pull you into his embrace. Kissing all over your face, he rolls you over so you’re on your back before sliding out of you.

“You asked for this,” he reminds you. “Don’t forget that later when you’ve finished so many times you don’t even remember your name.”

He meant it, too.

9:18 p.m., November 22nd, 2023

The chill of the ice cube in his mouth trailing down your body, over your breasts, even the brief few seconds he presses it against your clit, has your body shuddering at the slightest touch. The melted water left behind has goosebumps forming on your skin as he worships your body.

Thin black fabric covers your eyes, leaving every touch of his a mystery to you. The coldness is a drastic contrast to the heat of your core, and the ice cube coming in contact almost has you yelping in pain. His fingers slide back inside you, and you swear you’re slowly losing your mind. You can’t stop moaning, each sound surely making him more than proud of himself.

It’s not long before you’re writhing beneath him all over again, your arousal pouring out over the sheets as he brings you to your euphoria.

9:28 p.m., November 22nd, 2023

“That’s it, pretty girl, take it all,” he hums as you take him in your mouth. You sit on your knees beside the bed where he sits, bobbing your head up and down with the assistance of the makeshift ponytail he grips in his fist.

He hisses as he pushes you down further until his cock is seated deep in your throat, the constriction of it making him bite his lip to stop the sounds. The steady pace he sets for you has tears forming in your eyes, the choking amplifying his pleasure.

“So, so pretty with my cock in your mouth.” He tugs your hair to make you moan around him. “Taking me like a good girl. I love you, pretty.”

His eyes roll back, and he quickly pulls you off him, your hollowed cheeks making a popping sound.

“Lay down, baby,” he instructs you.

10:01 p.m., November 22nd, 2023

His chest slides against yours, low, quiet moans escaping both of you as he finally makes love to you like he wanted to in the first place. Your fingers are intertwined together as his hips meet yours over and over again, sweet words whispered in your ear.

He pushes in completely, his tip kissing your cervix, and a tiny yelp escapes your lips.

“You like when I’m so deep, don’t you?” He nips your ear. “You’ll never be empty again. Can fill you with my cock whenever you want.”

“Chenle,” you whimper, your mind cloudy from however many orgasms he’s given you. You’re much too sensitive, but you still don’t want it to stop.

Your body is caked with sweat, but his is worse. His hair clings to his forehead, wet strands not a deterrence to the way he keeps thrusting into your still sopping cunt. This is what heaven feels like—the pleasure delivered to you by Chenle is peak. You’ll never feel like this with anyone but him.

His finger rubs circles on your clit, and as you shatter around him, it brings him to his end as well, filling you up for the second time tonight. By the look in his eyes, you know it won’t be the last.

11:59 p.m., November 22nd, 2023

Your body aches, but the last thing you want is for him to stop. He holds you close to his chest despite the unbearable heat between you two, hips lazily moving as he grips onto your leg wrapped around his waist.

Your moans have turned into quiet sighs of pleasure, your insides melted into practically nothing with the amount of times he’s finished in you. Nothing matters anymore, just you and him and the way your bodies stick together.

His lips lock with yours, and his movements stop altogether as he gently kisses you. Eventually, that stops too, leaving his mouth resting on yours, as your tired gazes meet.

“I love you,” he whispers. “More than you know.”

“I love you, too,” you tell him, giving him one last kiss.

Exhaustion creeps upon both of you, too tired to move any further as you bury your head in his chest.

“Best birthday ever,” he murmurs.

“You already said that.”

“It got even better, so.”

Everything about this feels right. You curled up in his chest, and despite him still inside you, you’ve never felt more comfortable than you do right now.

And in the morning, Chenle wakes you up with kisses all over your face, and everything within the world is right.

#nct dream #chenle #nct imagines #nct #nct dream smut #nct scenarios #chenle smut #chenle angst #chenle fluff #nct dream angst #nct dream fluff #nct smut #nct imagine #nct scenario #nct fluff #nct angst

270 notes · View notes

rodricksfilipinagf · 7 months ago

Text

Karma's A Bitch Part 1 (Jamie Tartt x Reader, Enemies to Lovers)

Summary: Idealistic, hopeless romantic Y/N is the new marketing intern at AFC Richmond who instantly tops star player and major asshole Jamie Tartt's shit list for daring to stand up to him.

Today’s my first day as a marketing intern at AFC Richmond! I really like Keeley already- she’s so nice. She was immediately welcoming to me and even listened to my rant about the newest season of Bridgerton. I think working here is going to be exciting because Jamie Tartt trains here and I’ve had sex fantasies about him ever since I saw him modeling in a champagne ad. I was ecstatic to be placed here because then that meant we can meet and interact and possibly fall in love and reenact my sex dreams.

I can see the players coming into the building from the field. Oh my God, that means Jamie’s coming! What if he falls in love with me on sight? That wouldn’t happen probably but it’d be so romantic.

Jamie is wearing his gray practice jersey and grey warm up jacket. He is making the drab colors work for him.

When he’s just about to pass me, I say, “Hey, Jamie, I’m Y/N and I just want to say-“

He brushes right past me, shoving his water bottle into my hands. “Thanks,” he dismisses, not even turning around.

Well. That dream’s dead now. My cheeks flush with anger and I guess my body reacts before my mind. I don’t think about how this will affect my internship or dealing with him in the future. I just want to make him pay.

I catch up to him, seizing his arm and blocking his path.

His eyes narrow in annoyance. “What do you want?”

I unscrew the bottle cap. “I used to admire you a lot, but…” I stand on my tiptoes and pour all the water from the bottle onto Jamie’s face. “Not anymore, dickhead.”

He blinks, looking furious. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Who the fuck do you think you are? Do you know who I am?”

“Yes,” I say. “A terrible person who treats people like crap. Everything else doesn’t matter to me. Not how famous you are or how rich you are or how many goals you score and certainly not how hot you are!” I regret saying that last part.

“You think I’m hot?” he asks. Then he laughs. “What, are you mad that I’m not falling all over myself for you?”

“You wish,” I say. “I just think you shouldn’t be rude to interns- or anyone- because you’re some big star.”

“You’re interning here?” Jamie’s nose wrinkles as if he smells something rancid. Then he draws up. “Then let me tell you how it works around here. You learn respect, you do what I say, and if I want your fucking opinion, I’ll ask.”

“I’m actually in the marketing department, not your personal assistant. And I’ll respect you when you learn not to be a dick,” I retort.

“Whatever. Just stay out of my way.” He knocks my shoulder with his before storming off.

Today I’m handing out schedules to the players about marketing stuff. I barely make eye contact when I get to Jamie, who is chewing gum. I just shove it at him. “This is yours.”

“Perfect,” Jamie says. “I’ve been looking for a place to put my gum.”

“How about up your ass?” I say nastily.

Scorn enters Jamie’s eyes. “I see you still haven’t learned respect, intern.” He takes his wet gum out of his mouth and sticks it into my hand. “Toss this in the trash for me.”

` What an entitled prick. “In the trash? Sure.” I press his chewed gum into his forehead. By now the whole team is watching. “Is here good?” I taunt.

A lot of the other players start laughing. I bet Jamie’s been an ass to all of them at least once, and they love seeing him brought down a peg.

He looks furious, using the paper his schedule is on to scrape gum off his face. And then he gets right up in mine. “How many times do I have to fucking tell you to stay in your place?” he growls.

“Maybe this all wouldn’t be happening if you were a nice person. Just a thought. Oh, and you have an interview at 3 tomorrow.” I start to walk away, but Jamie grabs the back of my shirt.

“I could make your life really miserable around here if I wanted to,” Jamie says.

“Sure, gum-face. Sure,” I say. I leave him seething behind me.

This morning I get an email that I have to be in the interview room 25 minutes earlier to “prep Jamie on talking points.”

When I pull open the door of the interview room, I’m showered from head to toe with whipped cream from a bucket hanging over the door. When I wipe my eyes, I see Jamie with a big bucket in his hand.

“You did this,” I spew.

He shrugs. “I thought you needed a makeover,” he says, emptying the bucket’s contents over my head. Which turn out to be feathers. Many, multicolored feathers that because of the whipped cream, stick everywhere. My hair, my face, and all over my body.

“Jamie!” I shriek furiously while he just looks smug. “Are you out of your mind?”

“What?” He feigns innocence. “I thought Americans liked this.”

“Okay, Jamie, what is your problem with me?” I demand. “Is it because I’m the only person ever to stand up to you?”

“You think you can talk to me and treat me however you want. You tried to embarrass me in front of my teammates today. You need to get it through your thick skull that you’re just some lowly American intern, and I’m the star player. You don’t tell me what to do.”

“You are so arrogant,” I say. “It’s no wonder your teammates don’t like you.”

“Think I give a shit?” Jamie scoffs. “They all know I’m the best.” He smirks. “And so will that reporter coming.”

My eyes widen. “Oh yeah, the reporter’s coming. Jamie, I guarantee you’ll blow them away.”

He looks confused at this, and I use this moment to tackle him to the floor. “What the fuck?” he demands angrily. Whipped cream is seeping into his jeans and shirt, and some of my feathers are transferring onto his clothes.

“Well, Jamie, karma’s a bitch, and she’s with you right now,” I say.

He glares at me. “You stupid twat. You ruined my outfit for my interview!”

“You ruined mine first!” I shoot back. “Like you say, you’re so much more important than me. Maybe you’ll make this look the new trend.”

“Piss off,” Jamie says, his eyes blazing.

“You ensured that I would get embarrassed on the Tube today. Thought I’d return the favor,” I spit.

“This is a national magazine,” Jamie says through clenched teeth. “It’s not the same and you know it. I’ll get you back for this.”

I scowl. “As if this prank wasn’t entirely your fault. But fine. You want a war? You’ve got one.”

A/N: Hi guys!!! I wrote this after getting super pissed off (in a good way) after reading a snippet of another Jamie Tartt fanfic on here, so I used like 3 lines from there to inspire this story and put my own unique spin on it. Also yes I had Y/N quote that song Jojo Siwa made famous and Brit Smith ~bodied~. She's such a girlboss, and I love seeing her put Jamie in his place. I also love writing slow burns!!

#jamie tartt fic #jamie tartt x female reader #jamie tartt fanfiction #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt x reader #ted lasso fic #ted lasso fanfiction #ted lasso fanfic #enemies to lovers

62 notes · View notes

sirspazingtonthefourth · 1 year ago

Text

Game Day

Summary: You go to check out the commotion by you're university's stadium and get roped into going to the game. 4.7k, mostly just fluff, college au, Bakugo x Reader

A/N: Recently got to college and was still unfamiliar with game day schedules. Sorta a mix between me wanting to go to a game and me being confused why there was a mob outside the stadium a couple weeks ago. Not proofread, sorry.

Content warnings: Cursing, depiction of a panic attack

You had never seen so many people from this far away. You’d been part of crowds before, sure. But something about seeing the mass of your school colors outside the stadium, fully three blocks away, unsettled you a little. You knew it was game season, but most of those happened in the evening.

The studious part of you, the part that knew you had to finish taking notes on your biology textbook, told you to ignore the phenomenon. There was probably a good explanation, and if something was wrong someone would show up soon to take care of it. The other part, the ever curious part, demanded you investigate, find out what could cause such a stir. You cursed yourself as you stood from your desk, slipped on your shoes, grabbed your wallet, and left your dorm.

You walked out of your dorm building on a mission: find out what was going on at the stadium. It was maybe a ten minute walk if you were dragging your feet, and you were too interested to do that. You made it in six minutes flat, trying to make out what was going on based on the chatter around you. You couldn’t make any of it out, all the voices blending into one massive cacophony. You started trying to push your way through the crowd.

“Oi, asshole! Wait your turn, we’ll get in soon enough,” you heard someone call right before something tugged on the collar of your shirt strong enough that you stumbled back a few steps. You turned to glare at whoever had decided to touch you, only to be met with burning red eyes.

The red eyes belonged to none other than Bakugo Katsuki, an asshole you shared biology with. Your professor had assigned him to your group, but didn’t talk to each other. The only reason you knew his name is because of the team roster your professor had put out. He seemed to think he was better than everyone, and you stayed away from him because you didn’t agree.

You were surprised to see him here, honestly, since you never saw him just walking around campus. Anytime you saw him outside of class he was either studying or helping someone else study. You didn’t even see him in the dining hall.

“Uh… what?” you shouted above the din. He rolled his eyes, a deepening frown on his face. A few stray blond hairs fell into his face, and he brushed them out of the way.

“Wait. Your damn. Turn. We aren’t going to get in any sooner if you’re at the front of the line.”

“Line for what? And you call this a line?” the blond narrowed his eyes, lip curling in a sneer.

“The line for the game, dumbass. And yes, this is a line!”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“You must not have been to many games, then. Fucking amateur.” You glared back at the blond. You hated that he seemed to think he could just be rude to anybody.

