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carolmunson · 1 year ago

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I have my coffee, I am ready (though I lost the connector to my mouse so I am using my broken track pad for this):

I could literally see this happening in a montage in my head.

"The big deal," he says, reaching out to lift your chin, forcing you to look at him, "Is that this is business, and I don’t want you involved. Alright?" His voice is firm, letting you know he won’t budge. "I’ll pick you up later," he promises, "Movie night, just us."

Highschool me would be angry and then SWOONING.

It's safer this way–safer for your heart, for his, and for the delicate balance you've maintained for so long. The stakes are too high. You’ll keep your cards close to your chest. It’s a dangerous game you're playing, one you’re determined to win.

I'm shaking R in my mind telling to her TELL HIM.

He scoffs, doubt clouding his voice. “I wish I had your confidence. The server's capacity is still a question mark, and we're racing to fix streaming delays. Fuck!” The heels of his hands press into his eyes. “All I need is this thing to fail at the last minute, especially with Richard and my dad watching.” He imitates his father's stern tone, “Typical. He’s always been a fuck up. Chokes right before the buzzer.” Letting his hands drop, his vulnerable eyes turn to you. “I should have listened to you and not invited my parents. I actually never thought they would agree to come. Now I’m running around trying to get things ready for them too.”

MY STRESSED HUSBAND. I'll have to fuck him to ease his mind, obviously.

"You look really good." His low voice bounces off the empty walls, "I mean…your, uh, outfit is nice." He waves his hand toward you before wiping it on the front of his jeans.

He wants me so bad.

A hot breath passes your lips as you turn away, walking back down the hall toward Studio C. "You know," you call over your shoulder, too chicken to face him. "Skyler Simmons. Rock royalty. Media darling. Your long-time girlfriend. The one you own a house with. Ring any bells? Isn’t she here with you?" "My what? Skyler Simmons?" The deep belly laugh that follows has you spinning on your heels to face him. "Wait. You’re serious?" His dimples make an appearance as his smile deepens. "Me and Skyler?" He can barely get her name out without chuckling. "The one you’re photographed with constantly." His brows shoot up. "Keeping tabs on me?" "Oh, don’t flatter yourself," you huff, "It came up in my research. Do you have a relationship with her or not?"

OOOH, GIRL! She's so jealous I am smirking and giggling.

His hands run through his hair, fingers tugging on the ends as his tone softens. "Doll," he pauses, taking a deliberate step closer. His warm fingers cup your jaw, forcing your eyes to meet his. Those amber swirls, always seeing beyond your surface. "No one else is in my apartment, and no one else is gonna be." His touch sends a searing heat spreading through your skin as the weight of your engagement ring pulls on your finger. "You’re a grown man, Eddie. Do whatever you want." Stepping back, his hand falls from your face as you turn and enter the studio. "Fucking stubborn," the low murmur carries under his breath as he follows you inside.

No one else is gonna be EXCEPT US BECAUSE HE LOVES US. (I need them to fuck.)

"I was surprised that you left it behind." Eddie's expression turns more solemn, his eyes locking onto yours. "There were a lot of things I wished I could’ve taken with me. But back then, I couldn’t even take care of myself." "I don’t believe that," you swallow, the words sticking in your throat, "You could have tried." "If I had tried, they would’ve ended up broken, and I’d‘ve lost them anyway." His long fingers brush your shoulder, and you flinch. The leather creaks as you sit back against the arm of the couch, just out of reach.

I'm not recovering from this.

"Max is who taught me about everything." His voice holds a reverence when he says his name. "He kept a close eye on me. Showed me how to work the boards. He said he could see the shadows following me around, so when we got to LA, he took me out to the desert, fed me some tea, and exercised my demons."

Him getting put under someone's wing is making me so emotional. I love that things started working out.

"No thanks. I tried that once." You look at him pointedly, the tightness in your chest returning, "It didn’t work out for me." The thinly veiled jabs you’ve been sending his way were hitting the target. Something like pain or regret flashes in his eyes. "Doll–"

"My Cranberries Cd!" You cry, your fingers digging into the plush carpet as you tip forward onto your knees, taking it from his hand. "I looked for this everywhere. I knew you took it, you thief."

This is so wholesome, I love that they have so much history for us to learn about as this story moves on. Like, this is so -- true for friends? Everything feels so organic. If I copy and paste all of her confession about the past it'll be as long as the fic, but I need you to know that I'm actually crying while reading it. I can seriously feel R's hurt and frustration with him disappearing and reappearing -- expecting it to all be like old times while we sat and festered in pain and followed a whole different life. The anger that comes with him thinking he can have his cake and eat it too. God Jelly, you're so good at this. THE KISS?!

"Please don’t," you plead, "Don’t ask me for anything else." You swing the strap over your shoulder. "I just ch–" But the word stays stuck in your throat as your eyes swim with tears of regret.

Ughhhhejskdbvfdjsfodrgnrejhtyhmjnfejwgwdbassgbd

“Don’t bullshit me, kid. I don’t have much time. I’m meeting Joyce for dinner at that Italian place on Taylor Street. I’ve been dreaming about the breadsticks. Enzo puts some spice on ‘em, I don’t know what it is, but it’s good. You dip it in olive oil,” he groans, “Forget about it. Those things knock your socks off, and I’m wavering on the main course between—”

Hopper is the only man who truly matters here.

Your protest is swift, but he plows right over you, “Everyone knows you’re my favorite, but right now, I’m going to treat you like all the rest of the idiots in this place.” His hand waves around the room before pointing right at you. “You’re going to keep your dick in your pants and get those interviews done. If you want to play kissy face, you do it on your own time. You got me?” Your mouth drops open, disbelief palpable. “You're still going to make me finish?” “Damm, right I am,” Hopper affirms, not missing a beat. "If I hand your work off, it raises questions. Big, messy questions. What do I tell downtown when they ask why the piece was reassigned? Unless you’re ready to come clean to Harrington?” Your lip goes between your teeth as your head shakes. “I thought so.” Hopper leans back in his chair, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. "This could be both our necks," he mutters, concern filling his voice.

FUUUUUCK.

Ugh all the regret when R gets home and of course Steve is being the HOT SEXY SWEETHEART he is. I feel sick that we cheated on him but also ugh, I'm bursting with feelings for my actual husband. I can not WAIT for more of this. Thank you so much Jelly.

A crush that was better off a secret and a kiss that should never have happened.

Masterlist WC: 12399

TW: 2012 AU, Older!Eddie, Older!Steve, Femreader, Second Chance Romance (not a slow burn), Love Triangle, Smut, 18+ No minors beta'd by @superblysubpar

A sharp chill nips at your cheeks as gusts of autumn wind blow through the amber-leafed trees that surround Hawkins High's parking lot. You pick at the splintered wood of the picnic table beneath you, etched with initials and scribbles. The anguished croon of Placebo plays through your headphones, drowning out the sounds of the start of another school day. Shifting the pile of books on your lap, you steal a glance at where Eddie stands with his back to you a few yards away. Lately, it’s like your best friend has purchased real estate in your brain. Daydreams resulting in hearts doodled in the margins of your notebooks a little too close to where you printed his name. His dark curls spill over the collar of his worn denim vest, shadowing the frayed edges of the Dio patch he had sown on last week. He's deep in conversation with Dan Shelter, a senior in the same class that Eddie would have been in if he hadn’t missed so much time after his mother passed. They both turn and look at you at the same time.

Eddie’s eyes narrow as his brows pull tighter into a frown. You push one of your headphones back, and the noise of everyday chatter and car engines bursts into your reality like a bubble popping.

"You know your girlfriend is deeply weird, Munson," the spiky-haired jock says, shoving his hands into the pockets of his letterman jacket, not even trying to hide his distaste.

Girlfriend? You’ve both tried to stamp out that rumor—yet no matter who else you go out with, those sparks never last and pale in comparison to the steady flame you feel around Eddie. Would it really be so bad if it were true? But your answer scares you more than you expect.

"She’s not my girl," Eddie retorts with a swift shake of his head, his voice edged with that familiar bite of annoyance. His foot scuffs against the asphalt, the white Reebok stark against the black of his jeans that cling to his narrow hips. With a sigh of impatience escaping him, the fabric of his Hellfire Club t-shirt pulls tighter across his chest, outlining his lean frame underneath.

"You in or out?" He snaps his fingers near Dan's face, the sunlight catching on the silver rings that adorn his fingers, "I've got other places to be, and you're not my only customer."

"Sure, whatever," Dan grumbles, extending his hand with a few crumpled bills.

Eddie accepts the cash with an easy smirk and a casual flick of his fingers. He teases the dime bag between thumb and forefinger, letting it sway like a pendulum for a heartbeat. Dan’s hand hovers, eyes darting for prying eyes, but before he can grasp it, Eddie lets the bag drop to the ground.

"Oops," Eddie says, his voice dripping with feigned innocence. He pivots on his heel, walking away without a backward glance.

Dan’s face ignites with anger as he stoops for the bag, muttering curses under his breath.

"Always a pleasure," Eddie calls over his shoulder as he turns to join you, flashing a dismissive two-fingered salute. A gaggle of giggling girls from the sophomore class crosses his path, eyes trailing over him like he's their favorite song come to life.

"Ladies." He casually extends an arm, waving them past, his voice a smooth melody that never fails to draw attention. They flutter past with whispers and longing glances. Despite their whispers of 'freak' in the corridors, they all seem to vie for a chance to climb into the back of his van, to be the subject of rumors they'd later deny.

He never hides his interest when he likes a girl — everybody knows when Eddie Munson is into someone. But he’s never looked at you that way, never given you that smile meant for those he desires. And that’s something that has never bothered you. Now, it stirs something else — a green thorny vine wrapping around your insides. He’s just Eddie–your friend, the same old Eddie, even as your heart whispers lies of a different tune.

Without missing a beat, he saunters over, the rhythmic clink of his chain wallet punctuating each step. He leaps onto the picnic table, landing beside you with a thud that sends vibrations through the timeworn wood, eyes lingering on the girls retreating forms.

"You need to be careful, Eddie," you warn, your eyes following as Dan stalks off, his annoyance like a dark cloud.

"Careful is my middle name, doll." He smiles a big, sly grin, dimples deepening, that causes a flutter in your chest, an unexplained sensation that's become strangely frequent these days.

He nods at your leg."What’s this?" His eyes drop to your thigh, dark lashes making a half-moon shadow on his cheek. His thumb brushes over the square field of bright white crosses over the darker denim patch on your jeans, and a trail of tingles follows, unbidden and unwelcome. You disguise the shiver as a chill from the wind, even as you yearn to lean into his touch.

"It’s called sashiko," you explain, strangely aware of the warmth of his skin, the ghost of his touch lingering with an unfamiliar tingle. "The art of visible mending."

"Looks cool," he says, his gaze meeting yours, a little too intense, a little too long. Your fingers clutch your notebooks tighter, a shield against whatever this feeling is.

"Are you coming over after school?" Your voice is steadier than you feel.

"I’ll drop you off, but I’ve got to go back to the trailer after," Eddie replies, his eyes still holding yours, a silent conversation you can't quite interpret. "I’ve got stuff to do," he adds, and something in his tone suggests layers you're not ready to peel back, "Not your kind of stuff."

The house where Eddie grew up doesn't even look the same anymore. Someone else has moved in, always keeping the lawn perfect, and all the broken things have been fixed up. Erasing any traces of tragedy. The neighborhood has moved on as well, absolving themselves. Like they hadn’t just turned their back and let it happen as if it wasn't their problem. Eddie's staying on the other side of town now with his Uncle Wayne in a tiny one-bedroom trailer. Wayne's heart is in the right place, even if he drinks too much, just like Eddie's dad did. But he's not bad, just... lost when it comes to dealing with an angry teen, and with him working nights, Eddie's on his own to figure out how to deal with it all.

"I can keep you company," you offer, the words casual but your heart isn't in it. You can't help the way your gaze lingers on him, hopeful despite yourself.

He shakes his head, a shadow crossing his features. "Nah, I’ve got to stop at Rick's, then a run," he says, and there's a hardness in his eyes that wasn't there before.

You frown, frustration knitting your brows. "I don’t see what the big deal is," you argue, your voice lower, "We smoke together all the time."

The shrill ring of the bell is your cue to retreat, to put distance between you and these feelings that are threatening to upend everything. You nod at him, shoving your books into your bag. His gaze holds onto you for a heavy beat before breaking away, stirring a current of unease within you. There's a shift in the air, a prelude to something you can't name, like the static before a storm leaving a trail of goosebumps on your arms and a warmth low in your belly as you part ways at the door. Eddie's last glance sears itself into your thoughts.

As you make your way to class, the feeling clings, like an overplayed song on the radio — a sense that the simplicity of life is about to fracture. The ache is new and confusing. You hug your arms, trying to squeeze out the gnawing, persistent sting that seems to spread through your limbs. It's a tangible pain, this longing, like a hand squeezing around your heart, making it hard to breathe.

But you push it all down, resolving to guard your secret, to lock it away in the confines of your ribcage, where it can't taint the one thing you value most. The friendship you've built is too important, too rare to risk on a silly crush that might only live in your head–one that might fade with time. It’s a gamble you won’t take. You can't lose him. You won’t watch that light in his eyes dim for you, awkward silences replacing the laughter. Without him, you’d be alone.

Cold grey days have been giving way to dark, inky nights. The stars and moon veiled behind thick cotton clouds, stealing the light earlier each day. Winds gust, sending wet leaves sticking to the glass of your office windows as the bare fingers of the boxwoods planted around the brownstone scratch against the house in protest.

Lowering the lid of your laptop, the light in the room dims as the brightness is trapped between the two halves. Your arms stretch over your head, loosening the tension trapped in your neck as you push away from your desk, drifting towards the sounds of life coming from the living room. Steve’s long legs are stretched out on the chaise end of the couch, a Bulls game on the TV, but his attention is stuck on the laptop resting on his thighs.

“My eyes are going to fall out my head if I stare at that screen for any longer,” you declare, rounding the corner of the couch.

“Well, then, come stare at this screen instead.” His arm extends, making space for you to crawl onto the couch next to him and fit yourself into his side.

“You’re so warm,” you comment, your cheeks nuzzling into his chest as his lips find the top of your head. “Don’t let me fall asleep.”

“I’ll wake you up when it’s time for bed. I still have a few hours of work left,” he sighs as his finger slides down the trackpad, scrolling through a document that seems to never end.

“Is that for the launch?” Your eyes squint in protest at the brightness of his screen.

He groans at the ping of another incoming email while he toggles between the many windows he has open. “Yeah, we're in the final stretch. The event team is trying to finalize the details. Maroon 5 and Fallout Boy are locked in to perform, but we’re still waiting to hear back from a few other acts and about a million other details that need ironing out.”

“It’s going to be a great night, baby. Everyone is going to be so impressed,” you assure, the arm you have draped across his stomach tightening, trying to impress your words into him. “Everything is going to go smoothly, you’ll see.”

“Hey,” you coax, tilting your head to lock eyes with him and taking one of his hands between yours, your heart aching with the tension you know he’s carrying. “That’s not going to happen, Steve. If the servers have issues or if there's a lag, it's just a hiccup. You've got a team to handle that. You've put in the work, and you're brilliant at what you do. Your parents will see that. Everyone will.”

He manages a smile, but it’s just a placation.

“What can I do to help?” You ask, “I’ll make sure we have some Pellegrino stocked and that cheese your parents like.”

There's a pause as he weighs his next words. “I’ve already called the housekeeper and let them know to put fresh sheets in the guest room in case they decide to stay here, but I still need to make a reservation at the Four Seasons as a backup.”

Your jaw tightens, but you curb your annoyance at how John Harrington has everyone trained to cater to his high-maintenance whims, but this is for Steve’s peace of mind. “I’ll call first thing tomorrow. Consider it done. Anything else?”

He hesitates, a little apologetic. "My suit... the dry cleaner closes early tomorrow. I hate to ask, but I might not make it in time–"

“No problem. I’ll make time.”

His lips lift at the corners, and this time, his smile reaches his eyes. “I love you.” He lends forward, slotting his lip softly in between yours. “I’ll put the ticket in your bag. Thank you for helping, Ace.”

“It's just Eddie's interview for me tomorrow afternoon. I should have plenty of time." Standing, you give his hand an encouraging tug. "Now, can we go to bed? Everything will look better after a good night's sleep.”

His mouth sets in a determined line as he shuts down his laptop, yielding to your pull as he rises. His hand finds a comforting place on the small of your back, grounding you both as you climb the stairs together.

Hitching the strap of your messenger bag higher on your shoulder, you kick at a loose stone on the sidewalk in front of the brick building. Car horns blare in the distance as traffic rolls by in the busy neighborhood. The sun casts a glint off the steel CursedSound sign, its metal already weathering with a faint tinge of color. The heavy door is yanked open, its clank and whine making you jump even though the sound is expected.

"Hi," Eddie greets you from the other side of the threshold, the softness of his tone mirroring the gentleness in his eyes.

"Hi," you return, shyness adding a tremble to your voice that shouldn’t be there. His fingers grip the edge of the door, and light flashes off the Rolex peeking out from under the cuff of the plaid flannel he wears over a fitted v-neck and jeans, the fabric snug against his defined shoulders. It’s still a novelty to see how his slim build has filled in over the years, still expecting the boy you knew instead of this man in front of you. He looks you over the same way he did last time like he’s trying to decide if you’re really there. Maybe it’s the differences he sees in you, too, or does he look beyond the scars to the lonely girl he once knew? You shift your gaze away, down the street, your toes curling inside your Converse as a flush of warmth climbs up your neck. "Are you going to let me in?"

"I don't know." He pretends to ponder, a smile forming, crinkling the corners of his eyes. "Where's your hard hat?"

Tilting your head to the side, you purse your lips until he breaks into a chuckle. He swings the door open wider to welcome you inside. You pass him with a shake of your head and continue down the dimly lit hall, now familiar with the layout.

The lobby is in utter chaos.

"Sorry for the mess. The maid took the week off," he quips as he watches you take in the sight before you.

The brown paper has been removed from the windows, allowing bright light to stream through the streaked and dirty glass. All the furniture has been pushed toward the center of the room, and ladders and paint cans litter the floor space. A large mural wrapping around the windows and front entrance has been outlined but not completed. In the same graffiti style as the one upstairs, this one displays more cityscapes with waves of the lake breaking at the forefront. Winged skulls and guitars blend with colorful swirls of clouds rising toward the ceiling. The colors brighten the deep tones of the space, capturing the essence of the city and the spirit of CursedSound.

"It’s perfect," you tell him as your eyes follow the sweeping, colorful lines around the room.

"Was that a compliment?" He asks, coming up behind you. "I thought it was a dump."

His breath, a warm whisper against your ear, spins you around. "Well, what can I say? It’s growing on me." Your fingers move to your lips, concealing your smile as his deepens.

"You look really good." His low voice bounces off the empty walls, "I mean…your, uh, outfit is nice." He waves his hand toward you before wiping it on the front of his jeans.

Your brows raise as you glance down at the jeans and plain tee with Lollapalooza written across the front. None of the trendy fashions you usually wore to interviews seemed to fit right today. Causing you to tug at necklines and fidget with the hems of three different outfits before settling on something casual. There’s nothing to hide behind – the armor is off. It’s time to hear him out.

"Wow, that was smooth," he says, shoving his hands in his pockets. "I don’t know why I’m feeling nervous."

The fluttering in your stomach matches his energy. The shield of anger you’ve held between you is battered and worn thin, leaving uncertainty behind.

"It’s because I’m going to get you to spill all your secrets and print them so the whole world can sit in judgment."

A choked sound comes from his throat as his eyes widen into saucers.

Unable to keep a straight face, you giggle. "Relax, Eddie. I already told you I’m not writing some hit piece. You’ve got nothing to worry about. Besides," you shrug, "It’s only me."

A sharp breath escapes as his shoulders lower. "Yeah, you’re right," he takes a step forward, his gaze locking with yours, "After all these years, it's you.

"Eddie." His name comes out with an almost breathless sigh as you look away. He takes another step forward, and you clear your throat before prompting. "Why don’t you show me what else you’ve done?"

He takes a step back, raking a hand through his curls, "Of course." His lips tighten into a flat line as he gestures toward the stairs. "After you."

You lead the way to the second floor, where the smell of fresh paint permeates the air. A ladder leans against a half-painted wall, and orange extension cords crisscross the carpet in the hall, winding into the studios as if the work had been suddenly halted.

"Where is everyone?" You ask as you step inside Studio A. It's come a long way since your last visit. The deck to hold the mixing board has been completed, the glass installed, and the wiring is underway.

"I didn’t know how long you’d be here, so I told them to take the rest of the day off." His eyes follow the movements of your hand as it brushes over knobs and sliders of the soundboard, still sheathed in a protective layer of plastic.

"You didn’t have to do that," you say, walking back out into the hall.

"I didn’t think we needed the audience," he shrugs, walking along with you to the next room.

"I hope it doesn’t make you fall behind schedule." The walls of the small Studio B are covered with walnut slats to create an acoustic barrier while still keeping the room open, while the mixing room kept the original exposed brick.

"I’ve got time."

"Even so," you say, moving toward the window. The sun glints off the mirrored windows of the tall, sleek building across the street. "I’m sure you're eager to open. Put out that first album with the CursedSound logo in the liner notes."

"I am." He comes to stand beside you, his gaze taking in the bustle of the city at midday. "It’s gonna be good to have nothin’ between me and the music. Let the artists be as creative as they want. Their management can deal with the corporate A&R people and leave me out of it."

"You never did like playing by the rules," you smile, catching his eyes in the reflection of the glass.

He turns his head, studying your profile. "Why should I?" he continues, his tone more determined,"The rules sure as hell never helped me. I'm gonna take my chances as I find them. Even if I play a little dirty. I deserve happiness the same as the next guy."

"Of course you do." The world has done nothing but take from him. His mother. His childhood. The opportunities that came so easily to everyone else.

"What about you?" He asks as you return to the hall, "The rules seemed to have treated you well."

You raise your shoulders while a warm smile graces your lips, one you have no intention of concealing. "I love my job. I like the city, and…I have Steve."

