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tojjist · 10 months ago

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“At Least” S. Gojo

☆ genre: angst to fluff (kinda)

☆ pairings: Gojo Satoru x f! reader

☆ summary: After Geto left, nothing has been the same. Especially not your relationship with Gojo Satoru. Once you decide to move to Kyoto for good, Gojo is less than pleased. But fate does not seem to want to let you go.

☆ cw: mentions of sex, depressed gojo, not spoiler free, hopping between timelines but like i added non-canon events, smoking, drinking, getting drunk, high school Gojo being a high school boy, cussing, mentions of drunk sex but it doesn’t happen, mentions character death (from the anime), gojo satoru (yes that's a trigger warning).

☆ wc : 5.6k

☆ a/n: this has been in the doing for so long? I've been waiting to have the chance to upload it for maybe a year now smh. Also was originally written for an irl of mine lmao

“Oh my god,” you emphasize each word, pushing the wooden chair away with your knee. “Satoru, is it yours?”

His black pupils, lined with iris the color of morning skies, study your figure from behind the shaded glasses, pink lips quirking slightly upwards in approval of your attention.

“Nah, it's only staying with me for a week,” he stated, watching nervously as you strode over to him. “His owner is away for some business.”

Your attention remained fixed on the pet in Satoru's long, long arms. Your face lit up when a bark escaped the infant animal. “Can I hold it?”

Satoru watched over you carefully, pleading eyes coming in line with his blues. You make it hard to say anything other than an immediate yes, but he tries to stretch out the conversation to his best ability.

“It's 400 yen for 10 minutes,” he muttered, sarcasm dripping from his words. He earned a look of amusement from you; a small victory. He then braced himself for the next part. Satoru bent down, meeting you eye-to-eye, and noticed your breath catching in anticipation. “Or... you can shorten your skirt.”

Your face took no time to grow hot, not giving any verbal answer besides the blank expression you stare at him with. For a second, Gojo let himself think he's the victor of this little challenge he started in his head. But he soon came to realize how grave of a mistake he's made.

You're not flustered, you're angry.

“You're such a fucking pervert,” you fume, eyes glaring daggers. He dares not move, noticing the way your eyes flutter over his face.

“You're truly unbelievable,” the shorter male chuckled, making sure he didn't bump into Satoru's now-bruised arm. “What were you even thinking?”

“I thought it was funny, y'know?” He huffed in response. Gojo's fingers ran through his own bright locks as he took a seat on the wood hung up by metal chains. "Besides, has she always been this strong? Physically, I mean."

Geto stared into the reddish sky of dusk, placing himself into a swing in turn and kicking the air so the swing would start moving. "I don't know. Girls are really full of surprises.”

He never thought, not in a million years, things would come to this. Ever since Gojo's last encounter with Geto after he, well, changed... Gojo became unable to face anyone quite the same way he did before.

How did he get here? How did things escalate to this? Thinking about it, Geto had shown signs of a change in his heart and mind. It was Satoru's fault, was it not? He should have done better. He should have noticed. How could he not have? wasn't he the strongest? Wasn't that his job? How could he be so bad at everything?

How could he fail everyone like this?

“Gojo-San?”

Your feminine voice cut his train of thought. He almost forgot the situation he is now stuck in. He's been doing that a lot: losing himself in thought, mind almost immune to the outer world until he temporarily lost his sense of self. Nothing felt quite the same any more. It was like the world had lost its color.

“Sorry- What's up?” He turned to you. Gojo-san, you called him. When did you stop using his given name? What's with the '-san'? Gojo hadn't realized that losing one person was the first step, and now he found himself deep in the road of losing everyone.

And now he's stuck in the elevator with the girl he had liked for so long. He couldn't find it in himself to say anything to you, to push your buttons like he always did or joke around. When did the world become so heavy? He does not know.

“Are you okay? You seemed off.”

Your face is devoid of any genuine emotion, seemingly expressionless. But your voice is laced with concern. Gojo could only guess you didn't want him thinking you pity him or anything of such. But if that isn't the case, he wouldn't know. He's too tired to bother thinking about it.

“Yeah, yeah. I'm fine,” he smiled in assurance, “Just bothered by, well, this-” he threw his hand in the way of the control panel. The elevator doors have been stuck for almost twenty minutes now. How pleasant.

“uh huh,” you sigh, turning back around. How did you turn so cold?

When the silence stretches, you start a conversation, hesitant at first. “By the way, I got accepted as a helper in a nursery in Kyoto,” you mutter, gaze avoiding his own. “they're expecting me to start work right after spring break.”

Spring break?

Holy shit. It hit him like a truck. That’s barely a week and a half from now.

“Spring break? Why so soon?”

“That’s when the students file back in,” you mumble, fiddling with the watch placed around your wrist. You pause to read the time, then turn to meet his eyes. “I’m leaving in four days to get settled.”

“Oh…” His breath caught, “Train?”

What a stupid question. He knows. Satoru has never been unintelligent, especially in conversing. But now his unintelligence shines through as if it’s his only trait. He’s glad you don’t question it.

“Yeah, I have no other form of transport really.”

“Well, uh…” He hates himself. He hates himself for not doing anything. He hates himself for being so weak and cowardly, for being unable to keep his friends around him, for shutting everyone he holds close out. But now, he especially hates himself for being unable to feel happy for you, or to congratulate you on the opportunity, “come visit us every once in a while, yeah?”

Your mouth remains shut, only staring at the tall man before your eyes. The silence stretches between the two of you once again, and you don’t find it in you to speak of how you feel.

“You.. you know you could have died, right? We all could have b-but you…” You trail off, thoughts splattered like a spilled pot of ink. Although you seemed unfazed, in your mind you were anything but. Haibara, Riko, and all the losses that trailed and every event that followed has been stressful and nerve-wrecking. And even in the quietness and silence of the general atmosphere, it has been nearly impossible to find peace within yourself.

“Well, I didn’t. What happened had passed. Can you change that? I doubt so. No point in ‘if’ and ‘could’ve’.”

Before you could respond,the lights flickered back on. You grow unsure if you’ve struck a nerve, but that wasn’t what you meant. Gojo’s response had nothing to do with what you said, you were sure he knew exactly what your words were meant for. Why is he so scared of confronting it?

You don’t know. You could never hope to know because you and Gojo Satoru live in different worlds, the man who was only Satoru some time ago. You were worlds apart, yet Satoru loved to play pretend that he lived in the same world as you, even when he stuck out like a sore thumb. But he was no longer. Ever since Geto left… it’s safe to say everyone has been changing slowly, deforming from their previous lives and personalities. But Satoru flipped, like the head and tail of a coin, he got himself a new face. He turned into Gojo Satoru; the strongest. A soul unalive. A broken boy in an ever growing body. A stranger.

Two days later you find yourself still roaming the campus , searching so desperately for something. Anything. A reason to stay, perhaps? You don’t find it anyway. You have no attachment as this place holds nothing but misery. Or that’s what you told yourself over and over as you packed your things.

Your steps were graceful, walking so cautiously as if careful to not wake someone up. Your fingers find rest on the old, dusty door frame, pushing yourself into the room that hadn’t been used for a good month or so. The classroom looked the same as it always did. Except for the shadow that loomed over it; a gray shade that sent chills down your spine. Or maybe it’s just your imagination.

Then you spot something rather out of place. You’re sure you’ve never seen it before and although you know it’s none of your business, the way it tugs at the strings of your curiosity is undeniable.

It’s red, poking out of what you’re sure is Gojo’s desk. The gloomy classroom was no fit for paper with a color so vibrant.

Your heart skips a beat when you glimpse the seat next to Satoru’s. You do your best to avoid looking at Geto’s desk any further. You busy yourself with the task at hand, reaching out for the mysterious paper hidden in the wooden desk. Shivers run up your arm at the texture of the scrunched paper.

You attempt to straighten it to your best ability, strained by his hard work of crumbling it with obvious frustration. you can barely make out the letters of your name in the middle of the paper, outlined by a messy circle. How Gojo of him. A few lines stick out of the ‘circle’, one of them has the name of a steakhouse somewhere in Tokyo. Another has a date, reading somewhere along February. It’s near impossible to make out what the small combination of letters say, especially when Satoru’s handwriting is closer to symbols than a comprehensible language.

The thought of it was so funny it didn’t feel like him at all. Satoru never planned anything. Every breath he took was based on pure impulse. Never would it have occurred to you that he thinks through things, let alone brainstorm.

The thought makes you smile. But the realization that he never asked you out because he changed his mind or everything that happened getting in his way makes your stomach churn unpleasantly.

You decide it’s probably for the best to never bring it up. It would only make matters worse for both of you. Life ran its course; who are you to try and change it?

“I apologize, but my answer remains. I refuse to take part in this,” you spoke in an even tone. “I have a job and a life away from jujutsu. I’ve made it clear sorcery is not a part of my life anymore.”

"That’s completely understandable,” the old man argued, his voice hoarse with age. You’re pretty sure you hear anger further straining his voice, “but your technique is quite strong. That strength could be of great assistance if put to use.”

“Thank you, sir,” you dip your head, maintaining eye contact with the decaying man. “But I truly apologize. The decision is final.”

“If you ever do change your mind, please let us know. We’d be more than happy to hear it.”

You almost let a sigh of relief escape. Finally he gave up. You end up only nodding your head in response gratefully, retreating from the old man. As soon as you're safe and out of sight, you let your posture drop, eyes rolling back in annoyance. These guys are truly as relentless as ever.

You stopped upon a familiar scent catching in your nostrils. Lifting your head up, your eyes roam around, scanning the room for your friend.

“You look troubled,” Shoko approaches you, taking the cigarette out from between her teeth. “What’s with the face?”

“How is that man even alive,” you look at her, “he’s ancient.”

Your comment earns a light chuckle from the brunette. “I’m glad I never have to get caught up in this bullshit.”

“Blissed aren’t you,” you roll your eyes as you speak. “I shouldn’t have come in the first place, I knew they were going to do this.”

“It’s alright, you’re all done now. Here-” Your friend then lifts the cigarette up, putting it near your mouth. When you don’t show any resistance she, being the bad influence she has always been, proceeds to place it between your lips. You waste no time, making quick work of the drag you inhale, bringing the familiar cloud of toxic chemicals and tobacco into your lungs. Your expression relaxes, shifting into one of relief. Shoko scoffs playfully, muttering that you’re dramatic under her breath before she pulls her cigarette from you, taking in a drag.

“Satoru’s here, by the way,” Shoko didn’t need to look at you to guess the way your eyes snap towards her. She bites back a smile. “He’s calmed down. He’d even seem the same as long as you don’t squint too hard.”

“Good for him,” you mutter, trying to seem as unbothered and nonchalant as your accelerating heart rate would allow. You avoid looking at Shoko, trying to seem disinterested. You know she’d pretend you weren’t gawking at her the second she said his name.

“He’s trying, you know. He’s just as nervous as you are.”

“‘M not nervous,” you scoff, “For god’s sake. It’s been ten years already.”

Satoru is stressed. He's nervous, as Shoko put it. He’d spent so long trying to ignore the past, pretend the past wasn’t at all. He couldn’t confront it. He didn’t want to. Satoru knows what he’s done, he's aware that he hurt you the last time you two had interacted. And that was ten years ago. He even let you leave without so much as a goodbye. How could he look you in the eye and pretend nothing has ever happened?

Gojo didn’t want to face the consequences of what he’s done. More so what he hasn’t. So many things were left unsaid in the elevator that day. They’ve been hanging over Satoru ever since, weighing his heart down and wearing it out.

What if he’s met by another woman? Ten years change a lot as is. What if the eyes that meet his aren’t yours? What if he finds himself talking to a stranger that carries around your name and features? Of all the horrors Gojo Satoru had faced in his life, nothing caused dread to pool in the pit of his stomach like this thought does.

Shoko seems to find something beyond you interesting. You don’t bother to turn to see as the brunette has always been a little in her own head. She’s probably just dozed off.

“Hey, think you can hold this for me?” Shoko muttered once Gojo crossed her sight. She stands facing you, averting his gaze. “I’ll be right back, nature’s calling.”

From his distance, Gojo couldn’t make out what the two of you were saying. He watched as your shoulders shook, presumably in laughter. Shoko then made her away from you, barely sparing Satoru a glance.

Every step he took felt heavy, weights landing on his shoulders as he moved towards you. He watched smoke emerge from over your head. He didn’t know you smoked. And even though he’s not completely sure what you do for a living now, he’s not expecting any nursery to accept a smoker in their team.

His long strides finally arrived, opting to remain a step behind you. Close enough to make his presence known.

The aura was unmistakable, almost as if it could be physically sensed. You freeze in place, the cigarette remaining a few inches from your lips. Even after he changed his perfume to one a lot more manly and appealing, and clearly grew taller judging by the shadow he cast over you, his presence still had the same strength as it did before. If not stronger. Anyone else would say it’s intimidating. But you find surprising comfort in it.

“That’s going to kill you,” his hand reached from over your head, making sure to not cause any unnecessary physical contact. His fingers slip the burning cigarette from your grip. You find yourself unable to make a single move in response, only watching his actions unfold.

He took a step, moving closer, dimming the light from the roll by rubbing it against the metal bars, then throwing it off the balcony. “You’re too young to kill yourself like that.”

“That bitch Shoko set me up,” You hiss, regaining your composure. “Will you look who showed up. You’re killing the ecosystem by throwing waste like this, Gojo.”

Although you haven’t glanced his way yet, You were every bit sure his mouth was quirked in the same smug smirk he wore so much when you were younger. You could even hear it in his voice as he spoke, “You haven’t grown at all, have you?”

“Oh shut it,” you chuckle. “You’re still as immature as ever. How you could be a manchild at 27 is a wonder to me.”

27… It felt so weird to say it out loud. Weren’t you just 17 a few days ago?

“Oh, how you hurt me,” he says in exaggeration, his voice conveying anything but the hurt he claims to feel. “That isn’t very nice of you.”

“That’s rich coming from you,” You say. He laughs a little, you do too. But the silence that follows is not that of a joke. He knew what you’re referring to. Maybe he underestimated your last encounter’s effect on you.

The silence speaks for itself. It’s louder than any conversation you’ve had before. What now? What have we become? Is it of any use to try anymore? Neither of you had an answer to the question that began to surface with this interaction.

The questions remain hung in the air, dimming the atmosphere around you. Was this fate’s doing? Or his karma? Gojo has always been told he’s a god, but how could he be a higher form of life when he struggled so much to hold a conversation?

He’s about to speak again when you cut him off, muttering “here-” as you push your hand down the coat you wore. Your tongue pokes at the inside of your cheek as you search for the anonymous object.

You pull out a worn out paper, grown from what could have been a bright red to an orangish shade. His eyes study as you shove the paper in his direction, eyes avoiding his gaze at all costs.

Seeing your bashful expression made him rather curious, the contents of the wrinkled paper piquing his interest. He hesitates before he pulls the paper from your hand, half-expecting you to bite him.

The letters were scribbles, almost like they’re straight out of some cult’s ritual, that with the wrinkles of the worn out paper making reading it next to impossible. Still, he could make out just enough to realize what this paper is. His eyes widened behind the blindfold. It didn’t take much to remember this paper, trivial as it may be.

“You found this- how did you even…?” he trails off, confused.

“I guess I did,” You confirm. He’s unsure if you’re proud of yourself for your rather… interesting discovery. It’s bold of you to pull this out ten whole years later. But he can’t deny the relief he feels that at least this means you don’t completely hate him. For once, he’s truly at loss for words.

But he wouldn’t let a perfect opportunity like this slide.

“Oh, so you’re in love with me? You’re so obsessed with me that you kept this for so many years, what a loyal fangirl.”

Before he knew it, a weight so crushing landed on his foot. He turned off his infinity around you as a sign of trust. But he soon came to regret his rather unsmart decision. Your foot stomped and crushed his toes. It makes him groan in pain, bending slightly forward.

“Tomorrow, at Narisawa in Minato city, 5:30. I’m leaving for Kyoto in 3 days. Don’t waste your chance again, Gojo Satoru. You’re not getting another one.”

“I take it you’ve been in love with me ever since?” He leans forward, elbows on the table. “Say, did you fascinate about me?”

“Hmm..” you hum softly at his childish question, “only a little.” You show no signs of interest in his tactics as you sipped the wine in your hand. Undeniably, Gojo is taken aback by your lack of reaction. He hasn’t known you to be so reserved and smart at keeping him on edge. He couldn’t help finding your new behavior enticing.

Is there anything else you’d like to have?” You nodded your head towards the plates sitting on the table, some empty and some half-full. “Or do you wanna do something else before I go back to the hotel?”

“Hmm? Maybe I could join you at the hotel, actually. Surely it’ll be a lot less lonely with me around?”

You’re tempted by his offer, feeling the heat pooling in your stomach. He looked strikingly handsome today. Maybe you were just really lonely and touch starved, or maybe it’s the way his lips quirk as he teases you that makes your brain a little hazy, inappropriate thoughts floating through it and send jolts to your core. Yet, you set your mind on refusing his advances. You haven’t had a decent conversation since high school, for god's sake.

He keeps his eyes set on you, shining before him. You looked glamorous. He’d lie if he said there wasn’t a certain allure to your matured looks. The years that flew by changed a lot of things about you two, but his breath still catches in his throat when your eyes meet his dreamy blues. The feelings rush back, memories clouding his train of thought.

He’s sure he’s going to pay. He didn’t mind it at all, what a small price for getting to spend an evening with you. But you surprise him when you bring up that you had already put your card down, courtesy of having been the one to ask him out. Or maybe this was your way of telling him that you are in pretty good condition, living perfectly well without needing sorcery.

“How’s working as a jujutsu teacher?” you quip, smiling softly. “Utahime says you’ve got some interesting kids in your pack? Two special grades, too. You’re sure a favorite attraction for wonders.”

“You’re still in contact with her too?” he dodges talking about his students, not meeting your gaze. “That’s ironic. Weren’t we friends too?”

A hoarse chuckle emerges from him. But nothing about it leads back to amusement, as it was a joyless sound devoid of life. Almost as if he were mocking you. The dark lenses of the shades sitting on the bridge of his nose served as a shield. He curses himself for being so weak. He's almost thirty but somehow you’ve got him acting like he did when he was 17.

“You didn’t try to contact me either,” you shrug, not willing to take the blame for your lack of contact.

“You could have visited then. Even Yaga talked about you every once in a while,” he isn’t too happy and it’s showing.

“All good things, I hope-“

“Don’t change the subject,” he frowns, an uneasy edge outlining his words. “He was enough. You didn’t have to go ahead and leave too.”

“I had to move on, Gojo,” the name felt like a jab every time you used it. He couldn’t bring himself to say anything about it. This is how you drew your boundaries. Calling them by their last names gives you a false sense of satisfaction, convincing yourself that your sorcerer friends are past figures now. Mere acquaintances.

“-I couldn’t remain hung there forever, I valued my mental health. You grew distant, the atmosphere was growing uneasy every day. I had to cut ties with Jujutsu before I couldn’t recognize myself anymore.”

“Yet you’re here now. Back to square one,” his playful tone was long gone, now replaced by an even, stern one. “Whether you moved away or called us by our last names. It’s a curse you can’t escape. you’ll always end up back in the palms or jujutsu.”

His words held some truth. You know that. But just as he refused to confront this past, you repulsed the idea of your reality. You truly want to believe that you could escape this part of yourself and live a normal life. You couldn’t come to terms with your inability. You held onto your hopes as if your sanity completely depended on it. Another thing that won’t change no matter how much you grew.

“I'll be okay as long as I refuse to interact with this world.”

Once you leave the restaurant, you find yourself wandering through the rich streets of Minato city. It felt as though the night was pulling you further into its welcoming embrace, with nothing rushing you.

“He was only thirteen,” you chuckle, arm linked in his. “It’s unbelievable how bold kids nowadays are.”

“I would’ve done the same thing, honestly,” he smirks, his gaze fixed on the stores around.

“Of course. You’ve got the brains of a thirteen year old.”

Satoru grins at your remark, pulling you into a clothes store.