“Yeah, I’m an amateur! I don’t even go to the games, I just got curious what the fuss was over here. Enjoy… whatever game you’re here to see,” you said, waving a hand about to indicate that you neither knew nor cared what was going to be happening. You had done what you came here to do, and now your homework was calling your name.

But Bakugo didn’t seem to be done with you. He grabbed your arm as you turned to walk away, and you jerked at the contact. It wasn’t enough to break his hold, and he spun you back around to face him. He seemed more pissed about you leaving than about you supposedly cutting in the mob that apparently passed for a line.

“You haven’t been to the games?” If looks could kill, you’d have been being scraped off the pavement with a spatula right about now.

“No? I have more important things to be doing. Besides, don’t really wanna go anyways.” You muttered the last part, a little embarrassed to admit it. Crowds weren’t your scene. You didn’t like the idea of being so close to so many people. Of being touched by so many people.

“Anyway, I’m leaving now, so-”

“The hell you are!” Bakugo held on a little tighter, and you tried to glare him down. Key word: tried. Surprisingly enough, having eyes like embers was very effective when you were having a staring contest. You looked away a lot faster than you wanted.

“And why is that?”

“You’re already here. Might as well stay and see the game.”

“I told you, I don’t want to. Besides, I have homework I still need to get done.” You were getting a little frantic, trying to pull your arm away from him even as you did your best to mask the discomfort in your voice. “A-and I don’t even have tickets, and I’m still in pajamas because it’s a Saturday and I wasn’t planning on being in public and-”

“And I don’t care. You’re here, you’re going, end of discussion.”

“Please don’t make me,” you begged, turning your head around to see the crowd around you. You didn’t try to hide the fear, hoping he would take mercy on you. It had taken too much out of you to push through the crowd to begin with, and it had only gotten bigger. You didn’t think you could get out now even if he let you go, but maybe you could. You clung to that maybe like a lifeline.

Bakugo, for his part, seemed to take notice of your little predicament. Better than you did, in fact. Maybe it was the tight grip on your wrist, his fingers digging into your pulse point to let him know you weren’t okay. Maybe it was how your head had begun whipping around, as if trying to keep tabs on every single person in the crowd.

He himself started to glance around, looking for someone. When he spotted the telltale red, spiky hair, he called out.

“Oi! Kirishima! Over here!” The redhead turned, a bright smile on his face as he seemed to effortlessly move through the crowd.

“Hey, Bakugo! What’s- oh.” Kirishima noticed you more than you really noticed him. You were too busy trying to shrink in on yourself to notice him. You were flinching at every brush of a sleeve against your arm, apologizing as you seemed intent on shrinking into yourself like a dying star.

“Crowd’s too big behind us. Can you help me clear a path inside?” Bakugo asked, and Kirishima was quick to nod, letting out a sharp whistle that sounded about the general din of the crowd of sports fans.

“Alright, I need everyone to clear a path to the stadium real quick!”

A few other voices sounded, echoing the call for a path. Three people in particular jumped in to help clear a path, and you didn’t have the energy to fight being led towards the big stadium.

You were almost stopped at the front door, arguably where people were pressed together the tightest, by the person keeping everyone from entering. You didn’t know what to call him, you thought. A bouncer? Door guard? Random guy?

“Woah, buddy, I know you guys are part of the student section, but you can’t head in there yet.”

“Please, sir, it’s a bit of an emergency,” Kirishiima explained, gesturing to you. You had your eyes squeezed shut, aware you were panicking and trying to stop it.

“Yeah, sure. You can wait like-”

“If you don’t let us through that door in the next five seconds, so help me god, I will-”

“Woah, Bakugo, easy. Come on, let’s go somewhere else.” The redhead said, walking away from the door guard. The crowd parted for him, leaving a wake big enough for you and Bakugo to follow in without being touched.

After a little more wading through the crowd, Kirishima seemed to find what he was looking for. He pulled on a small part of the chain link fence, shifting it just enough for someone to crawl under. Bakugo nodded in thanks to the bigger man and crawled under, dragging you along.

Once inside the stadium fence, he pulled you inside through a nearby maintenance door. From there he navigated you towards one of the main halls. They weren’t lit well, but you could hear how they echoed. There must have been really high ceilings.

“Hey, hey. It’s okay. There’s no one around. Look- hey, look at me,” he said, and your eyes snapped to his. They were still intense, emitting the same waves of heat as the embers of a long-tended fire. You tried to look away, but he put his hands to your face, blocking out everything from your view but those eyes.

“None of that. Look at me. You’re fine. No one’s here. Breathe.” You took a shaky breath. Then another. And another, trying to match up with the rhythm of his breath as it echoed through the vast, empty hall.

“Good, you’re doing good,” he said, taking his hands from your face and grabbing your upper arm. “There’s a water fountain nearby. I’m going to take you there, and you’re going to drink, got it?” You nodded, breathing a little more evenly but not willing to talk just yet.

The water did wonders for you. It was cold, unlike the pressing heat of the crowd and your classmate. It grounded you, and when you finally came up for air you could feel that your heart was no longer trying to jump out of your chest. It wasn’t calmed, but it was more manageable.

“Thank you,” you whispered, afraid of how loud the echo would be. You were already jumpy, you didn’t need to make a fool of yourself for startling at your own voice.

“Don’t mention it,” Bakugo said at full volume. It bounced around in the hall, and you flinched at how suddenly it had contrasted with the airy silence that only a wide open space could have. He seemed to not notice.

“Come on. Now that you’re done waterboarding yourself, we’re gonna get you a shirt. Can’t have you at the game in that,” he said with disdain, as if you had intentionally worn your old NASA t-shirt from Target and comfy blue and purple leggings just to upset him.

“But I’m already in a shirt,” you protested. He began walking and, not wanting to be lost when the crowd inevitably came through for the game, you followed him.

“Yeah, but I ain’t letting you wear that shit to the game. It’s disrespectful.” You glared at him.

“I told you, I don’t wanna go.”

“Well it’s go to the game or try and fight your way through the crowd again, and something tells me you don’t have it in you to do that right now. So, we’re getting you a shirt at the very least, you’re gonna change, and we’ll head to the stands so we aren’t pushing through everyone.”

He was right about you not wanting to push through the crowd. You thought you might actually have a heart attack if you tried that again.

“Won’t we get in trouble for being back here? That guy made it pretty clear that no one’s supposed to get in until he gives the go ahead.” Bakugo grumbled ahead of you, and you heard a few choice curses being thrown at the door guy.

“That bastard’s just trying to prove he’s got some kind of power he doesn’t have. Besides, I know the people back here. I’m one of the leaders of the student section, they aren’t exactly gonna go tatling to that prick,” he said. There was a light a few corridors down. It was the only hallway illuminated at all.

“You? Leading the student section?” he huffed, glaring back at you.

“What? Think I can’t?”

“You just… don’t really seem the type,” you said, giving a lopsided smile. He rolled his eyes and looked back ahead of him.

“Yeah, well, I’m not. Hair-for-brains managed to rope me into it, and I’m not about to back out now.” You were getting closer, and saw a stall built into the brick of the building near where the hall emptied into the main room.

“Hair-for-brains? That a, uh… an enemy of yours?”

“What? No. He’s the guy with the red hair, held the fence so we could get inside? Bastard’s been glued to my side since high school, can’t get rid of him.” You finally neared the stall enough to reasonably talk with the person you saw inside, a woman about your age with short purple hair and gauged ears. She was chewing gum and scrolling through her phone, and her shirt was black with a blue guitar on it.

“Oi, Earlobes. Need a shirt,” he said, hooking a thumb at you walking behind him.

“That’s not my name, Bakugo,” she said, glancing up at him. Her eyes settled on you after a second, she tucked her phone in her back pocket. “Who’s this?”

“They’re with me. They’re here for the game, but they need a shirt.” The girl nodded beckoning you forward but continuing to talk to Bakugo.

“I know they’re with you, what’s their name?” He huffed in annoyance instead of answering. It made sense that he didn’t know you, you barely knew him after all.

“Their name’s L/N Y/N, now will you just get them a damn-”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t lose your head,” she said. “What’s your size?”

“Uh, s/s. But, I left my wallet, I don’t have a way to pay for it-”

“Hey, don’t worry. We can just chalk it up to costs of running the student section, right, Bakugo? Anyway, I’m Jiro. It’s nice to meet you,” she said, smiling as she turned to look through the small booth for the right size. She gave a little “aha!” when she found it.

“Feel free to stop by if you need anything else. Enjoy the game,” she said.

“Thanks, you too!” you said. Bakugo grabbed you by the arm again and started dragging you towards the bathrooms.

“Come on idiot, you need to get changed.”

You sat in the empty stands with Bakugo, listening to the crowd outside. They’d come in, soon, and you’d be swarmed, but you would be ready for it. You would be trapped, but you would know it was coming.

“So, have you ever been here?” You turned to him to see him already looking right at you. “In the stands, I mean. I know everyone gets taken to the stadium that first day for the stupid start of the year tradition.” You shook your head.

“No, I haven’t. It’s a nice view, though. Very… high up?” You hadn’t been in a real stadium before. Sure, there were a few times you’d been in the stands at your high school but they weren’t very tall and you hadn’t really thought to remark on them at all. Bakugo seemed to understand though, letting out a small chuckle.

“I guess it is, yeah. Still, we’re pretty low compared to other spots. You’ll be able to see the game better. Gotta make sure you have a good seat for your first game.” You two just looked at each other for a minute, counting down until everyone would swarm the stadium and find their seats and begin cheering and chanting.

“I’m Katsuki, by the way,” he said suddenly. “I don’t think I ever told you my name.”

“I knew your name,” you said quickly. “We’re in the same biology group, remember?” He blinked, as if he was surprised you remembered.

“Yeah, we are. Sorry, I just thought-”

“That some random stranger knew my name?” He looked away, glaring out onto the field as if he was trying to light the grass on fire with just his eyes.

“Sooo…” you said, grasping for a conversation topic. “You’re in the student section.”

“Not just in it,” he scoffed, turning back to you with a shit eating grin. “I’m second in command.”

“Not bad for a freshman,” you said, elbowing him. He elbowed you back.

“Don’t say that like you aren’t one, idiot.” You shoved him in retaliation, and it turned into an all out war, the both of you shoving each other in the stands. You were laughing at the absurdity of it. You were a freshman in college and here you were, rough housing with practically a stranger.

You heard the sound of people starting to flood the stadium. It distracted you from holding your base, and Katsuki shoved the both of you right off of your seats.

“Ha! I win!” he declared from atop you. You rolled your eyes, trying to push him off of you.

“I was distracted, it doesn’t count! And come on, people are coming. We don’t want to lose our seats.” But he stayed put, his face getting red. “Uh, earth to Katsuki? Can you let me up? We’re going to lose our seats otherwise.” He seemed to snap back to himself as he did, quickly pushing himself off of you and helping you stand, trying to avoid looking at you the whole time, which seemed odd. You took your seats as everyone started pouring in.

Katsuki’s friends found you both in the front row and sat with you. You recognized them as the people who had helped you move through the crowd. The redhead you remembered as Kirishima, the bright blond with a black streak dyed into his hair was Kaminari, and the one with black hair was Sero. Jiro came and joined you all, too, bringing a girl with bright pink hair who said her name was Mina. She was by far the most excited to meet you, immediately going in for a hug before you could stop her.

You spent the game with the whole group bumping into you every so often, but you found you didn’t care as much as normal. You were jumping up when everyone else was, screaming when everyone else was, being excited when everyone else was. It made the weird ‘ick’ feeling you got when people touched you diminish. It was still there, but there were more important things to worry about.

Katsuki taught you the chants, usually right before he led the rest of the crowd in them, so you could join in more. You almost fell over once, jumping up when a goal was scored. Katsuki was the one to catch you, pulling you back upright and returning to cheering after making certain you were alright.

You walked out of the stadium smiling and laughing. You were buzzing with energy. You knew some of it was the shaky, panicky kind from being in such close proximity to so many people, but most of it was excitement. You’d been a part of a crowd, instead of just being in one. You’d been able to channel the adrenaline rush you got when being touched into something more constructive than shying away and panicking.

“Stupid, shitty ass team. Didn’t even win. The fuck do they do all that training for if they aren’t going to take the game seriously?” Katsuki grumbled next to you.

“Hey, they took that game plenty seriously, Bakubro,” Kirishima said to try and cheer him up.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Lighten up, Bakugo. They lost by a single point, and that was only because the ref made a fake call to open the chance for a field goal,” Mina offered, decidedly avoiding the nickname Kirishima had used.

“Wasn’t that in overtime, too? Feel like they wouldn’t have let that happen if they weren’t taking the game seriously.” You had very little understanding of sports in general, but you understood the concept of overtime enough to recognize it. You didn’t know enough to know if the penalty the ref called in the last minute had been valid or not.

Regardless, Katsuki just grumbled.

“Doesn’t make it any better. Pinky’s right, the ref made a shit call. We should’ve won at that point.” You rolled your eyes and elbowed him.