"You ending up with Steve Harrington," his voice curls around the name, a sneer you can almost see, "I gotta admit, I didn't see that one coming."

Stopping, you pivot to face him, crossing your arms over your chest. "He's a good guy, Eddie."

He expels a sigh in a short, almost defeated breath, shaking his head. "I know he is, doll."

The unmarked door at the end of the hall provides a convenient diversion. "Where does this go?" You wonder out loud as your hand closes over the knob.

"My apartment."

"You're living here?" You release the doorknob as if it was hot.

"Sure. Can't beat the commute." He reaches around you, turning the doorknob to reveal another flight of stairs. "Do you want to go up?"

A tightness grips your chest as you attempt to step back, momentarily forgetting that he's right behind you. He supports you with a steadying hand on your hip as he moves to face you, seeking your reaction.

"No, that's okay. I think we're fine down here. We wouldn't want to disturb Skyler," you say, attempting to sound confident as you wipe your palms along the sides of your jeans.

Eddie reaches up and scratches the side of his head as his forehead wrinkles. "Who?"

"My what? Skyler Simmons?" The deep belly laugh that follows has you spinning on your heels to face him.

"Wait. You’re serious?" His dimples make an appearance as his smile deepens. "Me and Skyler?" He can barely get her name out without chuckling.

"The one you’re photographed with constantly."

His brows shoot up. "Keeping tabs on me?"

"Oh, don’t flatter yourself," you huff, "It came up in my research. Do you have a relationship with her or not?"

"I know her," he offers, shaking his head, "She’s a friend. We go to the same group."

"What group? The one for annoying assholes."

He pauses, his arms crossing over his chest. "The one for people with family members who are addicts. That okay with you?" His voice escalates. The simmering anger in his eyes mirrors the intensity of his tone. "Skyler is gay. Her girlfriend's usually hanging around, too. Does that mean I’m fucking her too? Jesus."

A splash of frigid water clashes with your hot blood as the fight drains away. Flashes of that day are more vivid than they should be for memories two years old. The carpet of your closet is soft under your fingers as wet splashes of tears rain down on the glossy pages, Steve's voice getting closer as he calls out your name. Glancing down at your feet, your voice diminishes, barely more than a whisper. "Why hasn't she come out in the media?"

"Maybe because it’s none of anybody's fucking business." His piercing gaze bores into you as the sharp words land like heavy stones in the sour pit in your stomach. "Hold on," he waves a hand in front of you, "Why do you even care?"

"I don’t," your voice falters as the dishonest answer leaves you without hesitation, and your eyes trace the patterns on the floor, "It just makes for a better story, is all."

His touch sends a searing heat spreading through your skin as the weight of your engagement ring pulls on your finger. "You’re a grown man, Eddie. Do whatever you want." Stepping back, his hand falls from your face as you turn and enter the studio.

"Fucking stubborn," the low murmur carries under his breath as he follows you inside.

Signs of careful refinement have touched every corner of this studio. Gray triangles of acoustic foam now completely adorn the walls of the live room in contrasting patterns, adding both practical functionality and visual interest. The mixing room's mural stands as a completed masterpiece, and a deep-seated leather sofa, designed to look comfortably aged, takes its place in front.

"It looks like this one’s almost finished." The strap of your bag slides down your shoulder as you sink down onto the couch, taking in the details that have been added since your last visit.

His eyes move around the room, the pride evident on his face that his vision has become a reality. "Just some wiring and the vocal booth, and I’ll be ready to start setting the levels."

"This one’s your favorite, I can tell," you say, shifting to tuck a leg under you as he joins you on the couch.

"Shhh," he hushes you, raising a finger to his lips, a playful glint in his eyes. "The others will get jealous."

With an eye roll, you reach into your bag, your smile never fading as you retrieve your phone and open the recording app with a deft touch, placing it between the two of you.

"How does this work?" Eddie inquires, his eyes fixed on your phone, one hand rubbing the back of his neck.

"Well, typically," your hand slips back into your bag to retrieve the neatly stapled pages of your notes, "I ask a question, and you provide the answer." As you set the pages on your lap, your gaze lifts to meet his, a small, reassuring smile on your lips. The faint strains of songs from the past echo behind the locked door in front of you – one that might be best left closed and forgotten. But he’s in front of you, handing you the key. You draw in a steadying breath, your chest rising and falling with it. "Eddie Munson interview, part one."

"Mr. Munson." You exchange warm smiles, like kids pretending to be grownups. "Thank you for granting us an interview during this busy time. All of us at Stax are very excited to welcome CursedSound to Chicago."

He leans forward, his voice dropping slightly in timber as a much smoother, older Eddie begins to answer, "Thank you. I always have time for my favorite magazine." He winks.

Your lips press into a line as you tilt your head to the side and take a quick glance at your packet. "In April 2003, Fever to Tell was released by a relatively new band and a completely unknown sound engineer. It went on to sell over a million copies, putting The Yeah Yeah Yeahs and the name Eddie Munson on industry minds. Fever to Tell is still, to date, one of my favorite albums. Were you aware of the significant impact this record would have when you were working on it?"

"At the time, we were really just hopeful, you know? We believed in the music we were creating. Karen and Nick, and Brian flew out from New York with their last dime, and we just got to work. Karen had this raw, untamed energy, and I wanted that to add the edge to the album. It was this post-punk dance-floor-friendly racket that injected a much-needed dose of authenticity into a musical landscape that was getting stagnant."

"It's not an exaggeration to say that record helped shape the direction of indie and alternative rock for years to come. But what I want to ask is you before all that. What was the road like moving from Hawkins to having your dreams come true in LA? Was this the path you first set out on, or were there curves in the road?"

"I think 'curves' is a generous term for the absolute shit choices I was making for myself back then," he chuckles. "As you know, I left Hawkins about a year after I graduated. That town had already decided I would never be anything more than a freak– a loser with no future. If I had stayed, that's exactly what would have happened. I was trying to outrun my past without a clue what I wanted for my future. I had my own band back then, and sometimes, we’d open for slightly bigger bands that rolled through town. One of them was about to tour and invited me to go as their one and only roadie, and it felt like a free ticket out."

"Bananafish," you interject, swallowing and glancing down at your notes.

"Yeah, Bananafish. God, they sucked. Did you know they started as a Spin Doctors tribute band?"

"No," you laugh, "And that wasn’t a red flag for you?"

"It should have been. I wasn’t with them for long anyway. I think I lasted for three weeks before they cut me loose for getting in a fight with the drummer." He pauses, shaking his head. "I never knew when to shut my mouth. At that point, they had hooked up with another band called Everly. Slightly better, but not by much. I managed to hold it together for a few months. I was high or drunk most of the time, the only reason they kept me around is because they liked the way I babied their instruments instead of hauling them like luggage."

"I remember you’d spend half an hour polishing that Warlock every day after school," you muse.

"Got to treat a lady right if you want her to sing for you," he says with a sly rise and fall of his brows. He casually drapes an arm over the back of the couch, shrinking the space between you.

"I was surprised that you left it behind."

Eddie's expression turns more solemn, his eyes locking onto yours. "There were a lot of things I wished I could’ve taken with me. But back then, I couldn’t even take care of myself."

"I don’t believe that," you swallow, the words sticking in your throat, "You could have tried."

"If I had tried, they would’ve ended up broken, and I’d‘ve lost them anyway." His long fingers brush your shoulder, and you flinch. The leather creaks as you sit back against the arm of the couch, just out of reach.

"Back to Everly. Why did you part ways?"

"Oh, well, I fucked it up, of course. They had landed a spot at Bonnaroo, and I got so fucked up the night before I missed sound check. When I managed to pick myself up off the floor of the van, they handed me my duffel and a twenty and told me to pound sand." His eyes drift away, fixating on a point across the room as he gets lost, reliving the memory. "I had barely been outside of Indiana, and there I was stuck on some farm in Manchester, Tennessee with no transportation, no money, and no one to call. I was angry at the world and never felt more alone. People always talk about hitting rock bottom. I thought that was mine, but now that I look back, it was more of a crossroads. If I had followed that darker path, there would have been no coming back. I was wandering around backstage where they park buses, hungover, maybe still half in the bag, and that’s when I met Max."

"Max Navarro?" You question, shuffling through the pages of your notes.

"Yeah. You know him?" Eddie’s eyes brighten as his gaze drops to the pages in your lap.

Your head turns from side to side. "You referred to him as a mentor in the Stones interview, but I couldn’t find much on him besides his name being listed as an audio engineer for several tours."

"That’s Max." Eddie breaks into a smile. "He’d tell you he likes flying under the radar. He was hanging out in front of the bus playing guitar with a couple of guys when I walked over like a cocky shit, picked one up, and started playing. He gave me something to smoke and it wasn’t weed. All I know is that I woke up face-down in the dirt the next morning. I don’t know if he liked me or just felt bad for me, but he dragged me on the bus and had me start assisting him with the sound for Faith No More."

"Faith No More? Are you kidding me?" Your hands fall to your lap, slapping against your thighs, jostling the cushion enough for your phone to slide toward the back of the couch. "You had their poster in your room. If I didn’t know you better, I’d think you had a charmed life."

"Well, even the sun shines on a dog's ass some days," he laughs.

"So Max is who taught you about engineering?"

"Did it work?" Max wasn't the only one to see the looming shadows. Remnants of decisions made by others. Expectations of a community that turned its back. They clung to him like an impenetrable fog, obscuring the light in the world.

"I’m not sure. I felt lighter after, but it could have been the gallon of sweat," he says, a chuckle escaping his lips. "After that, he cashed in a favor and got me an internship with a small studio in Laurel Canyon. I parked cars at night and lived in a room the size of a closet at Max’s house. I worked my ass off. I went to therapy–"

"How very L.A. of you," you chime in, a wry grin tugging at the corners of your mouth.

"Don’t knock it until you try it." He looks at you from under raised brows. "It’s, uh, good to be open, you know?"

"No thanks. I tried that once." You look at him pointedly, the tightness in your chest returning, "It didn’t work out for me."

The thinly veiled jabs you’ve been sending his way were hitting the target. Something like pain or regret flashes in his eyes. "Doll–"

"You decided to stay in L.A. and work at a studio instead of going back out on the road?"

"I like studio sessions. Makes me feel like I’m working towards something. I like completing an album and putting it out in the world. Some people thrive being out on tour, like Max. Not me," he scratches at the short hair covering his chin. "Too many ghosts on those old roads."

Like the haunting echoes back in Hawkins, the ones that jolt you awake in the dead of night, murmuring of the past, the shame emphasizing the pitiable acts of a girl lovesick and foolish. Robin had seen it, and so did the entire town. Yet, you're no longer that vulnerable soul. She lies in solitude now, resting beneath the frigid earth, her memory an unmarked grave. You've moved forward, and you’ll never go back, the city's symphony drowning out the remains of her cries.

"So you stayed and built your life there," you conclude, your fingers flipping through the pages of your notes, making sure every point from your outline has been covered.

Eddie leans back, a contemplative look on his face. "I guess you could say that. I got my own place, made some great friends. Sundays are for Max's family and chile relleno. The weather is always beautiful," he shrugs, his voice carrying a hint of noncommitment, "But I really stayed for the music. Have you been? I could take you some time. Show you around. Max would love to meet you, the girl I’m always talking about. I think you’d like it there."

The girl he’s always talking about but hasn’t bothered to call in a decade. "To Los Angeles?" You ask, your gaze rising from your notes to meet his nodding response. "I've been a few times. With Steve, mostly for work."

"Oh yeah. Makes sense." Eddie's jaw tightens, and he averts his gaze, his reaction a puzzle. "Well, I guess the rest is history. Is that enough for your story?"

"Yeah." You reach for your phone, tapping the red square to stop the recording. "It will be a great opening piece for the series." You pick up your messenger, hauling its weight into your lap, tucking your notes inside. The afternoon is ending like a song without a crescendo. A stone of disappointment sits on your tongue, holding back questions that you lacked the courage to ask, but maybe it’s better this way.

Eddie sits up suddenly, snapping his fingers. "Speaking of history, I want to show you something." He stands up, looking towards the door and back at you, "Um.. wait here, okay? I’ll just be a minute."

"Okay-"

He holds up flat palms. "Don’t go anywhere." His eyes close as he winces, " I mean, you can wander around if you want. Just don’t leave."

"Eddie-"

"I’ll be back." He holds up one finger as he exits the room.

Sighing, you push up from your thighs, rising to your feet. Your steps carry you through to the live room, where the area rug underfoot is a clever imitation of age — its colors muted, its pattern artfully faded, though there's no doubt it's brand new. Your nails lightly tap the high hat as you pass the drum kit, and you smile at the shimmering sound that reverberates through the room, giving you the same pleasure as the sound of glass breaking.

With a heavy drape in hand, you pull it aside and peer down onto the busy street below. The dim clamor of the city filters into the room, a steady rhythm of life. A question escapes your lips, almost a whisper, as you survey the world beyond the studio's walls, "What am I doing?"

The thought lingers as you spin the band of gold on your finger as your eyes trace the movements of the people and vehicles outside. You're caught in a moment, anxiety a lump in your throat you can’t seem to swallow. The street's hustle and bustle continues, indifferent.

The sound of the floor creaking with footsteps echoes through the hall. He enters the room with the large box he's carrying obscuring his upper half. You recognize Wayne's shaky handwriting peeking out from behind Eddie's fingers, his name written boldly with a black marker.

"What's all this?" You ask as he sets down the box with a heave in the center of the room and sinks to his knees, hovering over the taped flaps.

"I have no idea," he says with a mischievous smile. "Wayne gave it to me when I stopped by last week and told him I was going to see you. But you know him. He never throws stuff out. It could be anything." His hand smoothes over the top as he raises a brow. "Wanna find out?"

Your hands slide over the denim covering your thighs before your feet carry you forward. "Mrs. Click better not be in there."

His head tips back with laughter. "I make no promises," he jokes while you shift from behind the glass wall, taking a seat on the floor. Your legs cross casually as you face him from the opposite side of the box. One side of his mouth lifts as he waits for you to settle in. In a graceful stretch, he leans to the side, retrieving a box cutter from atop the soundboard, where it sits next to a pile of plastic straps. His shirt rises, revealing a teasing glimpse of hair trailing down his belly and the sculpted muscle beside his hips. His tongue lightly grazes his upper lip as he expertly flicks the knife open, his jeans snug on the contours of his strong thighs. Exhaling slowly, you avert your eyes, scanning the room instead as you wait for him to slice the tape.

"Score!" He yells, pulling out the ragged-edged sheet that was folded and tucked into the top of the box. "Corroded Coffin," he reads aloud from the crude writing, scrawled across it with something resembling shoe polish.

"Oh no," you laugh, your head turning side to side as you rock in your seat.

"Hey. This is rare band memorabilia. It’s probably worth money," he defends, holding it up proudly.

"Yeah, to the guy you have to pay to haul it away," you giggle.

"Alright, Alright," he concedes, folding it up, the smile never leaving his face as he reaches in the box. "These are yours." He pulls out a stack of comics, handing them to you.

"Still in good shape," you comment, thumbing through Tank Girl and Witchblade comics. Opening one of your favorites, the art greets you like an old friend.

"My campaigns!" Eddie exclaims, pulling out a pile of notebooks and setting them aside before reaching back in. "Some Cds." He comes out with a hand wrapped around a stack of jewel cases, the one on top catching your eye.

"My Cranberries Cd!" You cry, your fingers digging into the plush carpet as you tip forward onto your knees, taking it from his hand. "I looked for this everywhere. I knew you took it, you thief."

"I don’t know how that got there," he chuckles, scratching his head, "You must have left in the van."

"Nice try, Munson." your eyes narrow, "I checked there." You lean over the box, poking a finger into his chest, "I knew you had a crush on Dolores."

"It was the accent," he admits with a grin, his dimples on full display as his hand closes around your finger, warding off your attack.

"I’m keeping it," you declare, dropping back into your seat and picking up the case to examine the inside.

"Holy shit."

You raise your head to meet his wide chocolate eyes, a look of sheer delight written across his face. "Close your eyes," he instructs, as he pulls back the flaps of the box, hiding whatever he's found.

"Mrs. Click?" You set the CD on top of the comics.

"Better," he says excitedly, waving a hand toward your face. "Close your eyes."

"Fine." You close one eye, folding your hands in your lap.

"No peeking," he scolds. Your lips purse as you close your other lid, waiting for the big reveal — plastic clanks against something heavy, followed by the rustle of cardboard.

"Okay. Open."

"Daisy!" Yyou squeal, your hands flying to your mouth before you reach out with wiggling fingers.

He winces as he hands over the two-foot concrete garden gnome. "How can you call something so ugly a pretty name like that?"

Taking the heavy lawn ornament in both hands, you gaze down at the way her hat droops over ears too large for her head, which stick straight out beside her bulging eyes and porcine, turned-up nose. Her rubbery lips are pulled back in a smile, showing off her crooked buck teeth and the yellow and white flowered dress that barely conceals her lumpy body.

"She's beautiful," you tut, cradling the statue in your arms. "Besides, you're the one who stole her."

"You’re the one who dared me to," he scoffs.

"I didn’t think you were going to wake up the whole neighborhood crashing into the bushes in Mr. Lawson’s yard." Heat takes over your cheeks as you smile unrestrained.

"I was drunk," he defends, his face turning red.

"You tripped over your feet, and your pants pocket ripped off on that branch," you gasp for air, trying to get the words out with your laughter, "You had on those Garfield boxers with the hearts."

"Of course, you remember that." His laughter joins yours, easy and familiar, while his fingers find their way into his curls. "You're the one that woke up the neighbors, making the van backfire."

"It was the first time I drove, and I didn’t have a license." You clutch Daisy tightly to your chest as you try to catch your breath. "Mr. Larson said he was going to shoot you in the ass."

Eddie wipes a tear from the corner of his eye. "He almost caught us when you stalled out. All for that hideous thing."

"Shh," you say, covering her ears with your hands. "You can’t get rid of her."

"Never," he agrees, reaching out for her. "I’ll find her place of honor around here somewhere."

"Put her on your nightstand," you suggest, handing her over.

"Ugh," he says, setting her aside, "Only if you want me to have nightmares."

You burst into laughter once more, a rhapsodic melody that dances and twirls through the room. His eyes ignite with a warm, genuine light, and he smiles like he’s savoring every note, as if your happiness is a hard-earned treasure he's been longing for.

The shattered remnants of life you once shared press against the scar tissue encasing your heart. They're persistent specters, trying to dislodge themselves and reform into your present. You can feel their sharpness pulling trying to come together like a puzzle.

Your hand instinctively finds its way to your chest, where your heart resides beneath the layers of history. Pressing gently on that tender spot at the center, you push away the complications of the past and the future and just are, in this moment with him.

"What else? What else?" You clap your hands, bouncing in your spot.

"Okay, okay," he gives in, happy to indulge you, "Um, a pack of crayons, a monopoly piece." He tosses them aside. "Could have done without that. Looks like some clothes." He pulls out some folded band tees. "Want any of these?"

"Maybe," you shrug, "I could have them recut."

"Oh, this is yours," he tosses a ball of red fabric at you, and you catch it with both hands before he continues to search through the box.

"Is this what I think it is?" He asks, his voice brimming with excitement as he pulls a rectangular tin from the box. He shakes it, creating a sharp sound as something shifts inside the metal container.

"Yes," he says, his tongue sticking out from the corner of his mouth as he attempts to pry off the lid. Your focus turns to what you're holding, and you clutch the vest's hems, watching as your Musicland uniform unfurls before you.

His voice fades into the background as the gold name tag pinned to the front catches the light. A heavy sensation settles in your stomach, tightening and cramping as a sick, painful feeling creeps in and spreads — nausea churns, threatening to bring bile to the surface as breath comes hard, each inhale a battle.

"Polaroids," Eddie declares in triumph as he pries off the lid.

"Stop it," you manage to utter, your voice quivering, your trembling hands twisting the vest as if folding it small enough could somehow make the pain disappear.

"They’re pretty faded, though," he remarks, unaware.

"I said, that's enough!" The balled-up vest flies from your hands, landing back in the box. Adrenaline surges through your veins, and you push yourself up on unsteady legs, resolute despite the confusion on his face. "I need to leave."

"Wait a minute." He gets to his feet, following you. The small pile you made topples over, forgotten as you pick up your bag from the couch. "What just happened?" He moves in front of you, blocking your path. "I thought we were having fun."

"Fun?" The word is a shard of ice. You sling your bag onto your shoulder, stepping around him towards the door.

"Just hold on a minute." He steps in front of you again, raising his hands with open palms, lines forming on his forehead. His eyes search yours, trying to find answers. "Tell me what's going on."

"What do you want?" The words slice the air, eyes locked, a bare blade of anger.

"I wanted to-" His eyes flick towards the abandoned box in the center of the room.

"No." Your head shakes, "Why are you here? Now? After all this time? What do you want from me?"

"I just wanted to see you." His arms cross over his chest and he hesitates, speaking softly, "I missed my friend."

"Your friend," sarcasm drips from your words as you quirk a brow, "So you show up here with a box of crap and a ‘hey doll’," your voice lowers to mock him before you continue, "And I’m supposed to what? Forget about everything that happened, hand you a clean slate and drop everything to follow you around like a puppy again because you feel like paying me some attention?"

"That’s not…I’m not asking for that." His hand runs through his curls, frustration building in his tone.

"I'm not going to sit here with you wandering down memory lane and watch you pretend like you cared." Your eyes sting, but tears won't fall. You've shed your last one for him long ago. "Like any of it mattered."

"No one's pretending here, doll." He takes a step closer, his hands falling to his side, fingers rubbing at the seam of his jeans. "Of course, it mattered. All of it."

Your bag falls from your shoulder with a resounding thud, its weight matching your resolve as you push your hand against his chest. "I don't believe that for a second. If it mattered, you never could have done what you did."

"Done what?"

"Left me!" Your hand lands flat across your heart. "Without a goodbye, just some shitty mixtape full of songs I can't even listen to without reliving it over and over."