“What’s this?” you look around in confusion, noting a woman in a suit welcoming you. The place looked a little too fancy, judging by the display of the items and the lighting of the place.

“It’s a western brand,” Satoru answers. Looking over at him, you can’t help but smile a little. He looks good tonight. His fancy outfit gave the impression that he’s a model to strangers. “Louis Vuitton, I think,” He furrows his brows, trying to remember the name of the brand stores he’s been to with Nobara and Shoko.

“Prada, sir,” The lady in a suit corrected him. “Can I help you?”

“We’re just browsing, thank you.” It’s a phrase he heard from Kugisaki countless times whenever they wandered into a store. His response makes you chuckle, watching as the lady takes a few steps backwards politely.

You’re soon comfortable, searching through the expensive coats and bags. Satoru watched tenderly. Even though the ten years that passed with no contact whatsoever definitely propose a wall between you, he's glad you're able to feel free. You might nit on the same page, but you two can work with what you have.

You stride back to the “S” shaped velvet couch sat in the middle of the checker-carpet store, where Satoru sat. But he was nowhere to be seen.

You walk around in hesitance and confusion, completely aware of the lady walking always a few feet behind you. Surveillance, you guess.

You find him standing in front of the white counter, taking a black bag with the brand’s name printed onto it in golden letters from the man standing behind the counter in a white shirt with the brand's logo on it.

“Gojo,” you call him, confusion fused into your expression.

He extends his arm to you, trying to suppress any sourness at you calling him Gojo. “Let’s go?”

You nod, eyeing him suspiciously before you link your arm in his. You make sure to flash a grateful smile at the woman by the door as you walk past the reflective glass door.

You almost forgot how busy the world outside is. It felt as though the glass building of the store was sound proof. Now you have to adjust to the noise of the full streets again.

Satoru remains silent for the most part. It’s not awkward, rather just neither of you knew what to say. He expected you to ask about what he bought, which you have considered. You decide against it though as you feel it’s none of your business. You’re not too surprised anyway as Gojo has always been a wealthy man. He could buy the entire Prada chain with half of his monthly spending.

“What do you wanna do now?” He asks. “Wanna go somewhere else?”

You think about going to the club to give the night the best closure. But neither of you were dressed for it anyway. You contemplate your choices. Then you grin at him, and Satoru knows it’s best to fear what comes after

You’re well aware that he has a high alcohol tolerance. While you would be wasted a few shots in. Yet you consumed so many drinks recklessly, thinking that maybe you could beat him in a drinking game.

That’s why he’s stuck to your side now, helping your sleeping body out of his car. Satoru is glad your hotel card was so easy to find in your purse, taking it out as he gets into the lobby.

A few people eye the man, glaring at him and at the way he held you in his arms. But he couldn’t bring himself to think too much about it. His mission is to get you to bed now.

“Satoruuu~” You whine, rubbing your face into the pillow once he sat you on the white bedding. “Stay with meeee”

And Satoru is nothing if not human. Despite what everyone else says. It’s proven now that he had come to face a human flaw like this. He is weak, and you are all but practically seducing him.

“Stop crying,” He mutters. He finds himself smiling sheepishly at the unlikely scenario he found himself in. Tucking you in bed, your face hot due to the drinks you had. He really should have stopped you. “I’ll stay the night, so sleep already.”

He convinced himself it’s for the best. He should watch over you for tonight. No funny business. Deep inside he knew he was just finding a reason— any reason to stay around you for a little longer, heart yearning for the lost years. But he ignored the pathetic feeling, convincing himself it’s for your sake instead.

“But I’m uncomfortableee,” you whine again, hands running down your body. “The dress...”

Did you have to make it so hard on him? Satoru is tempted to kiss you, eyebrows knitted in the space between, eyes looking around the room for any sort of aid.

This is probably a form of invading your privacy, but he sees no other choice. He’ll have to hold it together for tonight.

“nngh..”

Your groan came with an impending headache. Your body moves against the rich covers of the bed, sunlight illuminating your physique.

He stopped in his tracks, feet bare against the gray carpet.

Your form is beautiful, one to compete with statues of goddesses. The rays of light complimented every inch of skin in all the right ways. Satoru had to physically shake his head to stop the flowing perverted thoughts in his head.

Your flinch when you catch him standing near the door, heart beating slightly faster. You thought that you’re alone. You don’t think much of it anyway, muttering a “holy shit” under your breath.

“Good morning,” he casually greets, brushing off the mutual shock, albeit for different reasons. “I made coffee, if you wanted some.”

“Oh... thank you,” you mutter, rubbing your eyes as you sit up straight. “Did you eat anything yet?”

“Not yet, no,” he says, holding his overly sweet coffee in both palms. “Thought I’d wait until you woke up.”

“You’re a real sweetheart, Satoru,” you yawn. His name slipped past your lips before you could stop it. You busy yourself with stretching your arms. “What a doting housewife God has blessed me with”

His response is only a chuckle, rolling his eyes as he sighs on the edge of the bed. “Well, at least I wasn’t begging a man to spend the night with me”

“Huh?”

You couldn’t remember anything of the prior night. Nothing that occurred after you sat at the bar, specifically. But then you begin to realize, eyes widening at the revelation. You feel dreadfulness landing in the pit of your stomach a little too late.

He’s shirtless, wearing only his suit pants. And even though you wouldn’t mind the sight any other day, the fact that you are in your pajamas isn’t helping at all.

“Did we...” You trail off, expression darkening. Your eyes meet his own, fear implanted in your pupils. You watch as his expression drifts from confusion to an awkward hesitance. Unsure how to break the news to you.

You don’t know what to expect, not realizing you’re holding your breath.

“I-I’m sorry,” He sighs, gaze faltering as his eyes look away from you. Your eyes widen further, oxygen becoming hard to consume.

What have you done?

“But- don’t worry. You know I’m not some asshole...” if anything, he sounded chivalrous. “I-I’ll be accountable for my mistake. When do you want to hold the wedding?”

You gasp, face feeling hot. “You piece of shit-“ You groan as your foot reaches him, forcefully pushing him off the bed. “As if!”

He breaks into a fit of laughter, the sound full of genuine delight. “I can’t believe you fell for it,” He manages between the laughter.

“Fuck you, Satoru,” you mutter, a smile of relief breaking across your face. “I can’t believe you pulled something so childish.”

“Why are you so down?” He climbed back onto the bed, reclaiming his spot on the edge. “Are you disappointed? You know it’s never too late to just as-“

“Fuck off,” Your heart is pounding as you send him another kick, less forceful this time. “Say one more word about it and I’ll make sure you don’t make it out of this room in one piece.”

He laughs, asking you to pass his coffee. You reach for his coffee from the bedside table. Your fingers lift the glass mug to your lips, sipping at the hot beverage before handing it to him.

Your face scrunches up at the horrible taste. Too much sugar. Too much milk. It’s a lot worse than you might think.

“Your coffee should be criminal,” you push the mug his way, frowning. Satoru hums in response.

There’s no awkwardness between the two of you, and he can’t help but cherish it. He feels content, enough to sit a little closer, at least.

Enough to lean in towards you, mouth closing over yours in an ever awaited kiss, at least.

625 notes · View notes

sjsmith56 · 5 months ago

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Cold Hearted

Summary: AU one shot. A marriage of convenience between the son and daughter of two CEOS to benefit their companies leads to a friendship between the couple, then more.

Length: 6.7 K

Characters: Bucky Barnes, unnamed and undescribed female character. She is occasionally referred to as “Sweetheart” or “Pretty girl.”

Warnings: unresolved emotional trauma, Bucky is a bit of a party boy at first, loneliness, unrequited love, feelings of worthlessness and betrayal.

Author notes: There’s some angst in this but it’s part of the growth process for the couple as they learn to trust and rely on each other.

🥂 🏥 🐚

It was just a business deal according to my father. I marry the son of his biggest competitor and they signed an agreement to split the market between them. It sounded like something a mob boss would ask of their daughter, but my father wasn't in the mob, at least not so far as I knew. He was the CEO of a billion-dollar company, just like the competitor was and both of them had spent almost two years fighting to corner the market for a stupid product that would be outdated in a year, two at the most. Then someone, a VP or maybe my father's mistress (same person) suggested a marriage of convenience. After all, you wouldn't screw over family. So, here I was, standing in a church next to a total stranger, both of us facing the minister as he droned on and on about the sanctity of marriage.

We each said I do, when it was asked of us, then put a ring on each other's left hand, while not once making eye contact. When it was time to kiss, he looked at me then and kissed me hurriedly on my cheek; his blue eyes looking quickly away as if I was something unexpected. We signed the register, were introduced as Mr. and Mrs. James Barnes, then he offered me his arm and we stepped down the aisle towards the open doors at the end of the church. All I had to do was pull away from him, sprint through the doors, hail a cab and I could run away. But I didn't. I took the long walk, stood in the receiving line, shook hands with my father and my new father-in-law's business colleagues then was told it was time to leave. My husband offered me his hand, led me out the doors, past the people throwing rose petals at us and into the limousine. Our wedding party piled into the second vehicle. At least it was quiet in there and as it pulled away; he looked behind us then let out a breath of air, seemingly glad that was over with.

"You thirsty?" he asked. "I think there's water in the mini fridge."

Without waiting for an answer, he opened it, took out two bottles and uncapped one, offering it to me before he opened his, draining half of it almost immediately. I sipped mine several times, then placed the cap back on.

"What did you father offer you to do this?" he asked.

I looked at him. "Nothing, just said I better do it if I wanted to still be part of the family and get my inheritance."

He frowned. "That's cold. My dad offered me $10 million. I talked him up to 25."

I looked out the window. Swell. My husband had to be paid to marry me.

"Sorry," he murmured. "I guess that sounds crass. You seem nice but I'm not the faithful type. I like my freedom."

I looked at him. He was a handsome man and in real life would never look at someone like me. He was all nightclubs, parties, exotic vacations and I was a quiet, shy wallflower, who had only ever had a handful of boyfriends. At least he was honest, if telling me he wasn't the faithful type meant he was probably going to cheat on me.

"James, you know the contract stipulates grandchildren, at least two."

"I know. I thought we could use IVF. I wouldn't expect you to sleep with me." He was quiet for a moment. "Call me Bucky. It's my nickname. James is what my father calls me when he's about to chew me out about my lifestyle."

"Okay. So, we'll have separate bedrooms?" He nodded.

"If you want but I won't bring anyone home," he said. "I wouldn't embarrass you like that and I'll be as discreet as I can." He frowned. "Your dad say anything about the divorce agreement in two years?"

I looked at him. "No, what divorce agreement?"

"You get $100 million as a settlement plus a house and a car, child support. I saw the papers and you signed it."

My mind went blank for a moment. There were so many documents that I signed when this was proposed, and I just put my signature where the lawyer said. Why wouldn't they make it known I had a divorce agreement?

"I can ask my lawyer, if you wish," he said. "I mean, you are my wife now, and your wellbeing is my concern. I'm not a complete cold-hearted asshole."

I smiled at him, and he squeezed my hand then he drank some more of his water. We pulled up to the reception venue and waited for the driver to open the door. Bucky got out, then offered me his hand to get out. There were several flashes from the paparazzi, as Bucky was well known in certain social circles, then we hurried inside and made our way to a private lounge for our formal wedding pictures. As the pictures of me and my attendants were being taken, I noticed Bucky talking animatedly with a man. He seemed bothered at what the man was explaining then when he was called for our pictures he turned to him.

"Get it done," he said. "It's not fair and I'll expose the whole thing right now if it isn't fixed."

He smiled at me as he approached, then stood where the photographer told him, right behind me. As the photographer directed the others into position he leaned towards my ear and spoke in a low voice.

"My lawyer said you signed over the proceeds of the divorce agreement to your father. I told him that was false, as you didn't even know about the agreement. If they don't fix it, we'll get an annulment and he'll get nothing. Since I already got paid by my dad, I'll give you half. It's only fair." My mouth was open, and he placed his hand under my chin, closing it, as he grinned. "I told you, I'm not an asshole, well, at least not to those who are my friends."

My smile during the photographs was genuine. It had been a long time since I had anyone that stood up for me; certainly not my parents or any of my siblings. My grandmother, before she died, was the last person who ever advocated for me, and I had forgotten how good it felt to have someone in my corner. When the pictures were done, Bucky went over to a table filled with liquor bottles and poured out shots for everyone. I looked at him dubiously, as I wasn't much of a drinker.

"Come on, it's your wedding day," he smiled. "Open your mouth, pour it in and swallow."

I did as he said, feeling it burn down my throat. He laughed then did his own shot, before pouring another. With his encouragement I drank that one, then another before the wedding planner came in to say we had to make our entrance. Grabbing my hand, he pulled me out the door and waited for the rest of the wedding party to go in as they were introduced. Then it was our turn and he looked at me, then smiled.

"You ready, Mrs. Barnes?"

I nodded and we danced our way into the reception room, as the guests clapped in time to the music. As we passed my family's table, I noticed my father was glaring at me. Bucky noticed too and leaned in close to me.

"Kiss me," he said. "Let your dad know that we're fucking with him."

"He'll be angry," I answered.

"So? Let him. He's arranged this so that only he benefits from this marriage. You deserve a piece of the action."

He twirled me around until our lips were just inches apart, then with an almost evil grin, he kissed me, and I kissed him back. As the guests hooted and hollered, we gave them a good show, then he stood up and pumped his fist in time to the bass beat in the song. I looked at my dad again and he was livid. Before the wedding, I would have been terrified of my dad being like this but maybe the three shots, the kiss, and the encouragement of my fake husband changed something because I suddenly didn't care what my father thought. Pumping my fist and jumping in time to the music I joined Bucky as we continued our entry dance around the room, before finally collapsing into our seats at the head table. He pushed my water glass to me, while he drank his then leaned close to me again.

"The trick to partying is to stay hydrated," he said. "Always drink water when you drink alcohol. It takes care of the hangover as well."

The evening went way too fast as we ate, drank, danced our first dance (Perfect by Ed Sheeran), then cut the cake, threw the garter and the bouquet. Every time my father tried to come over to me, Bucky whisked me away to dance or to meet some of his friends. When it was time for us to make our getaway, he picked me up, threw me over his shoulder and carried me out to the limousine, making me laugh. As soon as we got inside, he told the driver where to take us, then took my hand and kissed it. If I hadn't known better, I would swear that this was a man that really loved me. By the time we got to the hotel, I was quiet again, realizing that everything that Bucky did that night was a lie. It was fun but it was still a lie.

We checked in, went up to the hotel room, where our bags had already been dropped off, and Bucky tipped the bell boy before locking the door. Then he sat on a couch and patted the seat beside him. I didn't come over right away and he looked at me with puppy dog eyes, so I sat next to him.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Are you always this good of an actor? You had me believing for a moment that you ... that we were real."

"We are legally married," he answered. "I wasn't acting. I had a good time tonight. At first, I thought you were kind of a stick in the mud, but I realized that you just haven't really lived. You've been kept on a pretty short leash by your family, haven't you?"

"It's obvious, isn't it?" I sighed. "I don't like confrontation and I tend to let people have their way."

He nodded his head. "Like me. I'm sorry. I was just trying to get you to have a good time. You did have a good time, right?" Bucky was right about that as I did have a good time. I nodded. "Look, if there is anything good to come out of this arrangement one of them will be you allowing yourself to have fun. No matter what happens, I kind of like you, so if we become friends from this, I'll be very happy. Finally, getting you what is due to you is the top priority. I'm not going to let your father cheat you out of what was negotiated."

I smiled at him, then bent over and undid my shoes, slipping them off. Bucky gestured to his lap, and I changed positions, so my feet lay on top of his legs. Gently, he took one foot in his hands and began to massage it. I groaned and made a face as he hit every spot that was sore, making it feel so much better. When he was finished with that, he did the other foot. When I withdrew my feet from his hands, he got up and went to the bathroom, coming out drying his hands on a towel.

"I've drawn you a bath," he said. "Take your time, play your favourite playlist and I'll get set up out here."

"I thought ...." I looked at him, puzzled.

"What kind of husband would I be if I abandoned you on our wedding night? We won't have sex, but we can sleep in the same bed. I'm tired and it's been a long day."

Opening my bag, I took out my toiletries and pyjamas. He grinned at the pink elephants on them, then showed me his pyjama bottoms, with cookies on them. I chuckled, then went to the bathroom and closed the door. When I came out half an hour later, Bucky was changed into his bottoms and a plain white T-shirt, there was soft music playing and a bottle of champagne was open. On top of the bed was a plate of chocolate covered strawberries. Patting the space next to him, he offered me a hand as I crawled on, then poured me a glass of champagne. Holding our glasses up he made a toast.

"Here's to having a good time together, not a long time," he said. "Hopefully, we come out of this as friends because good friends are rare, and you can never have enough good friends."

We sipped the champagne, then he held a strawberry for me as I bit into it, before popping the rest of it in his mouth with a cheeky grin. For an hour we talked about ourselves, growing up in families that were focused on business more than anything else. I learned that Bucky lost his mother at a young age when she died of cancer. He went to boarding school, which he admitted could have made him bitter, but he formed some deep friendships and found some adults to have a meaningful substitute parent relationship with. His college years were spent mostly partying, but he did enough work to get his degree in finance and understood enough about business to agree that this marriage arrangement would keep both of our father's companies from inflicting fatal blows on each other. As I told him about being the quiet child in the family who seemed to always be ignored and forgotten when decisions were made, he frowned and held my hand, kissing it from time to time.

It was easy to talk to him and I cried a little that night. But he comforted me and when my yawns started coming more, he insisted I get under the covers. We curled up and faced each other in the dark. Before I closed my eyes he whispered.

"Sleep tight, pretty girl."

No one had ever called me pretty before.

For the next month, Bucky was pretty attentive. My father finally succeeded in cornering me to ask what the hell I was trying to do by bringing up the divorce agreement. Maybe being so much in Bucky's presence had rubbed off on me because I asked him why the lawyer thought I signed the money over to him. He grabbed my wrist and began to twist it when my husband walked in and quickly grabbed my father's wrist, surprising him with the strength of his grip.

"You don't ever touch my wife like that again," said Bucky, gritting his teeth a little. "I brought up the divorce agreement and was shocked that a father would be so cold-hearted to his daughter to literally try to pick her pocket before she even had any money in it. You want this deal to go through? Then you restore the agreement to what I signed; the money belongs to her. Otherwise, we get an annulment, and you get nothing."

"You can't annul the marriage," huffed my father. "You were together on the wedding night."

"We were but we didn't consummate the marriage," replied Bucky, throwing daggers at my father with his bright blue eyes. "Make sure you amend that divorce agreement and I want to be there when my wife signs it. You got that?"

He released my father, put his arm around me and led me away. We signed the amended agreement two days later that stipulated the money, house, car and child support, when we divorced, would go to me and only me.

Once a week, Bucky went out with his friends, partying. He always wore his wedding ring when the paparazzi took photographs of him and for quite a while he was careful, as there were no pictures of him going off with another woman. I knew he was seeing them, because he would come home smelling of their perfume, before he showered, put on his funky pyjama bottoms and slipped into bed, usually spooning behind me, something that he said he liked even though we had separate bedrooms.

Since the marriage agreement called for two children, Bucky arranged for us to visit the IVF clinic and we both underwent testing. He must have paid the doctor and staff there a lot of money to keep their questions to themselves because none of them ever said anything about why two healthy individuals who just got married didn't make a baby the old-fashioned way. I had to undergo shots to stimulate my ovaries so they could harvest multiple eggs. Then Bucky provided them with semen to fertilize the eggs in preparation for insertion into my uterus. Over the next few months, none of them implanted and I began to develop anxiety about it. He was great, never once blaming me. There were even a couple of occasions when he didn't go out with his friends and stayed home to comfort me when my period started, dashing our hopes once again.

Somehow, somewhere along the way, I realized something, about how I felt about him. It wasn't something I expected, falling in love with a man who made it clear from the start that friendship would be the most he could offer me. For as long as I could, I kept it to myself, not wanting to appear needy to Bucky. He had been wonderful and so kind to me. But after that realization, every time I saw him get ready to go out and knew that he would return smelling of someone else, it was inevitable that I finally said something.