“Well there’s nothing we can do about it, Katsuki. We lost, that stuff happens. We’ll do better next time,” you tried to reassure him. To your surprise, he flinched. Everyone turned to look at you as if you’d sprouted a second head.

“Did you just call him…” Kaminari looked around, as if someone would get him for what he was about to say, then leaned in to whisper to you, “...the ‘K’ word?”

“Katsuki? Yeah? That’s his name, right?” You turned to him to double check, but Katsuki refused to meet your eyes.

“Well, we hope to see you at the next game, Y/N!” Jiro said, slowly walking away while trying her best to hide a smile.

“Yeah, you too. Hope to see you before then, too,” you said with a confused smile. Why was she acting weird?

“You know, we’ve got a study group that meets Wednesday nights at the library, if you want to come! Blasty over there runs it,” Kaminari chimed in.

“You wouldn’t think it, but he’s a strangely good teacher! He’s the only reason I passed my first chem test,” Mina said, shooting a playful grin to the blond walking on your left.

“What’s that supposed to mean, dumbass?”

“Relax, Bakugo. She’s right, you don’t seem like the mentoring type,” Kirishima said, resting a hand on Katsuki’s shoulder. He was also fighting back a smile. Well, a bigger smile than he was already wearing.

“You are a bit loud and angry for a teacher, I’ll be honest,” Kaminari piped in, earning a death glare from the blond.

“Right, that’s our cue to go,” Sero said with a clap, grabbing Kaminari’s shoulder and starting to walk backwards. “Y/N, it was nice to meet you, if you want to join the study group we meet at 6 on the second floor of the library. It’s Mina’s turn to bring snacks, so we’ll be fueled for it. Anyway, see ya!” He turned around and sprinted off before Katsuki could chase after him and Kaminari.

“What’s up with them?” You asked.

“Oh, Bakugo’s known to try and strangle Kaminari. Those two are best friends and Kami doesn’t always know when not to say things, ADHD and all, so it falls to Sero to keep him alive when he says stupid things,” Kirishima explained.

“Anyway, Mina, you wanna go try that gyro place that just opened?” Kirishima said, the mischievous smile he’d been holding back finally breaking through

“Do I ever! Let’s go, Kiri. Have fun, you two!” And with several backwards glances and titters, Kirishima and Mina ran off.

“Well, they all seemed in a hurry to leave,” you said, rubbing your arm. It had been right after you called Katsuki by his name, too. They’d made a deal of it, before they all ran away.

“Did… Did I say something?” you asked the blonde, still walking next to you towards your dorm.

“No, those idiots just don’t know how to leave.”

“Oh. I just… nevermind.” You were the one refusing to meet his eyes now, and you could feel them boring into your temple as you looked around the street.

“I don’t let them call me by my name. That’s why the idiots got all weird.”

“Would you prefer if I don’t-”

“I told you to call me Katsuki, it’s fine,” he said, cheeks getting pink again.

You both walked together quietly for another block. It was a warm evening in mid September, and you relished in the warmth that rose from the ground. You looked up through the trees to see what color the sky was painted this time, just to say you were doing something. It was usually a gorgeous red, but sometimes it was a pink or an orange. That was the best part of your dorm: you could see the sunsets.

“You said you had homework to do?”

“Hm?” Katsuki kept looking at you as you pulled your eyes from the sky, and you froze for half a second. You’d recognized on some level that he was pretty, with his spiky blond hair and his seemingly constantly scowling face and his ember eyes. But something about the golden hour lighting made you realize he was pretty. You quickly looked away before he could see the blush on your face.

“Earlier, you said you still had homework to do. What was it for?”

“Oh, I’ve got to finish getting through this week's biology chapter. It’s taking a bit longer than I planned, but-”

“I can help. If you want me to.” You blinked at him, a little surprised that he would offer.

“It’s fine. I’m sure you’ve got your own homework, and I can’t ask you to do that anyway.”

“Unlike some people,” he said, giving you a playful glare, “I actually make sure I have my shit done before I go to a game.”

“Damn, alright.” You walked a few more paces in silence. “I mean… if you’re offering, I’d appreciate the help,” you admitted, refusing to look at him in the golden hour light. You had to keep it together, dammit.

“Well, I am. Hurry up, the sooner we get back the sooner we can be studying. We doing it in your room?

“Uh, sure, I guess,” you said, trying not to think too far into that.

“Cool. You’re roommate know?”

“Oh, I don’t have a roommate. They never showed up,” you said, maybe a little too quickly. Katsuki just glanced at you in his periphery, refusing to look at him, and nodded. You didn’t see his little smile.

By the time you’d finished getting through the chapter with Katsuki it was well into the night. He lived in a dorm several blocks away, and you weren’t about to let him walk that far in the dark, safe campus or not.

“Well, if you’re going to hold me hostage here, you wanna watch something?”

“Sure. Any suggestions?” he thought for a moment, before gesturing you to hand him your laptop. You did, and he pulled up the campus movie website and picked something before collapsing on the empty bed in the room. You clambered up into your bed to get the one blanket big enough for two people and hopped down. Once you were on the bed with him, you quickly arranged the blanket so you two both had some and settled in to watch the movie.

Halfway through, Katsuki felt something slump against him. He looked down to see you, leaning against his shoulder. You were out cold, and right as the movie was getting to the good part. He sighed, pausing the movie and closing the laptop. He set it off to one side and pulled out his phone to check the group chat.

He’d known it’d blow up the second he was left alone with you, so he’d set it to silent earlier, but now he could look through all the messages. It was all on the same topic, and the idiots were still talking. Kaminari was the first person to notice he was online.

“Dude! That’s the person you’ve been talking about? The one from bio?” he sent. Katsuki rolled his eyes, typing back quickly before the others swarmed him with questions.

“Yes, that was them. No, I’m not telling you morons anything. I’m going to bed.” He was about to put his phone down when one last notification banner came down from his private chat with Kirishima.

“So, how’d it go? Did the studying idea work?” Katsuki glanced down at you, sleeping on his shoulder. The game and studying combination must have really exhausted you if you passed out so easily and didn’t notice that you were leaning on him. It was cute.

“Worked great. Thanks for the idea, Red.”

“Knew it! Figured it must’ve gone well when you didn’t come back to the dorm.”

“Whatever, dumbass. Night.”

He tossed his phone next to your laptop and leaned back into the wall. It wasn’t the most comfortable sleeping position, but he knew if he moved you would wake up. So he took a breath and closed his eyes for the night, heart fluttering at the idea of being there first thing in the morning to talk to you again.

#katsuki x reader #bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #bakugou fluff #bakugou katsuki x reader #mha #bnha #college au #tw: panic attack

172 notes · View notes

grapejuicestyless · 1 year ago

Note

i’m rlly sad summers gone but like I have a winter request for conrad so we good !!

fem reader (conklinnn ofc) and conrad used to date but then had a messy breakup so now everyone is in college and yn doesn’t have anywhere to go because everyone is off doing something for winter break so she takes stevens car and drives down to the summer house and conrad shows up a day later and she’s freaking out. They both stay there the whole week and romantic feelings and nostalgia builds up again 🤌🏻

you can add some of your own stuff too because your soooo creative and your work is golden!! thank you:)

Peace.

Conrad Fisher x fem!reader

Angst to fluff!

Summery: After a hard loss, both in a relationship and with the severing of the ties of her past, Y/n must learn to let go in order to gain what she so desperate wants back.

Snowfall is always overlooked. People see it as more of an inconvenience than as a gift. Each little white flake falling from the sky seems like nothing more than a mushy ball of frozen water made to block the roads and keep kids out of school, but the closer you look the more complex they are.

What was once so horrible becomes something beautiful, something unique. There is no other thing like it, each flake is different even by one branch in the pattern. It’s sad how many people are so quick to dismiss it and pout out their windows. White was never their favorite color and the cold was never their favorite temperature.

At this time of year, I usually considered myself lucky. I had a family who cherished each snowfall and a mother who would have hot-coco ready on the table for when our red cheeks and icy hair would become too much and we would finally come back inside to melt and warm up again. Each winter break my younger siblings, Steven and Belly would be attached at my hip. Having an older sister who only grew more and more, our time together always felt limited. So we spent each day in the living room. Playing the Wii with Steven and Barbies with Belly. I would read with my mom and cook with my dad. It was all so perfect. My favorite time of the year.

I used to joke with Conrad that college didn’t hold the same amount of excitement around the season because people were just as bitter and cold all year round. I called him cold hearted too because he thought it was funny. He laughed and kissed me then. I wonder if he would laugh now. Even if we no longer shared a stocking and cozied up by the fireplace impossibly close declaring our quiet loves for each other. I wonder if he still thinks fondly of the winter like I do now that it’s tainted with old memories of us.

Usually, during the winter I would drive down to Boston. It took some convincing for Laurel to allow her daughter to drive so far in such intense weather, but she knew where my heart belonged. It was the holidays and she was just as jolly as the rest of us, so she would always agree. There, I would bring gifts for all the Fishers. I didn’t have enough money to afford gifts and college, so everything was homemade. Every year I would apologize, but Susannah and Conrad always claimed to love it. Jeremiah wouldn’t say anything, but the smile on his face was always genuinely happy, so I think he liked them just as much.

Conrad would take my mitten clad hands after. Even covered in thick wool he managed to clasp his hands fully around mine, eager to get me alone. We’d slip away into his room, my cheeks red and eyelashes covered in snowflakes and his eyes wide and smile full. Behind closed doors, we could be as affectionate as we wanted without gags of jealousy disguised as disgust from Jeremiah or swooning from Susannah over how cozy we looked.

I remember how I believed my hips were made with dips so his hands could fit perfectly in them. How his arm rested on my waist so tight, I didn’t need a blanket because he kept me warm. No fireplace or layers of coats could light the flames in my heart and keep me warm in the coldest winters like Conrad could.

He said summer was his favorite season when he met me, but now he favored winter because it reminded him of me. I asked what would happen if something were to happen to us, just to tease him then. He got serious, I still remember the look on his face when he told me I would always be his favorite thing. How winter would forever remind him of me and no matter what, nothing could change that fact.

It was our own little secret oasis. A utopia of our own confined within the four walls of his childhood bedroom. When it snowed, we’d play in the snow like children and when it stormed we’d make forts to watch our favorite winter movies. It was a dream I never wanted to end, I was foolish to think it wouldn’t.

By spring, it felt like he was tired of me, of who I was. No amount of effort could keep Conrad beside me. I became someone he wasted his time on rather than someone he begged to be around. My skin was like fire to his touch, his eyes avoidant. It all came to a head when I broke down in late May.

“Why, why am I not enough?” I begged him then, I wanted to know what my problem was. Why I couldn’t be more than what I was now. Why we couldn’t go back.

He shrugged his shoulders, looking past my left shoulder. He looked distant. He knew it just as well as I did, we were walking on eggshells.

“Because you’re just not.” His words were bitter, knives stabbing me through the heart and ripping out. There was no reason, he didn’t even try to make the gashes in my heart better.

“Bullshit. I do everything for you! I give you everything!” It came out more as a question than a statement. I wasn’t as sure about what I once believed so firmly now that Conrad was showing how he felt.

“I guess it wasn’t enough then.” His eyes were watering. We were already talking in the past tense, we were over. He didn’t have to say it, neither did I. It was as clear as the freckles on his face, there was no amount of mending that could pull us back together.

In my mind I could only remember those final words we spoke to each other. The first hour of our long argument was washed from my mind for my own sake. What should’ve been tattooed permanently in my brain was gone the second we were over. Maybe if I could remember it fully, each insult and every word he used to put me down and make me feel small, I would’ve been able to feel justified in my anger. I could talk shit with my friends, shit on him to my mother. But even in my heartache, I couldn’t find reasons to be mad at him.

Conrad always went through so much on his own. It would be selfish of me to believe that he was completely okay when things ended. It was messy and sudden the way it happened. He was the biggest dick to me, but I couldn’t blame him for what he did. Not then, not now. Part of me still loved him. Part of me would still die for him in secret. He was my first love, all I knew when it came to my feelings. I let him rule my heart, my decisions. I didn’t show up to Cousins that summer.

Now that it was over, no ties binding us together, no overbearing reason to drive down to Boston for the weeks leading up to the holidays where we’d all finally be together again, I have no where to go. Steven was old enough to be on his own now, a freshman at Princeton. One of his rich friends had dropped by within the first twenty four hours to drag him off to his families vacation home. I hadn’t even set up the Wii yet. Belly, my littlest sibling who I adored more than anyone else I knew was more distant than Steven. The stress of deciding between Finch and Jeremiah or some state school with the guarantee of being on volleyball was eating her alive. Back then, I would’ve told her not to lose sight of her dreams and life because of some boy, but here I was doing the same thing. I stayed quiet and let her decide what she wanted.

My mom was gone just like Steven. Away to talk about her book with other critically acclaimed writers and producers. My dad was out of the picture. He wouldn’t be back until Christmas morning. He was never really present after the divorce, but he’s a good man and he tries his best. He just works a lot. It hurts to not be able to enjoy the holidays like I used to, but I can respect why everyone’s away.