"You're right." His voice rises to match your volume, his fingers closing around your biceps. "I was a coward, and I ran. I couldn't see that look on your face again, the one you had when I told you I was leaving. I should’ve said goodbye, but I knew you'd try to convince me to stay, and I was never going to. I'm sorry I hurt you, but I can't be sorry I left."

"Hurt me?" You push his hands away, taking a step back to control the cracking in your voice. "You didn't just hurt me, Eddie. You destroyed me."

He swallows, looking away. "You were better off."

Fresh anger surges, along with the strong desire to escape – to leave this dead and buried, maybe for another decade until the hurt isn’t so strong.

"See, that right there is why I'll never believe you," you snap, pointing an accusatory finger his way as you step around him, your hand closing around the doorknob. But at the last moment, turning, wanting him to hear it. At least once.

"I didn't quit Musicland. I got fired. I cried for days after you left. Then I wouldn't leave my room, not even to eat. I was so afraid to miss your call."

There's regret in his eyes as he steps forward, getting closer until he can touch you again, one hand gently gliding up your arm.

"But that call never came, did it, Eddie? Not one. And every day that passed, I died a little. But then I wasn't sad anymore. All those tears, they turned to hate," you say coldly, locking your gaze with his. "I hated you. I hated you for every song that came on the radio reminding me. I hated Hawkins and everyone in it. But most of all, I hated myself for believing. That's what you did to me, Eddie. You made me hate myself."

"I’m so sorry, doll," his words barely crest the silence, as his gentle hand cradles your jaw.

His touch is hot, but inside you, a coldness lingers–inside you’re stone. "You kissed me, and then you left me. You knew how I felt."

"I know. I know. I’m sorry." He steps closer, trying to pull your rigid form into his arms, lips brushing your temple. "You don’t even know how much. I’ll spend the rest of my life apologizing. But you’re wrong. It all mattered. I did care. That kiss..it’s the reason…" He pulls back and looks into your eyes, "You knew me, you always did, but there were things I couldn’t tell you. Things I couldn’t admit to myself, how scared and angry I was."

Your head shakes as you swallow hard. "You're not even real!" You shout in his face, your fingers clutching the doorknob behind you. Spinning, you tug hard, but his hand slams against the door above your head keeping it shut.

"Stop, doll," he pleads, but the push-pull intensifies. You're no match for his strength. "Stop it!" He yells, his hand pushes on your shoulder, turning you to face him. Anger flashes in his eyes, and his cheeks flush.

"The boy I knew could never have done that." Your shoulder jerks, breaking his hold as you attempt to turn away again.

His fingers wrap around the side of your neck, keeping you in place. "That boy could never have given you what you wanted. He wouldn’t have had the first clue how to handle you."

"Is that why you’re back?" You ask, still defiant even as his thumb presses into your throat, tipping your head to meet his gaze. "Dragging this all up again, ruining my life? Because you do?"

"Damn right, I do." His words are a gravelly assertion, barely escaping before his mouth descends toward yours. For a heartbeat, the world pauses, the space between charged with past promises, until your mouths finally meet — urgent and fierce. You part your lips eagerly, tongues finding their way together in a hungry and unapologetic dance. The firm pressure of his commanding lips moving in sync with yours is a spark, igniting a flame that seems to spread with each touch. His scruff is a rasp against your skin, a pleasant roughness that contrasts with the smoothness of his kiss. He tastes like cinnamon and a hint of coffee. The scent of clove and cedar envelopes your senses, leaving you lightheaded as fire licks through your body. This kiss is the culmination of years of longing, swelling and crashing like an orchestral finale. Instruments unite in a tumultuous crescendo, echoing the mighty crash of a wave against the shore.

Minutes slip away, yet your greedy mouths remain desperate. The room falls into a hushed stillness, save for the sharp intakes of breath and the sensuous wet slide of lips gliding against each other. Your fingers gently tangle in the soft waves at the nape of his neck, evoking a low, guttural groan that mingles with your shared breath when you tug. The kisses seem endless, broken only by fleeting gasps of air, compelling you to pull each other closer, savoring every taste. His hands trace the graceful curves of your body, touching every inch as they follow a path beyond your hips and ass, seizing the back of your thighs. With a firm grasp, he lifts you. Pressing you against the unyielding door, gasping as he positions you just how he wants — aligning himself hot and hard against your center.

"Fuck," he growls against your lips as his hips roll, igniting fireworks through your body. Your eyes flutter shut, and colors burst against the darkness – a kaleidoscope exploding behind your lids.

As he nips at the plush of your bottom lip, teeth grazing in a tender claim, a muted buzz begins in your bag—a sharp, insistent sting—that yanks you from the haze back into the real world. His eyes remain closed when you pull away. He leans closer, chasing your mouth, but the moment is already shattered.

Your stomach plummets in a tight coil of regret as the harsh reality of your actions sets in. His kiss, once sweet, now tastes like the ash of betrayal. A distressed whimper escaping your throat has him finally looking at you, shock written clearly across his features. Slowly, he releases you, your body sliding against his until the flat of your feet meets the floor. He takes a step back, hesitating, swallowing before he starts, "Doll —"

"No." You shake your head, your hands covering your mouth. The gold band on your fourth finger is a cool scorch against your swollen lips. "I have to go." You spring into motion, rushing to the couch to gather your bag.

"Stay, and we can talk about this," he implores, one hand moving to his hip as the other rakes through his hair.

"Please don’t," you plead, "Don’t ask me for anything else." You swing the strap over your shoulder. "I just ch–" But the word stays stuck in your throat as your eyes swim with tears of regret.

His face falls, and he tries to argue, "It's not your fault, okay? I kissed you."

"Eddie—"

"You didn't do anything wrong. It was me," he insists, frustration in his voice as you scrub your face with your hands. "I don't want you driving when you're upset."

"I'm sorry," you say with an aching heart, pushing past him and closing the door behind you.

The sidewalk blurs under your feet as you race to your car. Fat raindrops splatter against the concrete like a spray of gunfire. Each one a cold, wet slap against your skin, snapping you back to reality. The sky chooses this moment to crack open, unleashing a torrent that feels personal. Your car comes into view, a bright orange ticket flapping under the wiper like a flag of defeat. Perfect. Just perfect.

With hands slick from the rain, you fumble with your keys before throwing yourself into the driver’s seat. Snatching the ticket from under the wiper as you go and crumpling it into your fist, stuffing it into the glovebox to be dealt with later. The downpour drums on the roof, enclosing you in a watery cocoon as you search through your bag for your phone. A missed call from Steve and a text reminding you about the dry cleaning. You spill the contents of your messenger onto the passenger seat, pens and lip gloss tumbling into the footwell. "Shit!" The word is a half-sob as you clutch the receipt marked with today's hours in unforgiving black ink.

Glancing at the clock on your dash, it hits you with the subtlety of a wrecking ball– six minutes until closing. It might as well be in another time zone, given the snarled rush hour traffic and the river that the streets have become. The car roars to life as you pull out, tires hissing on wet asphalt, windshield wipers barely keeping up with the deluge. Your skin still sings with Eddie’s touch, but it's the burgeoning storm of words—cheater, adulterer, betrayer—mixed with the soft hazel of Steve’s disappointed eyes that tattoo themselves across your conscience. This is the unforgivable sin and you can't undo it, but you'll be damned if you don't at least try.

You're double-parked now, hazards blinking a frantic rhythm. The 'CLOSED' sign on the dry cleaner's door mocks you as you rattle the unrelenting metal handle. "Please, please, please," you whisper, pounding on the uncaring glass, your pleas unheard, bouncing off the empty shadows within. A car horn cuts through the rain — a harsh, impatient blare. "What the fuck, lady?" The other driver yells, uncaring of your predicament.

"I'm moving, I'm moving!" The words are a rain-soaked shout as you slosh back to your car, drenched and utterly defeated.

With a turn of the key, your car growls to life, another angry horn sounding off as you pull into traffic, carelessly cutting off a Yellow Cab in your haste. Rainwater drips from your hair, soaking your shirt. Even with the heater set to blast, it does little against the chill that has settled deep in your bones. Down the road, a bright blue sign glows like a beacon, and you jerk the steering wheel, the car fishtailing as you skid into the lot.

The pharmacy's fluorescent lights are too bright and too sterile as you grab a small bottle of mouthwash off the shelf in the travel section and wait in line to pay, the store's generic electronic music grating against your already frayed nerves. Outside, you stand on the corner, swishing and spitting the minty liquid onto the sidewalk, repeating the process, trying to cleanse more than just your mouth. A passerby wrinkles their nose at you from under their umbrella. "This is Chicago! You've seen worse!" You snap, arms thrown up in exasperation while the rain and your regrets mingle on the cold pavement.

With trembling fingers, you pull the cardigan you had left at Stax off the back of your office chair. Shrugging it on, the material dampens from your wet t-shirt but offers a little warmth. Your phone buzzes as you settle at your desk — five missed calls from Eddie and four texts. The roar of the heavy rain and being buried deep in your bag had muffled its sound, not that you would have picked up.

Eddie: Answer the phone, doll!

Eddie: Look, I need to know that you’re okay.

Eddie: I swear to Christ if you don’t pick up.

Eddie: Okay, have it your way. I’m driving to your place.

What? No! Your thumb presses the call button, and it rings twice before it connects. There’s no hello, just the slight hum of an engine and the rain pelting glass.

“I’m okay,” you breathe into your phone, “I didn’t go home. I’m at my office.”

Your heart drums in your ears with each second of silence. Your eyes flutter shut, relief flooding you when he finally responds, an exhale loosening the tension in your chest. His voice resonates in a dark rumble through the phone, "We need to talk."

“I….I know,” your voice wavers as you wipe your nose on the back of your hand. “I just need a minute here, Ed. Can you give me some time?”

The rhythmic blink of the turn signal punctuates his heavy sigh. “Yeah. Alright. But doll,” he pauses as the sound of water splashing against his vehicle mingles with the whoosh of passing traffic, “You’re not running away from this. And trust me, the irony of that statement isn’t lost on me. Think about what I said, okay? I meant it all.”

With a tight throat, you whisper, "I have to go," and disconnect the call.

Placing your phone on the desk, you dab the raindrops off your face with a tissue. The quiet of the office wraps around you, its half-dark corners and the soft glow from the kitchen creates a place for you to breathe and be still. The raging storm and the ticking wall clock echoing in the solitude do little to distract you from thoughts you’re not ready to face. With a deep breath, you lift the lid of your laptop, seeking refuge in the normalcy of work as you coax the screen back to life.

The song erupts from the speaker on the edge of your desk, a jolt of sound shattering the silence like an accusation. You grab it with fumbling fingers, scrambling to press the off button. The sudden calm is unsettling. Covering your face with your hands, you let out a sound that is equal parts sob and hysterical laughter, wondering how you ended up in this situation. With your elbows pressed against the wooden top, you bury your face in your hands, muffling the sobs that mix with laughter — the tragedy of your life bordering on absurd.

“What are you doing here, kid?”

The gruff voice cuts through your introspection, startling you for a second time. "Jesus Christ, Hopper," you gasp, clutching at your chest, "You scared the hell out of me."

Hopper's dry remark floats from behind you, hands buried in his pockets. "Guess we're even since Mr. Brightside nearly sent me into cardiac arrest."

“You listen to The Killers?” You ask, a note of surprise in your voice as he drags a chair from the next desk, its wheels screeching faintly against the concrete floor.

“You kids really think Jim Croce is the only thing on my playlist?” A chuckle escapes him as he eases into the chair beside you, “Now, tell me what’s wrong.”

You muster a puzzled look, shaking your head in feigned denial.

“I need you to take me off the studio opening,” you interrupt, folding your arms across your chest like a barrier.

“We’ve been over this. Unless you have some good reason–”

“Eddie kissed me,” the confession slips out, eyes widening in shock at your admission, hands flying to cover your mouth.

His brows rocket upwards, then draw together, his gaze sharpening, voice dipping into a low, protective timbre, “What do you mean he kissed you?”

“No,” you clarify, squeezing your eyes shut and pressing an elbow against the desk, massaging your temple to soothe the forming headache. “I kissed him. We kissed. It was mutual.”

Hopper reclines, the chair creaking under his weight, his gaze level and unreadable. “I’m disappointed in you, kid. I never thought I’d be having a conversation like this with you.”

“I know. I know. Steve…” you trail off, eyes drifting to the photo of Steve on your desk, the words catching in your throat.

Hopper leans in, his hand cutting through the air. “I don’t give a fuck about Harrington,” each word gains in volume, “This is about you and everything you’ve worked for. It’s 2012. That kind of nonsense ends careers. Do you know what can happen if he complains?”

Your eyes roll. “He’s not going to complain, Hop.”

“You don’t know that,” he counters, his head shaking off your naivety. “These things like this have a way of coming out. That was an amateur move. Where is your professionalism? What were you thinking?”

“I’m sorry,” you mutter, lowering your eyes. “We have more of a history than I let on.”

“Well, stop the presses. I couldn’t have figured that one out.” His voice lowers in resignment, “Maybe this is my fault–”

“No–”

Your mouth drops open, disbelief palpable. “You're still going to make me finish?”

“Damm, right I am,” Hopper affirms, not missing a beat. "If I hand your work off, it raises questions. Big, messy questions. What do I tell downtown when they ask why the piece was reassigned? Unless you’re ready to come clean to Harrington?”

Your lip goes between your teeth as your head shakes.

“I thought so.” Hopper leans back in his chair, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. "This could be both our necks," he mutters, concern filling his voice.

Your head shakes, but your determination is clear. "It won't."

“It better not. I don’t want to hear another word about it until that last story is on my desk. Are we clear?”

Your jaw clenches, the reality of the situation hitting hard. "Crystal."

Hopper's gaze remains fixed on you, ensuring his point has been made. "Good," he says, his voice softening, "Now go on, get out of here. Deal with whatever mess you've got going on. Just make sure it's sorted by Monday."

Your key slides into the lock and you turn it slowly, the tumblers falling into place with a series of soft clicks. You pause, leaning your forehead against the chill of the metal door, grappling with a rising queasiness that sours your stomach.

A wave of home's warmth engulfs you, mingled with the earthy aroma of herbs and roasting potatoes. The vibrant strains of Queen accompany Steve's honeyed tones floating down the hall from the kitchen.

"Welcome home, Ace. I was beginning to wonder where you were," his voice, laced with a touch of concern, greets you, “Busy day? Did you write me a Pulitzer?”

Your messenger bag slides from your shoulder, giving into gravity with a loud smack against the hardwood.

His voice grows nearer, warmer as he moves down the hall, the floor lightly creaking with each footfall. “I swung by the Athenian Room, grabbed us Chicken Kalamata, and I have a bottle of chardonnay breathing.”

That dish — your absolute favorite. Your heart sinks further, receding behind your ribcage, unworthy of his care or devotion.

He stops short when he rounds the corner into the foyer, taking you in, your disheveled state reflected in his eyes.

"I didn’t get the dry cleaning," you admit in a low murmur, struggling to keep your voice steady. "I was... too late."

For a heartbeat, he's silent, but his eyes remain tender, brimming with concern. “Hey, that's alright, Ace. I'll just skip the gym in the morning and swing by the cleaners before work. Are you okay?”

Traces of the day find a path down your cheeks as you sniffle, drawing the cardigan tighter around you like a shield. "I got caught in the storm."

“Did you forget your coat?” He asks drawing closer as you give a small nod. His hands slide up your biceps, continuing on to wrap around you. “You're frozen.” He uses his thumb to lift your chin. “How about a hot shower, yeah? I'll keep dinner warm. You'll feel better after you eat.” His mouth begins to near yours, but you turn your face away.

"I think I'm coming down with something," you manage to say, your lies teetering atop your mounting guilt. "My throat is sore."

Concern etches his features, his brows knitting together as he adjusts, pressing his lips to your forehead. “You don't feel hot.”

Pulling away, you press your face into his shoulder. "I think I'll just shower and go to bed," you whisper, your voice muffled.

“If that's what you want,” he replies, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head, though his tone is threaded with disappointment. “Go on up and I'll bring you some water and a couple of Tylenol.”

“Thanks, Steve,” you say, stepping away with a weight in your chest. “I'm really sorry.”

“Don't worry about it.” He waves off your apology, his smile faint but sincere. His arms fold over his chest as he turns back toward the kitchen.

As you climb the stairs, the music snaps off, replaced with the distant roar of a sports game, the announcers' voices carrying up the stairwell.

The embrace of the hot shower strips away the cold clinging to your skin, but it cannot wash away the sting of regret. Sliding down the slick tiles, you draw your knees to your chest, allowing your tears to meld with the streams of water spiraling towards the drain.

Your life is a song made up of the choices you've made, each one a different note that sounded so sure at the time, but now the harmony seems slightly off-key. The steam rises around you like a specter. It's the quiet between the chords. And you're there, just listening, trying to figure out if there's a note you'd change or if every single one was necessary. As you nestle into bed, sleep tugging like an insistent tide amidst the drift into dreams, one truth resonates clear– the music plays on.

AN: Thanks for sticking with this series. I know it's a long one and I took a while to update. To be honest, I lost a little confidence in my writing but I still feel like this a story worth telling. This is my love letter to Eddie. My way of giving him an ending he never had a shot at. I'm going to see it through. Do me a solid and leave a comment & reblog. My asks are always open. Your song suggestions continue to bring this story to life. XOXO - Jelly

Song 5 - Coming soon! For notifications follow @tornupdates

Listen to Fake Plastic Trees here.

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kaiserposting · 2 years ago

Text

Yami Bakura — Not Exactly An Elegiac Romance

PAIRING: Yami Bakura/Reader WORD COUNT: 6.3k TYPE: Crackfic, Minimal fluff, Canon Divergence WARNING(S): This takes place in an AU where post-canon Bakura is Kind of rehabilitated. Like he's not a good person but he's not actively trying to destroy the world and etc. He's going through a version of peaking in high school where the peak in question was threatening humanity and he's microdosing on reliving it through being a major pest

You would have to be insolent not to realize there's something off about this man. It's not a matter of deceit — his profile makes his mental instability clear as day to you.

Your problem could be your stupidity, but maybe it’s your lack of impulse control, but either way it’s something cardinal and you can’t seem to shake its roots.

Sparing his bio another glance, you let the words sink in and eat away your frontal lobe like they did the first time you read them.

Bakura, 20

I Am Not Here To Fuck Around. I Am An Ancient Evil Spirit Of A Thief And I've Been Mad For Thousands of Years. I Need A Ride Or Die Willing To Put Their Lives On The Line Or Get Sent To The Shadow Realm Assisting Me. You Must Handle My Cunning Be Willing To Feed Pigeons At The Park Laxatives Among Other Minor Evils... Serious Inquiries Only.

Then you look at his picture. You zoom in close enough to count the pixels in your search for any kind of imperfection, though unfortunately, you have to admit he's the most handsome man you've come across on this app, with sharp features and long white hair (even if strangely styled). He's striking in a way that makes you second guess your decision to ignore his existence.

Unsure of what to do, you switch back and forth between the description and gallery tabs, thinking, Hot, insane, hot, insane, hot, insane.

Well, it's not a given he'll swipe back on you. Maybe you could just... approve him since he's so good-looking, and then you'll move on with your day, and nothing will come of it-

Fuck.

You furrow your eyebrows immediately after sliding your fingers across the screen. Fuck. Seems like he liked your profile before you got to his. Now it's a match.

You let out a curt laugh. What's the worst that could happen?

The worst that could happen is arranging a date with him, apparently. After two weeks of no messages which led you to forgetting his existence, five flop dates with your other matches from the app, and nothing to smile about in your life, you somehow ended up getting called a mortal and being invited to a public park.

You show up ten minutes early with your inner discussion of Hot VS Insane still going on.

Something rustles in a bush nearby. Startled, you stop debating whether this was a good idea and look around until your date appears out of thin air with a leaf stuck in his hair almost immediately. With too much nonchalance, he throws it off, self-content expression not wavering.

"Were you, uh, were you hiding in the bushes?“

"Leaving you waiting would be inconsiderate, would it not?" he asks with a conceited smile, like what he said is something to be smug about.

You blink at him. Levelly, "That doesn't really answer my question."

"A guy like me is used to lurking in the shadows," he says, as if that's supposed to mean anything. For good measure, he throws in a somewhat sinister laugh at the end of his sentence.

You continue staring at him. "Okay," you settle on, figuring there's nothing else you could say to that. "Your hair looks wonderful for someone who was hiding in the bushes."

"I don't care," says Bakura with a grin before grabbing you by the wrist. You stumble after him while he drags you along to the best of his twinkish ability.

"Where are we going?" you ask with a hint of anxiety. What if he's a crazy kidnapper? Shouldn't he at least try to get to know you before attempting a felony? It's way too soon for any of this. You feel unappreciated, but also too shocked to try fighting him off.

"I'm trying to show you something."

"Is that something an abandoned warehouse?"

"What? Of course not. I haven’t done that in years."

"... What."

Bakura doesn't seem to care to elaborate on this, at least not when he finally has you where he wants you to be. Gesturing towards a motorcycle with a flair of drama, he smiles at you like a lunatic again, offering no explanation.

"That's great." You wince at the sound of your own unenthusiasm.

His lips twist downwards. "Are you not impressed?"

"Is it yours?"

"And why wouldn't it be?"

"Because it has a huge shiny purple plate that says Marik Ishtar on it."

With a vacant expression, Bakura continues surveying you, until he bursts out into another fit of wild laughter, though this time it's more deranged. "Yes... You make a fair point."

Your eyebrows almost fuse with your hairline out of incredulity. You want to ask him what's going on, but something tells you he won't be much help.

On cue, his phone rings. You watch him fumble around with it, almost like he's not sure how to use it, or like his fingers don't belong to him. Then a condescending look contorts his face, most likely reserved for whoever's calling him. "Marik."

"So the bike really isn't yours, then?" you chime in.

"Shut up [Y/n], no one's asking you," Bakura barks out, making you raise your hands in surrender and lean away from him.

"Bakura, stop stealing my motorcycle! I know it was you! You always do this stupid shit," the other person — clearly whoever Marik Ishtar is — yells out. In his frustration, he's speaking loud enough for you to make out what he's saying when you’re not even seeking to eavesdrop.