"Don't go out," I whispered, one night, just as he came out of his bedroom, dressed in one of his Armani suits. "Please."

He looked at me as if I was joking then saw the pain in my eyes.

"What's wrong?" he asked, sitting next to me.

"Stay home," I answered. "Don't go out with your friends tonight."

"I have to," he said. "We're on the VIP list at a new club opening. I'll be back before morning. After a little sleep-in we can spend the day together, maybe take a drive out to the coast." He smoothed my hair, then kissed my forehead. "Sleep tight, pretty girl."

He left without a backwards glance, and I cried. It wasn't the first time, and it wouldn't be the last, especially when the paparazzi succeeded in acquiring a picture of Bucky and a starlet kissing each other. He apologized but the crack between us was there, and it would only get worse. The night it was the worst was the night I almost died.

We were supposed to be at a charity event together, but he texted to say he was running late, and he would meet me there. Of course, when I showed up without him, I was swarmed by photographers, all of them asking where Bucky was and who he was with. Ignoring them as best as I could I entered the venue and was shown to my table, seated with several other wives of prominent individuals. Even though I had improved my social skills and learned to have more fun, these women weren't inclined to be friendly and after enduring their whispered comments with no word from Bucky I decided to go home. A car service had dropped me off but expecting Bucky to arrive in his car we didn't book a return trip. There were no taxis available, so I began to walk, trying to hail one as I walked. Somewhere, along the way, I began to cry like the pathetic little individual I always knew I was. Funny how quickly I crumbled, when I figured that even Bucky had enough of me.

I woke up in the emergency room, with a bright light glaring down on me, a collar around my neck, a tube down my throat and IVs in my arms. A doctor leaned over me until I looked at him then began asking me questions, but I couldn't speak, not with the tube blocking my voice. He told me I walked out into traffic without looking and was hit by a car. My heart stopped twice but they brought me back. Was there anyone they should call? I tried to point at my wedding ring as Bucky was the only person I wanted to see, but my arms were splinted as apparently, I thrashed around too much when I was out. He figured it out and held up my phone. Painfully, I signalled the code numbers with my fingers, and he unlocked it then phoned Bucky. Returning a moment later he bent over me again.

"He's on his way. Hang in there, okay? Nothing's broken but you do have internal injuries."

I moaned since there was really no other way to communicate. I must have fallen asleep or passed out because when I woke up again, I was in an ICU hospital room, there were the sounds of several monitors, and Bucky was sitting on a chair, with his head in his hands. He looked up at a sound I must have made and immediately came to my side, placing his hand on mine. All I saw in his eyes were guilt and sorrow.

"I'm so sorry, sweetheart," he said. "This is all my fault. I was supposed to be there with you, but I let others distract me and before I even realized that I had missed the whole event I got the call from the doctor."

I closed my eyes, feeling the tears streaming down from them. His apology, though sincere, really meant nothing. He promised to be my friend and instead, he did what my family had done my whole life, ignored me. To me, it was proof that I was truly meaningless in this world, that I was insignificant. I felt a cloth on my face and opened my eyes to see Bucky wiping my tears away with a washcloth. Painfully, I turned my head away from him.

"Please, don't," he begged. "Don't be angry with me. I fucked up. I know I did. I thought we could get through the two years and be friends, but I haven't been a good friend to you."

I still didn't look at him. I wasn't angry but I was disappointed. He tried to take my hand in his, but I pulled it away, bringing a distressed sound out of him. It must have affected me because a nurse came in to check the monitors and suggested that Bucky go home and come back in the morning. He put up an argument, but she convinced him that I needed to rest. Reluctantly, he agreed and bent over me, kissing me on the forehead.

"I'll do all I can to make it up to you," he whispered. "You were the last person I ever wanted to hurt."

He left then and I eventually fell asleep. Those first few days he was there from early in the morning until late at night. His father visited the second day, and I was aware of a fairly emotional whispered conversation between him and Bucky. None of my family visited. Three days in they took the tube out of my throat, confident that my bruised lungs and ribs were strong enough for me to breathe on my own. It still hurt to speak, almost as much as I was hurting emotionally. Bucky watched me with glassy eyes after the doctor and nurse left, seeming almost afraid to say anything. I looked at him, and the tears began to fall again, in earnest this time. Even though my body hurt I sobbed, and he was right there, his chair pulled up to the edge of the bed, kissing my hand.

"How can I make it better?" he asked. "Please, tell me."

"You won't," I answered, my voice raspy. "You made it clear from our wedding day that you weren't the faithful type. We can't be friends anymore."

"No, please, don't say that," he pleaded. "I need you. Don't you know that?"

I shook my head. "I don't know anything anymore; except every time you walk out the door to be with someone else it hurts so much. Loving you wasn't supposed to happen, but it did."

"You love me?" he asked, not quite believing what I was saying.

I looked away, then nodded my head. "You were nicer to me than anyone I ever met. Then suddenly you were gone more and then you didn't show up last night."

I covered my face with my hands and wept. The edge of the bed dipped slightly as he sat there, then he was carefully lifting me up in his arms to hold me.

"I'm sorry." He stroked my hair. "You know there are times I wake up at night and you're talking in your sleep. Strange, weird stuff, about kangaroos and jungle roads, and stuffing your face with hot dogs at a ball game. One night, I spoke to you, and we carried on a weird conversation. When I finally said you should go back to sleep, you said okay. Then you said good night and that you loved me. Just the way you said it I knew you were telling the truth. It frightened me because I'm not a good person. I party and sleep around too much, I spend money like it will never end, and I never once told anyone other than my mother that I loved them. She died, and it got into my head that if I loved someone, I would lose them someday." He touched my wedding ring, running his fingertip on it. "Then I almost lost you and I never once told you that I was falling in love with you, a love that I was scared to feel."

"You don't love me," I scoffed.

"I love that you listen to me and follow my lead, even when you really don't want to at first. I love your goofy pyjamas and how cuddly they make you feel when you're sleeping in my arms. I love that I would rather ... be here in the hospital begging for your forgiveness and love, than partying with people who only want to ignore the real world. With you, I have real fun, where I laugh and feel good about helping you and being there for you, because that makes me feel good about myself."

"That's not love," I murmured.

"Maybe not but I know that I don't want to be anywhere but near you."

I looked at him, truly looked at him and saw a man with bags under his bloodshot eyes, his hair was sticking out at odd angles because he had fallen asleep in the armchair of the hospital room, and he had several days of beard stubble on his face because he hadn't shaved. This from a man who took pride in how he looked. He wasn't dressed well, like he normally was when he appeared in public. He looked like a mess, and it was because he loved me, and thought he had lost me.

"Do you think we could start over?" he asked, those puppy dog eyes suddenly prominent, even in their bloodshot state. "After you get better, we can go away and just be ourselves, without any family or the business bothering us. I don't care where and it doesn't have to be fancy or expensive. I just want to be with you."

"No more partying with your friends at nightclubs?" I asked. "No more sleeping with other women? Just you and me?"

"Just you and me," he repeated. "The only person I want to sleep with is you, when you're ready."

I couldn't help it. I sobbed again and began to cry. Immediately, Bucky began to kiss my face. Then he looked in my eyes, placed his hand on my cheek and kissed me for real, a soft and sweet kiss that said I was the most important person in his world.

He was as good as his word. Once I was released, he leased a guest house on the coast. It was quiet, far enough away from the other houses on that stretch of windswept beach that we could pretend we were alone. We visited farmer's markets, picking up fresh food for meals that Bucky cooked for me, trying but not always succeeding in his attempts. It didn't matter because we were together and that was the real reason we were there. We walked; short distances at first as I got my strength back, then longer where we would take our time and pick up interesting shells and rocks on the beach. Sometimes we kept them, sometimes we tossed them back into the ocean. Not once did he look at his cellphone. In fact, the charge ran out and he left it on the kitchen counter as a reminder that he wanted all of his attention on me. At night, we curled up in front of the fireplace until I fell asleep, and he would carry me in his arms to bed, helping me into my comfy pyjamas, before changing into his own and spooning behind me.

One night we had a storm, with pounding waves, thunder and lightning, and a wind that rattled every window in the house. He held me until I fell asleep. When I woke up, I looked at his sleeping face, admiring his straight nose, defined cheekbones, and the cleft in his chin. He must have sensed I was looking at him because he opened his eyes, those blue grey eyes that seemed to change colour like the ocean did whenever it was peaceful or angry. There must have been something in my eyes that morning because Bucky kissed me differently, then looked at me in a way he never had before. As his hands moved under my top, and caressed my skin, he shifted so that he was looking over me. I nodded yes, and he smiled softly, before kissing me again and pressing his body against mine.

As pieces of clothing were discarded, we explored each other's bodies, responding with soft sounds as we awakened our sensuous side. It was lovemaking that started out slowly, then built in intensity as Bucky showed me physically how much I meant to him. I had never been that intimate with anyone before, even though I thought I had with the few boyfriends of my limited experience. None of the others made me feel what he did and any last doubts I may have had about his devotion to me were erased. I was in love, truly in love for the first time and so was Bucky.

For six weeks we lived in this bubble where only we existed. Then Bucky plugged his phone in, and all the notifications sounded, one after another for almost an hour. He deleted the ones from his partying friends. They were part of his past now. There were a couple from my father, demanding to know where we were. Then there were the others from his father and lawyers. As he read them, he sighed then looked at me and sat in an armchair, pulling me onto his lap.

"When you were in the ICU, I asked my father for a favour," he said. "I asked him how we could take over your father's company."

"Why?" I asked. "Our marriage was the agreement to keep the competition equal with him, wasn't it?"

"Yeah, it was but when I demanded that your father amend that divorce agreement, he did something stupid and frankly, unethical. He entered into a secret agreement with an overseas company and contracted with them to provide him with the same product at a fraction of the cost. They aren't the same quality, but he is selling them for a bit less than ours, and he makes more profit on them. It's cut into our profits. We'll be alright because Dad's R&D division are already testing the update that would have been brought out at the end of the two years when we were originally going to get divorced. Of course, now, we're not getting divorced."

"We're not?" I asked, my heart racing a little.

"Nope. You've got me for life." He shrugged. "But it means you don't get your 100 million, although you do get a house and car. They were my late wedding presents to you." He cleared his throat. "Do you know how your father has his company structured?"

"No, I assumed he owns and runs it himself," I said.

"Well, he is CEO, but he doesn't exactly own it, at least not all of it," said Bucky. "It's actually shared between your dad, your siblings and yourself. He's never paid you dividends or anything from the company, has he?"

"No, I didn't know any of it," I said. "I feel stupid now, but I always assumed he had total control."

"I think you were kept in deliberate ignorance of it, and he used some shady tax loopholes to keep the money that was yours out of your hands. It doesn't appear he did the same thing to your siblings which led me to wonder why he has always seemed to be so cold-hearted to you."

It was true, my dad never really liked me. I was aware of that from my earliest memories. Bucky's hand on my mine drew my attention back to him.

"He's not your dad." I opened my mouth then closed it. "He was married to your mother when you were born but your father was someone else. The company was her's and he had no choice but to declare you as his daughter at your birth. When she died, she left the company divided up between all of you."

"My mother's not dead," I said.

"She's not your mother, she's your stepmother," he replied. "Originally, she was your dad's mistress. He married her a month after your mother died, when you were two years old. Since then, your father has cheated you out of everything that should have been yours."

"What do I do?" I asked.

"You could launch takeover plans of your own, but I think it would expose you to investigation and possibly prosecution if the full story of how your father operates becomes public." That wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing considering how he cheated me. Bucky smiled a little. "I think you should turn him in. Report him to the FBI, the IRS, and any other regulatory agency that oversees corporations. They'll freeze all the assets of the company while they investigate and once they confirm what my dad found out; you won't be a subject of investigation. You'll be recognized as a victim of a long-term plan to swindle you out of your inheritance. You can even bring a private civil suit against him. At the least it will expose your father and your family to some pretty intense public scrutiny. There might be some criticism about you, but I'll be with you while this happens, and I won't let anyone associate you with them."

I considered his words. For someone who said he barely passed his university courses he sounded pretty sure of himself and of what we should do. Just at that moment I felt like I had to throw up and I ran from him to the bathroom, emptying my stomach. His hands were on my hair, gently pulling it back so it didn't get soiled. Then he gave me a glass of water as I sat on the floor. A strange but satisfied smile was on his face.

"You haven't had a period since we first got here," he said.

I stopped drinking the water and looked up at him. "Do you think I'm pregnant?"

He shrugged then kneeled down to play with the ends of my hair. "Maybe. We can pick up a pregnancy test on the trip back to the city."

Something occurred to me. "The grandchildren clause ... who asked for that?"

He smiled. "My dad. I'm an only child so he wanted to make sure that I had heirs before I died because of my partying ways. If you are pregnant, I'll be happy and so will he. I'm going to be more involved in the company but not to the extent that you feel left out. In fact, my dad thinks you might be a good fit for the Board of Directors. We can work together and take over managing it when he retires."

"I don't know anything about business," I protested.

"I'll teach you," he smiled. "Say yes, to staying as my wife, the mother of my child, and partner in business. There's no one else I want to have it all with."

I agreed and his smile lit me up inside. When we returned to the city, the lawyers that his dad retained helped me turn my father and siblings in for the irregularities of how they ran my mother's business. Like Bucky said, several agencies became interested, and they confirmed that I had been cheated out of tens of millions of dollars worth of income and compensation. There were many shady deals they engaged in, and even the ones that weren't shady, like the marriage arrangement between Bucky and me, weren't always honoured. It took a long time for the whole thing to wind its way through the legal system but when it did, it was my company, and mine alone, as the Board of Directors fired my father and siblings after they were forced to divest their holdings in order to pay years of back taxes on the income they didn't declare. When Bucky's father, George Barnes, proposed a merger I accepted, being offered the position of Chief Ethics Officer in the combined companies.

There was something else that happened. On the way home from the coast, we stopped and picked up a home pregnancy test. The next morning, we waited as the stick processed the urine sample. The word Pregnant appeared and we accepted that our life was going to change. Bucky left behind the party lifestyle completely, becoming the partner in life I had always dreamed of. When our son was born, he was hands on as a father and stayed that way with each child we had, four in all. Some people said we lived a charmed life, but it wasn't always that way.

I never felt truly loved until I survived my accident and confessed my love to my husband. Bucky, who had dealt with his own trauma of his mother's death and being sent to boarding school at a young age, had lived a life of shallowness, afraid to truly be intimate with anyone, until he almost lost me. Our sham marriage ultimately brought him and his father closer together, healing the rift that had kept them apart. With the trust we built between us we formed a new family, made richer by the birth of our children. Although my biological father was dead, he did have children, born after his affair with my mother. We got along well, and they became my new siblings. Whatever cold-hearted life I suffered before I agreed to marry a man I didn't know didn't matter, as Bucky and I showered our own family with all the love we could muster. Above all else, we were happy.

One shots masterlist

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#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #buckybarnes original female character #bucky barnes au #marriage of convenience #business deal #friends to lovers #bucky barnes x reader

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multifariousqueer · 1 year ago

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Ok here’s my request and it’s not smut so don’t worry lol.

What if like Yn tried sneaking into Mike’s room with some good news or smth and she catches him doing the deed with another girl so she decides to leave and then he’s blowing up her phone but she cuts him off. Idk just angst angst and more angst lol

Ofc love!!!

A/n: It’s good to be back writing fluff, hopefully no one has an issue with this but if they do, oh well🤷🏽‍♀️. As always, feel free to request, just know if it’s a smut req, it’s gonna be written on AO3. Speaking of Ao3, follow it, its in my bio ❤️

Warnings: Cheating, suggestivness, language, reader being a boss as bitch and cutting Miles off, angst, brief mentions of vomit, breaking in, toxicity

“Congratulations, Y/n L/n you were admitted into (your dream college). We look forward to seeing you in the fall!” the admissions letter read

It felt like you were working towards this your whole life; your parents sacrificed everything to send you to a great school like Visions and they spent a ton of money investing into your future. To be honest, it seemed like a fever dream at first; you had wanted to go here since you were 11 and you were making your younger self so proud

You decided to call Miles and tell him the good news. Your parents were already informed and they were throwing you a party that weekend and you had told your friends, the only thing left to do was to tell the man you loved most in the entire world and his family that took care of you like their own.

You tried calling but it went straight to voicemail. This was unlike Miles because he never left you on delivered and he never declined your calls, even when he was doing Spiderman stuff. You decided to take a short walk over to his dorm to see if he was okay, since if he wasn’t home, Ganke was and you could just ask him where Miles was. So, you grabbed the letter, your phone and your bag and walked the 10 minute walk over to his dorm.

When you reached his dorm, you heard moaning and it sounded like the bed was hitting the wall. Your heart dropped to your stomach and tears welled in your eyes.

“no. It can’t be, Miles would never” you tried to reason with yourself

You knocked on the door and you immediately heard an “oh shit” come from the room, followed by shuffling. You begged and pleaded with God that this was all a mistake, a dream gone wrong, something other than what it was.

When no one answered for a second, you opened the door with the spare Miles gave you and you saw him on top of another girl. The girl was blonde, blue eyes, tallish, had an eyebrow piercing and looked like she could dog walk your ex-boyfriend

“m-Miles?” you questioned

“Y/n, It’s not what it looks like; I promise” He said frantically, trying to come towards you as you backed into the door

You felt sick to your stomach; it felt like someone dropped a two ton weight on your chest and crushed your heart. Miles and you shared some of the best and worst moments of your lives together and you never in a million years, thought that he would cheat on you. His mother raised him better than this and in that moment, you considered calling her to tell her what a whore she raised. You ran out of the room and to a trash can where you vomited, your stomach emptying all of it’s contents and hopefully, all of the memories you shared

“OMG ARE YOU OKAY?” Miles questioned

“GET AWAY FROM ME” You said, running away

He quickly webbed you in an attempt to explain but you weren’t having it

“How could you do this to me?” you kept whispering as he pulled you close and attempted to kiss your forehead and hug you

“I-I don’t know, it just happened. I still love you, Y/n I’m so sorry” Miles said, tears pouring through his eyes

You stood there motionless, numb and with tears glossing over your cheeks. This moment didn’t feel real, it felt like someone took you out of your body and Miles was hugging your shell.

He let you go but not before you looked in his eyes and said:

“I’ve been there for you for four years. I have been your girlfriend, engineer, friend, and in some cases, your mom. I feel so sorry that a beautiful soul like her could raise a poor excuse of a son like you. Don’t call me, text me or do anything to me. You just lost the only person who truly cared about you”

Miles just looked at you with rage and sadness in his eyes. His mouth was slightly agape but you just shoved your letter in his chest and stormed off.

You told your entire family, friend group and Miles’ parents about the affair and they all took your side. Miles’ mom was especially hurt, seeing as she saw you as a surrogate daughter

“Dios mío, Mija. I’m so sorry, from all of us No sé dónde me equivoqué(I don’t know where I went wrong)” She said, offering you a hug and a kiss on the cheek

“Gracias, Mama Rio but there wasn’t anything you could do about it. He made that choice to sleep with her and he has to live with the fact that he lost me forever” you spoke into her chest

“Si, si. I know it hurts but you’ll find someone one million times better than him, prometo” she said

“Thank you so much for understanding. I’ll still come over and participate in family functions if you’d like.” you spoke, even though your relationship with Miles was gone, you still valued your relationship with his mother

“Of course, mija. You’ll always have a home here” she said warmly

She wiped your tears and you headed for the door where you saw Miles. It had only been three days but he still looked disheveled, sad and had bags big enough to carry a gallon of milk under his eyes.