Somehow, I end up in Stevens drivers seat. I’ve never had a car of my own. While Steven spent weeks searching the internet for a cheep car, I spent my time studying for finals and applying to colleges. I never had the time. He gave me his keys before he left. He said I could take his car anywhere I wanted as long as I didn’t ruin it. Each dent in it, I would owe him ten bucks. It wasn’t much, but to a struggling college student, ten dollars in my bank account might as well have been him asking for hundreds.

“Belly, I’m heading out. Call me if you need me, okay? I might not be back for awhile.” The words I chose were ominous. I didn’t tell her where I was going, why I was going or how long I’d be exactly, but she didn’t care enough to ask. So I climbed into Stevens car and let my playlist shuffle. I imagine myself in the situations my favorite artists write about and sing along like I can relate to their upper class parties and juvenile activities. It keeps my mind off of where I’m going.

It’s not like I got in the car set on heading to the one place that once swore to never step foot near again, but when I recognize the signs on the highway pointing me in the same direction, I’m suddenly set on it.

The sting of the breakup lingered like a tattooed kiss, a reminder of something so special that was now gone. I wouldn’t let him ruin the place that was once so special to our families.

Pulling up to that driveway, I remember how the weeds would grow over the gravel by July and how Steven and Jeremiah would stay out for hours plucking at them to make Susannah happy. How the grass held the imprints of our small bodies rolling around the hills and daffodils. The sand was forever glued into the fabric of our favorite t-shirts and the salt air is what we smelled of until December washed it away.

We were always so close here. Despite the rifts and the problems that happened between us. Not blow out fight or silent treatment could ever separate the Conklin’s and the Fishers from each other for long.

I looked back on how I felt at home. How together was something that I never even questioned. Steven would be by the fireplace yelling at the television and Belly would be begging him to quiet down. Laurel would be curled up in the corner scribbling things into a notepad and dad would try to sneakily move the elf on the shelf.

We were older now. The wii wasn’t all that special and Belly longed for the chaos she once hated. Steven preferred his friends and mom and dad fell out of love so mom could learn to love her work more.

I pulled into the large house through the garage. I knew the code by heart, it was my phone passcode. I figured that if I wanted to stay attached to homeliness so badly I could be where I learned what love was the best.

In my head, even now I always believed that no matter how long it would go untouched, the summer home would always be bright and warm. Smelling of Susannah’s candles and Belly’s sticky iced teas.

Stepping through the front door, it was dark and cold. My breath was less visible than in the outside, but the light and heat didn’t bounce from wall to wall like it always did.

It took me a few minutes to find the correct switch to turn up the heat. I cranked it until my socks burned on my feet and a sweat covered the top of my forehead. It was comfortable, I could sink into my own chunky sweater.

It was my mothers, the blue and white striped sweater I wore. She was gifted it by Susannah in their late college years but it never quiet fit her because she was so short. It fit big, but it didn’t sag at my knees or gather at my wrists as much. It smelled like my mom and reminded me of Pennsylvania skies.

The warmth from the heat and the comfort from my clothes set me in a slump, my eyes drooped. I hadn’t even turned on any lights yet, hadn’t gone up to my room to make the bed. I was sat in place on the permanently indented couch. Though my body curled into the spot where I always laid during movie nights, my head fell where Conrad’s lap would’ve been. To imagine we were all just as happy, as close made me feel fuzzy. If I tried hard enough I could even hear his voice. Calling for me, like a dream.

The sun peaked through the windows and the dust that collected on the once neatly kept glass projected tiny shadows and spots across the hardwood floor. The couch was warm with my body heat and other than the faint whisper of the wind, it was peaceful.

A melodic whistle blowed through the open gap between the living room and the kitchen. It was smooth yet broke when the song grew too high for the deeper voice that carried the tune.

Rubbing at my eyes, my feet swung out from under my thighs, I wiped away any drool or signs of slumber. Still, clearing my complexion did not rid my body of the tired achey feeling and the small blurring of my vision. My brain was following behind my body, every caution sign to who was here at this time thrown to the wind.

Mugs clanked together clumsily, my nose burned with the strong scent of coffee beans. It was chillier in the morning here than how I had left it at night, I could feel the tip of my nose turning red and growing colder.

A taller boy stood hunched over the countertops, a spoon clinking around softly as he stirred around something in the mug. His shirt hung loose on his body but his pants fit just right.

His hair was wavy, but only just at the ends. Under the strong smells of early morning caffeine, I could faintly still pick up the scent of sea salt and a spice I couldn’t name. It was vanilla like but also had a lingering smell of oak and woods. It was my favorite smell.

“Conrad..?” It clicked in my brain that the handsome boy hanging around the summer home wasn’t some pick me up sent from heaven. The reason behind my instant admiration for such a simple, domestic task was because of how well I knew and once loved the boy. The name fell from my lips quietly, like I couldn’t believe it was true.

Spinning around, I met his blue eyes. I watched his lips twitch, fighting against some kind of emotion from spreading across his face and the light in his eyes falter. He looked blank, unaware of how his lack of enthusiasm of our reuniting was crushing me inside.

“Figured you’d want coffee.” He was right. He still knew me like the back of his own hand and that was the worst part. I hadn’t changed, I never would. He would always know me and it hurt to know I trusted him like that at one point just for him to leave. He even made it in my favorite mug.

A light blue ceramic mug that still had Belly and Conrad’s fingerprints in the clay and visible brush strokes across the top. They made it for me when we were still little. It was my favorite gift from her because they made it as an apology. For breaking my old vase I made for my mom in art class. They meant to harm and felt horrible, I cherished their kindness more than anything.

“No…no. I’m all set.” Crossing my arms and clearing my throat, I set my eyes on the ground and leaned against the doorframe on the wall. We didn’t speak after that, he didn’t move. Sucking in his lips, I heard him sigh almost disappointedly.

“So…” He tried to start, I was too scared to listen. Not of him, god I could never be scared of him. But of what he could want to say.

My eyes flicked over the dents in the floor, I discovered marks I hadn’t seen before. Just when I thought I had everything memorized. When I thought I knew everything, when I thought I knew him.

“You know, uhm…I think I’m going to settle in.” Nodding at him quickly, I all but ran to the stairs. My hands gripped at the banister so quickly, I felt skin pull skin. It tore just under my fingers beginning, the top of my palm. I swore I heard him call after me, but maybe it was the ringing in my ears.

I came here to get away. In search of some solace, I grasped at the tattered strands of my childhood to find that I had held on too long. In my own journey, by some sort of fate, I dragged along a deeper part of those memories with me.

I spent that morning stowed away in my bedroom. I left the door ajar. The air was chilly still, and the air dusty. The heat had rarely been used. Only on the rare occasions in which Susannah would find reason to escape down to the beautiful town of Cousins. Simply to watch the early snowfalls or sparkling lights decorating the center of the town. Usually when I would get settled into my own room in the summer home, each knickknack would be thrown carelessly over the bureau top and shoved in the forever empty bedside table drawers. I would procrastinate making my bed last. I hated the damned fitted sheets and the wrinkles I couldn’t flatten for days. I hated the way that the corners never stayed. My body stretched as far as it would go, yet I could never quiet hook the fabric far enough to keep it settled.

Today was no different. My blood boiled the same, but it mixed with an unfamiliar warmth. How endearing it was to be able to relive such a memorable moment of my summers again even after tragedy struck the once uniting household.

“Fuck.” The sheets flipped up. The full sized mattress was far too wide to allow my arms to stretch across the full width of its body and hook the corners over far enough to where they wouldn’t slip. Each move resulted in a different kind of release with the bedsheets. Each time I ended up wrapped up in the thin cotton sheets.

The clock ticking on my bedside table taunts me. Reminds me of how long I’ve been tangled around in my bed. If it weren’t so humiliating, I would’ve asked for help. But I created a mess. My feelings, one’s that Conrad had so clearly buried as he was able to be kind and cordial towards me while I panicked like a fish out of water. So I hop around from corner to corner desperate to finish my task.

“Y/n?” The name burns the way it rolls off of his tongue. Like even with me gone, he had practiced pronouncing it in the mirror, whispered it to himself each night. It was like we’d seen each other the day before, the way it came out. Breathless and light.

The moon hung over the house, illuminating thin strips of shine through the windows that led from the floor to the very bed I was sprawled across.

Sighing heavily, I threw my head back. Hair fell in front of my face, tickling the bridge of my nose. I saw Conrad hesitate. His hand flinched out from where it was tucked behind the doorframe. He set it on the white wood frame.

“Can I help?” It was innocent enough. Maybe he was sick of the sound of my knees rubbing against the mattress. Or the way I grunted every few minutes. I stumbled around my room all day fixing it up, I almost forgot how loud it could’ve been.

It felt sour to accept it. Even if it were as innocent and kind as it seemed. Conrad had a glimmer of hope in his eye and his lips upturned. He looked so handsome still, nose pinker from the slight chill and eyes still just as deep blue.

“No thank you.” I huffed. I tried to sound annoyed, something that was hard to do when you weren’t really all that annoyed at all. Resistant was the only similar thing I could place a name to. I saw the wag Conrad’s smile faltered, his eyes looming with a dark shadow, masking the vibrant sparkle.

“Come on, don’t be so stubborn, please? You’ve been at it for hours, just let me help.” Stubborn. Just like my mother and his. Each of us were always set to do things on our own. But this was far more than just genetics at this point. This was my own grudge I was holding. This was my pride and my responsibility over my emotions acting. No matter how nice the gesture, I still refused, gnashing my teeth.

“Oh, so suddenly you care?” It was a lot more mean than I meant it. I know how much Conrad cares. How much he always has. He doesn’t have the best way to show for it, but in the end you always know it. It was a mistake, an instant regret. I watched how his face contorted. He wasn’t just disappointed now, but genuinely hurt by my own dig at his insecurities.

His whole life, Conrad always feared he wasn’t enough. He couldn’t give enough, couldn’t be enough. He always talked himself down, creating a false standard in which everyone else was above him, out of his league. He was insecure. He didn’t need reassurance, he knew what kind of love was real and what was fake, but the fact that maybe I had thought the same crushed him. I could tell.

His silence hung over us so heavy, a knife could slice it. His jaw stuttered and his eyes blinked slow. A loss for words. I wish he could just yell at me. Fuel my fire, make me feel less bad about what I said. Less guilty about the fact I couldn’t get over us when he could. Conrad didn’t deserve my emotional daggers directed at his heart simply because we split. I know Conrad, I always have. His method of leaving was cruel, but the boys heart was in the right place always.

“Fuck!” The sheet snapped back. I had enough. In all seriousness, I should’ve stopped to talk to the boy who was so clearly hurt by the door. A girl, a guest in a house that once felt just as much as hers as his was there in a now occupied room throwing insults unprovoked when he was trying to be nice.

Standing, I stumbled past him clumsily again, taking a spare blanket that hung off the end of the bed with me. I couldn’t take it. His stares, the silence, the sheet, my own guilt, my thoughts. I needed to be out of that sickened room.

“Y/n…” Again, the call was faint. A whisper in my head whose only goal was to make me stop. I didn’t turn. It was unfair, the whole thing. To me, to Conrad. I decided to sleep on the couch.

My back ached. The plush cushioning under my back too soft, too worn in. A good remedy, a great place for a quick nap. But it hurt after more than a few hours. The fabric rubbed harshly, the pillows sunk in. My hips popped when I stood.

The sun was shining through the windows, air crisp. Heat finally reached all corners of the large house and the cob webs were finally swept away. The magic of summer wasn’t there, but it felt homely. A good alternative to the sad loneliness of my own bedroom at home.

The house was still, the kitchen untouched and an empty mug in the sink. It was stained in a ring from where the old drink had been and had little brown streaks from where the coffee dripped off of the sides. The counter tops were cold, despite the heat inside. The floor was quiet, there was no shuffling. It led me to believe that the only other occupant was still asleep.

Heading up the stairs, I picked at my old clothes. The discomfort came from multiple things. The way my clothes stuck to my body, my teeth didn’t feel right in my mouth. My hair was knotted. I looked fine, but nothing felt right. The only way to describe it was that when waking up after a rough couple of nights, it felt like my skin didn’t fit right over my bones.

My door was wide open. The hinges bent all the way back, the light bled through the curtains. My already slow steps came to a halt when the threshold fell behind my legs. My bed was decorated with the same blue floral design it always had during the summers.

The pillows were placed where I always had them, and my blankets were hung so neat on the bottom of my bed. My fingers ran over the soft fabric like it wasn’t really mine. Like I was admiring a sample from a store, wishing it were mine. It was always so pretty.

My thumb hooked over the folded edge very carefully. I didn’t want to mess with the perfectly made bed. More importantly, I didn’t want to crease the remaining hand prints that laid in the center of the bed.

The plushy duvet left residue from bigger hands. Spread along the bends, from the center down. Proof that someone had truly tried their best to perfect it.