The smile on Bakura's face doesn't fall in the slightest. It grows bigger, oozing arrogance. "Well, sorry. I borrowed it to ride my DATE around."

"That's not what 'borrow' means," Marik argues. Bakura frowns just this once. You assume because that's not the answer he was looking for. "Besides, you don't even know how to ride it."

Bakura rolls his eyes like a teenager getting scolded by his parents in a sitcom. "You're so boring," he says. "Don't drive without a license this, don't take candy from children that. Grow up! Give me a break."

"You don't even like candy, Bakura."

"And people don't enjoy getting mind controlled by millennium items to win children’s card games."

"Whatever. I've atoned," Marik says dismissively. Meanwhile, you're gawking at the mention of brainwashing. Did you get involved with a LARPer? Or the only other option that could be possibly any worse — two LARPers? "My motor's got a tracker now because of you. So, I’m afraid to say we’ll be seeing each other soon."

"Heh, heh. My displeasure." With that, Bakura hangs up, a creepy smile coming over him. "Alright, we're going for a drive."

"No, we're not. I'm leaving. You keep doing whatever you're doing."

With no warning, he throws you on the seat and places himself behind you before forcing the safety helmet on your head. He's hugging you stiffly so you can't escape, and you realize he's actually kind of holding you hostage, which is also somehow the most predictable thing that has happened today. "You ride then if you think you're so much better than me."

After contemplating the events of the last twenty minutes while Bakura twists the key, turning the motorcycle on, you glance at him from the corner of your eye. "Have you ever considered taking medication?"

He deadpans, "Yes, I'm claimed to be anemic. Now drive."

"You're not the sharpest tool in the shed, are you?"

Before he can retort with anything snarky, you hit the brake and speed straight down the road.

Bakura's hair whips around and goes inside his mouth, rendering him speechless.

Once he spits it all out, he yells, "Marik really likes this thing. You should scratch it a little."

"You know, we're supposed to be getting to know each other, but right now I know more about Marik Ishtar than I know about you," you exclaim through the air whisking by your head at rapid speed, making it hard for you to hear.

"Oh, don't be sad. We can play Naked Kill and break each other's legs later," he says tauntingly to satirize his idea of a sentimental night, you presume, before you make a harsh swerve and he rams his head into your helmet.

"I really don't know what you're talking about."

"Clearly planning a romantic night." Apparently, mild concussions also don’t stop him from running his mouth, nor do they rid him of his sardonic undertone. With the way today’s going, you’re thinking you might benefit from blunt force head trauma yourself.

"You're a fucking weirdo," you tell him. "I should crash the bike and kill us both."

"You can't total it! It's Marik's favorite," Bakura hisses out.

"Is that the only thing which concerns you about my plan?!"

You're about to cut another corner when some other guy drives towards you at full speed. It's going to be a head on collision.

"Moron! Get off the road. You clearly don't know how to drive!" You shake your fist at him indignantly.

"That's ironic, coming from someone who's driving my stolen bike."

"Shit," you mumble, realizing you might die a criminal, though you don't sound too upset about it.

Avoiding each other narrowly, you don't pay Marik any mind when he takes a U-Turn to keep following you. "Bakura, why's a man wearing tons of fake gold chasing after us?!"

"Will you two stop it and get off my case?"

"And for the record, it's not fake!" Marik insists, hot on your trail.

"Sure it isn't," you call back sarcastically before parking the motorcycle in the first convenient spot you can see.

"Why'd you stop?" Bakura asks, not bothering to hide the immature disappointment in his tone. "We were just getting to the fun part."

You sigh because words have failed you many times today.

The guy you’re sure is Marik pulls up not much later. When he takes his own helmet off, you can't help but glance between the two of them with mild curiosity. Bakura seems unreasonably happy to meet him considering the circumstances, with the circumstances being the probability of facing serious jail time.

Marik looks at you impassively before commenting, "Oh. It's a different one again." Then he refocuses his attention towards Bakura. "You need to stop doing this. You're already making me regret moving and I've been in Japan for less than a month."

"You're letting little old me affect you this much?" he asks with a mocking chuckle.

"You're a pest. How many times does someone need to send you to hell before you actually stop showing up?"

“I thought you’re a goody-two-shoes and don’t do that ‘skinning people alive’ thing anymore?” Bakura challenges, which only serves to make the other man grit his teeth.

You get the impression you're hearing something you're not supposed to be witnessing at all. Regardless, you clear your throat with a very fake cough and extend your hand towards Marik. "Erm. It's nice to meet you?"

"No, it's not," Marik says, despite shaking it and giving you a pleasant smile. "Your name’s [Y/n], right? I heard Bakura verbally abusing you over the phone," he continues conversationally.

"Yeah, that's me."

Bakura wants to point at both of you accusingly and kindly inform you you're not supposed to be getting along — at least you weren't in his imagined version of this occasion. Though he figures that'd only make him look stupid, so instead he laughs again and wraps his arm around your shoulders. "That wasn't verbal abuse. If you say it like that again, you might just hurt my feelings."

Opting to not pay him any mind, you continue engaging Marik in idle chatter and pointless small talk. And Marik, he doesn’t seem all that bothered by your presence. He might be enjoying himself, which only upsets Bakura more. Don’t you understand you’re the ones supposed to be feeling uncomfortable? Or does he have to tell you so you can play your part?

Maybe that would be an alternative if he was a more efficient communicator. Instead, as a woman holding a bouquet passes him by, he stretches a little and plucks out the centerpiece — a large, red rose — before presenting it to you with a smirk. “For you, love.”

Your face almost shrivels inside itself like an asshole. You think it might be the nickname, but it’s also the way you recognize the gesture really isn’t for you. It’s easy to tell by the subtle hint of him not paying attention to you at all and instead ogling Marik for the slightest twitch, trying to detect any betrayal of a reaction. Also, you stabbed your finger with a thorn while taking it from him, which honestly isn’t putting you in a better mood.

Bakura gets nothing besides Marik pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re hopeless.”

“You,” he scoffs, pointing at you. “Don’t make that face! I was trying to be nice.”

“We met an hour ago,” you remind. “And most of that time, I was breaking traffic laws. It’s way too early for me to be your ‘love’ or to receive your ‘roses’, if that’s even their real name.”

“What would you like, then?”

“Your silence.”

Sneering at you, Bakura crosses his arms then and turns up his nose like a snob. “Don’t be foolish, the likes of you could never boss me around.”

You’re not sure why, but Bakura is walking you home. Actually, he’s not really walking you home since you wouldn’t have allowed that, and you don’t think him knowing your address would be a good thing, but either way, he’s following you. Instead of calling for help like any rational person would, you turn towards him and ask the one thing that’s been on your mind since The Situation. “So, was it a recent break up?”

Bakura halts and glares. He turns his head around so suddenly you think he might have pulled a neck muscle. “What are you talking about?”

“Come on! That was obviously your ex you’re not over. Why else would you act like this?” While elaborating, you muster up the most innocent smile you’re capable of, pretending you’re not aware of how presumptuous you’re being right now. You might break a boundary or two, but he’s also tailing you home, which is pretty invasive.

By the look he’s giving you, you can tell he wants to squash you like an insect. You’re not sure if striking a nerve was the right call, but then again, you don’t seem to make reliable decisions lately, if ever.

“For the record,” Bakura spits out, before switching towards smugness and turning away from you with another one of his creepy grins and shifty-eyed expressions, “I AM over him. I’m just doing this to irritate him because I hate him.”

Your eye twitches at his transparent lie, but you don’t push it. “I see.”

It doesn’t take you long to reach your house after that. Instead of bidding you farewell like a normal person would, though, Bakura smirks and takes some sort of dramatic stance. His posture stands way too stiff and straight for it to be natural. The parting words he chooses for you are:

“Lovely day, right?” followed by exaggerated laughter.

You peek at him through the door, looking quite unamused. “Goodbye, Bakura.” And you don’t miss the way he switches to (somewhat murderously) staring at the ground with a distant stare after your dismissal either.

“Why are you hanging outside my house like a creep?!” you yell out through the window, eyes still blurry with sleepiness.

“I’m not very good at texting,” Bakura says. Again, he seems pleased with himself and his words despite them being embarrassing. Still, you wouldn’t assume this man to have even a shred of self-awareness, considering the way he conducts himself.

“Alright,” you tell him. “I’m going back to eat stale bread with shitty butter on it. You keep it pushing.”

“No.” Bakura raises his index finger at you suddenly. “We’re going out on a date. I hear you mortals call it brunch.”

Well, that sounds more like a demand than an invitation, first of all.

You put your hand over your mouth, trying to hide your amusement. Why did… he say it like that? All he can do is watch you with tears streaming down your face as you try to pretend you’re not having some kind of laughing fit.

“Are you paying?” you ask him finally.

“No,” Bakura replies. “Heh, heh, heh, I would never!”

“Lightning and curses, crud, foiled again, etc.”

The moment you set foot inside the specific location Bakura picked, he waves at someone in greeting while giggling ominously under his breath and your world shatters. Mainly because you’ve had enough of his acquaintances. Or maybe you’ve just had enough of him, even if you would have to begrudge and admit he’s entertaining.

Marik is a nice guy, you know? He seemed well-adjusted, at least for someone who willingly went out with Bakura.

It’s a boy and a girl, and after Bakura introduces you, you come to find out their names are Anzu and Yugi. Anzu appears confused at your presence and your lack of desire to run away screaming, meanwhile Yugi just says, “Awesome that you’ve found a friend, Bakura.”

“Sure. I’ve found an amazing friend,” he answers somewhat mockingly before sliding closer towards you, observing you in a manner which you can only describe as lecherous. God, this guy’s so annoying. Marik’s right.

You scoff. “Don’t look at me like that. Friend.”

“Sure, friend. I won’t.”

“I’m glad to hear that… friend.”

“Why do they keep calling each other ‘friend’ like that?” Yugi does his best attempt to whisper, but you can make out what he’s saying.

Then Anzu’s answer, as discreet as she seems to think she is being, comes out even louder. “I think Bakura’s insinuating they’re more than friends.”

Yugi gasps. “No way!”

“Do you think he’s holding this person hostage? Or maybe they were raised underground like Marik and don’t know any better?” she suggests.

“I don’t know. They don’t seem to be intimidated by him. Maybe we should be happy for them?”

“I hope you know me and my FRIEND can hear you,” Bakura grunts, turning the pair’s attention towards him again. Anzu leans away further into her seat when she catches sight of his scowl.

“Are we getting this brunch or not?” you interrupt, sounding annoyed. “I got dragged out of bed for this.”

Anzu and Yugi glance at each other for one prolonged moment until they agree it’s maybe a good idea to order something. The atmosphere remains tense, like neither of them particularly wants to be around him.

He makes it worse by trying to feed you croissants in front of everyone. With an evil glint in his eye, he hovers it in front of your mouth, though you don’t react like a romance movie protagonist would. Instead of parting your mouth and closing your eyes, you stare at him in confusion while he brings it closer to your lips, as if to tempt you.

“What do you w-”

Seizing the opportunity, Bakura shoves the whole thing. You choke on the croissant and think about how much you hate fucking French people. You also wonder if Bakura is French for doing this to you.

Anzu panics, scandalized that Bakura would go back to attempting murder in public. You hear a mix of her So much for changing! with Yugi’s Oh no! tangling into word diarrhea, but you’re too busy dying to pay them any mind. Your ‘friend’ watches the scene with glee.

After some struggle — and everyone suffering from Bystander Syndrome or something, because no one even pretends to care for your predicament — you manage to spit it out. There’s drool running down your chin, and you try not to gargle on your own saliva because getting strangled by a pastry is already embarrassing enough.

With a broad smile, Bakura picks up the croissant you conveniently threw up by the wet edge and dangles it in front of Yugi and Anzu now, as an offering. “Anyone gonna finish that?”

“No thanks,” Yugi denies politely, still gazing at all his companions guilelessly, even smiling at you and the crumbs of croissant near the corner of your mouth, eyes clouded while you try to recover your signs of life.

“Hell no,” Anzu denies before grabbing Yugi by the wrist and dragging him away from the crime scene (brunch). “Let’s get out of here. Bakura’s doing weird things again.”

…

There’s a short stalemate, but after it passes — when you’re well enough to speak — you shift towards Bakura, nose almost brushing his. “You know,” you start, curling up your lips, “when I said goodbye, that implied I don’t want to see you anymore.”

“Come on. Wasn’t it hilarious watching them be uncomfortable?”

Yes, it was a little funny, from what you could remember through the fog of your health hazard. But you’ll never tell him that.

The third time you go on a date with him, between the few times a week he makes it a routine to stand outside your house and make small talk through the window (“I read on an astrology website that Sagittarius is apparently the most evil zodiac sign.” “Did you know the occultism of the past is the science of the future?” and the like), you think it’s going to be normal. It’s not a surprise double date, and there are no motorcycles in sight, and you’re doing something as innocent as going to the arcade. It can’t go wrong, you don’t see it.

You’re beginning to think your problem isn’t that you’re a moron, or even your impulsivity. Maybe you’re naïve, or perhaps you secretly crave the same chaos he does.

Everything leading up to it — the key affair — is uneventful.

He uses some more of his small talk skills on you (“Recently I learned ducks become cannibals when they’re bored.” “Wouldn’t it be fucked up if I had a knife right now and you had nowhere to run?” “No, seriously, wouldn’t it be fucked up?” “Marik likes getting tickled behind his ear. It’s kind of off-putting.” “Actually, I use conditioner. I hope you don’t think anyone wakes up looking this good.” and the like) on the way there. You’re not sure if you’re enjoying it or not, but soon enough, that seems to become irrelevant.

It’s always the stupid fucking claw machine, ruining everything in your life… Your life which has been full of pain and claw machine violence.

You spot him before Bakura does, and he’s easy to recognize.

Yugi from the damned double date and his star-shaped hair with crazy colors in it. He’s hovering over that apparatus of doom, doing his own thing. Determined not to let them be aware of each other, your gaze shoots away from him immediately.

“I want to play a shooting game,” Bakura once again demands more than he requests, but you don’t mind his pick, so you don’t argue with him about it for once. And then he freezes. And then he lets out one of those annoying laughs he does, and your jaw ticks.

“Bakura, don’t bother Yugi. Please.”

“That’s clearly not Yugi, it’s Atem,” he tells you with a pout, like this is information you were supposed to know.

You narrow your eyes at him. “Okay, fine. Please don’t bother Atem.”

“I won’t bother him.” You’re too quick to feel relief when he claims that, though. He shoves his fists deep into the pockets of his trench coat, and somehow hanging around him so often has made you stop questioning that fashion choice. “We’re just going to have a bit of friendly fun.”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but your friendly fun is a little sadistic.”

“Only a little? You wound me,” he says with a faux saddened expression which makes you want to punt him.

He notices your frustration, and that brings a big smile to his face. Then he remembers he has a mission and strides up to this Atem fellow who looks just like Yugi. Mulling it over, you wonder if they’re twins. You also wonder why Bakura gets a kick out of tormenting men who don’t stand any taller than 5’3.

Considering you don’t want to get involved in this, you choose to stay on the sidelines and don’t follow him. Bakura and Atem seem to get into a heated discussion with many flamboyant gestures being thrown around, and at one point Bakura puffs his chest and points in your direction with a sense of superiority. Atem scrutinizes you with mild curiosity, but the moment ends quickly.

You can’t determine what they’re doing, but you think they’re competing over the claw machine. Except Atem wins a few plushies while Bakura wastes coin after coin only to receive nothing. He’s probably going to develop the same claw-machine-bankruptcy trauma as you.

Atem crosses his arms, and you assume this is when he’s going to declare his win, but Bakura doesn’t let it happen. No, the way he goes about interrupting his triumph is way overdramatic, in your opinion, because he punches through the protective glass with his bare hand. Then he starts throwing everything he grabs in there at you and mumbling something about conquest.

Conquest? Is he serious? Everyone saw his ass failing to win even one of these things.

Trying to get him out of his frenzy, you awake from your stupor while Atem watches this clownery with wide eyes and no commentary. “Bakura, stop,” you seethe, shoulders rising to your ears with tension. “Security will take you out of here and your hand is bleeding.”

“Well, take the fucking plushies then! I didn’t shred my skin just for you to throw them on the ground,” he counters, all but shoving his open wound in your face. It looks worse than you imagined.

“Fine, fine, I’ll take them if it’s that important to you,” you grunt in annoyance before collecting his trophies.

And you spend the rest of the day running away and in hiding. Later, when you’re home, you see he ended up on the news. They dub his case ‘Insane Man Throws Tantrum Over Claw Machine Scam’ and you’re mentioned as an ‘accomplice’ and Atem is apparently a ‘witness who refused to testify’.

Sometimes, you kind of hate your miserable existence.

___

This time, Bakura warns you he wants you to meet someone, which gives you hope it’ll go better. After all, the last three times you saw his acquaintances, you weren’t mentally prepared, but this time you’ve been listening to subliminal videos for positive energy and good luck for almost a week.

When he comes to pick you up, the first thing he does is ask you if you kept the plushies from the last date storyline, to which you say yes. You’re not sure what response you expect, but it’s not a squint of his eyes and a menacing grin before he tells you, “That’s good,” in the most intimidating voice possible.

“Yeah,” you trail off, unsure what to make of this.

On the way to his apartment, of course, you’re subjected to more small talk (“The arcade thing was nothing. They’ve never arrested me before.” “A few days ago I watched an avalanche happen in real time up close, and thought of you, and wondered if you’d survive it if you were there. But probably not.” and the like).

The interior isn’t the way you would’ve expected it to be. There are a few horror movie posters — of movies you don’t think are even that good — and a lot of nerdy merch. Your concerns that Bakura is some kind of role-player only grow stronger the more you examine his living space.

There’s also a boy who looks kind of like a smaller, rounder and friendlier version of Bakura, which makes you blink. Another pair of uncannily similar siblings?

Well, he looks nice. He has kind eyes, you think, unlike Bakura who always stares at you with a mix of wickedness and eyeliner. That must be who he wants you to meet, which is a kind of pleasant surprise.

Or at least that’s what you think before the introductions really start and you hear the details.

“So what you’re trying to say is,” you start with an eye twitch, “that this is your twin who’s also younger than you and has a different birthday-” he nods, “-and he calls you Bakura and you call him Bakura, even though you’re brothers, and Bakura isn’t his first name, but it’s your first name. Is that right?”

The… other Bakura is all smiles during this entire, nonsensical explanation.

“Precisely,” he snickers at you.

“Bakura, you have to think I’m lobotomized if you think I’ll believe this bullshit,” you spit, something icy lacing your tone.

“I’m not lying, but if it makes you feel any better, I think you could pass as a lobotomy victim.”

You consider telling him that doesn’t make you feel better at all, but you also figure it’s worthless. This has been a tremendous waste of time. The guy you’ve become attracted to — for some inexplicable reason that probably aligns with mental illness — really doesn’t have any redeeming qualities.

After taking a deep breath, without uttering a word, you tip your chair back until it creaks. And after a pause, you stand up and leave.

Some minutes of confusion without either of them reacting passes, until Ryou asks, “Was it something I said?”

Bakura snarls, “You didn’t say a thing.”

When you first go home, you cry a little, but you’re not sure why. It’s not all-out sobbing and there are no wails or anything — only a few tears streaming down your face. You’re also not heartbroken, or anything stupid like that.

If you have to be honest, you simply feel more like an idiot than usual, and that’s depressing. You thought maybe… finally it’d work out with someone, since you didn’t like any of your dates with anyone else since they were too boring, but now you realize you were a little out of your mind to think you could make it work with someone that dysfunctional. You figure he kept showing up solely to amuse himself.

Perhaps you had a “I can fix him” reaction, and you find it shameful now. To rectify this, you push all the plushies off your bed.

You can cut him off. You’ve always been good at that.

Maybe you’re not good at anything. You don’t know how you even got into this situation. Recounting the events leading up to this doesn’t help you feel any more sane than before.

First, you’d been moping around for a few days at work and dodging Bakura’s borderline illegal attempts to talk to you via trespassing until he understood you don’t want to see him for realsies and left you alone.

Second, you bought an entry ticket to go to an amusement park and pretend you’re eight years old again in a silly attempt to make yourself feel better.

Third, nearing afternoon, you got into line for one of the Ferris wheel rides. It was a long while of waiting, though, so you were one of the few people left for the last turn.

Fourth, in a stroke of unbelievable bad luck, the Ferris wheel stopped working. You’ve been stuck looking out the sliding doors’ windows to pass the time while they try to fix this thing. The sight isn’t even entertaining since your cabin was still near the ground when it malfunctioned.

When, from a distance, you saw a blob of white and… trench coat color in the horde below you; you felt a little sick to your stomach. Still, you figured it was a coincidence until.

Until.

You don’t know how else to say this, but you had to watch Bakura perform an impossible feat of athleticism while amusement park security and employees were screaming and, you assume, swearing at him for doing something so unsafe. It took him some time, but he looked confident in his abilities to pretend he’s King Kong, and he reached your cabin.

Now you’re watching him try to balance himself while gesturing for you to open the door since he’s too busy trying not to get steamrolled into the ground. You avert your gaze and consider it. It doesn’t sound like a good idea, yet you have nothing better to do. And with this conclusion, you do as he requested.

Once Bakura squeezes himself in, he does nothing productive. Crossing your arms, you glare at him while he poses stiffly in front of you, and you get the impression he’s not about to explain himself. Then again, when has he ever explained himself?

Finally, you bite the bullet. “What was so important for you to tell me, that you had to do this?” Your skin is boiling with anger.

“I have nothing important to say,” declares Bakura with a gesture of his hand. Your teeth grind against each other. “I just did it for the thrill.”

Now you want to throw him off of here, but you don’t twitch to do so. Instead, you snap at him. “Can’t you just go bother someone else?!”

“Obviously I can,” he replies in earnest, before realizing standing and sneering down at you is more awkward than it is intimidating. Then he sits on the seat opposite yours and smirks. “It’s just that you’re the one I like.”

“Well, I don’t see it.”