“Y/n, please listen-“ he started

You put in your headphones as you walked away, heading for the subway and fetching a taxi. Your friends already knew and were waiting for you in your dorm with chick flicks and food

“Heyy, we heard about the news. We’re so sorry, and we are here if you need anything” your roommate(your best friend) said

“Yeah” they all agreed

This time, the tears in your eyes were from the support you were getting, you smiled and sat down as they gave you your pajamas and slept over

The next week was a blur of you going to classes, Miles trying to speak to you, your friends talking about how shitty he was and people sending their condolences. You guys were the one couple people thought would never break up so this came as a shock to everyone. The Morales family send flowers(paid for with Miles’ allowance) and food, your family offered to come get you one million times, your friends comforting you in any way possible and even your teachers being a bit more lenient with you.

Miles was a train wreck on the other hand, he was broke, sad, and alone. Miles barely showed up for classes and when he did, he looked awful and stank. Where a clean, soft, sweet boy had once been; he was replaced by a crumb bumb who couldn’t keep his grades, friends or family afloat. The only person there for him was the girl he cheated with and he didn’t even want her anymore. He craved your sweet scent, your infectious laugh, your cooking, your kindness and your intelligence and so much more. Everything reminded him of you and it was killing him, even Ganke stopped talking to him.

People whispered in the halls as you two would walk through and even in the classes you had together. You had moved your seat away from him and your teachers were gracious in granting your request.

It was now nearing Summer and you were grabbing your things, smiling and getting ready to leave to your dream school. You had given Miles’ stuff back(lead to him begging for you back but you just left), erased any pictures of y’all together, said goodbye to his family and had wiped your hands clean of him. You began to feel like yourself again; you changed your hair, clothes, makeup and hangout spots(you avoided any graffiti clad buildings because you knew Miles would frequent there), you even went on a few dates

Most of them were a bust until you met one, his name was Thomas and he was nice and he was good looking. Where Miles and you differed, you and Tom came together. You shared common interests and you felt happy for the first time in a while. It began to feel like you had your groove back and you were a whole new person

It was a gorgeous summer day, the sun was shining and the birds were chirping; you had just gotten back from a cafe date with Thomas where you talked about nothing but everything at the same time, he offered to walk you home and gave you his sweater. You held his hand as you reached your apartment.

“wanna come inside?” you had asked for the first time

“yeah, sure. Only if you’re okay with it, I mean-“ he stammered

“I’m fine with it.” you smiled

You lead him to your apartment and kicked off your shoes.

“Hey, where’s your bathroom?” Thomas asked

“It’s right down the hall” you called, grabbing the remote and lighting a candle

“Okay, thanks babe” he called

“Hey who are- AHHH” Thomas screamed

“THOMAS. THOMAS?? OH MY GOD ARE YOU OKAY?” you asked, running to the bathroom where you saw Thomas webbed to a wall with a figure standing in front of him

“Miles?” you asked in disbelief

“Hola, Mami” he smirked

#mcu fanfiction #miles morales x reader #miles morales x y/n #miles morales headcannons #miles morales #miles x reader #across the spiderverse #spider man: across the spider verse #spiderman #across the spiderverse spoilers #into the spider verse #spiderman into the spiderverse #across the spiderverse fanart #spiderverse #marvel #foryou

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caustinen · 3 months ago

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Thinking about your Hollywood Clegan AU….

(I’m obsessed with it)

What do you think Bucky would do if he was on location, filming a big movie and Gale hadn’t been able to come with him this time because of work commitments but Bucky learns that Gale is really sick and/or was injured in some way?

Would he be able to go to him? What if the filming schedule relies on him and him leaving would cost the production millions? How would he react?

Just desperate for more of your head cannons and or drabbles with these two if you feel so inclined…..

🙃

OOOOH love love love this!! sorry it took so long to answer, i hope it still reaches you <3

[set a couple of years down the line of them already being married but before bucky gets an oscar [i need to make a timeline for myself at this point]]

hollywood au! sick fic(let)

By the third coughing fit Bucky starts to be properly worried.

“Buck? That don’t sound good at all. Are you sure you’re fine?”

If Gale wasn’t so busy coughing his lungs out, he might be sighing in annoyance. “I’m fine,” he insists, voice barely audible after the fit has abused his already tender throat, “it’s just the stupid flu that has been making rounds at the office.” He sounds miserable and annoyed, and Bucky wishes he could kiss him even more than he does always when he's stuck abroad for a longer while, which is already pretty much.

Bucky realizes he’s frowning when the fake moustache starts to tickle, a telltale sign it’s about to come loose. “Shit. Baby, I'm so sorry, but I need to be ready for filming in 10 and I need to make some adjustments, I-” “Yes, of course dear. It was nice to hear your voice, sorry I’m so-” “Don’t apologize, please. I feel bad enough being stuck on the otherside of the world.”

He hears the smile in Gale's voice when he responds. “Okay, Bucky. Love you, talk with you later.” “Love you, sweetheart. Now you go and rest like no one’s business, okay?” Gale at least sounds amused through the sore throat and all. “I will. You go show them what you can do.”

Bucky makes an exaggerated kissing sound to the phone before Gale disconnects it and puts it then immediately down to fix his face for the next scene. He tries to push the worry down – Gale’s been dealing with the flu for four days now and while ideally it would be on its way to get better by now, it has not been going worse either at least (well, Bucky really did not like the sound of that cough, but he has faith Gale would’ve honestly told him if it was something more serious, so he just tries to push it down and focus on remembering his next lines).

Once he gets to the set he loses himself into it. Somehow his craft seems to call him towards itself more and more the longer he does it; while he’s done period dramas before, something about this particular war movie has something inside him moving with each line of dialogue, each unsaid emotion he does his best to convey with just his gestures and loving eyes.

On days like this, when he’s on a roll, time seems to move differently than normally. What feels like a couple of scenes takes hours, the breaks and lunch hour mixing into the work so seamlessly he doesn’t even realize he hasn’t checked his phone since the morning when the sun is already going down.

Oh boy, does he get a nasty wake-up call, though.

A young local production assistant who’s been taking care of catering and offering water to the actors on sight at any given moment approaches him. He’s just about to decline from any offers at this time, but the boy beats him to it. “I’m so sorry to hear about your husband. I hope he’s okay, looked scary in the pictures.”

John stares after him, blinking slowly before a sinking feeling starts to settle on his insides. Rosie is yelling something after him, but he doesn’t hear anything as he rushes to his dressing room.

The headline he sees first is from the most annoying gossip magazine in LA, but this time it manages to catch his undivided attention.

TROUBLE IN PARADISE? Gale Cleven-Egan rushed to a hospital unconscious, husband John Egan nowhere to be seen!

His blood runs cold. Time slows down until it halts.

Hospital?

Unconscious?

How could Gale not let him know how sick he actually was?

Except that apparently he has tried. There are 17 missed calls on his phone and more message notifications from different apps he has time to count. Gale has called him three times before texting him “sorry i spammed with the calls, coughing got worse and fewer went up but i called curt, he’ll be here soon so it’s fine, didn’t mean to worry you xx”, and then about 10 messages from curt along the lines of “idk what gale told you but it’s about 100% worse than your thinking” “he passed out and i’m freaking out” “on our way to hospital now but the nurse said it’s probably just pneumonia but i’m still freaking out” “he’s on iv and still asleep but somehow doesn’t looks as dead in these hospital lights” “he’s gonna kill me when he wakes up if i tell him i told you, he was so worried about ruining your filming”

His stupid, stubborn, perfect, gorgeous man. His sick, unconscious, worried man.

Bucky doesn’t have to think about it. He texts his driver and clicks on the number of the director, putting the call on speaker before she even answers so he can start googling flights.

“Hi John! Is everything O-” “I’m flying to LA for the weekend. Just wanted to let you know I'm not available for readings this weekend, sorry.” Stony silens follows. Bucky is barely aware of it, having just found a perfect flight leaving in hour and a half.

“LA?” the director repeats in disbelief, “John, it’s an 11 hour flight there and back, and your contract-” “I’ll be back in time on Monday.” This time the silence is loaded with barely concealed distrust in his statement. “I mean it. I’ll be here when you need me. And if I’m not, if I delay the production at all, I promise I’ll pay it personally.”

The director makes an unhappy clicking sound with his tongue. “I don’t know, John. You’re on such a good roll. And one day here in the studio costs about 22 million dollars when you put together everyone’s paychecks and the equipment. Are you sure you absolutely have to go?”

Oof. If he’s late he won’t be able to buy them a nice vacation to mitigate Gale’s level of upset for coming over to him.

Welp. He’ll cross that bridge when he gets there.

“See you on Monday.”

–

He’s had the same fever dream ever since he remembers: plane on fire, about to crash, and he’s on the pilot’s seat with nothing to be done. The fall lasts much longer than it should, and then it shifts to darkness, some faceless voice echoing like in a grand hall. The abstract images gain light and suddenly he’s somewhere he doesn’t know, wooden furniture around and feeling stuck, hugging his knees to his chest and realizing he’s degrown into a child.

He woke up numerous times screaming from that same nightmare, constantly sick in his childhood home when his father couldn’t pay the heating bills or buy nutrious food. The pain that is almost completely gone normally these days is a dull ache in his chest everytime he wakes up from those dreams even as an adult, only lately he’s had a personal furnace ready to press a sleepy face to his neck and nurse him back to health.

Gale thinks he’s still dreaming when he blinks his eyes open to see the tired and travel worn frown of one John Egan. He has dark circles under his eyes and he’s holding Gale’s hand on his like he was scared someone would take him away from him, but none of that’s really registering on him, because he’s still trying to understand where his dreams end and reality begins.

“You’re…” He feels groggy and the words are clumsy on his tongue. Damn IV. He’s still heavily medicated and sleepy as they stare at each other for a moment. “You’re here,” he finally manages to finish, and John smiles a crooked, albeit worried, little smirk for him.

“Of course I am.” “But. You’re supposed to be in London.” “I am. But then your dramatic ass decided to scare the living shit out of me, and husband duties come before anything else. I promised that to you in my vows, didn’t I?”

Gale smiles softly at that for a second before his face turns to frown. “Who told you?” he asks, full of defiance, and Bucky’s heart melts a bit – it’s a good sign he has enough energy to be annoyed at other people. “Well….” He’s about to start telling him more details about the headlines and so on to soften the blow for Curt, but he realizes Gale’s blue eyes are still hazy and dropping more heavily, and decides that can wait.

He has time. He’d take the 11 hours to Gale anytime, even if it meant only 10 minutes with him, and this time he has 22 hours. He has time.

Gale really does look like he’s about to fall asleep any second, but before he does he takes notice of Bucky’s clothing. He hasn’t had time to change, still in his outfit of a 40s air force major. Gale seems to forget all about his previous grievances as he reaches to touch the jacket’s shoulder.

“Mm. Maybe I am dreaming. Sexy soldier came to rescue me from my troubles.” Bucky chuckles under his breath and kisses his hand again. “Had to come check and see how my gal back home was doing before saving the world.”

Gale humms. “Much better now when you’re here,” he manages barely before sleep takes him into its embrace again, the dreams settled into gentle images of love now when he’s beside him.

(hope you liked <3)

#buck x bucky #clegan #masters of the air #mota #gale cleven #john egan #writing #hollywood au #buck #bucky

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ynsvnte · 11 months ago

Text

Enjoy while it lasts — Yang Jungwon

Genre: fluff, angst, est. relat. wc: 728 warnings: pet names (love, baby) crying, insecure reader, kissing, swearing, pairing: bf!jungwon x gn!reader

Event Masterlist

Jungwon arms wrapped around you. The both of you are watching TV in a comfortable position. Cuddling after a long day. You lifted your head to face him.

“Hey Jungwon..” you spoke up, gaining Jungwon's attention.

“Yes..?” He asked, curious about what you were going to say next.

“Can we not go tomorrow..?” You said with pleading eyes. “And why..?” Jungwon was confused earlier. You were so excited to go on a date with him, but now you’re not..

“Maybe because I checked the weather and it’s going to be freezing outside. And you know me, I get cold easily.” You replied trying to prove your point. “Baby…you know I can warm you up when you get cold..” Jungwon pulled you closer to him. Both of your noses touching each other. Making eye contact, Jungwon took the chance and smashed your lips together. A gasp left your mouth in shock. But you returned the kiss. The kiss felt so, so tender, soft, it made you feel like nobody else was in the world but you two. You both pull away, both of your faces red.

“So..now you wanna go?..” Jungwon asked, hoping to convince you. “No, you’re going to have to find another way to convince me..”

“How so..hmm.?” Jungwon knew it would take you sometime to get you to say yes. “Maybe if you..” you started saying “if I what..?”

“You know what, forget it..” you said trying to take back what you said. “No no let me hear what you are going to say my love..” he was desperate. You only shake your head not wanting to say anything.

“Pretty please, or else I won’t stop begging.” He said. You sigh but still choose to stay quiet. “Fine then we won’t go but don’t expect me to want to do anything with you.” Jungwon huffed and got up, making your warm embrace end, and left the living room.

Was he really upset…no. But he did know that it was one way to convince you. And besides you’re still going. Money already spent can't go to waste.

You get up and follow Jungwon towards your room. Upon entering the room, you see him lying down on the bed on his phone. He had a slight pout on his face making you chuckle. Jungwon heard you but didn’t say anything as he is keeping his promise.

“Are you mad at me..?” You asked him, walking towards him, trying to pull him in a hug. But Jungwon quickly pulled away, rejecting your hug.

“What’s wrong..?” No reply.

You sit on the bed trying to get to speak to you. After 10 minutes of silence. Jungwon sighs before speaking. “Tell you what..? How about you tell me about what you were going to say..that’s wrong…” he said looking straight into your eyes. Embarrassed, you look down. Jungwon was quick to lift your head up and raised an eyebrow, indicating you speak.

“Fine it’s just that…it’s not really about the weather rather…rather that I’m embarrassed about us…” your words took Jungwon by surprise. Never in a million years would he think you would say something like this. “What..what do you mean..” jungwon was now starting to get scared. “Jungwon, it’s not you, but me. How can you be with someone like me when there are plenty of people out there wanting to date you, but why me what’s so special about me..” tears were already flowing but you tried to hide your face. Jungwon caught on and pulled you into a hug.. “I’m sorry…” Why was he apologizing…? “Why are you sorry…” you asked..he had no direct answer. He just hugged you and was storming your back, comforting you.

“Baby, you are special to me. You’re the most precious person I know. And it makes me so happy knowing you’re mine. Fuck, don’t think of yourself like that baby…I love you too much..and don’t forgot we’ve been dating for 2 years..and I will always be here with you…” by now your tears stop and you felt much better than before..jungwon pulled you into kissed stroking you cheek. You both pulled away. And Jungwon spoke..

“So tomorrow we are going on that date okay?..”

“Okay..”

“Good, I don’t want my baby to feel sad. It also makes me sad knowing that.”

“Promise I won’t…”

Author’s note: I LIKE THIS DONE OKAYY!! It’s Christmas Eve for me but Yknow timezone differences… anyways merry Christmas to those who celebrate and also to those who don’t. Enjoy the rest day night..? Can’t believe this is my last fic for the year 2023 was something else.. and last one of this event YIPPE I DID IT

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askablindperson · 8 months ago

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Hello, I am a writer who wants to write about a character with Lebers Congenital Amaurosis, and I’ve been struggling to find resources or descriptions on what vision is like for people with that condition. If you’re okay with it, could you describe what vision is like for you? Thank you and have a wonderful day! And sorry if you’ve already been asked this a million times.

Hi! Thank you for asking, and I would be glad to answer. I know what you mean, too. LCA is still somewhat common in the blind community, but I have also found quite a lack of resources to explain how it works to other folks. LCA is rarely included in any of those blindness simulation filters, either, though those also aren’t perfect representations.

A quick disclaimer: most of what I will share here is based on my own personal experience as well as the other blind people with LCA I have personally met in the trends I have observed in the community. I’m not a medical professional though, and I really don’t know that much about how these things pan out statistically Speaking.

First, one thing you should know is that LCA is progressive. It tends to be very slow and steady about it, and it took me 10 years to notice that I had had a significant change in vision which I only fully noticed in the last few months, but it is progressive, so it will inevitably get worse over a person’s lifetime. It just might take its sweet time getting there, and you won’t notice any overnight changes. at least not in the folks I’ve known, or in myself, or in most of the literature I’ve seen discussing it. There may be outliers though that I am less aware of.

The other thing I will say is that most of the other blind folks I have known with LCA actually have significantly less vision than I do, usually being born with little more than light perception and often losing what’s left of that light perception within their first few years of childhood. so a lot of them are totally blind as adults, or still only have light and shadow perception.

As for mine, at least in my experience, I seem to be somewhat of an outlier in LCA, in that I’m quite a high partial case. I believe I’ve been at least legally blind since birth, meaning my visual acuity was at least 20/200 or worse with some visual field issues also, but I’ve always had quite a lot more residual vision than most of the other folks with LCA I have met personally. Not all of them though. When I was a young child, my visual acuity was probably around the 20/200 Marc, but now at 27, my better eye is at about 20/650 and the worst eye is somewhere in the ballpark of 20/5000. Don’t ask me how they can even measure it when it gets that severe lol.

In practical terms, the way I have always described my vision is that it’s a lot like looking through a fogged up mirror when you get out of the shower, a foggy window in the winter, or the super blurred out background in a movie. You can make out plenty of shapes and colors and lights, and you can get a vague sense of what a lot of objects might be, but there is no detail and it’s extremely blurred out. if you happen to wear glasses, I often say that it’s like a lot of folks without their glasses on, but amped up to 11, and that’s even WITH my glasses. Without them, it’s even blurrier, though I don’t really wear glasses much anymore.

That description is in reference to my better eye, mind you. The worst one is so much worse that I can rarely make out actual objects with it or even silhouettes of people. It’s still colorful and everything, but the blurriness is significantly worse to the point that the eye isn’t really useful.

For me personally, as I have gotten older, my central vision has actually deteriorated a little bit faster than my peripheral vision, so I can ironically see a little clearer out of the corners of my eyes then I can looking straight ahead. I don’t know how common this is amongst folks with LCA, especially since most of the folks I know only have light and shadow perception where it’s harder to measure that, But that’s how it is for mine. It wasn’t like that as a child, I would have considered my central and peripheral vision to be fairly similar most of my life, but in the last 10 years, my central vision is noticeably worse now than my peripheral. if I look at a ceiling light through the corner of my eye, and then shift my eye so I’m looking at that same ceiling light to the center of my eye, it is instantly blurrier, like a little foggy film was put over it.

Also, at least for me, I have quite a few blind spots in my vision that impact my overall visual field. Contrary to what those vision loss simulation filters will have you believe though, those are not represented by black spots or white spots in real life. They’re just gone. Think of it sort of like Photoshopping somebody out of a picture. If they are standing in your blind spot, it’s not that there’s a blob over top of them, it’s as if that section of the picture was just cut out, and the two halves around it smashed together as if that part was never there. It’s just missing.

In actuality, everybody has a blind spot, even people with no vision problems whatsoever, so you may be able to get a better understanding of this by researching the general Blindspot that everyone has. I just have more of them because pieces of my retina have completely deteriorated and died off from my disorder.

The discussion of central versus peripheral vision and the blind spots applies to both of my eyes, but like above, just a lot more severe in the eye that’s worse. It’s not quite to the point where it only has light and shadow perception, but it’ll probably get there in the next 10 years or so. I’ve never leaned very heavily on that eye because it’s always been the much weaker one, but these days it is a little bit funny to see just how wildly different the exam for my right eye is compared to my left eye nowadays.

Lastly though, that does finish up the description of what my vision actually looks like, but I do want to leave you with one final note of consideration, which is not to focus overly hard on exactly what your character sees when writing them. At the end of the day, most of us who have been blind our entire lives don’t really go about our days actively paying attention to exactly what we can see and what we can’t, or thinking about what things look like through our eyes at that moment in time. We’re just living our lives with the vision we have, because we were born this way so it’s our normal, and sometimes focusing on it too much in the writing can cloud the characterization more than it helps.