Looking under the top, not only had each layer been placed, but the fitted sheet. I could see it now with all its layers peeled back. The thought that even after my initial attempts to push away, to be mean, to hurt him, that Conrad had still wanted to help me made me feel warm. I wasn’t sure why my heart was fluttering for a boy I swore I hated. But my cheeks were red and my knees felt weak. I always did love his acts of service.

I didn’t plan on showering, but my skin was sticky with sleep and my heart was pounding too fast. I hated the fact that Conrad was too good for everyone in his own special ways. I hated the way he still cared and the way he remained so observant even in our absence. Most of all, I hate the way I reach for his shampoo in the shower. Longing for the scent of him to linger on me for just a little longer. How funny it is that we’ve changed so quickly and yet not at all. We used to share our hair products. He kept a hair tie for me in his bedside table. I had a drawer of clothes in his room, he had some in my closet. He went from my everything to just something in my life. Yet, with all this change I still reach for the familiarities of what we once had. My hand still searches the shower for his conditioner. My feet still take me to his door to find a shirt I like. What we had is gone, crushed under the weight of our separation, but my muscle memory pulls me back. The heart is a muscle, one that forever beats for Conrad Fisher.

I sit in the corner for longer than I lather the soap across my skin. My body is curled up against the cold tiles. I feel pathetic doing so. How small I’ve made myself. Not only mentally, but physically. I feel weak at how little self control I have. I think back on the past year of my life and I regret each decision I’ve made leading me here suddenly.

Was I not enough for Conrad? I know it’s not his reasoning behind his leaving, but I feel like the theory becomes more and more plausible the longer I think back on how lonely I’ve been. So stuck on my own problems, I forget how little I see my family. How Belly has grown without me. Her friends, her lovers. She is independent, she knows her path. Steven has matured. He understands feelings, he’s valedictorian. His brains lead him through life, he no longer comes to me at midnight to ask for help with math. I no longer review his essays or read his made up stories in the living room. We are two different siblings who once spent every moment together. My mother is nose deep in her own promotion with her books. She is succeeding while my father is going on dates and moving on. I am stuck in the same spot, forever thinking of the past, I can not move on.

I am scared by the knowledge that my family is no longer dependent on me. A scab is forming over the wound of the fact that Conrad has left, I am not needed. I hope the warm water fading into a cooler drizzle will hide the way my eyes are puffy and red. The streaks of water on cheeks will become streams of the shower. I am strong and resistant like my parents, but I am scared to admit that I have real fears. Ones that control my life. I will never tell them how I breakdown, how my heart is breaking and I am falling off the pedestal.

It’s more lively now then it was just an hour ago. The birds are gone, on vacation away in the warmer weather while the cold covers New England in a chilling blanket. I hear the mugs clattering from the hallways and the soft humming passing through his pink lips. He hears me before he sees me.

“Coffee?” He motioned to the brown liquid, steaming while it poured into the glass pitcher. Rubbing beneath my eyes, I could feel the weight of my eye bags heavy on my skin. My throat was coarse, hands aching from how hard I had grasped onto the shower walls. I hid behind the island counter on the stool. My body curled up into the baggy clothes covering my body, my knees hugging into my chest as close as possible.

“Yes, please.” I mumbled softly, trying not to show any weaknesses. Conrad knew me better than that. The way my lip twitched into a fake smile, how my eyes were more avoidant that usual. Even in my heavy feelings, my eyes were always drawn to him. I was closing myself off.

A beat passed. Conrad’s attempt at conversation had fallen short, right by my feet.

“How’d you sleep?” He turned to me, freshly brewed coffee sloshing around in the same mug as yesterday. He placed it in front of me, but he turned away again to pour his own cup. It wasn’t to further distance himself, creating a divide all while I was shutting down, but to give me room to breathe in a space I was so clearly suffocating in.

“It was okay.” I sighed, hand holding my head, my eyes closed. I imagined myself laid with my back pressed against plush pillows and my childhood bedroom fairy lights hanging over my head. It was still winter, but the atmosphere in my daydream felt of summer.

“I’m glad, then. That it wasn’t so bad, I mean.” He corrected himself, afraid of a wrath inside of me that didn’t exist to him anymore. It never really had, my emotions had only been misplaced yesterday.

Often I’ve been told that my words shoot to kill when I’m mad. I insult and belittle myself more than others, but my mother has no problem with bringing up the few times I targeted my feelings at Steven or Belly. How little I made them feel, how guilty I felt. I threw up once, after yelling at Steven. He hadn’t cared for it, fighting was what siblings did. But remembering how I tried to hurt him made me sick. I felt the same after insulting Conrad.

Nodding my head, I pursed my lips into a thin line. My eyes blinked away any dryness, I inhaled a deep breath.

“Hey, uhm…thank you, by the way.” I pulled the sleeves of my sweater over my hands, hovering over the cup of coffee to revel in the hot steam hitting my face.

Conrad turned around, leaning against the counter. His hands pressed up behind him, firm but his face was soft, glad.

“I shouldn’t have…you didn’t deserve that.” My eyes flickered between the floor and the folding of my sleeves over my thumbs. My skin was cold, my hair wet on the back of my neck. I had a lump in my throat.

“Y/n?” His voice was gentle, closer than before. I saw his elbows press against the counter top, just mere inches away. I felt even more awkward, littler than before somehow.

I hummed. But the coarseness in my throat made it come out as more of a rumble. I choked on the growing lump, my nose burned.

“We don’t have to avoid each other.” He said it like that was so easy. Like everything was resolved by him simply stating that he didn’t want to face the consequences of our actions.

“I know.” I brought the edge of the mug to my lips and blew. Steam clouded my vision, the wet heat felt nice on my cheeks.

“Y/n.” He said more firmly.

He wasn’t angry, but he wanted my attention. My eyes flickered up to his. They were darker now. Swarmed with so many emotions, it was hard to grasp onto what he was feeling. I set the mug down.

“Please don’t avoid me.” He begged more softly, his hand hesitated to reach out to me. Once they clasped around mine, it was almost relieving. Having something familiar to ground me while I was only working myself up. “I miss you, I miss us. We were best friends and we haven’t even spoken in…I don’t even know how long. This, this is stupid. To be running in circles like this?”

“That’s easy for you to say.” This time, my words weren’t angry. They broke apart when I spoke. The sentence was raw, the lump in my throat broke through my clenched teeth and my nose heated up in an intense burn. My eyes were heavy, working hard to keep any tears at bay. Again, here I find myself in a different spot, practicing the same habits. I stand in front of Conrad angry, ready to hurt his ego and pierce a hole through his heart just to ease my own mind.

I wanted exactly what he did, to be as close. I missed him more than anything in my life ever, but it wasn’t so simple. He pleaded my name again, I pulled my hands out of his. His fingers were like a barbed wire. It suddenly stung to have him touching me.

“I just wish you would’ve acknowledged it, you know? I mean look at me, look at us. You’re fine, you’re happy. I can’t even look at you without wanting to cry.” When our hearts broke, they broke uneven. Conrad was left with a bruise why I was facing the pain of a bleeding scar across my own. He had been the one to cause the rift, he had been the one to bring up everyone’s insecurities, use them against our relationship.

“Y/n.” He whispered, reaching out to me again. I stood from the stool, keeping my distance. My tears were hot, they burned into my skin.

“You couldn’t even stand me, Conrad! And I couldn’t see it before, but I can now. You couldn’t even text me, no. No, but that’s not the worst part. Maybe it’s the fact that you couldn’t even show up to Stevens graduation because I was there.” He sighed, ready to defend himself. I look back on all the disappointed faces, I remember the way Steven frowned at that empty seat beside me and I feel angry.

“Do you know how hard it is to tell your baby brother that his hero couldn’t make it to his graduation because he can’t even stand to be around me? Do you know how sad he was when he started to walk up to the podium and saw your seat was empty? I recorded it and sent it to you, did you know that? I wasn’t going to, I didn’t think you deserved to have a part in one of the most important parts in Stevens life, but he begged me to. Tried to make me send it twice so you’d get it.” I took a deep breath, wiping away the tears by my eyes, more spilled. My face was wet with salt water and red with anger.

“So why don’t we go back to how things were before after you’ve fucked it all up!”

“It’s really fucking unfair of you to act like this hasn’t affected me at all either!” He finally shot back. He was never one to yell. Conrad always had some sort of control over his composure. He never yelled, he hated yelling.

“How, how can you say that after you’ve done nothing to fix anything!” Walking closer to him, I saw how he turned away to grip the counter between his fingers.

“People deal with shit differently, Y/n. Grow up!” He yelled. His eyes were wild, it should’ve scared me. But god, him telling me to grow up after all he put me through only made me angrier. I was fragile already. But not as a flower, but a bomb.

“Fuck you, Conrad.” My voice was shaky, but firm. I didn’t yell, my lack of volume was almost scarier than my inevitable rage. He looked up at me, it was like watching him realize how his words had betrayed him. He hadn’t meant for us to fight, to talk like this. He wanted to fix things. He wanted me back.

“Y/n.” He shook his head, walking closer to me, he bent away from the edges of the island to reach me quicker. His voice was laced with pity

“Stop saying my name!” I backed away, feet catching on the threshold, I slowed myself down. Each time he said it, it pulled on my heartstrings. How could he be so selfish to not even be able to see all the pain I’ve been put through!

“I’ve missed you ever since I left you! You think I don’t regret the way I treated you? I’m not naïve to my own stupidity, I know my mistakes, I’ve owned them. You were my everything, god you might as well have hung the stars!” He waved his hands around to animate what he was saying. It only stresses me out more.

“Then why? Why did you throw it all away!” My body began to crumble beneath me, my knees wobbled.

“Because I was scared! I was scared of losing you. I thought if I let myself become too obsessed, that if you decided to leave me I would never be able to get back up. I had to do it!” He confessed. It all made sense then. All my unanswered questions, all my insecurities of not being enough. Conrad hadn’t left because I couldn’t give him what he wanted. He left because he was scared of what would happen when I was gone. That he wasn’t enough.

“I wouldn’t have left you, Conrad. I wouldn’t have.” My palms hit my eyes, my knees started to give. A sob ripped through my throat. It hurt to breathe.

His arms were like a blanket. His hands still fit perfectly around my back. When he held me, it was tight. I knew it then that he wouldn’t be letting me go, not now. His shirt was wet with my tears, mine was wet with my hair. I felt stupid, naïve to think of Conrad in such bad ways when he had only been doing what he thought was best to protect his heart after loss after loss.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” I repeated it like a prayer, I didn’t mean to be so mean. I didn’t want to be rude to him, I wanted him to be close to me always. His heart was beating out of his chest when he nodded. He knew I never meant to fight him. We were both entitled to our feelings, there was no reason in trying to apologize for how we reacted.

His hand lifted to my head, brushing through my hair. He gathered a chunk in his palm, his knuckles gripping at it. It didn’t hurt, he didn’t intend for it to. He was breathing me in, holding onto me in every which way possible.

“It’s going to be okay, we’re going to be okay.” My sobs were muffling themselves, quieting down into soft whimpers. It took a lot to even nod my head against his shirt. It smelled like him, and it was homely. I felt safer now than in our argument. Our words held no value anymore, I just hoped that what he said was true.

Holding her like that almost made things feel normal again. Having her hair in between my fingers and her waist pressed against mine. I wanted to revel in it, selfishly. But her sniffles and uneven breath only made me remember why I even got the privilege to hold her again.

Again and again, I watched her breakdown over a mistake I made. To protect myself. I swore it to her last winter, promised her that it would always be my favorite season because she was my favorite thing. I built up this trust and a love between us. It was when she left that I freaked out over what my mom said.

“I’ve never seen you so happy.” She had said, poncho bc my cheek between her fingers. Playfully, I pulled my face away.

“Yea?” I mused, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and watched the steady snowfall on the final night of winter through the window.

“The love bug’s got you.” She was right. I was so undeniably in love with Y/n. I would change everything in my life just to be with her always.

“What?” My eyes squinted from the way my eyebrows furrowed. She was still looking out into the snow.

“It’s okay to be in love, Connie.” She quickly turned to me and smoothed out my shirt. She sensed my confusion and stress. I knew I was in love with her, but the fact that it was that obvious, that clear made me worry.

“Everyone has their first love at some point.” With that she left. At some point. The words rung through my head. I knew that the first love was always the strongest, but this was not my first love. I had fallen for an ex-girlfriend in freshman year. She broke my heart. Why was the thought of Y/n leaving shattering mine completely?

The more I thought of us together then, the more I worried about her leaving. She was perfect for me, maybe. But could I even measure up to her perfection? Could I give her everything?

I was able to push that feeling away for a few weeks. But as winter turned to spring and the leave began to regrow, I couldn’t shake it. Distance was a thing I was only growing between us. Space, something I created so there was no way we could get hurt. I thought it was the right thing, then. I thought it was the right move for me to let her leave so easily. To watch her fight for me one last time and not react. I was giving her the chance for someone more, someone better. I didn’t know I was only breaking her heart in ways I worried I would break my own.