He lets out a ‘huh’ in genuine surprise, which serves to piss you off more. Like he’s been showing you how much he appreciates you all this time or something. You want to analyze his thought process in a lab. With dissection.

Yeah, lots of dissection.

“I’m not that dumb,” you say. “You’ve been using me to make these people you know or whoever they are feel uncomfortable for your own twisted joy.”

“Oh, come on. I didn’t mean anything bad by it after the first time.”

Slouching more, you narrow your eyes at him with a semblance of hatred.

“Okay, fine. I didn’t mean anything bad by it after the second time,” he corrects himself.

“What about that whole thing with Atem at the arcade? And the ridiculous story you told me? That dumb shit almost became my thirteenth reason.”

“Can’t you be a little grateful?” Bakura reproves, with an edge to his tone you don’t like the sound of. “I was giving you presents and trying to introduce you to my family and what-have-you. You’re supposed to value things like that.”

A little speechless by his audacity — as usual — you dig your fingers deep into your forehead, movements almost vicious, possibly trying to massage all memories of him out of your brain. It doesn’t work.

“Was it not entertaining? Be honest.”

“It was, but I’m not gonna settle for being toyed around with just because you happen to be funny twice a day,” you exclaim, dipping your fist into the material of your seat, then burying your face behind your hands. You’re concerned you might burst a blood vessel if this conversation progresses any further. You’re… You’re going to blow a fucking gasket.

“Wh- Listen.”

You peek at him through the cracks between your fingers. “What?”

“I don’t apologize to anyone, but you should forgive me, anyway.”

Cogs turn in your brain. At first you don’t want to do anything besides cuss at him, but mid-grimace you get an idea. “Tell me, then. What do you like about me?”

You admit, in a strange way, he seems hung up on you for a reason you can't understand.

You must be hallucinating now because Bakura’s face goes red a little, and his lips quiver their way out of the perpetual smirk they seem to be stuck in otherwise. “That’s embarrassing!” he denies, like you’re asking him to do something frivolous. Which you are, because you’re both overgrown toddlers.

“Too bad. Seems like you’re not being genuine to me.” You look at your nails, feigning disinterest.

“I like,” he begins, “that you don’t care and just go along with everything like it’s normal. Well, I admit I was being a little cruel at first, but I came to like you, anyway. I thought we were just having a good old time! Is that so wrong?” Bakura turns sarcastic near the end. As if you thought his passivity would last for long.

Is it possible that stealing, self-injury and trying to kill you are this man’s definition of a good old time? Judging by everything you know about him, you can’t say it’s implausible.

“I’ll give you one more chance,” you raise. “But I have conditions.”

Bakura rolls his eyes and pouts, you assume, since he doesn’t relish playing by other people’s rules. “What are they?”

“No motorcycles, or meeting literally anyone you know, or committing any crimes, or any other Bakuraesque shenanigan. I want it to be normal. The next time we hang out has to be normal.”

“I can work with that,” he grunts. Even if you’re killing him a little and these just so happen to be his favorite things, he can tone it down as long as you don’t feel you’re being used.

You two stare at each other in a rare moment of silence and serenity until he raises his eyebrows in contemplation.

“You know, if the next time we spend time together is after they fix the Ferris wheel, we’re going to have to go on the run again.”

#yami bakura x reader #bakura x reader #yugioh x reader #yugioh imagine #one shot

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melshome · 2 years ago

Text

late at night

cw fluff, angst, insomnia characters xiao/aether a/n im still sorry about not uploading only scara :,) heh sorry

As the teacher is announcing the details of the small trip, Aether's mind is somewhere else. He's worrying. Panicking, about what to do about the trip. He needs to go, he knows Lumine would want him to go. He'll just ditch the bath and go out somewhere, while the others do their thing. There! I got it, finally!

Aether crosses his arms on the table, and rests his head on his arms. He's not been able to sleep lately, and it's causing him trouble. He's sleeping in the middle of class, and it's quite annoying. He tries to sleep in the afternoon, but it seems his body is only comfortable sleeping at school.

"AETHER." He lifts his head, and sees Lumine standing next to him, with her arms crossed.

"Yeah Yeah, I'll definitely go on this trip, Lumi.." He says, going back to sleep.

"Oh yipee!~" Lumine goes back to her desk, with Amber and Collei (the two love birds~ ;])

"Aether."

"Yes Xiao?" He doesn't lift his head.

"Are you tired?"

"Yes, I didn't get much sleep yesterday." It was a half lie.

Xiao stands there, before saying good bye and going back to his desk. Aether sighs, closing his eyes, and drifting off into his own little world. "Aether, you need to stop sleeping in class!" Lumine says, opening their front door. Aether groans, taking off his shoes.

"Yeah yeah, I understand Lumine," Aether mumbles, going upstairs to his room.

He places his bag on his desk, and opens his laptop. He goes onto discord, and clicks on the therapy server he's in. He's relived he doesn't need to explain anything, to anyone in this server. He can just talk without being judged.

i-eath-her: I'm still having sleeping problems. I can't seem to fall asleep, and it's bugging me. I tried taking sleeping pills, but I can't take them every single day. I only seem to fall asleep at school, in my classroom.

He goes onto another tab to do some online homework, but he receives a ping in only a few minutes.

acermaple: You have symptoms of insomnia it seems, but you will need to check with a professional to be sure. Never diagnose yourself without a professional. Try sleeping and waking up at the same time, everyday. My friend used to have similar symptoms to yours. He tried that, and he is now sleeping peacefully.

Aether covers his face with his hands, and pushes his hair back. God dammit.. He turns off his laptop, and throws himself on his bed, landing on his stomach. A few minutes of just laying there, he unties his braid. He turns to his back, running his hands through his hair. Aether lets himself hear all the noises he wouldn't usually hear if he was playing Valorant with some of his classmates.

He recently started having no motivation for anything. He deleted Earthly Impact yesterday, but he hasn't deleted Valorant yet. Maybe because Xiao plays it.. Aether doesn't really read much books anymore, as it's hard to find good books he's actually interested in reading. He just listens to music, while trying to fall asleep.

Thump, thump, thump

"Lumi, what is it?" Aether shouts, turning around, facing his window, his back to his door. His bedroom door opens, and closes again.

"Lumine, I TOLD YOU TO KNOC-" Aether freezes right as he's about to continue, when he's facing Xiao's stomach. Xiao sits down on the edge of the bed.

"What are you doing here?" Aether asks, turning back to face the window. Xiao says nothing.

"What are you doing here, Xiao?" Aether asks again, in a more serious tone. He sounds tired, and fed up.

"You told me today, I can come over for the history assessment any time," Xiao says. Aether sits up, muttering something under his breath.

He gets out of bed, and they both begin doing the assessment together. Aether brings some snacks and a drink over. They soon finish their assessment, and then, they just hang out together, while listening to some "Enphyen". Aether doesn't remember much, but he does remember Xiao caressing his hair. "Aether, WAKE UP!" Lumine shakes her brother awake.

"What is it Lumi.." He asks, stretching while he's still on the bed.

"It's the Japanese trip thing today, idiot," Lumine throws a pillow at Aether's face before leaving his room.

He manages to get up, and pack 5 days worth of clothing into his gym bag. The two of them leave the house together, while eating breakfast on the way to the train. For once, Aether wasn't yawning that much as usual.

When they arrive at the train station, everyone is already there. Aether sees Xiao standing up, looking at his direction. Xiao gives a small smile when Aether jogs up to him.

"Good morning Xiao," Aether says, smoothing out his hair.

"Morning."

"By the way, sorry if I fell asleep," Aether's grip on his gym bag handle tightens.

"No worries."

The teacher soon marks the roll, knowing that everyone is now here. They soon board the train, having a whole compartment to themselves. Aether sits with Xiao, Scaramouche and Kazuha. Four people in each little sitting area.

Xiao and Aether on one side, Kazuha and Scaramouche on the other. The four of them play uno, and some truth or dare. But after eating their lunch they bought, the games kind of got boring. So they just did their own thing. Xiao was reading a book on his kindle, Scaramouche and Kazuha playing a game on Scaramouche's phone. Aether was leaning on the window, trying to fall asleep before he gets there.

After a few minutes, Xiao looks up and sees most of the class are sleeping. He turns to his right and sees Aether sleeping. He puts his kindle on the table, and gently, moves Aether's head, so he's sleeping on Xiao's shoulder. Xiao continues reading on his kindle, with Aether sleeping on his shoulder.

"Oi, Aether, get up," Aether feels someone gently slapping his face. Scaramouche is leaning across the table, giving Aether a disgusted look.

"Look at you two lovebirds, disgusting," Scaramouche sits back down.

"Disgusting? Weren't you sleeping on Kazuha's lap, Scara?" One of his friends pops out from the section behind him.

His face turns red. "Why don't you shut up?" Kazuha chuckles, resting his head on his palm, staring at Scaramouche with so much love.

Aether lifts his head from Xiao's shoulder. "Sorry Xiao," he says, stretching his arms. Xiao gives a small nod as he's reading on his kindle. Soon, the whole class arrives at their destination. A small town, which is not that popular, but it has an amazing bathhouse and activities for the students to do. They hop on a bus and go to their little housing place, where they're staying for the 5 days. Their little housing, is also the bathhouse, which is great. The boys in the class are staying in one room and the girls in the other. Each room has a teacher in it, so they won't cause trouble.

"Okay students, today we'll be able to go into the bath, so please get ready at the changing rooms," Mrs. Gunnhilder announces, turning to face Mr. Ragnivindr, who goes off to the show the boys the changing rooms. "Aether, are you not coming?" Kazuha asks Aether, who's still sitting down. Aether doesn't respond, he's panicking.

"Y-yeah.. I will, just go on without me," Aether says. He hears Kazuha leave the room, closing the door behind him. Aether is about to lay on his back, when he feels his head hit something... or someone. He sits up, and turns around, and sees that it's Xiao.

"Ah. Xiao.. Hello, are you not going to the bath thing?" Aether asks, giving his best, normal smile.

"No, I'll keep you company," Xiao says.

"Nah, it's fine. I was planning to go anyways.. I'm just.." Aether says standing up, but he isn't able to finish his sentence. Xiao places a hand on Aether's shoulder, and smiles. A bigger smile this time, not one of those small smiles. It's a smile that says "I'm here for you".

"Aether, what is it? Are you having trouble sleeping? Are you eating enough?" Aether stands there, trying not to frown or give in to any of the emotions he's feeling right now.

Guilt.. Sadness... Anger... He's feeling so much emotions. He feels so glad that someone has noticed. That he doesn't need to keep all this to himself.

Aether wipes his eyes, before running out. He runs, as far as his legs can take him. The sun is still setting, so it's fine. It won't rain, won't it?

"Apparently it's gonna rain around 8.. But it'll only be for today, so the rest of the days, we can have our fun!" Teppei explains.

Aether stops running after a bit, and just stands there, panting. Tears are burning down his face.

Meow~

He turns back, and looks down at the ground, and sees a little grey cat, crouching on the floor. The cat seems to be shivering. Aether gives a small smile at the cat, being crouching down, and trying to approach the cat. He takes off his hoodie, and tries to offer it to the cat. Surprisingly, the cat lets Aether wrap his hoodie around the cat. But soon, he can feel rain drops. Small ones, and then it's suddenly pouring rain, drenching the two. Aether holds the cat, not caring about the rain. He quietly shivers, petting the cat. His white t-shirt is wet now.

Xiao takes a step forward, holding the umbrella above their heads. Aether looks up, and turns pale. Xiao sits down next to Aether on the path, and pets the cat with him. The rain came at the right time, because Aether is crying again.

"Aether.. I'm here for you, please remember that," Xiao says, sounding so.. guilty.

Aether stands up, and so does Xiao. They both silently walk back to the bathouse. Aether gives the cat to the owner of the bathhouse, and soon Xiao and Aether are alone outside in the front. Xiao places his hands on Aether's shoulder and turns him around.

"Aether, I love you. Please, remember I am here for you, no matter what you're going through. If you need any help, please tell me, I will do anything in my power to help you," Xiao puts Aether's head on his shoulder, and lets him pour it all out. All the pain he's been holding to himself, is all let out.

"Xiao.." Aether voice is croaky from all the crying.

"I love you too."

#xiao x aether angst #xiao x aether fluff #xiao x aether #genshin angst #genshin impact fluff #genshin fluff #genshin impact

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noshitbarnes · 2 years ago

Text

World's Apart: Chapter 3

Pairing: Loki x Goddess!OFC, Steve x Goddess!OFC

Summary: Alina, the Goddess of healing, was cast out of Asgard by Odin, but has recently returned home under secrecy. Just when she believes her secret is safe, she’s summoned to help heal Thor, who has grown ill since taking the thrown. Suddenly, Alina is forced to be around Loki while trying to help heal his brother. Will she be able to live in the castle with Thor and Loki again or does her heart belong back on Midgard?

Warnings: none

Word Count: 3,552

Notes: I hope you guys like this chapter, let me know!

worlds apart masterlist

The following morning Eir walks into Thor’s room and sighs looking down at his still unconscious form. He looked so peaceful, despite the fact that he was still sick. The morning sun was shining down on his golden hair, making it look even more golden somehow and his skin ws so clear and youthful, but this peaceful facade only made Eir more frustrated. She felt defeated at the fact that her healing spell didn't work, but she still had one more trick up her sleeve. The reason she didn't use it before was that she didn't think Thor was a ill as he clearly was, “Alright, Thor, what is going on with you?”

Eir sits down on the bed next to Thor and grasps his right hand in both of her own. Closing her eyes, she focuses her energy and imagines her power flowing from her body to his, as she does this, white line start to flow from their intertwined hands up Thor's arms. She squints her eyes shut tighter, furrowing her eyebrows together, and searches his body, trying to find any abnormality. It is deathly quiet in the room while she does this and lasts only for a few minutes, when she's done the white lines disappear and she opens her eyes.

“Any luck?”

She looks over her shoulder at Loki, “Actually, yes.”

He raises an eyebrow, “Really?”

She scoffs at his surprised tone, “Don’t sound so surprised, I’m more powerful than I look.”

He chuckles, “Hm, I’d love to find out some day.”

She stands up from the bed, knowing what he truly meant, but deciding to ignore the flirtation, “What ails him is not of this realm.”

Thor's condition wasn't super serious and wasn't something she hadn't seen before, she was honestly upset with herself that she didn't think of it sooner. She didn't know how, but he had contracted a blood toxin from Midgard. These things happen and she's gotten sick from the same thing from her time on Midgard, but she didn't go into a coma, which was the odd part. She would have to ask him more when he woke up.

Loki narrows his eyes, “So what of it then? How do we fix it?”

“That’s the problem," she answers, "I have to go to Midgard. I have an elixir there that can heal him.”

He hesitates, “Can you not just make it here?”

She shakes her head, “No, the things it requires I don't have here.”

He rolls his eyes, “You know better than I, at least that is what I’ve been told.” He looks back at his brother, “What’s wrong with him anyway?”

She sighs, “I should have read his body yesterday, but I was not thinking properly, I suppose.” She pauses and take a deep breath, “It’s nothing serious. He just has a toxin in his blood. I can heal him, but not with a simple spell.”

He nods in response, “Fine, but you are not going alone.”

“I’ll be fine." She dismisses his protest with her hand, "The elixir is located where I use to live with some friends of mine. It is not dangerous, it’s actually in one of the safest places possible.”

He tilts his head curiously, “Who are these friends?”

She smirks a bit, “While living there, a few began to question my long life and how I was able to heal so effectively, so they approached me and asked for my assistance. I helped them out on a few occasions, but only when Thor wasn’t around. Which wasn’t difficult considering the trouble you caused elsewhere.” She smiles up into his eyes, which were now dark from anger.

After living on Midgard for over 60 years, SHIELD was formed, and they started to keep tabs on her, wondering how she kept her same appearance. They didn't approach her for years, until after the battle of New York, finding that they need more help than they had. They wanted to know more about her, felt that they finally needed to know if she was a threat or a friend. Eir was cautious at first, not knowing their true intentions, but after seeing what Loki had done, she agreed to help them on a case by case basis. She still wanted to be able to come and go as she pleased, trying to help those throughout the world who truly needed her. Reluctantly, they agreed to her terms.

Loki was now scowling down at Eir as he spoke, “Yes, well, now I will have to insist on accompanying you. I can not have these friends of yours being of any more influence on you."

“Jealous much, darling?” She says with a hint of sarcasm as she moves around him to leave Thor’s room.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” He shakes his head and follows her out, “I just never would have imagined you making friends with them.”

She scoffs and shakes her head, “They are all amazing mortals and we get along very well. That Steve Rogers helped me out when I was going through a trying time in my life.” He follows her silently when she decides to speak up, “You’re not coming with me, Loki. It’s a harmless journey. I’m retrieving something, not battling Jotunheim.”

He grabs her arm roughly and pulls her into him, “This wasn’t a discussion, Eir. I’m telling you.” His eyes were now filled with rage and his grip was rough, this was not the Loki she remembered. He had changed since she'd been away and she wasn't sure she liked it.

“Why are you being so demanding?” She pulls her arm out of his grasp, “Did you forget who I am? I’ve trained with Thor and Sif, I've been to battle! I’m not some helpless healer.”

He glares down at her, “I'm aware, however, none of that changes my decision.”

She groans in frustration, “If you accompanying me will get me to Midgard, so be it.” She turns on her heels and they head in the direction of Heimdall and the bifrost.

**********

Once at the bifrost, Heimdall transports them just outside Avengers Compound, convenient. Eir was honestly not expecting to be dropped off so close, but Heimdall said this was where Thor was usually left. The compound hadn't changed since her last visit, except it was now spring instead of winter. There were flowers bloomed all around the building and the sprinklers were running in the front lawn in order to keep the lawn as green as possible. There were various agents walking along the sidewalk the bordered the building and a few helicopters landing and taking off on the roof.

Eir smiles, she missed this place, “Look,” she turns to Loki and crosses her arms, “they are going to be tense when they see you. Most of them are still unsure about Thor’s decision to free you, no matter how helpful you have been.”

“I am aware of their feelings.” He pauses for a moment and then smiles, “Would you feel better if I let you put cuffs on me?” He winks and put his wrists together.

She chuckles a bit, “Loki, if you act out in any way here, you’re going to regret being so willing.” She starts to walk away when he gently grabs her arm and turns her to face him.

“Now now darling, don’t be a tease.” His eyes flicker a bit, making her heart skip a beat.

She blushes, unsure of what to say, “I wasn’t trying to be, just uh, stating a simple fact.” She starts to look at the ground, “If you are unruly here,” she looks back into his eyes, “I’ll have no choice. The mortals safety is important to me.”

He chuckles and lets go of her arm, “Mhm, sounds tempting.” he smirks, “However, having you in cuffs would be more to my liking.”

She narrows her eyes and bites her lip, but doesn't respond. She starts to walk toward the entrance, needing to get away from the tension, when a familiar voice calls to her, “Alina?” She turns around at the sound of her old name, to find Steve Rogers. She smiles in greeting and walks over to him, “Long time no see, you look well.” He smiles and cocks his head to the side, “I’ve actually never seen you wear a dress before.” He looks her up and down a bit, “It suits you.”

She looks to the ground and blushes, “Thanks, um, I just came to pick up so—”

“What are you doing here?” Steve interjects looking next to her at Loki, “And why are you both together?” Gesturing at the two of them.

“Um,” she starts, “See here’s the thing—"

“We came to retrieve an elixir that she has here.” Loki says flatly, glaring at the solider, which makes Eir hit his arm for his rudeness. Loki narrows his eyes at her, not understanding why she hit him.

Steve looks to them, still confused, “That doesn’t explain how you two even know each other.”

Eir takes a deep breath, “Steve, um Loki came to me the other day and uh," she stutters, not knowing how to lie, “he told me that Thor wasn’t well, and I believe I have something here that might help.”

Loki rolls his eyes and groans, a little too loudly. Steve looks at her, then back to Loki, “Maybe you should teach her how to lie.”

“I have offered to teach her a few things.” Loki looks to her and smirks playfully.

Steve scowls back at him, “I don’t think anything more than that is necessary."

Looking between the scowling men, Eir responds, “What?” She pauses and turns to Loki, “How is that not believable?”

“It’s your eyes, darling, they’re too honest.” He says chuckling a bit.

“Regardless!” She glares at him, “That wasn’t even a real lie!”

Steve takes a step closer, taking Eir by her arm, and pulling her to the side, “What are you two really doing here?”

She takes a deep breath, thinking she might as well tell him the truth, Steve wasn't a fool, he would find out eventually. Plus, he always hated it when anyone kept secrets from him, “I haven’t been completely honest with you about who I am.” She rushes out all at once due to her nerves.

He raises an eyebrow, “Well, when I first met you, all you told me was that you weren’t from around here.” He glances at Loki then back to her, “I’m starting to think you meant a little farther than another country.”

She giggles a bit, “Yes, well, I’m from Asgard, and the real reason I’m gifted with healing is because I’m the Goddess of Healing.”

His eyes widened a bit and then he nods, “Well, you never did tell me how you got your powers.” He chuckles to himself and shakes his head, “Then again I never wanted to ask.” He smiles and tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, “You always have been great with healing people. Even with simple things, like that one time when Barton had the flu.”

She smiles, “Yes, well that was a very simple thing.”

Steve chuckles, “I’ve never seen anyone work harder at trying to help people.” Eir blushes and he continues, “You really do look beautiful, a dress fit for a Goddess.” He smiles to himself and looks into her eyes, “I’ve—we’ve—“ he smiles shyly, “missed you around here.”

Which was true, despite not being around much at the beginning, everyone missed Eir when she was gone. When Tony's compound was finally complete, she did spend more time with everyone, she even decided to set up her own room for when she stayed longer than one day. Eventually, the place became her home and she started to help trained new recruits. It was nice, a distraction from the home she truly missed.

Eir tilts her head slightly, “Really? I didn’t do much around here until this compound of yours was complete.”

“You’re the best trainer we have around here.” He laughs, “Not many people can get a leg up on Vision and myself.”

She laughs, “Well, it helps when you can cast magic and know your opponents weaknesses.”

“Stark told you to go for my legs, so technically that’s cheating.” He crosses his arms and smirks down at her.