All of that said, I do hope that this provides a useful framework. Mostly, my vision is just ridiculously blurry and really only gets a tiny bit less blurry with glasses, with a few holes punched here and there for good measure lol. To be honest, when I’m spending time with other blind people, we don’t actually usually spend all that much time describing exactly what each other’s vision looks like to each other or anything—it’s usually not exactly the most interesting thing we want to talk about—so I don’t know how common my specific details are to others with LCA. But that’s pretty much the long and short of my personal experience, and hopefully it can be useful when understanding your character.

#ask a blind person #actually blind #ActuallyBlind #writing blind characters #Leber congenital amaurosis #blind #blindness #writing disabled characters

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alwaysonthemend · 1 year ago

Text

Author's Note: I got a request about 10 million years ago for a fluffy Jake fic where he teaches you how to swim. I loved this prompt so much and I am SO SO SO SO SORRY it took this long. Like it’s embarrassing how long this took. I doubt the wait was worth it at this point but hey at least I actually posted it eventually lol. This has no smut which is very not like me but this Jake was just too sweet for it. I can't write Jake smut without it being filthy. Anyways, all mistakes are my own!

Warnings: Just fluff and cussing. Also Jake is adorable.

Word Count: 3984

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

“Fuck!”

You snapped your eyes up from your book just in time to see Jake go sailing off Daniel’s shoulders and into the waves, shouting expletives even after he hit the water. You can’t help but to smile as you take in the sight before you – Josh, sitting triumphantly atop Sam’s shoulders, sporting a shit-eating grin, Sam wearing an equally smug smile of his own, and Danny giggling as Jake resurfaces from underneath the waves.

They’ve been playing chicken for what feels like hours – far longer than any grown men should be playing such a game but they’re enjoying themselves so you can’t really fault them. They’ve more than earned some time off with how crazy tour life has been.

“I’m done with this shit.” Jake exclaims, trudging his way up from the water and onto the shore where you’ve been sitting.

“You’re only saying that because you keep losing!!’ Sam calls after him, unceremoniously dumping Josh off his shoulders and into the water before following Jake out as well.

“You fucker.” You hear Josh yell and you giggle at the scowl he shoots in Sam’s direction.

Shaking your head, you close your book and look up to see Jake standing before you in all his glory. You allow yourself to drink in his form – his tanned skin looks almost golden in the afternoon light and the smile he’s giving you is downright radiant. His expression is shy and so very soft as he looks down at you.

“Hi.” You say, smiling back up at him. Your relationship with Jake is still in its early stages – the both of you wildly in love with each other but still figuring out how to express it without feeling hopelessly awkward.

“Hi, angel.” He answers, extending both of his hands towards you.

You grab hold of them and allow him to pull you upwards and into him, and your belly erupts in butterflies as he presses a soft kiss to your lips.

“You taste like salt.” You say, grinning at him as you pull away.

“I wonder why.”

You nudge his shoulder playfully and pull yourself away from him, turning to look at the other three boys as they make it to your spot.

“I can’t believe we’re at the beach and you haven’t even gotten in the water, Y/n.” Sam says, shaking his head at you as he grabs his towel to dry off. “That’s literally the point of coming to the beach.”

You freeze for a second as you stoop down to grab your book before smoothing over your expression and plastering a smile over your face.

“Maybe I just don’t want to get in the water with you all.” You tell him, turning away as you speak in the hopes that he doesn’t catch the lie. “I’d end up getting hurt with how rough you guys play.”

“Or maybe she has a secret fear of getting wet.” Danny supplies, grabbing his own towel and scrunching up his curls to help dry them.

“That’s why she’s dating Jake.” Josh says through a laugh before shaking his head like a dog and spraying the rest of you with droplets of saltwater.

You turn away from him, trying and failing to protect your book from the water.

“Oops.” He shrugs and gives you a sideways smile – the one he always gives when he knows he’s being a shit.

“Fuck off.” Jake snarks back, shooting Josh the bird and turning to look at you for help.

You laugh lightly, amused despite yourself at Josh’s ability to come up with a joke without missing a beat – and slightly thankful that he’s managed to effectively turn the conversation away from you and your lack of swimming.

“Don’t worry, babe. You get me plenty wet.” You assure your boyfriend, lacing your fingers with his.

Jake’s cheeks flush a bright red and he mumbles out a small, sheepish “thank you.”

“Blech. Gross.” Sam says, breezing past the both of you to walk back towards the beach house that you all had rented.

“Ready?” You ask, turning back to look at Jake.

He nods at you and the rest of you begin to follow Sam back to the house.

Jake falls into step beside you, allowing Josh and Danny to walk in front of the two of you. You walk at a slower pace, falling much farther behind the rest of the group. He’s still holding your hand and the feeling of his fingers interlaced with yours makes your heart flutter.

“You know I wouldn’t let any of them hurt you or anything, right?” Jake asks, voice soft and too quiet for the others to hear.

“Huh?”

“In the water, I mean. You said you didn’t want to swim because of how rough we are.” He clarifies, jerking his head back towards the beach. “If you want to swim, I wouldn’t let them bug you or anything. Or we could come back tomorrow without them.”

You’re silent for a moment, wracking your brains to try and come up with a response. Even after being able to officially call him yours for a few months now, his sweetness still manages to take you off guard sometimes. “Thank you, Jake. I know you wouldn’t let anything happen.” You finally settle on, giving him a smile.

“Do you want to, then? We could come back tomorrow and just swim around – just me and you?” He’s looking at you all hopeful, and a sudden flash of guilt slices through you. You know how much he loves being at the beach and there isn’t a doubt in your mind that he would adore swimming with just the two of you.

“Maybe. I was actually thinking of going into town for some shopping tomorrow, though.” You say, praying that your answer doesn’t disappoint him.

“Oh.” He says, the glimmer in his eyes fading a little bit. “Okay. Maybe another time then.”

Fuck.

You open your mouth to invite him to come with you into town instead but you’re interrupted by Sam yelling from the deck of the beach house.

“Would you two hurry the fuck up! I’m hungry!”

“Coming, Samuel. Don’t get your panties in a twist.” Jake calls back, extracting his fingers from yours and jogging up the wooden steps onto the deck, leaving you with nothing but an intense feeling of guilt and shame.

Slowly, you trudge your way up the stairs behind him, signing heavily at yourself.

-⚔️⚔️⚔️⚔️-

Dinner was proving to be a loud affair – alcohol and good food making the boys even louder than they usually are (which really is saying something). Jake cooked, looking positively gorgeous as he flipped burgers on the grill.

“That smells so fucking good.” Danny practically moaned, taking a seat in one of the patio chairs.

“Course it does, Danny.” Jake grinned at him, face cocky and cheeks flushed from being out in the sun for so long. “I’m the meat man.”

Sam let out a loud cackle, shaking his head into his drink.

“I don’t think that means what you think it means, brother.” Josh tells him, amusement flickering over his face.

Jake furrows his brows in confusion at him before turning to look at you for support.

Grinning, you just shake your head at him.

“Definitely not what you think it means, babe.”

Once the burgers were finished (Jake had begrudgingly grilled a vegan burger for Sam with only a few protests), the five of you all decided to retire – all of the boys exhausted from their earlier antics down at the beach. As you all said your goodnights, you couldn’t help but notice that Jake seemed a lot more reserved than he had before your earlier conversation. You knew him well enough to know that something was off with him. Though he would never say it, his feelings were definitely a little hurt after you’d declined going down to the beach with him. You know that sooner or later you’ll have to either fess up the truth or come up with a more convincing excuse.

Once you make it to your room, you turn to see Jake gathering his things to go and take a shower. Without thinking – afraid of letting him leave with his feelings still hurt, you blurt out his name.

“Yeah?” He says, looking up from his suitcase.

“I-” You purse your lips, frustrated at yourself for saying something before you’d been able to come up with an excuse,

“Is everything okay, angel?”

You just shake your head, anxiety making the back of your neck feel hot.

“If this is about not wanting to go down to the beach tomorrow, it’s okay.” He says simply, shrugging his shoulders and shooting you a sideways smile. “I can find something to do on my own.” He turns his back to you, making his way towards the bedroom door.

“Jake, stop!” You call – louder than you meant to.

Jake turns back to you, confusion evident on his face at your raised voice.

“It’s not that I don’t want to.” You start, and you can feel your cheeks growing hot as your emotions start to get the better of you. You know it’s silly to be so upset – but you’re torn between hurting Jake’s feelings or revealing something that you never wanted to reveal.

“Y/n,” Jake starts, placing his things on the dresser and crossing the room to stand in front of you. “I’m not really sure what I’m supposed to say here. But I promise you it’s okay that you want to do something else.” He assures you, placing his hands on your shoulders and squeezing lightly.

“I do wanna go!” You insist, clenching your fists in frustration at yourself. “It’s just..”

He raises an eyebrow at you, silently begging you to keep going. Ducking your head to look at your feet rather than at him, you allow your confession to slip past your lips.

“I don’t know how to swim.”

“What?”

You flinch slightly, waves of embarrassment washing over you at the incredulity in his tone.

“You don’t know how to swim?” He says, before giggling softly under his breath.

“It’s not funny.” You say, finally turning up to look at him. You can feel tears threatening to fall and your bottom lip quivers as you fight to hold them back.

“Hey, hey. No.” Jake slides his hands from your shoulders to your waist, holding you softly. “I’m not laughing at you, angel. I’m just laughing because I thought something was really wrong.”

His words do little to soothe your shame and you shake your head and try to pull away from him – but his grip on your waist only tightens.

“Let me go.” You say petulantly, wanting nothing more than to go and sit alone somewhere in your misery.

“No.”

“Jake…” You warn, dropping your shoulders in defeat. “Please let me go.”

“Why?”

“So I can go suffer in peace.”

He chuckles again, sweet and genuine, and you can’t help the smile that wants to grace your lips at the sound.

Jake lets go of your waist but his gaze pins you to the spot for a moment, He’s not looking at you any different than he usually does – only a small bit of amusement lingering on his face.

“You could have told me that a whole lot sooner, ya know?”

You shake your head.

“It’s embarrassing. I mean, who else my age doesn’t know how to swim, Jake?”

“Plenty of people!” Jake says, walking away from you to take a seat on the edge of the bed. He leans backwards, using his arms to brace himself as he leans back. Despite the situation, your eyes still roam his beautiful form – admiring the golden tan of his skin and the way his hair falls across his shoulders.

“Swimming can be intimidating. That’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

You sigh heavily, looking away from him to stare at the wall. You’re not entirely sure what to say and the room lapses into silence for a moment.

“I could teach you.”

Your eyes snap back to him at that, eyeing him warily as he looks at you hopefully.

“What?”

“I could teach you to swim.” He continues, rising from his place to meet you in the middle of the room. “This house has a pool. The rest of the guys are probably asleep. Just you and me.” “I don’t know…” You trail off, biting your lip as your nerves make themselves known. You’ve put off learning to swim for so long that the fear has begun to fester inside of you – becoming much stronger than it used to be.

“I won’t make you if you don’t want to. But the offer’s there. I wouldn’t mind.”

He’s standing in front of you again, hair framing his face and eyes soft. He smells like grill smoke and beach air and you can feel your resolve melting away by the second.

“Okay.” You breathe out, glancing up at him again.

A sweet smile spreads across his face, exposing his perfectly white teeth and making his eyes crinkle in the corners.

“Come on, then!” He exclaims excitedly, grabbing a towel from his back and practically skipping to the bedroom door.

“Now?” You ask, heart beginning to pound at just the thought. You were hoping you’d have a bit more time to mentally prepare.

“The guys are asleep.” He starts kindly, lacing his fingers with yours and pulling you out of the bedroom. “It’ll literally just be you and me – no chance of any of them coming out to the pool at this hour.”

You follow him down the stairs, shivering slightly as your bare feet hit the cold tile of the kitchen. Jake pulls open the sliding door for you with a smile, allowing you to step out onto the patio where you all had eaten dinner. The deck wraps around the side of the house and the pool lies in waiting to your right – dark and ominous as the reality of what you’ve agreed to do washes over you.

“Jake…” You start, the dark water in the pool filling you with dread.

“Oh shoot. Hold on.” Jake mutters, before scampering back inside.

You furrow your brows in confusion before the pool is suddenly illuminated, the little lights on the walls coming to life beneath the water.

“Figured doing it in the dark probably isn’t the best place to start.” Jake chuckles, walking back outside to come and stand next to you. He dumps his towel onto the deck before rounding the corner of the pool to the stairs. You watch as he walks down the steps and into the water, hissing slightly as his lower half becomes submerged.

“It’s a little cold.” He says with a sideways smile, fanning his hands out in the water on either side of him. The water on that end doesn’t look too deep, but you can’t help but eye the other end – clearly deeper than the side Jake is in. “Coming?”

You nod, walking slowly over to the steps. You look into the water, clutching both of your hands closely to your chest. You take a step in and immediately the cold makes you want to pull your foot out. But you keep going, wading into the pool to stand next to Jake.

Immediately, both his hands extend in the water to place two solid hands on your waist.

“Hi.” He says with a smile, inclining his head at you slightly. “Not bad so far, right?”

You shake your head slightly.

“This isn’t the scary part.” You remind him, before nodding your head towards the deeper end of the pool.

“Fair enough.” Jake affirms, gripping your hips a little tighter. “Put your hands on my shoulders and just hold on, okay?”

You comply, placing your hands where he told you too. Slowly, Jake leads you both out towards the middle of the pool, only stopping when the water reaches up to your chest.

“Damn.” Jake says with a grin. “Really holding on tight there, angel.”

“Sorry.” You say, realizing how your fingertips had been digging into his shoulders.

Jake giggles softly.

“It’s okay.” He lets go of your waist and brings his hands up to grab your wrists, holding tightly to you as he bobs up and down slightly in the water.

“What now?” You ask, trying to keep your heart rate steady. You glance downwards, eyeing the water warily.

“Keep holding on to my shoulders and I want you to just let your legs relax.” He tells you, adjusting his grip on your wrists. “Just let them float up to the surface.”

You stare at him for a moment, unsure of yourself.

“I’ve got you.” He assures you, smiling softly.

Slowly, you allow your body to untense, relaxing your muscles and letting your body float in the water. Keeping your grip on his shoulders, your legs slowly start to float up towards the surface.

“There ya go.” He grins. “Perfect. Now kick your feet.”

You kick your feet half-heartedly in the water, barely causing a splash.

“Harder.” Jake tells you. “Break the surface as much as you can. Sort of like you’re kicking downwards.”

You kick your legs harder, causing the water to splash upwards and spray the both of you.

“Oops.” You laugh, the sound coming out breathy from your nerves.

Both Jake’s hair and your own is now sopping wet – and you’re distracted for a moment by the sight of him. His hair sticks to the side of his face and neck, and you watch, entranced, as a single drop of water makes its way down his cheek and slides down his plush lips.

“That was perfect.” Jake says with a smile, amusement flashing across his face after catching you staring. “Now you just gotta use your arms.”

Your eyes widen slightly.

“So I’ve gotta let go of you, then?” You ask, trying to joke but there’s no real humor in it.

Jake laughs anyway.

“That would make it easier, yeah. I won’t let you drown. I promise.”

“Thanks, babe.” You say, a hint of sarcasm sneaking into your tone. “Why did I let you talk me into this?”

“Because you love me.” He says cheekily.

You roll your eyes in response.

“When you let go, I want you to keep kicking your feet under the water. Think about your arms going up and down, too. Kind of like a bird.”

“Like a bird?” You ask doubtfully, raising an eyebrow at him.

“I mean… kinda. Just move them up and down.”

You grumble at him, but slowly let go of his shoulders. He hovers his hands on your waist, helping to keep you afloat as you try and practice the motion.

“I hate this. This is so stupid.” You mutter, feeling like you’ve never been more out of your element in your life.

“That’s the spirit, babe.”

You scowl.

“I’m gonna let go now and you just keep doing what you're doing.”

“What?” You squeak, snapping your gaze to meet his. “Don’t let go!”

“You’ve got this!” He grins, extracting his grip from your waist.

You flail in the water for a moment, arms and legs flapping and kicking around wildly. Eventually, the panic wears off and you calm your movements down, allowing your limbs to move more fluidly in the water.

“Babe!” Jake grins, grinning from ear to ear. “You’re doing it. That’s called treading.”

You can’t help the proud smile that overtakes your face at his praise and you can feel your cheeks heat slightly.

Jake swims farther away from you – going more towards the deep end.

“Swim towards me.” He commands, treading in place.

“How the fuck am I supposed to do that?”

“Kick your feet like earlier and tread with your hands. Simple doggy paddle. Right towards me.”

“Absolutely not.” You tell him, perfectly content to keep treading water where you are. “I’d rather not drown, thanks.”

“Y/n,” Jake starts, sounding like a father speaking to his kid. “Do you really think I’m going to let you drown? You’ve got this. I’m right here.”

You sigh at him.

“I hate you.”

“No you don’t.” He says kindly. “Now come over here.”

Begrudgingly, you do as he says – kicking your feet aggressively behind you as you paddle with your hands. Slowly but surely, you make your way over to him.

As soon as you get close, Jake darts his hands out and grabs your shoulders – helping you to float next to him.

“See?” He asks with a grin, eyes sparkling in the dim light, “Not so bad.”

“I still don’t like this.” You mutter, mind half focused still on trying to tread the water next to him.

Slowly, Jake lets go of your shoulders and the two of you just float in the middle of the pool for a moment.

“You’ll get better at it.” He assures.

Just then, you hear a car horn honk in the distance, drawing your attention away from Jake and towards where the sound came from. Seeing nothing, you look back towards your boyfriend only to be met with a face full of chlorine as he splashes you.

“Jake!” You sputter, blinking your eyes to try and clear the water from them. “You fuck head!”

“Oops.” He giggles – the sound so reminiscent of Josh it’s almost like his twin just came down and possessed him for a moment. Sometimes you forget that they’re twins until you’re so starkly reminded.

“What?”

Your bewilderment must have shown on your face.

“Nothing.” You smile at him. “You just sounded exactly like Josh when you did that.”

“Ugh.” He groans, rolling his eyes and swimming away from you slightly. “Don’t tell me I remind you of that loser.”

“Jake, you’re twins. You two are so simila-” You’re cut off once again by a face full of water.

“Those are fighting words, Y/n!” Jake says through a laugh, swimming farther into the pool.

“Come back here, you ass!” You paddle your way towards him, muscles straining to try and keep up with him.

“No!” He giggles, stopping for a moment to splash you again.

This time, you see it coming and splash him first, causing him to sputter and cough as the water fills his mouth.

The two of you descend into laughter as Jake swims away from you again, using his legs to kick water at you. You give chase, splashing him as well as you pursue him.

Eventually too winded to continue, you give up your chase of him and just tread the water again, laughing breathlessly. Jake swims back over to you, his own laughter sounding like music to your ears.

“Does this mean I win?” He asks you, pressing his lips to yours in a kiss. All you taste is chlorine, but the warmth of his lips pressing to yours fills you with butterflies.

“Nah. Just taking a break for a second.”

Jake’s eyes are pinned to yours, a strange expression spreading over his face. It’s sweet and loving… but there’s something else there too. Pride?

“What?”

He shakes his head at you.

“You learned how to swim.”

“Oh.” You say on an exhale, glancing around to realize that the two of you have come to a stop in the deep end of the pool – the very place that you’d been so afraid of not an hour before. “I guess I did.”

“I’m the best fucking teacher ever.” He says, grinning proudly at you and puffing out his chest.

You roll your eyes but you can’t really argue. You are swimming, all thanks to him and his willingness to be patient and to distract you from your nerves. You realize now that the whole water fight had just been to get you out of your head – something that he’s always been remarkably good at.

“Thank you, Jake.”

“Anytime, sweetheart.”