It was a guilt I lived with all these months. When she didn’t come up to cousins because she wasn’t feeling good, I knew why. I had avoided her like the plague after our last conversation, our first real fight. I couldn’t even show up for her family in one of their most important milestones. Now it seemed like we only fight now, or at least in these past couple hours.

My neck was stiff from how it leaned against the back of the couch. I hadn’t watched past the hour mark of the black and white movie Conrad had put on. I didn’t have the heart to tell him I no longer liked it.

The movie was all I watched when I was at my absolute worst. Not to say I wasn’t still there, I felt rock bottom beneath my feet, but I felt myself getting better slowly. I no longer spent each day rewatching the same film over and over to ease the pain and remind myself of a happier time. I hated the way they talked. I once found it romantic, but the old cracking in the sound and the fancy accents made me angry. None of it was real.

To Conrad, he only did what he thought I would like. He had no way of knowing of my new distaste to the movie. One I used to rave about for hours. Then again, he never asked.

Yawning, I felt a set of eyes on mine.

“Tired?” He asked, a small smile on his face. I waved him off.

“Nope.” I popped the ‘p.’ It was an easy lie, my dark circles and slouchy posture gave it away. There was no way to sell it. I was surprised when he didn’t push me on it. My eyes drooped, my cheek pressed to my lonely shoulder. I had no one to lean on. I curled into myself a little, all while silently telling myself I was awake.

A pillow hit my lip, I bit down a little but it didn’t hurt me. My eyes were wide open now, hair messed up around the top. My fly aways were all over the place, my eyes squinting.

“Hey!” Grabbing the corners of the pillow, I swung as hard as I could towards Conrad, the culprit. It his his chest, he groaned out in a heavy breath. The pillow was soft, I was sure it didn’t hurt. But he entertained the idea that it did by rubbing circles in his chest, wincing and hissing through his teeth. I rolled my eyes.

“Seriously?” I leaned back against the cushions again, placing the pillow comfortably over my lap. I heard him laugh. A real, genuine laugh. It felt like weight was lifted off of my back.

“What! That was one of my best performances.” He punched my shoulder. I shot him playful glares. He pushed at me again, begging for a reaction. I folded already, giving into his games and retaliating against his childish attacks. But I would not crumble so easily. I would not let him tease me and play me until I opened up again just hours after yet another fight. I worried that another would ensue.

Sitting up, I tossed the pillow back at him. The sound he made confirmed it had hit him in the face.

“Come on, where are you going?” I could hear the smile in his voice. It made me smile too, knowing he was happy.

“To bed, I am tired.” I didn’t look back, but I felt him watching.

I swore I heard words die on his tongue. A soft stutter to a dead silence. Like he wanted to protest but stopped himself somehow. He never saw me look back, but when I was turning to the stairs, I allowed myself a glimpse.

His eyes were spacey, lip pulled between his front teeth. His eyebrows furrowed. He was deep in thought, but I could see the disappointment in his face. He didn’t seem as full of life, as cheerful. We were rebuilding a childhood, best friend bond that was lost with in cracking of our foundations in the spring.

“Goodnight, Conrad.” I still hadn’t had the ability to carry a joke with him. To keep a conversation flowing without my emotions dying inside of me before I could get them out. I whispered my goodnight. I wanted him to know I still held a place in my heart for him, but part of me wanted to reserve that knowledge to only myself.

I was scared to be more than what was being proposed. The door was open, we were almost friends. It was an odd spot. We’d act like friends, joke like them, but we both knew what we had done, what had just happened. I would walk through the entrance if Conrad would allow it. If we could at least be close, even if his lips weren’t mine, even if his body wasn’t there for me to lean on anymore. I would live happily, I’d be able to put on a brave face and call myself his friend. I would stand by the alter, watching him find another love, burying the hatchet of our love for good and I would be okay, I decided. As long as I still had him. As long as I never had to feel as alone as I did this morning.

“They’re saying borderline blizzard conditions, Con. You don’t think we’ll need to go on a supply run, do you?” His back was turned to me, hands working over the pot of coffee skillfully. His thumb brushed against the glass, he hissed quietly and shook his hand off.

“I think you’re just overthinking it.” He payed my worry not attention. He knew this house better than I did. It would hold, that wasn’t the worry. We had no shovels, nothing to dig us out of snow were to block us in. I scoffed and rolled my eyes, crossing my arms over my chest. I made my way around the island, pushing myself off of the counter and into one of the stools perched under it.

“Coffee?” Conrad asked, ignoring my questions again. I gave into him, playing his game and being stubborn.

“What kind?” My fingers drew circles on the cold marble.

“Black.” He set the cup down in front of me, letting it come to a halt right in front of me. My eyes flickered to the coffee, a smirk fighting it’s way onto my cheeks.

“Like your soul?” Like your heart, is what I wanted to say. Something that used to come so easy, meaningless insults directed at him not to make him sad, but to make him smile. I still hadn’t answered by question, though. If I were to direct a remark at his heart, would it weigh too much under the cracking foundation of our recovering friendship? I still wondered if he would laugh at that and go along with it.

Conrad laughed, looking out the window and admiring the sky. He didn’t respond, but he never really had when I’d make those jokes. Usually he would laugh or tell me it was a good one. He sighed lightly.

“I walked right into that one.” He smiled down at his coffee now, holding the mug loose with the handle dangling between his fingers.

When silence took over the room, it wasn’t uncomfortable. We welcomed it. We were alone with our thoughts and for once, they weren’t twisted and heavy. Only happy memories and thoughts of old habits.

In my mind, I dreamed of times where I knew what to say after making a joke. What I could do to counter a snarky remark and his laughter. I always knew what to say to him, when and why. I knew what made him tick. I still knew how to set him off, I believe that once you have the ability to get under someone’s skin, you never truly lose it. Either you continue to poke at the wounds that hurt them so, or your presence is able to remind them of it. Yet, with all the loss in my every heartbeat, somewhere along the way I forgot how to keep him happy.

Conrad’s footsteps snapped me out of my clouded haze. My eyes snapped up from the counter to his face. He didn’t look at me, but stayed focused on his coffee.

“Glad to know you still got it.” His eyes flicked to me, I swear I saw him wink. It was so quick, my words died in a pathetic stutter. I smiled stupidly at him, I couldn’t even pretend to be snarky. It caught me off guard, somehow. My walls were torn down now, the barrier of anger and sadness I kept up around him to keep us apart gone with our last fight and heart to hearts. The devils in the details, but somehow it didn’t feel as deep, as life changing anymore.

It was like he knew I couldn’t think of something to promise to him. To keep us going. He surely hadn’t lost it.

I tried to rationalize everything recently. But it felt like it took over my life. I’d almost forgotten about Belly and Steven. How they’d been so quick to shut me out simply because someone had offered me a place to be wanted for a moment. Conrad always knew when to swoop in to save me. I could help but talk myself down every so often and convince myself that Conrad is not made of Angel dust. He simply is a man, and a smart one at that. All of this could be just to butter me up, I know it’s always an outcome. A way to win me back, but never want me the same. It poisons me to think about him that way, I know him. He would never play me to become the good guy.

My mind has no middle line. Constantly wavering between my lover, the man I see as the sky and the seas. I see him as a perfect lipstick stain to a white collar, uggs in the fall, hot chocolate in the winter. He is all things I love and yet I still fight. The other part of me fights my heart to keep my distance. How just hours ago I told myself the hate I had for Conrad was always going to be just that, irreversible hurt that he caused. It’s the sweetest torture I could bare in the fact that really, by the end of it my mind is set on just getting to be with him again. No matter what his games are.

It’s pathetic, but my heart strings pull a little whenever I hear his footsteps upstairs. When I can tell if he’s coming to see me or not. I like knowing he likes to be around me once more. It almost covers up the fact that he hurt me so bad. I’m not idiot, however. I wish I were in some cases, but I’m not blinded completely by my love. With every advance, I find a way to make it platonic. He’s my friend.

He said he missed me, our friendship bond. I know that he is a man of his word. I should not work myself up, I shouldn’t expect so much. I shouldn’t jump into his arms because he says go. I think rationally, I use my head. I let my heart race and my cheeks flush but ultimately my brain will stop me from messing about again. So part of me finds it sad when the power goes out later that day. For both the house and myself. It’s childish how quickly I jump in search of Conrad. I have to remind myself not to hold onto him, not to yell I told you so.

I call for his name quietly through the halls, feeling the chipping paint under my finger tips. It’s still fresh, but bumpy. A previous project of Susannah’s from when her paint brushes never seemed to dry out. It’s hard to tell if she never finished her projects that summer. Or even if she never finished any.

In the dark, it’s almost more clear to see where her brush strokes end. Where the moonlight illuminates the white and blues, you can see the divides between old and new. God, if she were any less attentive it would surely be the end of this house. It was in great condition, but some things were out of place, uncared for simply because Susannah’s mind went a mile a minute.

Smiling, I let my hands run over the wall, feet planting on the cold wood. I could feel it through my socks, with the lights out and the heat stuttering to a halt.

“Y/n/n, hey.” He sounded breathless, coming up from behind me. I hadn’t even noticed the stomping of his feet up the staircase as my fingers danced along the wall. So caught up in the past I find it that sometimes I forget that I’m living in my present. Looking around my metaphorical room in my mind, I see my chosen family. I see his brother as mine, his mother as mine. I see myself as a child again running through the sand and tracking mud through the dining room.

I know deep down I can not keep holding on, keep on keeping myself back. I can never give Conrad peace, but I can give him my sunshine, my best. He would always have a friend in me. I set my heart free then, fingers stuck to the wall, eyes flickering to my feet. I let go of my heart break and my solemn silences I throw at my loved ones for guilt. I let my walls down, I take Conrad’s hand, and I shake my head. His smile is warm, his eyes loving. He still needs me, he always has. He still loves me and my heart is racing. I finally feel like I have him back.

“You okay?” Back in reality, I’m aware that I’m not actually holding onto his hand, and Conrad isn’t really smiling at me. My heart is still in its cage and I have fallen victim to my own mind again. Conrad is not mine.

Clearing my throat, I lick at the corners of my lips. When I shake my head this time, I know it’s real because Conrad is looking at me questioningly. He is not in love with me, he is not drooling over me. The power is still out and our muddy footprints mean nothing to him anymore.

“We blew a fuse, but the generators dead. We’re just going to have to stick it out.” I nodded again, looking up at him with doe eyes. My lips were glossy with a sheen coat of spit from how much I licked them, but at them nervously. Yet, he didn’t even spare me a glance. It was almost like he was waiting on something.

“You can say it.” He finally sighed.

“Say what?” His eyes caught mine, seeing just how intently my eyes focused on his dimples and the bridge of his nose decorated with delicate freckles. I cleared my throat.

“You told me so.” He smiled, punching my shoulder playfully. He could tell my mind was drifting, he could see it, I saw the way his eyes softened. My gentle smile turned into a shit-eating grin.

A beat passed, he continued waiting on me in the dark room. I liked it in some odd ways. Enjoyed having him waiting on me for once. It wasn’t the same. How my heart waited for his apologies for so long, how I expected it because I knew one day he would come back to me to make things right in his own way. But somehow, his desire for my once overlooked jokes and brushed off comments made my cheeks warm. Like more than me in this moment, he wanted the normal us back.

“Are you going to…” He voice trailed off, my feet picked up against the cold wood floor.

“Why don’t you start the fire? I’m going to get some blankets.” I tucked the hair behind my ear, practically running to the staircase. He nodded, not that I could see it, but the silence confirmed that he had forgotten that I couldn’t truly see his nod. That along with a soft hum of approval from him.

“Oh, and Conrad.” He hummed again. His eyes glistened in the moonlight, shining brighter than any other object standing in the hallway. He waited on me patiently, slowly inching closer.

“I told you so.”

The best of blankets and pillows sprawled put along the living room floor helped to further nestle us against the foot of our white couch. The snowfall and the storm felt less like an inconvenience but a gift.

I was reminded of my childhood. Of first snowfalls and broken ice skates. Red noses and icy hair. I remember how even after the facade of perfect holidays and new years kisses faded into nothing more than a dream, how my heart still soared with excitement each coming fall. How I couldn’t wait to see the snowy powder decorating my front lawn. I get reminded of why I drove so long to see Conrad. Of his warm hugs and his soft mittens. Wearing his hats and stumbling around in the backyard. I feel less hurt by the company than I once did a few days ago. I feel blessed that by some miracle, fate had string Conrad and I back together. That his hands would forever paint my hands in a gentle love we only held, and his whispers of senseless jokes he mumbled tiredly were only mine to laugh at.

The fire crackled, roaring feverishly through the night. The snow and wind pounded against the sides of the house, and despite the chills running through my toes and my fingers, I felt warmer inside than before, rekindling our inside jokes and fueling ourselves for even more.