She shrugs, “I suppose, however I still won.” She winks and smiles proudly.

They both laugh for a bit and then Steve glances behind her, “Are you sure you can trust him?”

She glances back at Loki, who was currently glaring at them with his arms crossed. She shakes her head at his intensity, then looks back to Steve, “Honestly, I don’t think the correct word is trust. I’m aware of the things he has done and he does seem different now.” She purses her lips, “But if Thor says we can trust him, we should give him a chance. I know Loki, what he truly wants is acceptance, a family.”

Steve nods, “Alright then, if you’e willing to give him a chance, then I’ll talk to the team, see if I can get everyone to agree to the same thing.”

Loki clears his throat, rather rudely, “If you both are done with whatever this is, can we get the elixir now? I don’t want to be here longer than is needed.”

She rolls her eyes and places a hand on Steve’s arm, “It was wonderful to see you again, but he’s right, we must be going.”

Steve smiles and places his hand over mine, “Of course.” He pauses while removing his hand and looks between Loki and Eir, “How about when Thor is better you come back for a visit? Maybe even you too, Loki.”

“You would invite me back on this realm?” Loki asks while walking up next to Eir.

Steve shrugs, “She seems to trust you a bit and her opinion means something around here.” He pauses, “I’ll keep an eye on you though, so don’t try anything.”

“Oh,” Loki glares, “I wouldn’t dream of it. The soldier’s seal of approval is what I want most in my life.”

“Alright gentlemen, that’s enough.” She turns to Loki and pushes him into the compound while waving goodbye to Steve.

The pair make their way into the compound and are silent as they walk past various agents, causing many of them to turn their heads in shock. Eir leads them past the hanger and the gym to a more quiet hallway that lead to the private area of the building. Since there are less people nearby, she looks to Loki and speaks freely, “Must you be so rude?”

“Beg your pardon?”

“Oh do not play innocent with me you little shit.” She hisses back at him.

“Language, darling.” He says laughing and then sighs, “I wasn’t trying to be rude. I’m just not overly found of this realm.” She rolls her eyes and continues down the hallway in silence.

Suddenly Loki speaks, "Why did you stay here with these mortals?”

Eir thinks for a moment— caught off guard— not sure how to answer, “I believe it was because I was lonely.” She pauses and looks to the ground as she walks, “For almost 170 years I was alone. At first, I didn’t want anyone to get close to me, afraid I would hurt another. Then, I tried working at a hospital as a nurse for a while and it was nice, I was good at what I was doing. I began to see that I had no reason to fear my powers and that I could actually help the mortals. However, the other humans there began to suspect that I was something more, so I left. After that, I felt lost, confused, and didn’t know where my place should be on this realm.” She pauses and takes a deep breath, remembering old times, “Then I met Steve, well more like he found me. The mortals he worked for had him come to ask questions, apparently my long life made some curious. He wanted me to join them and help bring peace to this realm. He thought with my many talents, I would be of use.” She begins to fiddle with her fingers, “Through the years, Steve and I trained together, fought battles together, and we have even fought each other.” She chuckles to herself thinking about it, “He eventually became one of the few I could trust and respect. If it was not for him and the others at this compound, I don’t think my life here would have been very fulfilling. I like to think that I’ve grown while being here, these humans have taught me many things.” She sighs while turning a corner, “I don’t know why I’m telling you all of this, you don’t care.”

“What makes you think I don’t care?”

“Well, we have never exactly shared feelings with one another before. If I wanted to talk about this, I would go to another, not you. You are not exactly sentimental.” She softly smiles.

Loki nods, “I suppose that is true. I don’t like speaking of emotions, but I don’t want you to think you can not speak with me.”

She nods, “Alright, I’ll keep that in mind.” She smiles at him and continues down the hall.

“Since we are on the subject," Loki add, "may I ask you a somewhat personal question?”

She raises an eyebrow at him, “Um,sure. Although, tread carefully.”

He laughs a bit and smirks, “I was just wondering if Steve and you have a more than friendly relationship than what you are telling me.”

“What would make you think that?”

“He just seemed very familiar with you. I’ve never seen anyone, besides me, be that close to you." He shrugs and continues, "On Asgard if another ever tried to be that close with you, to touch you, you would have threatened them with a dagger.” He glances at her, “I know that personally.”

She laughs, “First of all, I threatened you once and you deserved it! It was not my arm that you touched.” She glares at him while he smirked to himself, “Secondly, Steve and I are nothing more than friends. I suppose him being so friendly never bothered me because of the things we have been through together.”

“I see.” He purses his lips and raises an eyebrow, “Perhaps you should tell him.”

She looks at him confused, “Tell him what? That I am his friend and nothing more?”

“Exactly. I may have read his mind while the two of you were talking.” He shrugs, “His thoughts about you are very different.”

The pair reach Eir's room and she points to the door, “That's my room there.” As she reaches for the doorknob, Loki beats her to it and opens, “Loki, you shouldn’t be reading others minds so carelessly.”

He chuckles, “Why not? That’s when you learn the most interesting things.”

They walk into the room and it looks exactly as it did as the day she left a few years ago. There was a king bed in the middle of the room with a desk and chair against one side, next to a TV. Eir's favorite part however, was that Tony allowed her to keep as many books as she wished. She had one entire wall dedicated to shelving for them all, Tony told her it was too much, but in a way, it reminded her of home. As they walk inside, Eir waves her hand and the door closes behind them.

“How long have you had telekinetic abilities?” Loki asks while looking behind him at the door, not sure of what just happened.

“I have expanded my talents during my exile, Loki.” She says with her back to him as he chuckles.

She moves to one of her bookshelves where she keeps all of her elixirs, next to her spell books, and herbs. As she walks over to the bookshelves to look for the right one, she hears Loki making his way around the room, being nosy, “Perhaps one day, darling, you can share your many talents with me.”

She rolls her eyes, “Any time you want to fight me, Loki. All you have to do is ask.”

“You have never been able to best me at, well, anything.”

She looks over her shoulder at him and smirks, “There is always a first.”

He smiles, clearly interested, “I suppose.” He then looks around, “This room is so small.”

She continues looking for the right bottle on her bookshelf, “My apologies your majesty, but this is not Asgard.”

“Thank you for the reminder.”

She places her hands on her hips and ponders to herself. She glances around the room and finds that Loki has now made himself comfortable on her bed. She shakes her head— he is such an odd one— and walks over to her desk to see if she placed the bottle in one of the drawers. She searches the top of the desk and pulls out each drawer, growing more frustrated with each passing minute.

“Here it is!” She exclaims as she grabs the bottle from the bottom drawer, “We can leave now, Loki.” She stands up, but does not hear a reply, “Loki?”

**********

I have no idea if these tags work lol but these are the people that wanted to be tagged last time I wrote for this story:

@t-w-hiddlestoner @lasimo74allmyworld @deputy-orange-juice @mandyfric18-blog @unicorniorosacomefrutillas @princeofsassgard @happy-kisscs @whatisanniedoin

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grand-theft-carbohydrates · 1 year ago

Text

fr. i think about this SO much. many thoughts under the cut:

only Sun Quan would have been old enough to have ANY memory of their dad, so for all intents and purposes Sun Ce was basically a father figure to the rest of the Sun Siblings. he did REALLY Dad things like keep tabs on Sun Quan's spending, and had evidently been preparing him for the role of successor, given how smoothly Sun Quan took over after his death, despite being only 18. The fact that Sun Quan was utterly inconsolable at his brother's funeral, and Sun Ce was so adamant about Zhou Yu helping his little bro really cements it for me. i think the lack of info about the rest of the sibs probably means that everyone else got along well with each other and did nothing remarkable. (Yi and Kuang really lived up to their names and Assisted.) I imagine Sun Quan's sudden and meteoric rise would have been a HUGE sea change to his younger siblings (still in their teens). he would have been closer to them in age and status, one day he's 18, roughhousing and taking them on hunting trips, and suddenly he's the Duke of Wu, the most powerful man in the southlands. his days are filled Battle Plans, Important Affairs of State and Not Now, Can't You See I'm Busy? he never laughs and rarely smiles. imagine being a younger sibling, after months of begging, you finally steal him away for a quick ride through the woods but it's so stiff and awkward you find yourself wishing for it to end. you try to talk to him about your problems--failing to impress a pretty girl, getting annoyed by a strict tutor, and feeling sad because your favourite hunting dog died. The Duke listens politely and gives you wise advice. you don't recognise this tired, serious stranger who use to be your big brother.

every year that passes only serves to drive a deeper wedge between the two of you. like hammering a nail too close to the end of a plank, a small injury where it's most vulnerable, and the whole thing splits in two. It's only after he goes behind your mother's back and pawns you off to some old squatter in Jing Province that you finally realise he no longer sees you as his sister, only a chess piece.

"Liu Xuande is a hero of our times," Sun Quan is looking a little red-faced after your mother's tongue-lashing, hinting at the smallest ounce of a conscience buried underneath all that pomp and hot air. "he is benevolent, capable, and has rendered us great service at the victory of Red Cliffs. It is an eminently respectable match!"

"So you'll give him Jing Province, Brother dear?" you ask with all the sweetness of a viper.

"Well, no, it's our territory--"

"What good is a "hero of our times" if he doesn't even have a pot to piss in?" You ask in a conversational tone, having successfully backed him into a corner. "I don't mind marrying a beggar --a woman ought to be filial to her husband, no matter his situation--but that would make my Elder Brother in-laws to a beggar, and I weep to think what that would do to his reputation."

"The affairs of state are no concern to you, woman," he says sternly, and then he dismisses you. Just like that, the battle is over. You lost before it even began, because you were never on equal ground. All your weapons are sticks and all your soldiers are straw. At the end of the day he is the Duke and you are just a girl. Nothing you do, or want, will ever matter.

"Well, you better pick an auspicious date, he's already pushing fifty." You snap, feeling childish and weak, and hating yourself for it. "We better tie the knot while his cock still works!"

The Duke replies dryly, "he has an baby son, I have it on good authority that it does, in fact, still work."

oh, praise the fucking heavens! you've not just a chess piece, you're a wetnurse, too!

We know very, very little about what the three best known children of Sun Jian felt about one another and even less about their ~5 other siblings in that regard (I use the ~ because I'm not convinced that we're really sure how many daughters Sun Jian had, though at least three seems likely) but I do wonder sometimes. Sometimes I like to think that Lady Sun/Sun Ren/Sun Shangxiang and Sun Quan were close during childhood, but never really as close as either of them was to their oldest brother Sun Ce (there's something about a sibling that's frequently absent because they're significantly older and became an adult when their younger siblings are still young children that often makes them favorable to said younger siblings, because they're Cool and Grown Up, and also not around as much to get on your nerves or showcase their less than endearing traits), and after Ce dies they just sort of drift apart, because they realize Ce was kind of what was binding them together in the first place. They never really had that much in common (aside from the Sun family temper) or were particularly dedicated to trying to salvage the relationship, so in a way it was kind of like losing two siblings, only one's still around to remind you of that frequently, and that sucks in its own unique way compared to someone that's cold in their grave who you can idealize.

And if we step away from the historical fiction and back into the actual history, if Lady Sun didn't dislike Sun Quan already, then I *somehow* get the feeling she did after he pawned her off as a bargaining chip to Liu Bei, because if you read what little we do know about her as a historical figure, you'll see that she was deeply unhappy about the whole thing and clearly wouldn't have gone if she'd really had a choice... To the point where she made it a problem for people who were uninvolved like Zhao Yun and you know, tried to take Liu Shan back to Wu with her (my best guess is she did it out of spite for everyone involved with marrying her off because imagine 'oh hey guys I'm back! Yeah haha I brought my step-son, aka the crown prince of Shu, you know, those people we have a shaky alliance with that you traded me to? What, is that going to cause problems for you or something? :) ), so that was shitty of her, but you also have to think about the people who forced her into that situation to begin with.

#im warning you now i wrote a lot. open at ur own peril #san guo #sun quan #sun ce #lady sun #and the other ones...#my writing #im sorry if i derailed ur post op. u made me experience Thoughts and Emotions

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heniareth · 4 years ago

Note

I was really curious about what your opinions on the DAO companions are :) I know we have talked about some, but I'd love to hear more and about the others as well :D I hope it's ok to pose this as an ask :)

Sure! That sounds like a ton of fun. This might be a long one tho. Mind you, this is not the finished version of the answer. I'd like to link stuff and add a cut, but rn that's not possible. I'll update it when I can.

Edit: I have updated it ^^

Let's go alphabetically bc why not.

Alistair:

Sweet guy. So sweet. There was a moment when I was hard pressed chosing between him and Zevran (alas, Zevran won). Also, he's weirdly tall according to the wiki? How did I not notice that before?

Let's get a bit more serious now, Alistair is a great guy. The only reason he's not the hero of the story is because he doesn't want to. He has all the qualities of a leader: he's good at dealing with conflict (as evident with the conversation with the mage at the beginning. He gets where he wants to get without antagonizing the mage, but without allowing him to trample all over him). He's a solid tactitian and knows how to make allies (he suggests to use the Grey Warden treaties, after all). I bet if he was in the leadership position, he'd even not bicker with Morrigan. His moral code is pretty tight; some might say too tight, but I think it's less about the moral code and more about learning to judge people by their actions, not by the labels they fit into (Morrigan is a proud apostate and therefore bad. Wynne is a humble circle mage and therefore good). He also has a bit of a black-and-white way of seeing the world. I empathize a lot with Alistair, especially with his experience with the Chantry and his subsequent reluctance to deal with it. I really wish I had gotten to know more about concrete experiences he had during his training as templar, but he seems reluctant to talk about it (gee, I wonder why).

Since I've only played the game once, I haven't really picked up on Arl Eamon's abuse towards him, which apparently exists (Isolde, however... I mean, even if he were Eamon's illegitimate son, he's a kid, ma'am, he didn't exactly get to chose his parents. So that's so not okay). Alistair's way of speaking about them both, however, is either sign that he has not come within a hundred miles of acknowledging how much it hurt him, or that he's already gone through the whole process and has decided to forgive them. The latter shows a very strong character; yes, he relies on the approval and leadership of others, he has his issues, but he's already started working on them.

That being said, irl Alistair would be like a little brother to me. I'd tease him relentlessly (all in good fun and I promise to stop if it makes him uncomfortable, but he's just so teasable). I still wish the videogame gave him the chance to take important decisions for himself. But that, of course, would somewhat defeat the point of the game.

Leliana:

Another sweet, sweet person. Her singing voice is amazing. Her belief in the Maker inspires me (I'm a religious person and seeing religious characters represented in a positive light is Very Cool. It's also sometimes a source of discomfort, because the Church has done a lot of very messed up stuff and positive representation can sometimes veer into apologetics for things that should not be excused, but that's a whole other can of worms. The bottom line is that religious characters sometimes work for me and other times don't and Leliana works for me very much bc she's an outsider inside the Chantry).

Leliana is best friend material, tbh. I'd love to get to know her irl, discuss theology and philosophy and maybe even politics? She makes mistakes and has prejudices, but, tbh, so do I. And I do get the feeling that she tries her best to learn. From the times she intervenes in a conversation between the Warden and an NPC, she shows herself to be compassionate and open to the needs of others. What I get from her character is that she genuinely wants to help, which is something that I adore of her. I suspect that she sometimes has a hard time deciding wether she's a good person or not. She has killed and seduced and worked for a morally dubious person, and she doesn't show the same nonchalance about it as Zevran (though they both do discuss their line of work in very... professional terms). This is, however, more of a headcanon than actual factual canon.

I also very much enjoy her girly side, like her interest in shoes and dresses. She's one badass woman who also looses her cool about the latest fashions in Val Royeaux. I like that. Between her and Alistair, a non human noble Warden has as good a help to navigate the Fereldan court as they're going to get. Leliana is also, I can't forget that, clever and insightful. It'd be easy to write her off as the innocent chantry girl, but she's so much more than that. Her kindness is paired with foresight, I think. She knows that taking on the trouble to help now can go a long way in the future. I just have a lot of respect for her.

Loghain:

This one's gonna be short bc I didn't recruit him. He's an amazing villain and would probably be a great Warden as well. He reminds me of Denerhor from LOTR; once a hero/stewart of his people, ambition and desperation have driven them both down a terrible path. I have also only little idea about his past. People say he lost a lot, and I believe it wholeheartedly; it doesn't excuse the fact that he plunged the country into a civil war in the middle of a Blight. I don't have a lot of sympathy for short-sighted politicians. I wish he hadn't made himself regent. That's what I take away from his character.

Edit: One thing I forgot to mention that really impressed me was his death. I had Alistair duel him (that was a rough duel), and then it kinda just jumped to a cutscene of my Warden nodding and Alistair executing him. That didn't sit well with me. I didn't want to kill Loghain, and less so in front of Anora. But what impressed me was that Loghain just accepted it. That takes a whole lot of guts. Compare that to Howe's death, and how he screams out that he deserved (more, probably, or anything but death) and it's crystal clear who the more noble of the two is. Loghain strikes me as very lawful neutral, and any neutral alignment has the particularity that it can be dragged towards good or bad, sometimes without the characters noticing it (which is interesting from a DnD perspective; neutral is often concieved of as just as stable as good or evil, but that may not be true. But that's a different post). Anyway, Loghain's death was impactful.

Morrigan:

I could kick myself for not maxing out her approval in the first play-through. I got to enjoy a bit of her friendship by the end of it and boy was even that little bit worth it. Friendship with Morrigan is something that is hard-won. It's all the more precious because of that.

Morrigan is full of paradoxes, I think. She's incredibly wise in some ways, yet also very short-sighted (”just kill them, don't solve their problems”. Morrigan, dear, I'm not going to gain a lot of allies if I kill everybody who poses a problem to me). She is so intelligent, but emotionally... not so. She knows so much about some things, and very little about the next. She's incredibly wilful and knows what she wants, but follows Flemeth's orders all the time through. She hungers for power and independence, yet craves closeness, but won't allow herself to have it. She asks you to prove yourself to her and is extremely critical of your actions, I think, because she's afraid. She bites the hand that feeds her because it might hit her next.

Like with Eamon, I haven't managed to catch the undercurrent of abuse that seems to permeate Flemeth's relationship with Morrigan. Except there are signs, because there must be something Morrigan is scared of and who has instilled all that rage in her, and that's Flemeth. Also, she clearly hates/does not care about her and wants her dead (unless killing Flemeth was part of Flemeth's plan as well? Hm.)

Morrigan is that one person who you are nice to, continuously, because nobody else is. And suddenly she becomes less cold. And then friendly. And suddenly you're asking yourself why everybody hates her, because she's a really good friend! I just wish the other companions came to a similar conclusion, especially Alistair and Wynne.

Oghren:

They did this man dirty. He has such great lines and I'm convinced he was a great person before Branka disappeared. He has that dwarven warrior spirit, and while he looks like Gimli, some of his most impactful lines remind me of Dwalin or even Thorin Oakenshield himself. He could be so noble had he gotten some character development, damnit!

Oghren as he is written is somewhat disgusting. I hate the lechering comments and the drunkenness. And still, I don't hate him because of those amazing lines he has when he's actually sober. It's frustrating and I'll give him that character development myself if the game won't. I strongly associate the song Whiskey Lullaby with him, bc that's how he would have ended up if the Warden hadn't taken him along (warning: the song talks about suicide and alcoholism). Like I said, they could have done such cool things with his character. As he is written now... it's just sad. Moments of lucidity drowned in alcohol and creepy jokes. As you can see, I don't blame the character for either. The alcoholism happens all too often irl. The creepy jokes... I put that one on the writers' tab.

I actually think Oghren could have been a great mentor figure (I know, I shock myself as well sometimes). Next to the Grey Wardens, the ones who know most about fighting darkspawn are the dwarves because they have to deal with them constantly. Especially a warrior caste dwarf like Oghren could have brought a lot of that invaluable knowledge to the team, especially since there are no Grey Wardens in Ferelden but two extremely green recruits. Next, you get the chance to give Oghren the command of the teammates you leave behind in the battle of Denerim with the reason that he has lead men into battle before. Where did that suddenly come from? Oghren should have been right up there telling my Warden that they were doing this wrong, that they needed more food (and booze) and a confident leader to keep the armies they've called together going. Oghren should have been able to tell my civilian city elf who got recruited into the Grey Wardens a six months ago how one leads an army. How one presents oneself to inspire confidence, how one doesn't crack under the pressure, how one gets the leaders of said armies (some who hate each others guts i.e. Dalish elves and humans) to work together. And, last but not least, Oghren could have had a great story about grief. This is a man who has lost most of what made him (and what he hasn't lost he's spilling down the drain with every mug of ale). This is a man who, if you take him into the Deep Roads, has to see what his wife did to his family, how his wife got absolutely obsessed, and can be forced to kill said wife or watch her die. All Wardens loose their home and families at the start of the story. It would really have rounded the whole narrative out if the Warden and Oghren could have recognised their grief in each other and hashed it out somehow. Such as it is, Oghren is a depressed drunkard and there is nothing we can do about that. I find that frustrating.

Rascal (a.k.a. Dog):

Best boy. 100/10. I wish we had gotten to see the reaction of the different origins to the mabari (because elves probably have a whole different experience with them from mages or humans. And dwarves just... I think they straight up have none? XD). Other than that, no complaints. The name Rascal was the one I gave my dog because you have to be a right rascal to survive what he did and play the pranks he plays. Smartest breed in the world indeed.

Shale:

Shale is one of those characters that I recruited rather late in the game, so I haven't had the chance to explore their personality and worldview, really. I didn't even get to take them to the Deep Roads (this will be ammended in playthrough nr. 2). As such, I don't have particularly strong opinions on them (or her? The wiki refers to Shale as 'it', but that sounds weird). But, because I know so little about Shale, I have a lot of questions. First, what were they like before they were a golem? Shayle, as she was called then, was the best warrior of her time if I remember correctly. Why did she become a golem? Was it to be able to eternally protect her people? Was the sarcasm the golem Shale exhibits also part of the dwarven warrior Shayle or did that come later (if for thirty years you have nobody to talk to but yourself, you better be entertaining. And I can imagine how it could make somebody terribly jaded as well).