----------

If you're reading this, I love you! 💞

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#dee's writing #jake kiszka x reader #jake kiszka fanfiction #jake kiszka fluff

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harufluff · 2 years ago

Text

‘i love you 3000’ nishimura riki

warnings - none. let me know if there are any.

genre - fluff, angst, idol!riki x gn!reader, enhypen x reader, established relationship au, enhypen au (feedback appreciated :))

sorry i’ve been so inactive. lots of school stuff and mental stuff. send in some soft hours cause i finally have some time and i feel bad for not posting in 10 days…

you had no plans of being where you were right now. sitting in your boyfriends arms for the first time almost two years.

two years…too long to be away from your favorite person. riki being the famous idol that he was, you didn’t get to see him anymore.

your best friend since grade school, turned love of your life at the age of 14, just before he left to pursue his dream.

and his dream took off. he became a member one of the most well known kpop groups and the world knew him just as the baby of enhypen.

you knew him as riki. the shy boy who loved dancing and the boy you for in love with for just that. although he had come back to his home, it was only to see his family due to limited time.

seeing him was the best thing ever. how did you get here you ask? well he did the most romantic thing posible. practically straight out of a kdrama.

quietly sitting on the cinder block fence along with your other peers. your friends talking amongst themselves as you sit in the world of your book.

‘y/n!!’ your head pops up from the book you were reading at the sound of a familiar voice. your head whips around to the tall boy standing at the gates of your school, and his old one.

with his eyes wide he starts sprinting over to you in excitement. you barely get up from your seat without falling and run over to riki as well.

you heart was beating so fast it was getting hard to breath. oh god but you had to keep going if you wanted to finally get him in your arms. it felt like if you stopped now, he would be gone for another 2 years.

but after what feels like a million years, your jumping into his warm grasp. your legs circle around his waist as he lifts you off the ground like it’s nothing.

to be honest your whole school could be looking at you, but it’s all the same people you’ve been with since middle school. if they were to be confused, we’ll that would just be rude in your mind.

riki starts swaying in attempts to calm the both of you down, but stops when you say this and his heart swells.

‘i love you’

——

‘why did you say it all of a sudden…?’

riki asks, you still laying in between his legs on your bed as you watch some random tv show, not even caring what was happening.

it was just peaceful riki catch-up hug time.

‘what do you mean?’

you ask, your voice muffled from your face being buried into his chest. he smiled sweetly at you cute action.

‘why did you say the L word right when i got back?’

‘why do you think?’

your face being pulled out of your very comfortable position to look at the boy in front of you in the eyes. his expression was questioning, still waiting for your answer.

he seemed to think for a few seconds before shrugging his shoulders and looking back at you with a pout. you smile before saying,

‘i’ve wanted to say it this whole two years. but i wanted to say it to your face more.’

his eyes widened and a contagious smile grew on his face, his eyes turning into crescents. rikis hands moved from their previous position to your cheeks, gently cupping them and continuing.

‘i’m glad you did’

riki kisses you sweetly but passionately, letting you know you are just where you are supposed to be in this moment.

‘i love you 3000’

©️Harufluff 2023 | Do not copy, repost, or claim any of my works.

send in soft hours!!

#jackson wang 💪💪#nishimura niki #niki imagines #niki x reader #enhypen niki #niki fluff #niki #ni ki enhypen #enhypen #enhypen fluff #enhypen riki #niki enha #enha #enha imagines #enha scenarios #enha niki #riki enhypen

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pandorasword · 6 months ago

Text

Chaeri as the 8th and youngest member of BTS.

CHAERI'S MASTERLIST

The relationship between Chaeri and her mother

No one will know the violence it took to become this gentle

❒ warnings: Dysfunctional family, food deprivation, bullying

7 years old Chaeri

"It hurts!" Chaeri whined.

She hated that time of that day, in those classes where your whole body is stretched to its limits and then pulled back tight. The pain always made her feel sick before she came home.

Her teacher kept her knee between her thighs and held both of them pressed flat to the floor. She had said that flexibility training were necessary, but the pressure was terrible.

"It will get better" her teacher insisted "You have to push through the pain, otherwise you'll never get good at this"

Chaeri gritted her teeth, trying not to cry. She hated how her tears always made the pain worse.

"I don't want to be good at this"

──────

9 years old Chaeri

"What happened?!"

Kim Eun's eyes were wide with anger as she looked at her daughter. Chaeri knew that look, she had seen it a million times before. It was the look of disappointment and anger and resentment, all rolled into one.

"I'm sorry" Chaeri cried "It just...slipped"

She tried her hardest, she had practiced over and over the choreography for weeks before going on that stage, to compete with other girls from all parts of France.

She worked hard in the hopes of winning, putting in long hours, catching every nuance of what she wanted to accentuate with her body language alone. But who would have expected a mishap like that?

The hat needed for the continuation of the choreography had slipped off the stage.

Chaeri had been trying to grab it, but she was too late. It had fallen to the ground and she had tripped over it.

"I didn't deserve such an untalented daughter"

──────

10 years old Chaeri

Chaeri was in her room. Her face was still adorned with the sparkling glitter she had used in the competition earlier that evening.

She had prepared so much for this contest, to the point of exhaustion.

Months of rehearsing the same choreography over and over again, perfecting every move, every expression, every breath.

She had come home with a beautiful, shiny silver trophy, just big enough to sit proudly on the shelf above her desk.

The walls were painted a light purple, and the trophy she had just received stood out in its bright tones.

“What did the first-place winner do that you did not?” Chaeri, who had not heard the woman's footsteps stopping at the door frame to her room, jumped in fright at Eun's low, stiff voice.

The look on her face was one of disappointment, but not surprise.

There was a minute of silence before the girl found the right words. She knew that it would only lead to more unpleasant consequences if she gave an answer that the woman would find stupid.

“She… she was perfect,” Chaeri admitted, the admittance a shard of glass in her throat.

“Perfection is what we strive for” her mother stated “Anything less is simply rehearsal.”

Chaeri’s fingers curled into the fabric of her skirt, the trophy’s shine now seemed to have suddenly become dulled, taking the form of a pale witness to failing. “I thought you would be proud…just a little maybe”

“To be proud, Chaeri, one must first be satisfied” Kim Eun said, holding back a bitter laugh. She could not believe what she was hearing. “And satisfaction is earned, not given for mediocrity. Second place is just the first loser.”

“I’ll do better next time.”

“Do better?” Kim Eun scoffed, stepping into the room, her presence overwhelming. “Doing better is not enough. You must be the best. Anything less is a waste of my investment in you.”

Chaeri’s hands clenched into fists, her nails digging into her palms. “Your investment” she echoed. Feeling more than ever like an object and not a daughter.

"Yes, my investment,” she affirmed, disgusted to have to repeat herself. Ashamed to have received such a response “I’ve given you everything— the best teachers, the best opportunities. And yet, you consistently fall short.”

The room felt smaller, the air thicker. Chaeri’s breaths came in short gasps, as if the very act of breathing was a challenge. She wanted to scream, to lash out, to tell her mother that she was more than an investment, more than a project to be perfected.

She opened her mouth to speak. Her eyes burned with anger and rebellion, not at her mother, but at her tormentor. For all of her life.

But she had no time to do so, as the woman turned and told her “I expect you to practice until you can’t stand,” she said, her voice devoid of warmth. “Maybe then, you’ll have a chance at being worthy of this family”

──────

11 years old Chaeri

"Mom!"

Still in her bun and the warm baby pink jumpsuit, Chaeri wandered through the many rooms of her huge mansion looking for her mother.

It was almost sunset, and by that time, Chaeri was usually never home.

The ballet classes she took would occupy her entire day, giving her free time only after dinner and on weekends.

Hence, hearing the young girl's voice around the house disturbed her mom.

"What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be in class?"

Chaeri followed her mother's voice that led her to the woman's bedroom.

She was rarely allowed to enter that room. As her mother said, a woman's bedroom is a sanctuary that must not be violated.

Bullshit, Chaeri thought. Her mother thought she was stupid enough to believe that shit just because she was only 11 years old, but she knew perfectly well the real reason: Her mother was sleeping with her dance teacher and didn't want her children to see the evidence of it.

But she honestly didn't care. Her mother's private life was none of her business.

Kim Eun, who never seemed to have a hair out of place and always looked like she just stepped off the pages of a magazine, was there. Even though her makeup was usually so subtle that it did not even seem real, today, without wearing any makeup at all, she was more beautiful than a normal woman could ever hope to be. Her skin looked as if the sun had kissed her whole face, giving her smooth cheeks and an ivory complexion.

"I'm home" Chaeri greeted her softly, remembering all the times her mother had scolded her for being too loud and clumsy

"I can tell you're home, I asked you why" Her mother crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow, a sure sign she was already annoyed by the conversation, but Chaeri ignored it, she knew that what she was going to say would change her mood.

"I got the role of Columbine in the Nutcracker!"

"Well, I'm not surprised" Kim Eun said and Chaeri's face lit up, thinking she was about to receive congratulations from her mother "You have an innate talent for earning good-for-nothing roles"

"But this is the role I've been waiting for" Chaeri protested "All my classmates wanted to be 'Clara'. I think Columbine is a much more fun character and then, the duet with Harlequin is very difficult, just because I dance less doesn't mean I'm-"

"Stop it" In a sudden outburst, her mother's voice was louder than usual and Chaeri stopped midsentence.

The usually graceful Kim Eun, who towered over her daughter with her imposing height, looked like a mad woman. She only revealed this side of herself within the walls of her home

"Stop talking nonsense" she hissed "Did you even try to get the role of 'Clara'?"

Dropping her head, Chaeri turned to look at the tips of her shoes. They were beautiful; shiny white so bright you could see yourself reflected in them. There was no occasion when her mother did not remind her how all those 'beautiful' things she got them because of her and no one else.

"I tried, even though it wasn't the role I wanted"

"And you couldn't get it"

"No"

"Obviously, you tried not hard enough," she snapped back "You are a disappointment. Why can't you be as good as your brother? You will bring shame upon my reputation"

"No matter what you expected of me, I wanted the role of Columbine anyway" Chaeri said, trying to keep the hurt out of her voice "So I'm not interested in what you have to say"

"You little- " Before her mother could finish, Chaeri turned around and ran out of the room, not wanting to be hit by her.

──────

12 years old Chaeri

The kitchen was quiet, the only sound was the soft ticking of the clock on the wall. Chaeri sat at the table, staring at the plate in front of her. It was almost empty, just a few slices of apple and a handful of almonds. This was her dinner, the same as it had been for the past few weeks.

Her mother believed that a ballerina’s figure was paramount, that it was the key to grace and beauty on stage. “You must be light as a feather, my dear” she would say, her voice as cold as the untouched food on Chaeri’s plate. “No one wants to see a heavy dancer.”

Chaeri knew better than to argue. The last time she had asked for more food, her mother had looked at her as if she had asked for the moon. “You want to be a dancer, don’t you?” she had said, her tone implying that hunger was a small price to pay for success.

But Chaeri was tired. Tired of being hungry, tired of the constant ache in her stomach that no amount of water could quell. She missed the warmth of a full meal, the satisfaction of eating something meaty.

All because she'd been found to be one pound over her classmates during the monthly body check at dance school. That damned pound, her teacher had pointed out, was too much for a dancer whose job is to be lifted into the air by others. "Don't be selfish" the teacher had told her, "you'll make anyone who does a pas de deux with you lose their breath at that weight."

Never before had she felt so humiliated, never before had she been so ashamed of the chocolate chip cookies in her backpack that she had brought with her as a snack.

She pushed the plate away, frustrated with that dinner that could not be called 'dinner'.

Her mother smiled at her when she saw that she got up from the table without touching a single almond. Her stomach turned and she felt nauseous.

How perverse was it that she had to treat her body unnaturally in order to gain the approval of the woman who had given her life?

She caught a glimpse of herself in the reflection of the window. The moonlight cast a pale glow on her face, highlighting the sharpness of her cheekbones, the hollowness of her eyes. She was the picture of a perfect ballerina, and yet, she had never felt more imperfect.

She turned away from the window, from the ghostly reflection that seemed to mock her. She would go to bed hungry again tonight, but in her dreams, she would feast like a queen.

taglist: @alixnsuperstxr | @bts-dream | @enchantingbrowneyedgirl | @ycuvi | @cosmicwintr

#bts 8th member #bts female addition #bts drabble #bts female member #kpop female oc #kpop female addition #bts imagines #bts x reader #kpop female member #bts addition #bts eighth member #bts

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regular-gnome · 9 months ago

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HIII! The ask box finally decided to work for me- 😭 I have a few questions....again.

Have The Archivists faced any dangerous threats? (Not including the Titans)

Can Archivists been born from a Gamma ray Burst and not just a KiloNova?

Have the Archivists ever considered the existence of other Cosmic beings from different dimensions?

Does The Wayfarer still have the skull of the extinct species?

How old is The Anatomist? (Are they in the 100 thousands or maybe in the 1 million range)

Would they attempt to help Climate change, deforestation, humans driving animals to extinction, just planet destroying stuff in general on Earth?

All lot of questions- Sorry about that. 😓

I have no clue what the issue with the inbox is. Some of the asks also disappeared when I know for a fact I got them and was planning to respond later. But glad this one survived. Gotta say, it's a rapid ask fire, so I'll short-answer them

1. So yeah, there aren't many things that can hurt them, but celestial beings can damage each other. Encountering other children of the stars is rare, but if that happens, and it's difficult to predict what a semi-conscious mass of magic decides to do or another far more unstable collector, but they havent seen them for a long time. As for non-physical threats, at this point, they are mostly desensitized to mortals, but that's also something they found out: how bad people can be when they are scared of someone, like Belos with no remorse throwing Collectros disc to be forgotten. I'm pretty sure if he could ensure more to control a pretty powerful power source he would even if that powersourse was a kid and I dont belive he was the only person to ever have this approach

2. Maaybe? In my version, children of the stars are born from events where a big release of energy and magic occurs. Kilonovae typically release energy of 10^41 to 10^43 joules, GRBs typically release something around 10^44 to 10^48 joules. I think it would create a celestial being, but I'm not sure if it would really be a collector or rather some other celestial creature that is simmillar but not the same. I'd like to think that collectors are all born from the same astronomical phenomena, especially given how rare they are (and it plays a little bit into siblings motive), but I dont really have a good reason why it cant be Gamma Rey too

3. They are aware of other realms, but traveling between them is bit more tricky and they already try to keep up with everything that goes on in the galaxy they are currently in. I think there is some quirk to titan magic that makes the travel between dimensions really possilbe or at least more controlled

4. yup! they took more keepsakes but the skull is preserved in Way's corner of the archive

5. It's closer to billions in range. For collectors to be able to look over evolution, stars coming into existence, millions of years isn't enough. Anatomist was one of the younger collectors when the first archives were established and everyone split to their own, but it was still a long time ago. I imagine it takes a very long time for immortal beings to grow up. At the point of the story, they aren't even really mature

6. I know it's currently still a theory, but there are articles about Earth currently experiencing 6th mass extinction, the previous one being that one that took out the dinosaurs. The archivists' goal is to preserve life, and if it's dying, that mission is sabotaged. So yeah, they would probably try to stop it, but I don't think they'd take kindly to the one species that caused it so the earth after their interference wouldnt be the same

#ask #toh #toh archivists #c:i wayfarer

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magicalmysteries777 · 2 months ago

Text

The Bloody-Handed and The Anguish of Loving Them - Epilogue.

Summary: Almost a year has passed since Eddie Munson died and it feels like the only person that isn’t moving on is Steve.

After spending the night studying a Dungeons and Dragons handbook, Steve is convinced he’s figured out how to bring Eddie back. Not only that, but defeat Vecna once and for all too. Now he just has to prove it.

Pairings: Steve Harrington x Eddie Munson

Masterlist: Here.

Chapter: 10 of 10.

Chapter WC: 5.6k.

CW: Swearing.

This story can also be found on AO3 here.

Taglist: @ohmeg 🖤

July 14th, 1987 .

“My, oh my, Mr. Harrington - thou dost look ravishing on this fine evening.”

Steve smirked and adjusted his tie. “Mr. Munson, you flatter me.”

“One’s wit and charm knows nay bounds.”

“Eds. Voice.”

Eddie let out a small chuckle as he made his way over to the car door being held open by Steve. “Sorry. You know I go all medieval when I’m nervous.”

"Aw, you’re nervous,” Steve teased.

Eddie fastened his seatbelt and picked anxiously at the skin around his fingernails while Steve got settled in the driver’s seat.

“Would it help calm your nerves if I told you I had this?” asked Steve, reaching into the backseat to reveal a walkie-talkie with a large grin plastered across his face.

Eddie raised an eyebrow. “Don’t get me wrong, Dustin’s finally starting to stand up for himself a lot more but I highly doubt he’s going to be able to come to the rescue when half of the people at Enzos realise they’re dining with the town’s murderer.”

“It isn’t Dustin on the other end of this and you’re not a murderer.”

“Yeah, well they still think I am, don’t they?” Eddie answered with a grumble, snatching the walkie out of Steve’s hand and pressing down on the receiver. “Hello?”

“Eddie?”

“Hopper?”

“Yeah, it’s me. Everything okay? Steve only left about half an hour ago, surely they’re not sharpening their pitchforks already.”

“Oh, um, no. Everything’s fine.”

“Alright, kid, enjoy your date. You know where I am if you need me.”

If looks could kill, Steve would’ve died right there in Eddie’s driveway.

“Steve, we can’t do this. Let’s just go inside and watch a movie or something.”

“Yes we can and we’re going to have a great time,” Steve countered.

Eddie ran his hands through his curls and rubbed at his temples. “Are you sure? Because I can think of, like, a million reasons not to go out tonight. Half of the town still wants to see me dead because they think I’m the head of a serial killing cult and the other half that doesn’t probably will once they realise I’m on a date with a guy. Aren’t you nervous? What if your dad finds out?”

“Are you done?” Steve asked, waiting patiently until Eddie nodded. “If anyone says or starts anything, anything at all, then all I have to do is get Hop on the radio and he’ll be down there in a heartbeat. He cleared your name the second he was reinstated as Chief, so the whole town can think what they want but at the end of the day you’re not a criminal in the eyes of the law. As for my dad, I don’t care anymore. I’ve spent too long letting him dictate my life. I love you and I want a life with you. I’m not hiding to make other people happy.”

“I’m definitely a criminal in the eyes of the law. Hopper would know,” Eddie smirked.

“Fine. You’re not a serial killer then,” he answered, chuckling as he took Eddie’s hand in his. “I mean it, Eds. I want this and I don’t care who knows it. Now, would you like to go and get some of the finest lasagne that Hawkins has to offer with me?”

Eddie stared at Steve for a couple of seconds, a soft grin slowly growing on his face. “I would.”

They spent the night talking each other’s ears off and laughing like they were the only two people in the entire restaurant before heading back to Eddie’s to sink a couple of cold beers with Wayne, Elizabeth’s blues records on in the background.

It was the best first date that Steve had ever had.

June 16th, 1988.

Eddie had been running around the house as frantically as a headless chicken all morning.

“Did you iron my robe?” he called from the bathroom which he’d been locked away in for the last thirty minutes.

“For the third time, yes,” answered Steve, the slight roll of his eyes earning a small chuckle from Wayne.

“And do you know where my cap is?”

“It’s on the kitchen counter. Come on, Eds, hurry up or we’re going to be late.”

After another five minutes of twiddling his thumbs and exchanging anxious looks with Wayne, Steve finally heard the lock on the bathroom door click open.

“What do you think?” Eddie asked, presenting himself to Steve and Wayne for a thorough inspection.

“I think you haven’t looked this well-groomed since you were about twelve years old. You feeling okay, kid? Let me check you haven’t got a fever,” Wayne answered, mockingly holding the back of his palm against his nephew’s forehead.

With a quick swipe, Eddie knocked Wayne’s hand away from his face. “Oh, ha-ha. Come on, I’m being serious. Do I look okay?”

“You look very handsome,” Steve answered with a smile. “How much hairspray did you use?”

“I’ll get you a new can.”

“That was full before you got your mits on it!”

Eddie laughed. “You’ve brushed my hair before. You know how hard it is to tame these curls.”

“Fair point. Get dressed, man, we’ve gotta go. Everyone’s waiting for us.”

Steve checked his watch for the final time as he pulled the car into the parking lot of the newly refurbished Hawkins High School.

“Ceremony starts in fifteen minutes. They’re all over there waiting for us, come on,” he instructed, pointing over to the party and Hellfire Club members eagerly awaiting their arrival. “Jonathan’s got the camera.”