Soon, our soft laughter and ongoing conversations died out. Our eyes glued to the flames, I tried to catch a glimpse into Conrad’s eyes. I wanted to know what the fire would look like reflected into his blue eyes. Instead, I caught his gaze locked onto my face.

I felt embarrassed, in a way. Vulnerable under his gaze. I felt my cheeks heat up and my body tingle. I felt like a school girl again.

“Y/n/n.” He called for me softly. The only way I was sure that he’d even said it was the fact that my eyes were so trained in his pink lips. I nodded slowly.

“Why did you come down here? Why now?” Even though the question was serious, I couldn’t help but to smile at his curiosity in my life.

Taking a deep breath, I watched his flat face turn into a welcoming grin.

“Lately, I’ve just been caught up in the past, I guess. I’m just so used to coming home every winter to Steven and Belly in the living room already fighting. And my dad and mom arguing about what decorations playfully.” Conrad laughed like he could picture it. He’d never really been in my house during the holidays. Sure, the Fisher family would stop by every few months when the distance became too much, but holiday’s were usually spent apart.

“I guess when I came home this year and that wasn’t there, I kind of freaked a little. I mean, Steven just left, Belly was too caught up in her own life to care about what I wanted to do, how much time we had left. My dad was too busy to stop by and…” I couldn’t bring myself to say it. I almost allowed the words to slip, how the final straw was that even with the mess of my family, at least at one point I had Conrad. I had his gentle hands and his quiet promises to hold onto. When everything went to hell, it was like losing the last bit of peace. “I wanted to be somewhere I wouldn’t feel alone, I guess.” I replaced my words with this. Hoping he’d understand how much he meant to me, how much all of it meant to me.

The single puff of air coming harshly through his mouth in a sigh reminded me just how close we were. How I could feel each word falling from his lips fanning over my shoulder. We were sharing a blanket, so close yet our bodies so far.

“Y/n.” He sounded more serious. During my confession, I found a home in the floorboards. Feeling safer confessing to the air than to a man who destroyed me not so long ago. My eyes hesitated to meet his, but I could see just how serious he was.

“I regret what happened between us more than anything I’ve ever done in my life. I know I can’t reverse that, but please never say you are alone. I swear to you, no matter what, I’m there.” It was rare to hear such thing from Conrad. Maybe a grunt of a hug to assure my feelings were always appreciated. But I could see the sincerity in his face, his voice was dripping with guilt. He meant it, every word.

Nodding my head, I silently thanked him. I watched his eyes search my face. How his lips parted but shut quickly. He decided against continuing, but it was like an unspoken apology was being said between us in that moment.

With gravity pulling us together, it was only in my nature to protect my heart. I had to rip us apart before I gave in without knowing if we’d ever be the same. If I kissed him and it was just a winter fling, I couldn’t take another heartbreak.

So, in our silence, I moved my hand between us. The pad of my thumb brushing away the charcoal from the fire dusting just under his cheek. I watched how he shivered and backed away, eyes fluttering shut. All while I bit at my lip, delicate in the way I rubbed away the dust.

“Are my hands cold?” I remained focused in on him, my lips curled into a smile seeing his reaction to my touch, how he shivered but didn’t complain. He nodded his head slowly, but his eyes were still closed.

I saw how his eyebrows furrowed, it wasn’t from discomfort, but in the low light it was hard to tell. My hand curled away, ready to ease the coldness off of his skin. I didn’t expect his own hand to cover mine, holding it against his now rosy cheeks.

“Feels nice.” He mumbled almost drowsily. His eyes still hidden behind his eyelids, his other hand found mine aimlessly, gently pressing it to his other cheek. I felt his weight sink into my palms, reveling in my touch.

The band suddenly snapped. All the tension, all the build up. He was right there, so eager, so gentle. I had to know if he was still the same boy I loved not too long ago. He had set me up for an old joke.I always wondered if I could still joke with him like this. It still gnawed at me some nights.

“It’s because you’re cold hearted.” I expected him to laugh, I hoped he would. But instead, he smiled just as genuine as his old laughter, melting into my touch more than I thought he could ever. I hadn’t been able to predict what he would tell me. Couldn’t have read his lips even if I could see into the future.

“For everyone else, maybe. But not for you.” He was as honest as a man could be. With his eyelashes fluttering open, I could see it in his eyes now. How they looked back at me wide and awake. I felt my stomach flip. There was something there I had previously missed. Dancing along with the glowing of the fire in his irises, was the same spark he once carried when I was his and he was mine.

I didn’t even get to challenge it, teasing him and making him repeat his confessions. My lips stuttered on the first syllable, just before his hands smushed my cheeks with the force of how he grabbed me. He was firm, but not aggressive. He could never hurt me.

His lips molded against mine perfectly in my mind. He tasted like mint and hot chocolate. My hands tangled in his hair, his palms flat against my waist. With so little space between us, so much fever and pent up frustration, air became harder and harder to get. With each touch of his fingers, it was like tiny fires being sparked across my body.

He hadn’t even had to tell me what he felt then. Neither did I. In that moment my walls crumbled beneath my feet. All resistance was gone. In Conrad’s grasp, I felt less alone.

I knew it then. To Conrad, my mind games I played on myself, my temper and the storms that would inevitably cloud up my sunniest days, the fact that I could never give him peace did not matter. We would always be enough.

#conrad fisher #conrad fisher angst #conrad x reader #tsitp conrad #conrad x you #tsitp s2 #tsitp x reader #tsitp x y/n #fisher x reader #team conrad #conrad fisher x y/n #conrad fisher x you #conrad fisher x reader

227 notes · View notes

sixosix · 1 year ago

Text

IT WAS ALL BY DESIGN | KAVEH

tags second chance, angst and fluff, time-skips, DARK HUMOR, lovers to exes to lovers again, profanity

written for art @aanobrain, who i made a bloodpact with saying that if i were to write this they’d write me xiao, so here we are. hope u like it art

a/n wc 4K kaveh lore spoilers but i didn’t follow the canon timeline. kaveh meets al-haitham BEFORE the palace of alcazarzaray. also this has two parts

next part

kaveh first saw you when he was presenting his nth draft proposal to his fellow group members.

it’s stressful, it’s a mess, kaveh is lost, and so, so tired. this group is certainly the worst one he’s had yet, but he’s too far deep to back out now.

tamara sighs deeply, like a tired mother, and kaveh’s temper flares, “i understand your need to express your love for aesthetics, but don’t you think that it’s unwise to sacrifice practicality?”

kaveh’s jaw ticks. “sacrifice? i’ve already explained that i’ve thought of every detail to consider. give me something to work on, actual criticism, without just slandering my ideals.”

tamara enjoys insulting his beliefs because she is nothing like kaveh. or maybe it’s because he is nothing like her.

it always is like this. snobs treat his proposals—bursting at the seams with unique ideas yet never neglecting quality—like a joke, and they never get past getting called drafts. he never gets past calling any of his first proposals a success.

“the outside world wouldn’t be as lenient as we had been to your designs, you know,” another of them says. one of his mentors. “tamara is right. we don’t have to get too detailed. here, listen, what if you just change up the strange curve of this wall? and this pillar you…”

outside world, kaveh thinks bitterly. he had already dealt enough with the outside world, but keeping him cornered against a wall he had been building against them was far worse than that.

yet he can’t say this. he’s said enough already. if tamara’s face were to get any redder, he’d lose the opportunity for the materials collectively funded by these people.

kaveh sighs, defeated. “i know. i’m sorry i snapped. i’ll take in your suggestions. what did you say must be removed first?”

“hold on,” one of his group mates speaks up. anis leans her chair over to another table, tapping the shoulder of someone kaveh is sure he’s never damn seen before. “hey, what do you think?”

you squint at kaveh’s work, unfazed by anis interrupting your studies. kaveh doesn’t want to, but he can’t look away. “i don’t understand some of it, but it’s nice. this building would look beautiful in the jungle.”

anis returns the front of her char’s legs on the floor. “ahh, you think?” she muses, handing the paper over to you. “well, an outside perspective is just as important.”

with a pen in your grip, you point at somewhere kaveh can’t quite see, blocked off by the back of the paper. it’s blocked off your face, too. “could use a bit more ornamental flora. too little over here if you’re going to already add it. life doesn’t just come from bright colors, but other forms of life as well.”

“spoken like a true amurta darshan.”

you huff proudly, lowering the paper and revealing your smile. kaveh stares, and stares.

knowing how to appreciate beauty as he does is a trait he has always admired. he secretly takes your suggestions to heart, planning to pull another all-nighter for a few sketches. this is the beauty of the akademiya; why he never gave up as soon as he was first brought down—he learns so much every day.

his heart races just at the thought of it. it’s been days since he felt this.

kaveh wonders if he’ll see you again and doesn’t get much time to think about it again when he’s pulled back to reality, back to yet another proposal that’s been erased so many times, it looks more like a smudge of ink than something kaveh would proudly call his.

kaveh sees you again in the house of daena hunched over a book with your face pinched, sitting next to someone, and he thinks that might’ve been when he fell in love.

but no, that can’t be right. that’s not how love works. it takes time, courage, long nights, restless mornings—this is just him a few feet away from someone whose words he admired.

this must be more like passing by a picture that caught his interest. this must be more fleeting, more like what he deserves, like how the yolk is shaped perfectly on his breakfast for the first time in weeks, how the weather is perfect for smooth construction without disaster, or how his mother did not at least cry too much in a day.

he had only been trying to pass by and continue annotating the book he promised himself to get back to, which happened to be slotted on the shelf in front of your table. it’s sheer luck. and he might’ve taken advantage of it.

the student next to you is speaking. cyno, kaveh recognizes belatedly. “do you get it? because wave could refer to the motion of your hands, but it could also refer to an ocean’s wave, or what is the result of the wind blowing over the surface of—”

you clutch your head. with your eyes off the books scattered across the desk, kaveh sees this as a sign to turn away, a small smile on his face as he listens to your voice. it’s pleasant, much more than the ones he hears all the time around him. “please, cyno, have some respect for your senior and have mercy on the bags under my eyes.”

“i am,” cyno says sternly. “i am cheering you up. perhaps it’s because you aren’t under-sand-ing my jokes.”

when kaveh risks a glance, you throw a crumbled paper onto cyno, which he catches with unblinking ease.

“don’t make me call tighnari here,” you threaten, holding a pen to his face.

“is he going to give me pun-ishment?”

“cyno…”

kaveh gets his wits about him again and realizes that he had been picking more books than he needed, just in time to hear more of cyno, unfortunately.

“did you not understand? you see, the word punishment has pun in it, which is what i’m—”

“that’s it.” the sound of a chair sliding across the smooth floor echoes in the quiet halls. “you sit there alone. think about your actions; i’m going to get lunch without you.”

kaveh takes a step forward, you do so backward, and you catch each other’s eyes from the synchronized movement.

somehow, meeting your eyes makes his heart jump to his throat. he can’t tell if this is better or worse than when you were just at a different table and he didn’t have the chance to speak with you.

it becomes a moment too long: kaveh gets nervous, spinning around on his heels and pretending to look for more books. this is unlike him. his head aches trying to think about it.

once you leave, kaveh approaches cyno.

“cyno,” kaveh says with a smile.

“kaveh,” cyno acknowledges. “why were you just watching us? was there something wrong?”

kaveh’s blood drains from his face. “was it that obvious? was it?”

cyno nods. “you’re terrible at acting casual.”

kaveh sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “ugh—whatever. cyno, hey, listen. that person you were with…”

“y/n?” he tilts his head. “did you need anything?”

“no, no.” kaveh repeats your name in his head, and files it away for later. “do you want to get lunch?” he asks, which he later realizes is an unspoken invitation for a new side of cyno he wishes he didn’t know. the puns hurt his head more than frustrating clients.

kaveh sits by himself in lambad’s tavern, lazily rocking his glass back and forth.

he’s made friends. plenty. but he’s not sure if he can confide in them if he were to go to them in this state.

he thought could consider al-haitham as one, but that blew over on his own face some time ago. it was a mess. kaveh’s not sure which hurt more: when he felt his own spite with how he trembled in spitting al-haitham’s name, or the fact that someone he almost considered a best friend seemed unfazed at all when they both knew that they wouldn’t talk to each other the next day.

al-haitham removed his name from the thesis, and kaveh tore up the copy he had of it. but unlike al-haitham, kaveh couldn’t bear the guilt and pieced them back together.

now they haven’t spoken for a while.

and he sits here, frustrated to the point of near tears.

he’s never felt as lonely as he feels right now, burdened by the stress accumulated from all those years with no one to tell him that he’s doing something right, that he’s going in the right direction. it feels childish, but when he closes his eyes, he can vividly imagine someone patting his shoulder, telling him he’s proud to call him his son, or someone pulling him close, kissing his forehead, telling him that she’d come back for him.

kaveh picks up the glass and takes a long sip.

“are you even allowed to drink?” someone says, too close to him.

kaveh inhales sharply, unfortunately breathing his drink along with it. he chokes on it, and some dribbled past his lips as he turns to the sound of the familiar voice.

you quirk an eyebrow. kaveh wants to gape.