Next, how attached is Shale to their golem form, exactly? According to the banter, they infinitely prefer it to a squishy fleshy form. If that is the case, however, why go to Tevinter to try and become a squishy dwarf again? It's not like that process could be reversed if they wanted to become a golem again; if Shale survives to the end of the game, the Anvil of the Void is destroyed and Caridin is dead. Was the whole spiel about their indestructible form a façade? It might have been, but not because Shale actually disliked their form. I think it would have more to do with the loss of their memories and with the very invasive experiments and alterations of Shale's body made by the mage Wilhelm. The loss of memories means that Shale is unable to remember life as a fleshy creature. They might be deflecting by pretending that they didn't care for that experience anyway because of the superiority of their golem form. The modifications made to their form by Wilhelm would have alienated them from their body. In light of this, it's significant that Shale asks the Warden to decorate their form with crystals.

All of this is, of course, pure speculation. I may have easily missed or forgotten details that would disprove the above thoughts. All in all, I like Shale and I hope we meet them again in DA4 (given that it's mostly set in Tevinter). It's a liking from a respectful distance, because Shale is tall and made out of rock and also way more experienced than I will ever be (they are literally the oldest member of the Warden's little Blight fighting squad).

Sten:

Sten is another person I'd keep a respectful distance from physically. That seems to be the what he would prefer, at least. I've enjoyed his character a lot, especially because he seems pretty clear-cut at first, but slowly lets the nuance of his person show (gruff and stoic, but then he has an eye for art, a sweet tooth and he likes cute animals). It's also very interesting that there's no moment when you learn "the truth" about him the way you do with Zevran or Leliana. There's no big reveal about his life under the Qun before coming to Ferelden. He says he was sent to monitor the Blight, but honestly? If neither Ferelden nor Orlais knew there was a Blight, how could the Qunari know? I think he's lying, and he takes his secrets back with him when he leaves Ferelden. And yet I think I know him enough to say that a Warden who has become friends with him has nothing to fear from Sten.

One thing I find very interesting about Sten is how he thinks. His conversation about how women can't be soldiers has been analysed a lot on this page I think. He seems to be arguing based on a different paradigma than the one the Warden has. He also seems to have a very clear-cut view of the world. What is fascinating to me is that, when arguing with the Warden and learning about their culture, he is not necessarily becoming more lax about his worldview. I think it's more likely that he is expanding his paradigma, the structure of thought through which he understands the world. I don't think that he is now convinced that women can be warriors as well. I think he rather understands that, in Ferelden, the relationship between occupation and gender is different than under the Qun. Which of the two he thinks is more right or more agreeable, I have no idea. I'm also not very interested in that. But I find it fascinating how he always seems to be looking on quietly, gathering data, classifying it and trying to fit it into his understanding of how the world works. I wouldn't be surprised at all if his original party was a scouting party to see how vulnerable Ferelden was at that moment to outside forces. One thing I don't understand with all of this is why he urges the Warden to meet the Blight head on. No smart soldier would suggest that, except if they are foolishly proud (and Sten doesn't seem like that kind of guy tbh). I get that the Warden takes way longer to gather allies than expected because they first have to solve all of their allies' problems. But surely Sten sees the need to have allies? Is he just that impatient? Does he have a death wish (à la, I lost my sword and am without honour, better to die sooner than later and in glorious battle)? Was he his group's previous commander and is he now having trouble following somebody else's orders? Or maybe it's his way to make sure the Warden knows what they are doing? To push them into becoming the self-assured commander their allies will need once they're all gathered? I really don't know. I like the last option best, however.

For me, Sten is my fellow, more experienced soldier. Like Alistair, he can potentially be the Warden's brother in arms, but he's definitely the older brother here. He probably doesn't take kindly to tearful confessions of how hard everything is, but I feel like he's otherwise a solid rock to lean on. I feel like the Warden can trust him to do what is necessary and count on him no matter what, especially after they get his sword back. His devotion from that point on is honestly so powerful.

Wynne:

Wynne was such a support for my Warden (except with the whole conversation about love vs. duty and that she may have to choose between Zevran and ending the Blight and that she should therefore break up with him. Wynne had a point. Astala was so not willing to sacrifice her relationship with Zevran. But the whole conversation came at a point where she was already so disillusioned that she blew up in Wynne's face (”can i please just have one (1) nice thing????”)). But all in all, Wynne is great.

She has a lot of flaws. She was very marked by her life in the Cricle and, for all her age, she has little experience living outside of it. She is also a conformist despite her strong moral core. In a way, her ability to find peace with her lot in life impresses me deeply because it speaks to a lot of strength of character. Sadly, however, strength can be ill applied and used to suppress. I think she has convinced herself that the Chantry is right under (almost) all circumstances to be able to rationalize the life that mages live. She's had her son taken away from her as a baby and an apprentice killed. Her reaction seems to have been to convince herself that this was right, or for the greater good (and now I'm thinking about the Guardian's question at the temple of Andraste's Ashes; are you wise or do you just repeat what others have told you? The answer is not as clear-cut as it might be). This is why she is so irritated by Zevran and Morrigan. By aligning herself with the Chantry, she is, in her eyes, good. Zevran and Morrigan are not; they do not conform to Chantry morality and they defend themselves tooth and nails against somebody who would try and convert them. This is something Wynne never allowed herself to do; she always did the "right" thing and it has cost her so much. I'm not saying she was right (it would probably have done her some good to rebel from time to time, and to trust her own gut instinct more), but in light of this, it hardly surprises me that she's so judgamental. She has to be, or she would be forced to confront all the evil she has not fought against all those years and all the hurt that has been caused to her by the very institution she protects (and thank God she only tries to argue and can appreciate it when people have found a good life outside of her comfort zone. If she tried to convince by force or, for example, drag her former apprentice back to the Circle... boy oh boy that would get ugly). If you think about it, Wynne really is a good example for what happens if you live by a philosophy of always choosing the lesser evil.

Something that I keep forgetting over her grandmotherly and dignified character is how damn powerful she is. She has escaped the carnage at Ostagar; HOW!? She protected those mage apprentices in the Circle tower for God knows how long. In the battle of Denerim, she wades through an army and comes out alive on the other side. The wiki lists her age at 40, I think, but that doesn't make a lick of sense unless 75 years of age are the Fereldan equivalent to 100. This lady, about whom people make grandmother jokes, did all that. It's impressive.

Zevran:

You know, I would really love to know what Wynne thinks about the events at Kirkwall in DA2. It might be a disaster for her, or it might pave the way for one last bit of character development. She certainly didn't want to return to the Circle after fighting the Blight. That may be an indicator of some change in her stance on the Circle of Magi.

Edit: I forgot that she is what the Circle considers a literal abomination! Holy cow, how could I forget that?? Anyway, her conversation about what being an abomination means is so... heartbreaking, actually. It's so tentative. So careful. "Am I an abomination? Am I the same thing that has killed my students? The same thing as Uldred? Am I lost and damned? Did I invite this spirit in? Is this my fault?" Like wow, Wynne is going through something huge right there. I love it. I have to continue playing the game to see what it ends up as, but it's fascinating and such a huge thing that she allows the Warden in on that.

Ah, Zevran, my beloved (he has stolen my heart so much it's not even funny anymore). He's funny, he's charming, he's so so loyal and it breaks my heart. Zevran is the one about whom I've read most meta: these three wonderful posts for instance, as well as this one about his possible lack of scars, and this one about his lack of freedom. All of these have influenced my opinion of him and they are great reads.

I have talked about Zevran with you before, so I'll just skip to the new stuff. I have come to conclusion that Zevran is an artist at heart. This is totally not biased by the fact that I also do art, but hear me out. One of his preferred gifts are bars of silver and gold. While those have the obvious utility of basically functioning as money (they can be sold to any silversmith or goldsmith and their value is pretty stable through time and in different countries), there's also this from his codex: "Zevran shows an affinity for the finer things in life—hardly surprising for an Antivan Crow—but his appreciation can be more poetic than he lets on. A simple bar of refined silver or gold, uncomplicated by a craftsman's hammer, is elegantly valuable." Tell me that is not an artist's eye that sees that gold and sees the beauty in it. Then, there's also the meta about Zevran the Seducer which I linked above and link here again. It talks specifically about how he lets himself enjoy the target and be seen in his enjoyment. Tell me that is not an artist's eye that beholds the beauty of something he is set out to destroy. Even his talk about his assassinations show this. He talks about it as an art, the way somebody would talk about the brutal intervention in stone that produces a sculpture. Yes, it's a rationalization of the act of killing and yes killing is still wrong. But he doesn't go on about it on a moral tangent the way Alistair or Wynne would (”this person was bad, killing them was necessary”) or even through the argument of survival like Morrigan would (”it was either them or me and it sure as Hell wasn't going to be me”). He talks about the pleasure of a job well done, of the satisfaction of striking the precise point and executing a plan to the perfection so as to minimize chances of discovery and to make a clean death possible. And pleasure in seeing and in doing, this I firmly believe, is absolutely fundamental for an artist.

My favourite part about my Warden and Zevran as a pairing is that Zevran precisely brings out that ability to take your pleasures as they come and to really savour them. Fighting the Blight is tough; it's so important to find good things amidst the chaos to stay sane. If Astala saves Zevran from himself by offering him a place to stay and a purpose, Zevran saves Astala from herself by keeping her from running herself into the ground trying to save the world.

There are some things I don't like about Zev. The incessant flirting, for example, sometimes makes me uncomfortable (it becomes enjoyable for me once the Warden and him are in a relationship, but before that? Nah, no thanks). I wish he would also leave the other female characters alone (and there's so many more shameless comments of his aimed at Morrigan, Leliana or Wynne than at Alistair or maybe even Sten).

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And that's my take on the Origins companions (this was rather long. Whew ^^' I hope it was still readable and that you enjoyed it!!) Thank you so much for the ask!! It's been a joy thinking about this. I was worrying at first that the less prominent companions like Sten or Shale wouldn't get as much content but... well XD

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down-in-devildom · 4 years ago

Note

Hello! I saw that your request is open. Can I request for some hcs for the brothers with a very giving mc, but when they try to do something nice for them they get defensive/guilty like "who are you why are you nice to me I'M the nice one here, don't do nice things for me I feel bad?!?" And tries not to burden them in any way. Thank you! I love the way you write uwu

Thank you for the request! Also, I hope people will let others do nice things for them without thinking they don't deserve it or something. You are worth being treated well!!!😤 I also had a hard time naming this request...

Brothers react to MC not accepting returned favors

cw: guilt tripping(?)

Lucifer

Lucifer was enjoying a date with MC after completing a sizable portion of his work early thanks to them lending a hand. They were dining at the Ristorante Six when he noticed MC scanning the menu very intensely

The grimace the MC did every so often raises some concerns for him. When the MC says that they want to order a small soup of the day, Lucifer looks at them with a raised brow

He could have sworn MC would be famished after having their lunch stolen from them by Beelzebub around noon. MC could not have possibly have had the time to eat a snack, what with all the paperwork and organizing they did for him after classes to try to lighten his workload

When Lucifer asked if that would be enough, MC's stomach let out a mighty roar in response. Lucifer was now suspicious that MC was holding back for some reason so he decides to order the food for the both of them. He signals for a waiter and makes sure to order MC's soup of the day as well as a dish or two he believes would be to their taste

When MC starts to protest about not wanting to be a burden and have him pay a fortune, Lucifer waves off the concerns and assures them they needn't worry about that. Besides, he wants nothing more than for MC to enjoy themselves after helping him earlier

"I don't want to burden you and make you pay for my meal. I am always happy to help but I don't want you to feel obligated to do something in return."

Lucifer is taken aback before he sighs and gives MC a serious and pointed look. "I am a demon that takes pride in my ability to deal out suitable punishments and rewards as I see fit. It will do you well not to question my generosity"

Mammon

Mammon felt like he was in debt to MC for helping him study and pass his latest exam. He could not afford to fail his fourth semester in a row without Lucifer finding out and skinning him alive! He doesn’t normally feel the need to do anything to actually pay people back, but he felt like he really owed MC for this one

When Mammon and MC were visiting the flea market to find some cool trinkets that can probably be resold for a profit on Akuzon, he noticed the MC’s gaze lingering on a small golden ring with intricate engravings. He makes a bit of a show of paying for the ring before losing some of his bravado and shoving his hand in the MC’s face and demanding they take it

MC looks a bit confused before thinking it was something that Mammon thought would resell well and tried to put it in the basket they carried to hold the rest of their haul

“No, ya got it all wrong. I got it for ya to- ya know- thank ya for helpin’ me the other day. I woulda been a goner without you...or something” he mumbles while trying not to look directly at them

“That’s funny and all but what’s the catch? I’m pretty sure you don’t normally give away things or do anything without expecting anything in return”

Although MC does not appear to mean any harm from the comment, it kind of stung a little for Mammon. They can’t seem to grasp that they were special and he WANTED to give them things.

Mammon becomes a bit more sullen about the ordeal and may not give anything directly to the MC from then on. He will opt instead to leave little trinkets in their room or claim he found some trash he needed to get rid of (even though it would clearly be something of value). He does not really know how to show his thanks in any other way so he is kind of stuck in a cycle of trying to backhandedly show his gratitude without his motives being questioned

Satan

Satan’s room was an absolute mess, more so than usual, when MC was kind enough to lend a hand in helping him organize his massive collection of books into something a little less chaotic

He found an ancient tome full of old runes and herbal medicines that he thought he saw MC flipping through while taking a quick break from organizing his things, and assumed it would be a nice token of his gratitude. It was inlaid with gold leaf and the engraved relief on the cover was done with a clearly skilled hand, making the old book really stand out

“Please, take this tome as payment for your time. I would have lost my mind, surely, if you did not help me in my time of need, like you did”

MC’s eyes widened with surprise before seeming to nod and say they would return the book to him later, after they take down some notes for their next hex exam. When he clarifies that he wishes for them to keep the book, MC looked taken aback

“I couldn’t possibly take one of your books! I don’t expect anything for helping you out and you shouldn’t feel the need to pay me back for something I was more than willing to do anyway. It is kind of weird for you to want to give away your books like this when you closely monitor anybody else that takes them”

Satan’s eyebrow twitches just the slightest and he has to keep his smile in place to try to not alarm MC when his irritation spikes slightly. They don’t seem to understand that him thanking them with a gift versus him guarding his collection from Mammon are two different things entirely

He leans a bit into the MC’s space with his smile still plastered on and looks them dead in the eyes. “Do you mean to tell me that the tome is not to your liking?” MC kind of feels forced to take the book and thanks Satan before making a hasty retreat to their own room. Satan takes the newfound space to clear his mind and start thinking of other ways that he can possibly approach the matter in the future without pressuring MC into accepting his generosity

Asmodeus

Asmo’s life and reputation was saved when MC responded to his emergency text asking for a very specific shirt to be brought to his photoshoot. One of the assistant demons did NOT get the memo when he said that he was more of a skull-scream peach kind of guy then a wailing-melon toned guy and the outfit assembly was not doing his beautiful complexion any favors

When Asmo got out from his shoot, he felt like he absolutely had to repay MC for going out of the way for him. He went straight to Majolish and picked out a new outfit for them that he was sure they would look absolutely fantastic in and then hurried home to wrap it up nicely

Asmo presents the gift with flourish before asking for the MC to open it so he can watch their reaction. Asmo was not disappointed by the stunned look on their face and the silent ‘o’ their mouth made, but got a little put out when they said they could not possibly accept it. Didn’t they like it? Surely he did not pick something that wasn’t to their taste

“I can’t accept this, Asmo, it is way too sweet and generous of a gift! I had to go in the direction of your shoot today anyway so it wasn’t a burden to drop off your shirt. Please don’t reward me for something like that!”

Asmo has met a variety of demons and people over the millenia and can tell that there was something about the gift itself that was making them uncomfortable. He still is firm with them and insists that if he spent the grimm on them, they should take the gift, but starts thinking of other ways to maybe show his thanks in the future

Do words of praise and gratitude make them squirm? How about physical affection? Would a kiss count as a thanks they are willing to accept? He sure hopes so but he wants to show he appreciates them and will try to show it in any way possible until they accept it

Beelzebub

Beelzebub was starving! More so than usual and that is not a pretty sight. He was at RAD during one of the classes when he noticed that his snack bag had mysteriously gone missing when he tried to reach in to pull out a protein bar. His stomach loudly protested and he was starting to eye up some of his classmates as if they were on the menu. MC saved the day when they came rushing in with the aforementioned missing snack bag, that they found in the hallway

Beel was able to happily munch away for the rest of the lesson and it seemed like the whole class let out a collective sigh of relief. Beel was very grateful for the MC taking the time to deliver him his snack bag and decided to treat them to Hell’s Kitchen after school

MC agreed to go willingly and ordered their food while Beel asked for well over half the menu. After they ate, Beel reached for the tab but found slight resistance when he finally looked at the bill and saw MC’s hand was also on it. When Beel stated that it was his treat for them saving him early, he was met with some pushback

“Please do not feel like you have to pay for me. Giving you the snack bag was for everybody’s benefit, so it actually came from a place of selfishness, really. I do not deserve you paying for me.”

Beel’s heart pinged a little at that. Did MC mean he was so close to losing control that they only helped him out of pity? Out of fear? He knew he was a big and his hunger knew no end, but it kind of hurt to be seen as a threat that needed to be controlled with readymade snack bags like that

Beel kind of shakes it off quickly enough and starts to think that maybe they just didn’t like the meal as much as him and was trying to spare him from paying for something they didn’t really want. He takes the time to watch MC over the next few days to see if there are other foods that they may like better. That was the problem, right? Maybe something from Madam Screams was more their style? How about that crepes stand in the park that was super delicious?

Belphegor

Belphegor was not having a great day. For one, he was awake and for two, he was tasked with doing laundry for HoL this week and he was super behind on his assigned chore. If Asmo pestered him one more time about properly separating out the colors and Lucifer lectured him about how to properly fold fitted sheets, he may just have to be imprisoned in the attic again. Luckily for him, MC took some time out of their schedule to help him finish quicker

Belphie was thankful enough that he figured he could allow them to nap with him as an award. Do not mind the fact that MC always takes naps with him but this time can be a little bit special. He nicked a projector from RAD the following day and set it up in the attic so that it would project constellations on the walls and ceilings. He also made a really comfortable pillow fort for them to share. This took a lot of work on Belphie’s part so it was a privilege for MC to join him

When the MC finally arrived at the attic after Bephie texted them to meet him up there, they were not expecting the space to be turned into such a nice and cozy room. Belphie explained that it was as a thank you for the help the other day after they kept just standing in the doorway. He then demanded they came and laid down with him

“You didn’t have to put all this work into making this space for me! It was just folding laundry. It wasn’t that big of a deal, I promise”

Belphie turns his back on them and kind of pouts into his pillow. If they don’t appreciate him sacrificing sleep to make them happy and feel appreciated, then who cares. He can nap just fine by himself and he is hard press to prove the point

After the MC stands there for a little bit and then finally decides to join him in the pillow fort, Belphie ignores them for a bit. Neither of them move from their spots until Belphie sighs and rolls over to use their chest as a pillow. If all this work really was for nothing, he might as well enjoy his well-earned nap better with a warm body pillow

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hmmmmmmmmmmmmm....I gave up on proof reading this part way so I hope it is okie dokie

-Leo

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ladyfogg · 4 years ago

Text

Another Round

Fic Summary: You and Colin have been avoiding each other ever since the two of you were interrupted the other night. However, when Mare calls you to come to the bar to pick up Colin, you’re left with no choice but to deal with a very drunk Detective Zabel. Love Exists Masterpost. The Evans Fics Masterpost.

Fic Rating: Mature

Pairing: Colin Zabel/Female Reader

Warnings: Language, mild spoilers

All you want is a quiet evening at home.

The investigation into Erin’s death had shaken everyone to the core in Easttown, and you are no exception. In a place where everyone knows everyone, to have such a sudden and violent crime happen is enough to put the citizens on edge. You are feeling it and you sure as hell know Mare is feeling it. You’ve been doing everything in your power to be there for her and do what she needs but it’s hard since you’re not a full-blown detective. At least, not yet. You hope to be one day once you’ve had enough training and gone through all the proper channels.

For now, you’re content on being Mare’s trainee. Well, more like assistant but technically you’re a trainee. Actually, your exact title is Junior Detective but it makes you feel like you should be wearing a badge made of construction paper attached to your shirt by a safety pin. So you stick with trainee. Though that hasn’t stopped Mare from calling you ‘Junior’. Whether it’s to keep you at arm’s length or she just enjoys annoying the shit out of you, you’re not sure. You assume it’s a little of both.

Anyway, back to the quiet evening thing. You’ve been home for a few hours, settled into your tiny apartment with a slew of snacks and the latest crime docuseries on Netflix when your phone goes off.

You see it’s Mare and immediately pick up. “Hey, everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah everything’s fine.” You can barely hear her over the background nose. Tons of people are talking over each other with loud music thrown into the mix. “Sorry to call you so late but I need you to come down to the bar.”

“Do we have a lead?”

“Not exactly. It’s Zabel.”

Instantly your heart drops and you get to your feet, immediately scouring the floor for your discarded shoes. “Did something happen? Is Colin alright?”

In the background, you hear, “Heeeey, hey, Mare! Is that her? Are you calling her? Lemme talk to her.”

You hear her struggle for a moment before telling him to knock it off. “He’s fine. Just drunk as shit,” she says once she manages to get the phone back from him. “Can you come pick him up and take him home?”

“Oh, um…alright.”

“Is that a problem?”

“No. No, not at all.”

“I just figured since you two—”

“Oh we didn’t end up…we haven’t…” You stop yourself from going any further and embarrassing the both of you. “I’ll be there in five minutes.”

Ever since Mare interrupted you and Colin about to go at it in his hotel room, things have been more than a little awkward. Despite confessing how much you like each other, neither you nor he has made another move. Before it was spontaneous and a spur-of-the-moment decision, fueled by passion and excitement. By now, you have lost yourself in your own head and you get the sense he has too.