The large group had barely had time to exchange greetings or pleasantries before Jonathan had begun ordering them about and putting them into position to get all the photos he had written down on his list.

“I want the individual shots first, then Hellfire, Eddie with the girls, Eddie with the guys, the group shot, and then family. Got it? Okay, good. Dustin, you first.”

It hadn’t taken long for Jonathan to work down his list, reaching the last items with five minutes to spare.

“Mr Munson, do-” Jonathan began.

“How many times do I have to tell you, kid? Call me Wayne.”

“Wayne, would you mind taking the group shot for me? Then I’ll get a couple of you and Eddie.”

They all lined up against the wall, Eddie in the middle and the taller members of the party on either side of him, the younger and shorter of the group crouching in front of them.

“Okay, ready? Smile,” Wayne asked, clicking the shutter on the camera. “Jesus, Eddie, I said smile. What the hell was that? Let me take another one.”

Jonathan took the camera from Wayne and positioned him next to Eddie, instructed them to smile, and snapped a couple of photos of the two together.

“All done. I’ll get these developed for you tomorrow. Maybe the day after depending on how hard Eddie has us all partying tonight,” Jonathan told them, beginning to tuck his camera back into its bag.

“Not so fast,” said Wayne, stopping him in his tracks. “We need one more. These are family photos, aren’t they? Get in here, Steve.”

With the final photo taken, the large group filed into the auditorium to find their seats.

Steve was beaming with admiration for his boyfriend when Mr Higgins called him up onto the stage to receive his diploma, even if Eddie did flip him off right after and run straight into Steve’s arms cackling like a madman.

September 3rd, 1992.

Steve had never seen Jonathan so stressed out.

Between accepting deliveries, taking multiple phone calls with various vendors, and trying to keep Joyce’s motherly tendencies at bay, the poor guy had barely had a chance to eat breakfast or take a sip of water all morning.

“Here, eat this,” instructed Steve, shoving a granola bar into Jonathan’s hands. “You’re white as a ghost. You feeling okay, man?”

“I feel sick,” Jonathan admitted, fumbling with the packaging. “My hands haven’t stopped sweating all morning.”

“Eat that and go outside for some fresh-”

Jonathan’s phone began to ring for the umpteenth time that morning, cutting Steve off mid-sentence. “Hello? Yes, this is Jonathan,” he answered, once again exiting the hotel room to take a nervous lap of the corridors.

Eddie appeared in the doorway, staring down the corridor after Jonathan. “Jesus, he looks more nervous now than he did in the Upside Down.”

“He’s about to marry Nancy Wheeler, what did you expect? Besides, what sort of a time do you call this?” Steve asked sternly, looking at his watch.

“Technically not late,” he answered, the smirk on his face disappearing.

“It’s a good thing you’re cute.”

“Could you?” Eddie asked, holding out his bow tie for Steve to fasten.

“I could… But you were late.”

Eddie rolled his eyes dramatically. “Please?”

“Joyce!” Steve called loudly, knocking on the wall.

“Steve, no,” Eddie reasoned frantically. “Steve-”

“Joyce, we need your help!” Steve called again, slowly retreating to the doorway to greet her.

As they heard the door to the hotel room next door open and close, Eddie let out a deep sigh, bracing himself for what was about to happen.

“What’s wrong, Steve? Oh, Eddie, sweetheart,” Joyce began, looking him up and down. “You look lovely. Have you been borrowing Steve’s hairspray again? Your curls haven’t looked this tame in years.”

“Yeah, well, it is a special occasion,” Eddie answered, glaring at Steve.

“I need to go check on Jonathan, I think the caterer just called. Could you help Eddie with his bow tie, please?”

“Of course,” Joyce answered, walking over to Eddie with her hand outstretched. “Give it here, son.”

Steve lingered in the doorway for a moment, a shit-eating grin spreading across his face as Eddie stood there awkwardly, trying his hardest not to fidget with the inevitably too-tight bow tie around his neck, each attempt at adjusting it earning a quick swat of his hand from Joyce as though she was trying to get rid of an annoying fly.

It had been a shock for Eddie when Joyce and Hopper inevitably accepted him into their little makeshift family of waif and strays with open arms, something which, many years later, he was still not used to.

He wasn’t a stranger to motherly love by any means. His mother, Elizabeth, had always been hands-on and caring when he was younger, eagerly doting on him from the moment he was brought into the world. She shared all of her kindness and compassion with him, along with a strong sense of justice and a love for music, fundamentally shaping him into the man that he would later become. Then she passed away when Eddie was six, leaving him to also be shaped by the cold, cruel hands of his father, Alan. So, a stranger to motherly love he was not - perhaps more like a distant friend.

“It’s fine, Joyce. Really,” Eddie reasoned, still trying to struggle free from her grip.

Joyce pursed her lips and stared at Eddie for a second, causing him to instantly relax and make his peace with the situation. “I just need to straighten it out, it’s crooked.”

Making his way down the corridor still chuckling to himself, Steve found Jonathan talking on the phone with the uneaten granola bar in his hand. “Jonathan Byers, you give me that phone right now,” Steve ordered, his hand outstretched. “And eat, for fucks sake. You look ill.”

The ceremony went off without a hitch.

With the guests in their seats and the bridesmaids and groomsmen in place, a beautiful piano rendition of ‘Here Comes The Bride’ started to play and Nancy, her arm linked with Ted’s, began to make her way down the aisle. As expected by absolutely everyone, Jonathan began to blubber the second he laid eyes on her.

Once vows were exchanged and rings were on fingers, the newlyweds, along with their friends and family, made their way into the beautifully decorated Reception Hall to begin celebrating.

After a couple of hours of photos, drinks, what could only be described as a small feast, many speeches about the happy couple, and a cake cutting, Nancy and Jonathan were called up to the dance floor for their first dance as husband and wife.

As ‘Head Over Heels’ by Tears For Fears began to play, Jonathan wrapped his arms around Nancy’s waist and began to sway, mouthing the words silently, unable to take his eyes off of her. Halfway through the song, the guests were called up to join the couple.

Eddie took Steve’s hand in his own and guided him to the dance floor, the two of them swaying along to the music.

“Marry me?” Eddie asked, his voice merely a whisper.

“What?” Steve replied, dumbfounded.

Eddie looked at him softly. “Marry me?”

“You know we can’t get married, you big idiot.”

“Not right now, obviously. But one day, whenever those stupid fuckers at the Supreme Court decided we’re worthy of loving each other, marry me?”

Steve stilled for a moment and looked into Eddie’s big, brown eyes. “Like you even have to ask.”

January 24th, 1997.

Living life on a bus was something that Steve was sure he’d never be able to get used to.

Constantly being within arms reach of at least six other people, not to mention being able to smell them and their bathroom habits, for eight weeks was far too much for him to handle. A couple of days in the Winnebago with the party was enough to make him reconsider the whole ‘six kids and a road trip to Yellowstone’ thing, the bickering alone would have been insufferable, but a week on a tour bus for a two-step plan to surprise his fiancé for their upcoming tenth anniversary was very much doable in Steve’s book.

He’d first surprised Eddie by driving to Ohio and waiting outside the venue for the band to finish playing and come to sign autographs. He’d been in for a bit of a surprise himself when he learned that he too was now semi-famous purely because their relationship had gone public, a large number of the crowd outside asking for his autograph on posters of Eddie’s face while they waited. Damned gossip rags had nicknamed them ‘Steddie’ and plastered a photo of them holding hands on the front page.

The moment the doors opened and the band stepped outside, Steve got lost in the chaos and scrambling of screaming fangirls fighting to get to the front. Resigning further backward down the queue with his Eddie poster gripped tightly in his hands, he waited patiently alongside the calmer members of Corroded Coffin’s fanbase. That was another thing Steve was sure he’d never be able to get used to - fan culture.

Eddie, who had barely looked up from the last poster he’d signed due to the intensity of the line, hovered his pen over the picture of his face. “Who should I make it out to?”

“Steve.”

“Okay, Steve, here you go,” Eddie mumbled, scribbling his signature on the poster. He tucked the pen behind his ear and with an outstretched hand, finally made eye contact with Steve for what Eddie had dubbed ‘the thirty-second rule’ at meet and greets. “Holy shit!”

“Surprise!”

Eddie pulled him close into a long, passionate kiss, earning a few wolf whistles from the remaining crowd, before maneuvering him toward the crew and gesturing for someone to get him a pass. He very politely, although rather quickly, signed the rest of the posters and posed for pictures before telling the crew and his bandmates to make themselves scarce for an hour, dragging Steve onto the bus by the collar of his shirt before he’d even finished his sentence.

A text from Eddie’s manager an hour later revealed that the rest of them had gotten rooms for the night and the two of them could have the bus to themselves. Another text arrived two minutes later telling him not to break anything and to tidy up before morning.

His second day on the bus had been spent listening to an impromptu songwriting session whilst they drove to New York, arriving at the hotel three hours later. Luckily for him, New York had sold out so quickly that management had arranged another concert for the following night, meaning that Steve got a small break from squeezing into a bunk and could get a night’s sleep in an actual bed.

The morning of day three was spent nursing a hangover, thanks to one of Eddie’s after-parties with the entire crew, and trying to get a minute alone with Gareth regarding step two of his plan. When Eddie finally felt brave enough to go outside and attempt his morning cigarette after breakfast, Steve seized his chance and leaned in close enough to Gareth to ensure he wouldn’t be overheard. “The eagle is in the nest. Operation Switch is a go.”

Gareth beamed up at him. “Man, I can’t wait for this. His face is going to be a pic-”

“I can’t do it,” Eddie announced, making his way back to the table looking pale. “I’m getting too old for this shit.”

At ten to eight that night, Corroded Coffin congregated backstage to begin their pre-show ritual for good luck before they began to hype themselves up to go onstage.

“Eds, can I borrow you for a second?” Steve asked, gesturing for Eddie to join him over by the spare amp he was sitting on.

“What’s up, handsome?” Eddie asked, adjusting the strap on his guitar.

“I know it’s early but I’ve got an anniversary present for you,” Steve began before Eddie promptly cut him off.

“Early? Shit, Steve, it’s months away. I haven’t even begun to think about what I’m getting you.”

“I know, I know, but I have to give you it while we’re here in New York. It’ll make sense, I promise.”

“Do I get it now?”

“Later.”

“Harrington, you tease,” Eddie answered, eyeing him suspiciously. “Right, I gotta get up there. Wish me luck?”

“It’s gonna be a great show regardless, but good luck,” Steve answered, kissing him on the cheek before pushing him back toward the band.

As always, Corroded Coffin put on a great show. The songs were heavy and the stage effects were hot, quite literally, ever since Eddie decided they needed to include pyrotechnics in the set. Eddie sang his heart out and jumped around the stage during solos, his energy radiating into the crowd as they jumped up and down, screaming his lyrics back at him.

Halfway through the set list, Eddie’s actual surprise arrived backstage with a VIP pass around their neck.

“You ready?” he asked as Eddie began to finish up the song.

“Hell yeah.”

As the last few chords faded out and the crowd began to applaud, Steve stepped out from behind the curtain and made his way to the center of the stage. A perplexed Eddie furrowed his brow at Steve as he stole the microphone from him.

“Let’s give it up for Corroded Coffin everybody,” Steve declared, causing the crowd to erupt again.

“What the hell are you doing?” Eddie asked, completely unaware that Gareth was sneaking off stage behind him.

“Sorry for the interruption, ladies and gentlemen,” Steve began, turning back to the crowd. “But I’ve got a little surprise for Eddie here and for you too. If you could all turn your attention to my left here and give a big round of applause for an honorary member of the band, I’d like to introduce none other than Ronnie Ecker to the stage.”

Eddie’s face looked exactly how Steve had thought it would as Ronnie walked over and hugged him before settling behind the drum kit. A mixture of pure shock, happiness, and overwhelming gratitude.

“You sneaky little shit,” were the only words he could find as he placed an arm around Steve’s waist and guided him back to the side of the stage. “Thank you.”

October 7th, 2014.

The doorbell would not stop ringing.

“You go,” Eddie argued, half asleep.

“You go, it’s your turn,” Steve retorted, pushing Eddie’s sprawled legs off of him and out of the bed.

Eddie let his body go limp as he slid onto the floor, landing with a small thud. “You go.”

Steve sat up and glared at him. “You’re already out of bed.”

“Fine,” Eddie sighed dramatically, picking himself up and walking towards the door.

“Pants,” Steve called after him, throwing a pair of boxers at the back of Eddie’s head before flopping back down onto the pillow with a satisfied grin.

No less than a minute later, Eddie flung himself back onto the bed face down. “It’s for you,” he grumbled.

Steve sat up again and his eyes landed on a rather excited-looking Robin and Vickie stood in the open doorway.

“Jesus, guys, it’s eight o’clock in the morning,” Steve said, his eyes now fixed on the alarm clock on his bedside table. “Surely whatever you’ve got to say could wait until a more godly hour.”

“Didn’t you hear?” asked Vickie, so giddy she was bouncing up and down on the spot.

“Hear what?” Eddie grumbled, his face smushed into his pillow.

“The Supreme Court declined to consider the appeal in the Baskin vs. Bogan case,” Robin answered.

“Buckley, for the love of God, get to the point. I should still be asleep,” Eddie argued.

“Fine. This should wake you up a bit,” she answered. “Same-sex marriage is officially legal.”

Eddie shot up, his eyes now wide and fixed on Steve. “Courthouse?”

“I guess I’d better find my good suit then, huh?”

After a long three-hour wait outside the Courthouse with Robin and Vickie, as well as fifty other couples, Eddie and Steve were finally at the front of the queue.

“Fill these forms out and take them to that window over there,” instructed the clerk, handing Eddie some papers from a large stack in front of him and pointing to the other side of the room.

“You don’t even know why we’re here,” replied Eddie, one eyebrow raised.

The clerk looked up at Eddie, glanced toward Steve, and then back to Eddie. “I’m going to assume you’re here for the same reason as everybody else? Getting hitched?”

“Yeah.”

“Fill these forms out and take them to that window over there,” he repeated. “Next.”

The two couples filled out their paperwork and made their way over to the other window, their identification and fee money in hand. With everything processed and appointments made for an hour later, they wandered out onto the street to find some food to kill the time.

“I’m gonna call Nance and get them down here,” Robin told them after they situated themselves on a bench to eat their food.

“Reckon we should call the lads?” Eddie mumbled through a mouthful of hot dog, promptly spilling mustard on his tie. “Shit.”

Steve grabbed a napkin and wiped it away, shaking his head as he smiled at Eddie. “Probably should, we’ll never hear the end of it if we don’t.”

“Ring Joyce as well, I can’t bear the thought of being told off by her again. I’m not gonna lie, she scares me a little bit.”

“Me too, Eds. Me too,” Steve replied, already dialing her number.

An hour later, in a small room filled with friends and family, Steve and Eddie stood hand in hand before the officiant.

“Steve, do you take this man to be your husband, to live together in matrimony, to love him, to honor him, to comfort him, and to keep him in sickness and in health, forsaking all others, for as long as you both shall live?”

“I do.”

“And do you, Eddie, take this man to be your husband, to live together in matrimony, to love him, to honor him, to comfort him, and to keep him in sickness and in health, forsaking all others, for as long as you both shall live?”

“I do.”

“By the authority vested in me under the laws of the State of Indiana, I now pronounce you husband and husband. You may kiss the groom.”

“Gladly,” Eddie responded with a glint in his eyes, pulling Steve in close.

March 3rd, 2015.

It had been three weeks since Steve had got the call from the adoption agency confirming that he and Eddie were going to be parents.

He’d got the call at lunchtime and ran straight to the principal’s office, blurting out ‘I’ve gotta go. Now. Can you sort a substitute for the rest of the day?’ before bucking it to his car and racing home to tell Eddie the news.

“Who died?” Eddie asked, panic-stricken at the sight of Steve flinging the front door open so quickly he thought it might come off its hinges.

“No one,” Steve replied, panting slightly.

“What’s got your undies in a bunch then?”

Steve threw his bag on the ground and loosened his tie. "Janelle called.”

“Oh god. The application fell through, didn’t it?” Eddie assumed, running his hands through his hair. “I knew it.”

“Eddie-”

“It’s because I keep going away, isn’t it? Maybe I should cancel next year’s Europe tour?”

“Eddie, look at me,” Steve told him, taking his hands in his. “We’re going to be parents.”

“Shut up, we are not.”

“In three weeks, we get to bring Oscar and Rose home.”

“No we’re not, you’re lying,” Eddie answered, tears welling in his eyes.

A tear rolled down Steve’s cheek. “I promise you, I’m not. We’re gonna be dads.”

They’d begun decorating the two spare rooms along with buying furniture and everything thing else they’d need almost instantly, along with recruiting the help of Nancy and Jonathan who, in Eddie’s opinion, were ‘pros at the whole parenting thing’ after raising three children to be ‘somewhat normal’ people.

After two days of staring at paint samples, they opted for baby pink on the walls in Rose’s room and ocean blue in Oscars. Surprisingly, the painting portion of the preparations was rather unstressful given Eddie’s previous history of dramatics when it came to decorating. After four different colours on the living room wall in two weeks when they’d first moved into their new house, Steve had vowed that he would never paint again. The stress came in twofold when it was time to build the crib.

As the days passed, the two had become increasingly more anxious. If they weren’t bickering about what furniture should go where they were bickering about the usefulness of bottle prep machines and diaper bins.

“I just don’t see why we can’t put them in the normal bin,” Steve reasoned for the third time.

“Are you going to walk all the way downstairs to the kitchen bin after you’ve just changed a shitty diaper, half asleep, at three o’clock in the morning?” Eddie argued.

“Yes.”

“Liar. I still think we should get one.”

“Fine, but you’re building Oscar’s bed by yourself.”

“Gotta be easier than the crib, right?”

“I doubt it,” Steve answered, placing an allen key in Eddie’s hand with a smug grin on his face. “Have fun. I’m off to work.”

With a week to go, Steve called an intervention after finding Eddie repainting the banister at four o’clock in the morning.

“It needed doing,” Eddie defended.

“Eddie, babe, come on,” Steve reasoned.

Jonathan let out a chuckle. “Reminds me of the time I found Nance scrubbing the kitchen floor in the early hours when she was eight months gone with Barb.”

“See!”

“He’s nesting, Steve. It’s normal, trust me,” said Nancy.

Steve raised an eyebrow at her. “You know he’s not pregnant, right?”

“Of course, I do. I know how biology works. That doesn’t mean he can’t nest. It’s just one of those expectant parent things.”

“Cleaning the kitchen is normal, I get that, but Oscar can barely reach the banister and Rose can’t even crawl yet let alone get up the stairs by herself.”

“Just let him have this, Steve,” Jonathan told him, clapping a supportive hand on his shoulder. “And thank god you’re only doing this once.”

“Hey! I was nothing short of delightful during my pregnancies,” Nancy replied.

“Of course, darling.”

The last few days flew by and before they knew it, they were standing on the front porch watching Janelle walk down the garden path with the handle of a car seat in one hand, Rose bundled up inside of it, and Oscar’s hand in the other as he skipped along beside her.

Steve had always thought his love for Eddie knew no bounds and that he’d rather die than lose him again, but at that moment, looking at his three-month-old daughter and his four-year-old son, there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that he’d use Eddie as a human shield to protect his children if it ever came to it.

5th September 2024.

Steve pushed his reading glasses further up the bridge of his nose, placed his book on the bedside table, and got out of bed.

He should be tired. He knew he should be tired but no matter how hard he tried he just couldn’t seem to drift off, a promise he’d once made over three decades ago weighing too heavily on his mind.

It had been a very long day.

A suggestion made by Eddie over their morning coffee that a picnic in the park with the entire party would be a great way to both catch up with friends and let all the kids blow off some steam seemed like a good idea at the time. That very same good idea would later turn out to be full-blown chaos.

He loved his family, really he did, but there were only so many times you could hear the words “Dad!” or “Uncle Stevie!” followed by some variation of “They did this!” or “They did that!” without questioning how much of your sanity was still intact at the end of the night.