“it’s coffee, and i’m allowed,” kaveh mutters hoarsely, flustered. how long have you been there? were you just watching him?

“but you’re pretending it is alcohol?”

kaveh looks away. he was hoping that no one would notice his dramatics.

“it’s funny,” you tell him. kaveh wasn’t really hoping to appear funny in his sorry state.

you call for lambad and tell him you want your usual. when lambad returns, he hands you a half-full glass of what kaveh could smell as alcohol. maybe he should’ve done the same, but his goal was to feel awake enough to finish his due project, not intoxicated and slurring his words together.

“well?” you turn to him, your cheek against your palm as your arm rests against the counter. “are you gonna act like it and bemoan your regrets?”

students of the akademiya have started to become familiar with the fact that kaveh is a one-of-a-kind genius. names like light of kshahrewar started to circle the halls loud enough for kaveh to hear it from rumors and to his face when they asked to collaborate with him or when they ask for too much of his time.

he was expecting you to do the same. he wouldn’t even blame you if you tried because he wouldn’t hesitate to say yes. yes, yes, i want to.

there is no liquid courage here, just the presence of you and his muddled mind finding it far too comfortable.

“my mother remarried,” he says.

you blink, pausing mid-way through drinking your fill. “oh…?”

“i’m happy for her,” kaveh says, confident, firm.

“here’s to that.” you clink your glass against his.

you weren’t taking it as a happy statement. he doesn’t want sympathy, but he knows that whatever you’re thinking is the irrefutable truth. perhaps you were mourning with him because he, too, knows that there’s nothing content about him when he has to reassure himself out loud.

kaveh wants to ask so many questions. he wants to pull out the stacks of papers shoved in his briefcase, ask you what you think of it, listen to you tell him that you understand its beauty, but it’d be more beautiful if he weren’t so afraid and confined in someone else’s ideals. he needs to hear you say it because he knows you’d say the exact same thing as he wants.

instead, he sits quietly, watching you from the corner of his eyes, entranced.

and kaveh—he’s longing. or maybe he’s just starting to feel loneliness.

“so, what happened between you and al-haitham’s group project?” you ask, wearing a smile that spells out you know exactly what you’re getting into.

“oh, don’t even get me started,” kaveh groans.

the night ends with his heart a little lighter than it was before. (this is still fleeting, right?)

it seems like after that, you’re just everywhere and always by his side. kaveh loves it. especially when he’s too caught up with the world and needs someone to distract him enough to remember that the world is splendid.

despite his desperate attempt at drowning himself in coffee in hopes of being able to remodel at least three rejected drafts, he doesn’t get anything done at all.

he knows that giving in and offering to help out everyone who asks him for it isn’t healthy. he knows it, and he sees the effects on his face, the paleness of his skin, and the mess of his hair.

when kaveh stares his paper down, he can almost see himself on it. not a reflection, but a shadow. it looks like a bird’s nest. he might as well get feathers to go with his hair and complete the look.

someone taps his shoulder, and kaveh somehow doesn’t feel like reacting accordingly. “kaveh, is that you? are you kaveh?” the stranger asks, all in one breath.

it takes him a few seconds. breathing in and out deeply. he turns around, hopes the eyebags on his face aren’t as heavy as they feel, and smiles.

“yes?”

“ah!” he recognizes the student. a few years younger than him. he can’t quite come up with a name right now. “thank goodness. they told me that you could help me with this, i knew you wouldn’t disappoint.”

“oh,” kaveh says, quiet.

if any of his friends were here, they’d glare him down, tell him that he’s going to bleed himself dry if he even thinks about saying anything aside from no. but they aren’t, and kaveh’s heart is bleeding out instead.

“what is it?”

“kaveh!”

you come stumbling in between him and the younger student, whose eyes bulge out of his eyes. he seems to be shaking, if kaveh were to look any closer.

without warning, you throw an arm over kaveh’s shoulder, leaning down to press your chest against his shoulder blade. kaveh’s breath hitches.

you tilt your head to appraise the cowering junior. “oh,” you say, as if not realizing he had been there all along. “daneh. did you need anything?”

“no. no, no, i don’t,” daneh splutters. “i’ll take my leave, i think— i think i should— please excuse me.”

while daneh runs off, kaveh tries to recall his breakfast and the procedure he did in his head to calm down and give himself the boldness to meet your eyes. what is happening to him?

dried fish fillet pan-fried until crispy, served in creamy, white sauce, sprinkled with mint—

“kaveh,” you say. your voice is too close to his ears, which he is sure is turning red.

—kaveh, kaveh, kaveh.

“y/n,” kaveh says, defeated, the grip on his quill faltering. “what was that about?”

he thinks he can feel a grin, and he badly wants to see what it would look like on your face. “i don’t remember telling you my name.”

curiosity wins. kaveh can’t help but smile along with you when he sees it. “you did it on purpose?” then, “cyno told me.”

“you asked around about me?”

“yes, i did,” he says, almost petulantly.

the way your mouth tips to one side more makes your beam come off more smug. “is that so?” you say, and kaveh feels like he’s bared himself to the world. “what’s this?”

kaveh follows where you’re pointing. it’s a mindless sketch he was practicing with; he doesn’t remember drawing half of it. “i was… oh, i don’t know, i just needed a break.”

“this is what you do on your break?” your fingers hover over the page as you trace the curved columns and drooping roof. “green. they look like leaves,” you tell him quietly.

kaveh’s smile turns softer at your sincere awe. “i know.” he wonders what’s going on in your head, then wonders if he’s worth knowing. “what do you think’s missing?”

“i’m no architect, but it could use a bit more of a… splash, you know? color. maybe some—”

“ornamental flora?” kaveh finishes for you. “you’re right. there’s no need to worry about this, though. i must have been on autopilot creating this.”

“straight to the bin it goes? what a shame. it’s stunning.” there’s a seat right there, yet you insist on being pressed against him, bent over, still too close to his ear. you talk about beauty, and kaveh asks himself if you’ve looked at yourself. “i suppose i don’t understand how geniuses work. you are one of a kind, light of kshahrewar.”

then he is suddenly so aware of your hand having trailed upwards, resting on his nape. as you move, your skin rubs absentmindedly on where the hair fades. he shivers.

he hates that title. he feels like he doesn’t deserve any praise he receives at all. yet when you say it—

“you blush a lot,” you point out. kaveh wants to dig a hole and lay there forever. “it’s cute. your expressiveness is charming.”

“don’t—just say that.” his face is so, so red.

al-haitham finds him alone at the same table that night, unable to focus on anything but his racing thoughts. something is wrong with him, he’s sure. he’ll have to pay tighnari a visit and retrace if he’d picked the wrong mushroom.

al-haitham—and kaveh doesn’t know how he’s managed to figure it out so easily—makes a face that would be the closest thing to a smile. “i like y/n,” al-haitham says, out of the blue.

“what,” kaveh says flatly, coiled up like a cat prepared to pounce.

“smart enough to pull you back down and smart enough to make you listen.”

“it’s—” kaveh wants to say it’s not like that, but he goes silent thinking about it. “fuck off. you wouldn’t get it.”

al-haitham tilts his head to the side. “you’re the one not ‘getting it’.”

thankfully, al-haitham leaves him be. they are still on awkward terms, after all.

“oh,” kaveh says intelligently one morning. oh, no.

tighnari’s ear twitches. “the star of the show is here, finally.”

“everyone,” kaveh starts solemnly as the door slams shut behind him. the wind blows, and kaveh’s hair flutters, looking like he came straight out of those films.

“how has dealing with your recent client been looking?” tighnari asks with a smile. cyno and al-haitham nod because they probably didn’t think of even asking that. it’s why tighnari is kaveh’s favorite.

but he is not here to talk about that.

kaveh slams his briefcase on the table, rattling their glasses. “i’m going to confess.”

al-haitham makes a face. “who are we confessing to?”

“not we, al-haitham. stay out of this,” kaveh says. al-haitham’s expression doesn’t change. “i’m going to confess, and it’s going to be so romantic. no one can say no.”

“i would say no.”

kaveh glares, snatching his glass. “al-haitham, just be quiet. the adults are talking. this isn’t about you.”

“you invited us out here,” al-haitham points out.

cyno tilts his head. “to y/n, right?”

“about time,” tighnari sighs.

“yes, to y/n. and what do you mean about—” kaveh huffs, getting red in the face, flustered. “hey, aren’t you guys going to stop me? tell me this is a bad idea and that i’m going to ruin this meaningful friendship i have with y/n?”

“everyone wants you to confess already,” al-haitham says, as if kaveh is stupid for not realizing that. maybe he is.

cyno hums thoughtfully. “if i stop you, i think y/n will murder me with bare hands.”

“oh,” kaveh says, pleased. whatever that means. “alright, then, thank you.” he downs the glass of water—it was al-haitham’s, most likely, judging by the incensed expression on his face—and grabs his briefcase again.

“where are you going— kaveh, hey, where do you think you’re—” tighnari smacks his hand on the table, yelling after kaveh, who’s already by the door.

kaveh’s confession is messy, quick, and probably not as romantic as he had hoped, stumbling over his words and feeling as brave as an infatuated schoolgirl.

“pinning me against the shelf like this is quite the move, kaveh,” you say, and kaveh snaps back to reality. “why are we hiding?”

“sorry,” he splutters, backing off a bit but not enough to have you far from touching him. “i don’t want—someone could see us.”

“now, why are you afraid of that?” you grin, sly enough to make kaveh comprehend that you know exactly what he’s called you over here for. you do the—the thing again, where you trace shapes on his nape, and he shivers helplessly.

“i like you too much,” kaveh says, his face too red to be passed off as sunburnt.

suddenly, all the confidence he thought he had when he left the tavern dissipated. “you know what i mean. can you—no, will you… ugh, i’m not doing it right—”

you meet his gaze, and you don’t look away, the long silence starting to grow distressing for kaveh.

“kaveh,” you say softly, and that’s when kaveh’s expression crumbles. it could be because of how you said it, carving his name with your mouth so tenderly, but really, it’s because he feels like you wouldn’t look at him the same way ever again.

“yes.”

…wait.

you cup his cheek, pulling him closer to you by his hips. “yes, yes.”

“wait,” kaveh says, “really?”

you bristle, tilting your head down. are you embarrassed? kaveh feels a thrill run down his spine. “yes. about time—we finally did something about the unbearable tension between us. so, if you’re willing to have me…”

“yes, yes,” kaveh says, to all of that. “god, yes.”

embarrassed, you bury your face on his shoulder. kaveh can’t hide how fast his heart is beating when you’re directly on top of it. when you’re in it. “but listen, kaveh, i don’t know if i can stay here in sumeru forever. and i know it will be hard. so if you aren’t—”

kaveh is too happy to think too hard about that.

“no,” kaveh says, “no, i still want to try. please, let’s try.”

“okay,” you breathe, smiling brightly. “kiss me already, will you?”

kaveh prays and prays and thanks their archon that this isn’t fleeting. don’t let it be, not when he has you, and he has already found out your lips meld perfectly with his.

lord sangemah bay commissions him.

in the first few minutes after dori told him that she could care less about what he wanted to do with the place, kaveh didn’t know what to do with himself. he wanted to do everything, but when all of it comes rushing at once, he’s frozen in place instead.

he takes a step in the direction of the house of daena, then another, and another, until he’s sprinting and his heart is racing enough to have a smile crack across his face.

he spends the night in there. he feels crazy; other students can sense madness in his eyes. they all leave him be, as if they know that once they ask, kaveh will never stop talking.

kaveh feels his wrist sore, but he can’t stop. he wouldn’t be able to if he even tried, not when he thinks of a sinking leaf for a roof, windows shaped like petals, and your words—

kaveh pauses, glancing at the clock that has definitely been spinning faster than he remembered.

it’s sunrise. he gets back to work.

“you’re grinning ear-to-ear,” you say, poking kaveh’s cheek. “you’re not telling me something.”

kaveh isn’t. but only on purpose. he takes your hand and uses it to kiss the back of your palm as he blinks up at you, the embodiment of innocence. “what are you talking about? i told you about it. dori commissioned me, and she said that i’ll be in charge of the approval of the design and the construction process…”

while kaveh explains all this, gesturing wildly with his hands, he trails off when realizing you had just been staring at him fondly. his heart skips a beat or two.

“why—why are you just staring like that?”

“it’s hard not to.”

he kisses you square on the mouth, the blueprint of the palace of alcazarzaray hidden beneath his palms, and he thinks he’s never been happier.

(and under the same stars, the withering slithers in, and everything crashes down faster than kaveh could even say please, no.)

a/n art if you’re reading this i didn’t tell you but this is actually a second chance fic cus i remember you saying it’s one of your favorite tropes 🤧 but anyway ty for reading!

#606:GENSHIN #genshin impact x you #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #kaveh x reader #kaveh x you

256 notes · View notes