They’d piled into the park at dinner time. Robin and Vickie were already there, waiting for them with an eager wave. Jonathan and Nancy arrived five minutes later, their children and the newest member of the party, a granddaughter named Joy, in tow. One by one the rest of the party and their small tribes of children and grandchildren arrived, half of which were traipsing behind in typical pre-teen fashion. It would appear that hanging out with your parents and their friends in public isn’t considered “a fun way to spend an afternoon” these days, even if one of them is a world-famous rock star.

It took two hours for all hell to break loose.

“Who’s idea was this again?” Jonathan mumbled, an ice pack from the cooler held against his eyebrow.

“Eddie’s,” grumbled Steve, Lucas, Max, and three of the teenagers.

Eddie peered over the top of his book to address the group. “Come on, guys. We’re having a great time.”

“Are we?”

“The kids are and I suppose that’s what matters, right?” he countered. “Besides, you took that truck to the brow like a champ, Jonathan. You ought to be glad you took that ring out of it.”

Jonathan cringed at the reminder. “It was a phase. We promised not to talk about it again.”

“Phase?” queried Nancy, finishing up tying her umpteenth shoelace of the day.

Barbara raised an eyebrow at her father. “You were twenty-six and you kept it in for ten years.”

“Will, how’s the new house?” he asked quickly, changing the subject.

They sprawled out on the grass for hours until the sun began to set.

The eldest of kids sat away from them, deeply engrossed in an impromptu game of Dungeons and Dragons led by Oz who, much like his father, always had a bag of die handy and could create a campaign on the spot. In between playing with and taking care of the many children that were terrorising the nearby play area, the adults talked and laughed amongst themselves, catching up on all things life and work.

After three tantrums from three different children all within the space of ten minutes, resulting in two bumps to the head and a grazed knee, Erica made the executive decision to disband the group.

It was on the way back to the car, his husband’s hand resting in his and their children strolling beside them, that the promise was brought back to the forefront of Steve’s mind.

“Dad, can I go to Jackson’s tomorrow? He wants to carry on playing D&D,” Oz asked.

“Yeah, sure, but only if it’s okay with Max. I’ll drop you off on my way to Wayne’s,” Steve answered.

“Can I come too, Oscar?” asked Rose.

“I told you not to call me that,” he replied, prompting a chuckle from Eddie.

“Fine,” she grumbled. “Can I come too, Oz?”

“Maybe.”

Eddie unlocked the car and opened the door, still chuckling to himself quietly at his son’s outburst. “So, you’re going to Wayne’s tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” Steve replied, climbing into the car. “I promised I’d cut the grass for him. You know he can’t do it himself now that he’s getting on.”

Eddie let out a chuckle. “You two and your promises. I swear, you’re over there every other day helping him out with something. You get on better with him than I do.”

“I’m a man of my word. Kids, seatbelts.”

“Is that so? Well, I’m not sure if you remember but a long, long time ago you promised to tell me a story. I’m still waiting.”

Steve pondered for a moment, snippets of memories from the Upside Down flashing through his mind. “I did, didn’t I?”

So that’s why later on that night when Steve couldn’t sleep, his mind heavy and his heart full, he found himself sitting in front of his computer staring at a blank document instead of sitting in his usual spot on the porch. To keep a promise he once made a long, long time ago.

Tell Eddie all about The Bloody-Handed and the anguish of loving them, and how every single second was worth it.

A/N:

Elizabeth Munson, Eddie's mother, is a character from from the book 'Stranger Things: Flight Of Icarus'. We learn about her briefly and about how she passed away.

Ronnie Ecker, Eddie's childhood best friend, is a character from from the book 'Stranger Things: Flight Of Icarus'. She was the original drummer for Corroded Coffin and a member of The Hellfire Club until she graduated in 1984 when she moved to New York to study Law.

★★★★★★★★★★

And with that, we're done.

I've had an absolute blast writing this and as happy as I am that it's finally finished, I can't help but feel a little sad to be closing the book on this story and its characters.

I'd like to take a moment to thank everyone who has left likes and reblogged the story. I truly hope that you enjoy the ending as much as I have and that I've done it justice.

Thank you. 🖤

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yangkitties · 1 year ago

Text

fall for me ✩ l.hs

pairing: lee heeseung x gn!reader || word count: 0.9k genre: fluff || warnings: blood mention (non-descriptive), swearing synopsis: and so you fell, literally and figuratively. all thanks to lee heeseung. note: we are back in business bae 💪 this ones a bit of an oldie but i like it + i've been in my hee feels off late >.< anyways i hope y'all enjoy reading it and as always, my ask box is open :]

'Hee. Do we HAVE to do this. You know what happened the last time don’t you!?' You pouted as you held hands with Heeseung, who just reassuringly chuckled at you instead of answering your question. You gently bumped into your best friend, indicating that you didn’t want your question to go unanswered.

'And by ‘the last time’, do you mean in 4th grade when I specifically told you that I wouldn’t be able to skateboard alongside you but you STILL trusted me and tried to skateboard anyway? And then you ended up falling on your sorry butt?' He teased you, earning him a raspberry blown in his face.

But you did trust him. You trusted him with your entire life right now, just like you did 7 years ago. You had been best friends with Lee Heeseung practically since forever. You trusted him with anything and everything.

Except for one fact. That fact that you were irreversibly in love with him.

As you both continued your way to the skate park, you wondered what would happen if you told him. But you didn’t have time for those thoughts when Heeseung tugged your head back to reality with a squeeze of your hand.

'Hey. I won’t let what happened the last time happen again okay? I’ve gotten so much better! You trust me, don’t you?' His bambi eyes sparkled as he puffed out his chest slightly, knowing it would make you laugh. You giggled, falling right into his tricks. 'Of course I do. Now let’s get skating!!!!'

Soon, you had mastered getting on the skateboard without falling off. Slowly, you learnt how to travel a a short distance without completely face planting on to the concrete. The catch was that you still couldn’t do it if you weren’t holding Heeseung’s hands. And holding his hands made you extra nervous.

You’d held his hands multiple times. And they always made you felt like you were floating on a cloud. They had always fit right into your hands, no matter how old you grew.

'Okay I think I can do it without holding your hands now.' You said as confidence crawled through you. 'You sure? Because if you fall, don’t yell at me..’ Heeseung was holding both your hands, rubbing thumbs over your knuckles. Just the little action sent a million shivers down your spine.

You took a deep breath, 'Yeah. I know if I fall you’ll catch me.' You smiled at him convincingly and started to skate.

You went an inch. 2 inches. 10 inches. An entire 2 feet. Heeseung jogged behind you the entire time, arms out awkwardly waiting to catch you. 'HEE!!! LOOK!!! I’m doing it!!!!' You yelled, giggling at your small victory.

And then it happened. The board bumped into a small rock, and it sent you flying backwards.

You closed your eyes, expecting the hard ground to hit you, to experience cold blood slip out of the back of your head. But it never came…

Instead you felt a pair of strong arms catch you. You opened your eyes, one at a time, only to be met with Heeseung’s deep brown ones, shining with worry.

You scrambled off the skateboard and tightly hugged Heeseung’s waist, attempting to ground yourself. Heeseung gently strokes your hair, resting his hands on your hips.

'So… I guess you fell for me huh?' Heeseung joked, trying to lighten the mood. Adrenaline coursing through your veins, you said the first thing that came to your mind. 'Yeah. I did.'

Heeseung froze. His hands stopped stroking your hair and his grip on your waist tightened. 'I… what did you say?'

'I said yes. I fell for you. I fell for your stupid smile, and your angelic voice, and your bambi eyes, and your soft laugh. I fell for you 3 years ago, when we watched The Little Mermaid and you sang your heart out to ‘Under the Sea’, and I knew then, that I never wanted to leave you. And I fell for you again, a year ago when you let ME decorate your precious skateboard that you don’t let anyone touch. I really really REALLY love you but I don’t want to loose you as a best friend. So tell me right now if you don’t love me back so I can hit you over your the head with the skateboard so you can forget this ever happened.' You spoke in one breath, words muffled as you still had your forehead pressed to Heeseung’s chest.

And then you felt vibrations across your head. He was laughing. You had just poured your heart out and he stood their, you in his arms, and he had the audacity to laugh.

Just as you were about to pull away and hit his head with the skateboard, Heeseung hugged you tighter. 'I’m not as good as you when it comes to confessions, but I love you too. You really think I would’ve let you decorate my skateboard if I didn’t love you, did you?'

He pulled you away from his chest, fingers curled beneath your chin. 'Can I kiss you?' His forehead rested against your while getting breathed out the 4 words you had dreamed about hearing countless times.

You wasted no time, quickly pressing your lips against. Just like your hands, they fit like puzzle pieces. Your fingers entwined themselves behind his neck as he pushed you down, deepening the kiss. They trailed up to his pretty pink hair, gently pulling at it to push him back up, noses bumping against each other.

You pulled apart, breathless.

'I fucking love you.'

#enhypen #enhypen fluff #enhypen x reader #en-web #en web #lee heeseung #heeseung x reader #heeseung fluff #heesung x reader #lee heesung #🖋️: nyx.writes ━ enha ☆

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edwinspaynes · 5 months ago

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what are your long term illness related headcanons for thomas?

I'm sorry this took me a million years to answer! I see it every couple of days, go "I'll answer after work," and promptly forget about it as soon as work ends.

Yes, let's GO! Thomas' "chronic illness" is in an odd category of canon when he was younger but also totally unexplored. I find this a fascinating space for it to occupy, because of course I wish it were more fleshed out but I also like getting to play with it in my own mind a lot.

When Thomas was little, he spent most of his time bedridden. Eugenia and Barbara canonically fussed over him, but I also think Sophie and Gideon made a lot of accommodations/concessions for him. Like, if he couldn't get to the dining table, they'd all bring portable tables into Thomas's room and eat around the bed. Thomas always felt a little guilty, but he appreciated it.

"Felt a little guilty but appreciated it" is generally what I think his overall reaction to people's treatment of him was. He's a really nice kid, and shy - he doesn't want to be a bother, and he feels like he's inconveniencing people. But subconsciously he's chuffed that others do consider him worth the inconvenience.

While it was nice that others cared for him, it also could get really stifling sometimes. He would constantly wish that he could get out of the house (because imo Sophie and Gideon probably made him stay inside sometimes because he was getting over something or worried about him catching something else.) And he'd dream of being able to just... be like James or Matthew. Hop in a carriage, head to a market, play in parks and gardens. But he understands why it's not possible, it just hurts.

He starts sneaking out into the woods from his yard-hole (canon) when he's around 10. He has a special favorite tree in Brocelind that he likes to climb up, and it's there that he spins tales and writes poetry. His favorite stories and poems to write involve a mix of adventure and romance.

Thomas probably was allergic to lots of things, pollen and stuff.

Sophie and Gideon were 100% convinced that Thomas was dying as a baby (canon in The Penultimate Hours). But he was small - under six - and they didn't want to scare him, so they attempted to hide it. It was confined to whispers in the hallway and periodic discussions when he was feverish and asleep. Unfortunately, Thomas was a smart kid. He knew he was dying, and it was a question of when and not if in his mind. He mourned the life he would never have, and was horribly sad that he would never have a beautiful love like his parents do.

By the time he was 14, Thomas was pretty much completely well, just short. It's how he convinced his parents to let him go to school. He tried when he was 13 but they were still scared that his illness would come back, but it didn't, so they let him go.

After that, for the rest of his very long and happy life, Thomas still has a pretty weak immune system compared to his peers. It's NBD - he just gets colds and such more easily than people, and has stronger seasonal allergies than others.

As an adult, Thomas still has lingering trauma from his bedridden, fussed-over days. No one ever treated him like a grown-up, and now he feels the need to be Completely Self Sufficient so the cycle doesn't repeat itself. If he gets a cold, no he didn't. If he's feeling feverish, no he's not. He tells no one when he's sick, just shuts himself away and cares for himself until he's better.

This all changes when he moves in with Alastair. Since they're the Soulmatest Soulmates to Ever Soulmateify, Alastair is really in tune with Thomas's moods and health. He tells Thomas that he should let him care for him when he's sick, and finally Thomas grudgingly agrees that Alastair can make him soup "BUT NOT SPOON FEED IT TO HIM." Alastair, who wasn't going to do that anyway, scratches his head like. Hmm, okay.

Alastair is the only person allowed to take care of him, and it's to combat the notion that he has to be 100% self-sufficient. It's kind of empowering to be cared for in a way that he consented to, on his own terms, rather than on everyone else's.

#thomas lightwood #alastair carstairs #headcanons #thank youuuu #the last hours #tlh #sophie collins #gideon lightwood

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lovejosephquinn · 2 years ago

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hii! can i request a joe quinn x reader? something super angsty, maybe where the reader wants to break up and he refuses to accept it and is like begging her to stay?

I want to make this sting, I apologise in advance

Oh and by the way, I'm sorry if my angst isn't great, I'm not used to writing it lmao

Read Part 2 Here. ◀◀◀

This had been a long awaited battle, Joe had finished filming a week early somewhere in the states and you'd been so excited to have him back by your side, you'd not seen your boyfriend for a couple of months, arranging a date night as soon as he'd got back as a surprise, planning everything, making it special. Then came the excuses. Another couple of weeks went by and there was still no sign of him returning home.

'I've got to stay a little longer, love. I'm sorry.'

'I won't be coming home this week. I'll call you soon.'

'I'm sorry I've not called, I've been so busy.'

'Sorry I forgot to text you today.'

And chances were when he did text you on the rare occasion, you were fast asleep due to the time difference. This was unlike Joe, he'd usually be blowing up your phone and that's how you knew something clearly wasn't right. The list became endless, the calls and the messages became less, every reply became more blunt and it had really gotten to you, it was like he didn't care anymore, the pushing away took you to the edge.

This was a solid relationship of two years falling into a dark abyss, then came the day when you hit the roof. Scrolling through twitter, you came across a post on Joe's hashtag. It pictured him stood with a girl in a familiar pub in London looking rather cosy, not fan cosy, personally cosy. "What the fuck?" your raised voice echoed across the walls of your flat as you sat up from where you laid on the sofa, screaming internally at the picture. You knew it was recent because Joe was wearing the leather jacket you'd bought him for his birthday, had he been back in London without telling you? How, what, when?

You tried to call him instantly, no answer. Shock.

You threw your phone onto the coffee table, sat twisting your silver promise ring that Joe got you which had remained on your middle finger for almost a year, tears strained your eyes and a million thoughts rapidly shot through your mind, your heart beating twice it's normal rate. So you decided to go to his flat to check, you could've had this all wrong, for the thin ice that the relationship was wobbling on at this moment, you'd seriously hoped you had.

You sat at your steering wheel, staring up to the window of Joe's flat. The light was on, not much sign of life from what you could see from the high up view but needless to say, there was definitely someone there. As you took the hasty steps up to his front door, you knocked and within 10 seconds the door answered. There he was.

"Y/N, I didn't expect you."

"Could say the same." you folded your arms, tapping your fingers against it.

"I wanted to surprise you but I-"

"How long have you been back?" you flat out interrupted.

"Not long, love. I was going to call you." That's not the answer you were looking for.

"Are you going to let me in?" You moved yourself closer to the front door and Joe instantly moved it fully open, gesturing you inside.

Joe tried to envelope you in a hug, simply like nothing had happened but before you reciprocated you wanted the full truth to be out in the open. "Can I ask you something?" The words shot out of your mouth before you could even think.

"Sure love, what's on your mind?"

"Can you explain this?" You pulled out your phone with a print screen of the picture you'd witnessed earlier on.

Joe sighed, he could've lied but was quickly realising you knew the honest truth.

"I've been back a couple of days, I was catching up with an old friend who was on the same flight back as me."

"Are you for real? So you didn't think to call me, text me let me know you'd landed home safely, instead you decide to go have some drinks with this 'old friend'? Do you expect me to believe this crap?"

You pushed Joe out of arms reach, he tried to step back forward but you moved back when he did.

"I'm sorry."

"You're sorry? Is that all you have to say?!" You shouted back at him, your blood was boiling and your tears were filling under your eyelids, staining your eyes making them glisten. Joe said nothing.

"Weeks Joseph. Weeks I've gone without barely hearing a thing. Weeks I've gone without hearing that you miss me or that you love me, weeks I've gone without clearly not being thought about. That's not my Joey, that's a fucking stranger." You scoffed at his inability to make a sentence. "I'm done."

"So that's it, you're letting go?" Joe protested, halting you and standing in your way from letting you walking out the front door.

"There's nothing left to let go of, I've been trying to hold on to hope for weeks."

"So what did you come for?" Joe's voice hitched.

"The truth and I got it with pretty much no explanation, but there's none needed now." Your tears streamed down your face, you wiped them away attempting to stay strong, also striving to get Joe out of the way so you could leave, but he'd become like he was made of iron, he wasn't letting you go now.

"Y/N, I'm sorry for what I've done. Nothing happened with her if that's what you're thinking, I'd never hurt you like that."

"Well I'm glad you didn't and honestly? I believe it. But what's not okay is the ignorance, the waste of two years of my life spent with someone who I believed thought the world of me but instead as I said proved to be more of a stranger this last month."

"I have a job to do Y/N."

"You'd done your fucking job, god knows what you were doing or where you were swanning off too, but it surely was enough to keep your attention to not be able to take 5 minutes out of your day to let me, your girlfriend know you were busy. I was the last to know everything and that's extremely shit of you." Joe attempted one last time, lunging forward to kiss you, as if that'd make it all better. That was when you slapped him square in the jaw. His hand caught the sting, looking down to the floor, his eyes returning sorrowfully to yours.

"Fuck you." you grimaced.

"Y/N, I love you, please can we work this out?"

"Correction Joseph, you loved me, there's a difference."

You could almost pinpoint the moment you saw Joe's heart break, mirroring your own shattered organ.

"That's not fair, I still love you as much as I did before I left. I'm begging you. I can't lose you." Joe fell to his knees, gripping onto your hands as he began to sob, the noises he mustered were just low whimpers, his brown eyes burned through yours, his bottom lip trembling.

"Then why did you let yourself push me away?" You tried to ignore his regret, keeping to your guns and not letting him win this.

"Because I'm a fucking fool that's why."

"You can say that again." You knew you shouldn't have, but the sarcastic bark of laughter that erupted from your lips was something you couldn't help per his last reply.

"Actions have consequences, you broke my heart and now I'm breaking yours right back. If that makes me a bad person, so be it. You want me? Fight for me."

"What do you think I'm doing right now? I'm on my knees for you Y/N, please don't leave me. I'll make it up to you, I promise. I love you so much."

"Then why did you lie to me, why did you ignore me?"

"I just got caught up in being offered to see the city I was in by one of the cast members I worked with, he kindly did it and then I had to do a couple of interviews and press. I should've been more clear."

"And then lying to me, you've been back here at least a few days Joe, why didn't you let me know?"

"I was going too."

"But you didn't."

Joe shook his head, it hung lowly to the ground now like a child being told off by a grown up.

"No I didn't."

You managed to rip your hands from his grip, taking off your promise ring and throwing it down onto his lap.

"Y/N, your ring, no! Don't!"

"Step one is admittance Joe, step two is acceptance. I need to sleep on this shit. I love you but you've seriously hurt me, something I never expected of you."

"Baby, please." He tried to reach for you again.

"Don't. You know where I'll be. If you seriously want to save this relationship, if you're really sorry. You'll be at my flat tomorrow with a full apology, a full reasoning and full knowledge that you'll never do this to me again then I might slowly start to forgive you. As for the ring, it was a promise you'd love me forever and that's a direct quote from the man I thought I knew."

"I won't do this again."

"Actions speak louder than words, Quinn. Prove it."

You had no more to say, at least for tonight. You waltzed past him, leaving him flat on his knees, he didn't fight back to keep you in his presence this time; truly defeated. Bellowing into his hands, the last thing you hear was him call out your name before walking out the door. For good? Who knew. Even though he'd done wrong. You still loved him.

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