The two of you can’t even make eye contact without him quickly looking away and blushing. It’s adorable, yet incredibly frustrating to say the least. But the case is more important and you’ve been more than happy to forget about the embarrassing incident.

When you get to the bar, you’re faced with a vastly different Colin than you’re used to. The second you walk through the door, he calls your name excitedly and stumbles over, beer in hand.

“Oh my gosh you’re here,” he slurs, throwing an arm around your shoulders. “Mare! MARE! She’s here!”

“Yeah, I know, Zabel, I called her.” Mare’s face is as stoic as ever, and yet you can still see the corners of her lips twitch up into an amused smile.

“You wanna shot?” he asks you. “Yeah! YEAH, let’s get shots! Imma get you a shot!”

“No, Colin, I’m good,” you say but he’s already stumbling away. “Colin? Colin! Oi, whatever. How long has he been like this?”

“Since I got here,” Mare says, shoving her hands in her pockets. “Sorry, I thought you two were…I mean, the other night…”

“Nothing happened,” you say. “Since, you know, you interrupted. Things have kind of been awkward and we haven’t really talked about it.”

“Well, he’s certainly in a talkative mood tonight,” Mare says as you both watch Colin flag down the bartender and loudly ask for two shots. “Just make sure he gets back to the hotel in one piece, alright?”

“Will do, boss.”

“Thanks, junior.”

“Ugh, you know I hate it when you call me that.”

She smirks, patting you on the shoulder as she walks by. “I know.”

You make your way through the crowd to the bar where Colin is currently leaning. “Come on, Colin. I’ll take you home,” you say.

“Not before you do a shot with me!” he insists.

“Can’t, I’m driving. Besides, I think you’ve had enough.”

“Come ooooonnnn,” he slurs, nudging you with his shoulder. “Just’the one lil one? Then I’ll go…scout’s honor!”

You can’t help but chuckle, not used to seeing him so carefree and silly. After a moment of contemplation, you ease yourself onto the nearby stool. “Fine. Just the one.”

“That’s what I’m talking about!” Colin exclaims, sitting next to you. “Shottttsss!”

The bartender slides two shots over and you make a subtle motion for him to cut Colin off. He gives you a nod of acknowledgment, slyly swiping Colin’s half-full beer bottle as he moves on to take care of someone else.

“Okay, okay, okay, we need a toast,” Colin says, handing you one of the shots.

“Oh really? To what?”

“Hmmmmm…” Colin’s face scrunches adorably as he tries to get his drunk mind to think. “How ‘bout to us?”

You raise your eyebrow. “Us?”

Colin leans in close, pressing his forehead to yours, his voice dropping low. “Us. You know, me an’ you.”

“Didn’t know there was a me and you.”

“Could be. Should be. We did almost…you know.” He leans in close to your ear and loudly whispers, “Have sex.”

“Yes, yes we did almost have sex.”

“So?” he gestures with his shot, spilling some in the process. “To us?”

“To us then.”

You clink your shot glass against his before knocking the drink back, trying to hold in a cough as the liquid burns your throat. “Dear god that’s strong.”

“YUP.” Colin slams his shot glass down on the countertop, then winces when he realizes what he did. “Oops. Is’okay. S’not broken.”

“And we’d like to keep it that way,” you say, sliding the glasses off to the side. “So, what you say I take you home?”

“Wait, wait, wait, not yet. Let’s talk.” He puts his hand on your arm to stop you from standing. “We need’a talk.”

“About?”

“I’m sorry about the other night,” he apologizes, head slumping on your shoulder.

“You don’t have to apologize, Colin. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“But I did. I did. I should’a talked to you about it after but I chickened out.”

“Yeah, well, I could have talked to you too. I guess I also chickened out.”

“Here’sa thing. I jus’…you’re soooo beautiful and I get all tongue-tied around you and say stupid shit and I know you’re going to realize there’s someone better for you, and I just…”

Realizing he was way too far gone to be having such a serious conversation in the bar, you slide your arm around his waist. “Hey, hey, let’s talk about it later, okay? Come on. Let’s get you home.”

“Home’s too farrrr.”

“I meant your hotel room.”

“I don’t like it there. Take me to your place.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“I won’t try anything. Swear. I jus’…I don’t wanna go back to my empty hotel room.”

Your heart aches at the puppy-dog eyes he gives you and you find yourself relenting. “Fine. But you’re sleeping on the sofa and I’m not cleaning it up if you get sick all over yourself.”

“Thas’fair.”

You help Colin settle his tab with the bartender and then you escort him out of the bar, your arm still around his waist. His arm goes around your shoulders again but it’s mostly so he can attempt to walk straight. Eventually, you are able to load him into your car before climbing behind the wheel. The shot didn’t do much of anything and with your place being so close, you know you’re okay to drive.

Colin reclines his seat back, shutting his eyes. As you make your way towards home, you’re sure he’s fallen asleep until you hear, “Y’know, y’er really pretty.”

You smile to yourself, keeping your eyes on the road. “Thanks, Colin. I think you’re pretty too.”

“Really???”

“Yes.”

“Ugh, I’m so stupid. Should’a called you for a date the day after all that happened.”

“It’s okay.”

“NO! No is’not. I ghosted you.”

“Colin, I don’t think it’s ghosting if the other person doesn’t reach out to you either.”

“It’s not?”

“Not really. Pretty sure that just ignoring each other.”

“Oh. Okay good. Well, not good we ignored each other. Good you didn’t think I ghosted you. Cuz I would NEVER do that to you.”

“Good to know.”

“And you won’t do that to me. I know you won’t. You’re too sweet. You wouldn’t break up with me two weeks before our wedding.”

Your heart sinks when he says this. Chancing a glance at him, you notice how sad his eyes are. Truth be told, you don’t know much about Colin, mostly because with the intensity of the case, the two of you haven’t had time to properly get to know each other. But his drunk words are way too specific to be a hypothetical scenario.

“Is that what happened to you?” you ask tentatively.

“Yup. Not sure how it happened. Or why. She just woke up and said, ‘hey, I’m not in love with you anymore’. And I’m like ‘s’ok, can I put my bagel down first?’…” he babbles, head rolling to the side so he can look at you. “Jus’ like that. Done. No more.”

You reach over to take his hand. “I’m sorry, Colin. That’s…that’s really shitty.”

“Isn’t it? I mean…I don’t know wha’ happened. But…whatareyou gonna do?” He squeezes your hand and brings it up to his lips so he can place a sloppy kiss on your knuckles. “We’ve been driving for a loooong time.”

“It’s been five minutes.”

“Really?!”

“Just close your eyes. We’ll be there soon.”

“M’kay.”

Not long after, you pull into your driveaway, letting go of his hand so you can park the car and shut it off. You sit there for a minute, admiring his side profile as he lays there with his eyes closed. He is a handsome man. You can stare at him all day. Every time he greets you with that wide smile, your heart skips a beat and your stomach does a little flip-flop thing.

He must feel you staring because he opens his eyes and gives you a crooked smile. “We there yet?”

You smile back. “Yeah, we’re here. Let’s get you inside.”

“Okaaay.”

With you guiding him and doing most of the work, you help Colin up the walkway to your place, pausing now and then when he sways and puts too much weight on you. Once inside, you dump him onto the couch before going back to lock your front door. Briefly, you pause to send Mare a text letting her know you’re both safe, before shutting your phone off and tossing it onto the counter. You shrug out of your coat and shoes before rejoining Colin in the living room where you left him.

“This is a nice place,” he says, sprawled out on the couch with his head nearly hanging off the armrest. “Looks homey.”

“If by homey you mean small, then yeah. It’s real homey. Come on. Sit up so we can get your coat off.”

“Tryin’a strip me down, you saucy minx,” he slurs, leaning forward as you try to pull the long coat off his arms. “I know your game and I accept.”

Laughing softly, you manage to wrestle him out of the coat before he flops backward. “No games tonight, Zabel.”

“Fine but at least a kiss?”

“That’s definitely not a good idea.”

“Jus’a lil one…come on, lil kiss…” he says in a soft voice, trying to lean in. “Jus’a peck. Lil smooch.”

Still laughing, you gently force him to lay back down. “Not while your drunk. Maybe in the morning if you’re feeling better we can have a little smooch.”

“Been thinking about kissin’ you for days,” he admits as you start to untie his shoes for him. “And picturing you on top of me. That was nice. I liked that. Let’s do that.”

You toss him a grin as you slide the shoe off his foot. “Like I said. Maybe…If you’re a good boy.”

His smile widens and he wags his eyebrows. “I’ll be’a good boy for you.”

After ridding him of his other shoe, you tuck a blanket around him. “Sleep it off, Colin. We’ll talk in the morning.”

“Wait, wait, wait, don’t go,” he urges, grabbing your hand as you make a move to stand. “Not yet. Don’t go yet. It’s jus’…I wanna talk to you.”

“Okay. About what.”

“Everythin’. Anythin’. LIFE! Let’s talk about life.”

“It is way too late and you’re way too drunk to talk about life.”

“It’s just…the thing is…I’m getting to that age, right? I’m getting to that age where I’m starting to look at my life and I’m going…well, here’s what I thought it would be and…here’s what it actually is…” He throws his hands up with a sigh and a shrug, letting his thought hang there.

You’re all too familiar with that feeling. And yet, you have no idea how to respond. He’s not the only one looking at his life and wondering what the hell. There you are, living in the same town where you grew up, a detective in training living in a shitty, tiny apartment with neighbors who press their noses to the window every time you set outside. You haven’t had a relationship in years, mainly because you know every single guy in town and have grown up with them. The thought of dating and settling down with any of them does not appeal to you in the slightest. Never did. Not that that’s the only way to live your life but it’s something you would like to do someday. With the right person.

“Am I making any fucking sense?” he asks, more to himself than to you.

“Yeah, yeah, you are.” You reach up to lay a hand on his cheek. “Get some rest, okay. I’ll be just in the other room if you need me.”

“Mmm, okay. Rest sounds good. Sleep good.”

He rolls onto his side, taking your hand with him and almost pulling you across his body. You manage to wiggle free with a chuckle. By the time you get up to shut off the living room light, he’s already snoring.

You have too many questions and not enough answers. This man, this big hero detective that is supposed to help solve the case seems just as lost and alone as you feel. You wonder if that’s why you were drawn together. Two lost, lonely souls who found each other among such darkness.

Too tired to go down that train of thought, you slip away to your room, wondering just how much Colin will remember in the morning.

#colin zabel #evan peters #mare of easttown spoilers #love exists

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kusagrasskusa · 4 years ago

Text

Fell! Sans X Reader - "Boss is gonna kill me-"

Here at the Hamilcult, we support fluff fanfics in cringy fandoms that likely implement OOC cannon characters. That was sarcasm but even so, just know that this might be sorta OOC and this is fluff :3

Also, prepare for a Wattpad level written story and a shitty plot. I just got done writing a 7000 worded fanfic and frankly, I need a b r e a k.

Forgive me for I have sinned writing this

~~~~~~~

Y/N yawned, rubbing her tired eyes before laying back on her chair. She sunk deep into her warm coat, the fluffy fur on the hood making her feel more relaxed. The coat was oversized black and red with big pockets, perfect for a human in a place like Snowdin. After all, at the post near the conveniently shaped lamp, Y/N was waiting in the blistering cold. Well, the scenery looked peaceful but it definitely was snowing and the air was terribly cold. The fur on the coat rubbed against her face, making her cheeks turn red from the contrast heat of it and the cold air.

She whined and pulled the coat over her head when a few snowflakes touched her face. "Cold," she mumbled tiredly. Y/N flipped her body to the side and whined again. This time, the problem was how uncomfortable her position was. So she tossed over to the other direction and laid her head against the chair. "...the chair is uncomfortable," she tiredly whined.

"If it's that bad then just fucking leave," a rough, annoyed voice spoke. It was Sans, the slightly taller skeleton with a red sweater on and without his coat. "I want my coat back anyway. You're getting ya' human scent in it and I don't want that kinda trouble," he continued. Y/N huffed and sat up straight. She was around his size to sat the least, but a bit thinner and shorter.

"But I thought you wanted me out here," she retorted. "You clearly get lonely here after a while so I wanted to stay with you."

"Yeah, well stayin' with me hasn't brought more customers, has it?" He replied, turning his head towards the younger girl. His red eyes seethe into her soul basically, but Y/N just giggled at his serious expression. The hood covered half her face so her eyes were widen, which they usually were. It's strange because even without the hoodie, something is always covering her eyes whether it's her hair or not. And without a barber in Snowdin and hundreds of people who want to murder her for being human, Y/N hair is bound to grow out anyway.

"You're so funny sometimes Sans," she complimented with a sweet smile on her face. "You have such a cute look when you're mad...well actually, I don't think I've ever seen you not mad before. I wonder what a genuine smile would look like..." she mumbled sleepily. Sans felt his cheeks light up a bit so he turned away from her, rolling his eyes. He wasn't used to such words at all.

"Huh?–" Sans jumped as he felt the girl's arms wrap around his body softly. She had slipped her arms out of the coat for Sans to out his arms in.

"Put the coat back on. It's big enough for me to fit back here," she giggled quietly as she rested her head on Sans's shoulder. Sans felt his fa e turn red and his body tense; he growled and turn his head towards her.

"I gave the damn thing to you, so wear it properly !"

"But you're cold and you're coat can fit us both."

"I don't care!" Sans hissed back, making Y/N giggled. The two friends often had times like this; wholesome and adorable with Sans getting all flustered. Sans barely even saw her a friend as he promised he would never let anyone get too close to him so he doesn't turn soft. But Y/N's persistent and sweet personality really struck him hard. Of course, he wouldn't go as far as to crush on her, right? No, their just good friends...

Y/N' cheeks puffed out and she pouted her lip like an upset toddler. "Sans, please? Just this once?" She asked as she squeezed him into a tighter hug. Sans scoffed and shook his head.

"No! What am I, some pueny pawn? I will not sink that fucking low," Sans seethed. Y/N was silent for a few moments before simply letting go of her tight grip and going lip against Sans's back. She head remained on his shoulder and luckily his sweater cushioned the feel of his bones, making this a comfortable position.

"I like this much better," she said tiredly with a warm smile on her face. Sans was sitting on a rather large chair that he got in order to find better sleeping situations without sliding off it, but because he was sitting on the edge of the chair, Y/N could easily slide behind him. She sat on her knees that were either side of him and yet it was so comfortable for her. "You're more comfortable than a chair." Her voice got lower and softer each time he spoke but it didn't lose its sweetness once.

"Yeah, well I ain't no damn pillow Y/N. Get the hell off me... Hello?" He asked when he didn't get a response. He turned his head to face the girl and saw her completely emersed into the dream world. It's true that he couldn't see her eyes, but he still could tell. He sighed heavily and turned his head in front of him.

"Huh‐ Ah!-" Y/N shrieked as she was pushed into the freezing snow.

"Ahahaha!" Sans laughed hard as he watched Y/N freak out. "I told you I wasn't no damn pillow!" He laughed as he put his hands on his knees. Y/N whined she stood straight up and glared at him. She walked over to him with a pout on her lip and lightly punched his arm.

"Hmph!" Sans chuckled at her adorable attempt at being angry and bopper her nose rough enough to push her away a bit.

"Was that supposed to make me feel bad, human? Well lemme tell ya', that just won't do," Sans spoke as his smile grew cockier.

"I wasn't even trying to hurt you, so don't start that," Y/N retorted. Sans rolled his eyes while he kept up his cocky smile. He shrugged and pu

"Yeah, sure. You fists are as strong as a fly's. You couldn't hurt me, even if you tried," he pushed. Y/N hmphed and shook her head. She pulled her arm back and punched him right in the shoulder as hard as her tired arm could. Sans just snickered and didn't even flinch.

"Wait, was that the best you got? I heard you humans are supposed to be strong." Sans shrugged his shoulders before pulling his hands out of his pockets and stretching. "Whatever, I guess it doesn't matter all that much. If you ever did decide to attack me, it's not like you'd live long enough to be able to lay a hit on me. And anyone else down here would have no problem given all they got to some little girl."

"I'm 20."

"Doesn't matter," Sans said as he put his hands back in his pockets. Y/N sighed and shook her head.

"You know I wouldn't hurt anyone down here as much as I know you wouldn't hurt me, Sans," her soft replied. To be honest, his name being spoken so sweetly had a good ring to Sans' ears.

"Yeah, well you can't blame me for being cautious. You humans put us down here, remember? You humans murdered so many monsters for no fucking reason then trapped the rest of us down here with your strong souls as aid. Then a few fallen human children came down here and either murdered a little, a large portion, or one of us. Still, you humans seem to be naturally turned to a genocide even though you have fucking everything you can possibly want on the surface. Us monsters have nothing, not even a real sun or moon, to make us happy, so our rage is justified." Sans finished his train of thought with a scowl; he turned his head towards the snow building up on the ground and glared at it. Y/N frowned, holding her arms to her chest.

"...Hey, Sans. It stopped snowing, so we don't have to worry about a blizzard keeping us from going to Grillby's," Y/N said as she looked out of the post, finally noticing the snow had stopped falling.

"Why would I worry about a blizzard? I got a shortcut that'll get us there in no time," he smirked and looked up at her. Y/N cocked her head questioning, humming. "Just follow me, aight," he spoke as he walked behind the post. Y/N caught up with him in no time while holding the sides of the coat close to together instead of zipping it. The sleeves just hung by her sides as she still wanted Sans to wear the coat with her cuddling up behind him, mostly because she could still use the hoode that way.

As they walked up to a tree, suddenly, Sans chuckled. The next moment, they were at the doorway of Grillby's and the absorbed by heat and warm light. Y/N looked around her frantically and confused, "how did you do that?"

"Ya humans got strong souls, us monsters have magic," he explained with a cocky smile. "Now let's go sit down at the bar instead of the booth this time. That drunk bunny annoys the shit outta me," he mumbled the last part as he walked over to the bar with Y/N following.

As she passed the dogs, one of them called out, "wait, is that a human? Isn't that the one we fought before?" It was Dogamy who spoke out, then causing her husband to talk back.

"I think so, yes, the one that turned into a puppy that liked to pet other dogs!"

Y/N giggled tiredly as she sat down at the bar besides Sans, listening on their conversation a few seconds longer before returning her focus to Sans alone. "I want a burger," she mumbled.

"Aight," Sans replied. He signaled for Grillby to walk over after he finished making a drink for another customer. The being of purple fire had what looked like a jagged white frown for a mouth, and he wore a skintight black vest with a white undershirt with rolled up sleeves and black jeans as his attire. He vest was also low cut, so an outline of his chest was visible. Although he had a serious tone, he definitely seemed like he could flirt successfully to any person he wanted.

"What," Grillby's echoy voice rung. The purple fire that made up his body flickered and cracked, making Y/N smile from the satisfying sound.

"Two burgers, put it on my tab," Sans replied, leaning on the counter with a mustard bottle in his hand. Grillby wrote down his order and walked towards the kitchen door with a "fire onlt" sign on it. He walked inside the kitchen and came out with a drink; it was F/D, something Y/N typically ordered when she came to the bar. He set the drink down in front of her.

"On the house," Grillby spoke. Y/N smiled softly at him, thanking him. "Tch," he responded before tending to other costumers. Grillby didn't really like Y/N, but he appreciated the little work and silence she brought him. She only spoke when spoken to, and she didn't order things that were hella hard to make and then complain about it. Sans growled, rolling his eyes.

"Fucking simp," he hissed. Y/N tilted her head, humming.

"Hmm? Why?" Y/N asked before taking a sip if her drink.

"He's losin' money by given out free drinks. And of anyone, to you."

"Well," Y/N smirked sweetly. "I come here a lot and that attracts monsters who want to see the human. So by being tourist attraction, he makes more money," she explained. Sans scoffed, his cheeks reddening.

"Whatever." Aww, our bebe skeleboi is jealous of the big, tall, muscular fire dude! Y/N giggled, patting him on the shoulder.

"I really appreciate you bringing me here with you. When you decide to pay your tab, remind me to contribute enough money to help." Sans shrugged, smirking.

"People like you are too nice down here, really."

"It feels nice to help someone."

"It's not so nice when people try to kill you over it," Sans retorted. Y/N frowned, nodding.

"I guess I didn't grow up down here so there isn't much for me to say, but I can't help but think everyone down here is kind but hurt. I mean, there's a lot about you I noticed that aren't so...pleasant, but you managed to treat me like a person with emotions and opinions. I doubt that of hundreds, you're the only one down here like that," she explained. Sans sighed again, rubbing his eyes.

"Like I said, people like you are too nice down here." Sans finished the conversation this way and then came a long moment of silence. In that time, Grillby came over with two plates with burgers on them. He set them in front of the two.

"Here."

"Thank you, Grillby," Y/N thanked with a warm smile on her face. Grillby silently nodded at her before walking away. She grabbed the ketchup and poured some on her burger, whereas Sans barely acknowledged what was happening around him. He was getting caught up in his thoughts right now, a bit overwhelmed with them actually. Finally, he stood up and walked away from the bar, heading out the front door. Y/N hummed and took a bite of her burger, watching Sans leave.

She set her food down and ran after him, leaving the restaurant right when he did. "Is everything alright?" She asked worriedly, making Sans scowl.

"God, y'know, you gotta stop assuming something's wrong. I'm fine. And either way, I wouldn't tell you some edgy shit no one cares about," Sans replied. Y/N was silent at first, then she took off the coat she still had on. Her hair brushed over her eyes as she did that, making them impossible to see. She put the hood on top of Sans' head before wrapping her arms together coldly. "Why do you're eyes always do that?"

"Do what?" She asked.

"If they ain't covered by a hood, it's covered by your hair. If not your hair, someone's or something's blocking your face. If it's not that, then you're head it turned away from view. It's weird," Sans explained. Y/N hummed, not noticing that until now.

"Well... Do you want to see my eyes?" She asked as she brought her hands up. She was wearing one of Sans's red shirts, which sorta made this moment more cliche but who cares. Sans slowly nodded, curious. Then Y/N pushed her hair out of her face, revealing her normal looking E/C eyes. Well, aside from the kindness and care that laid within them. And it was that feature that hit Sans first.

"Woah," he mumbled, tuning his full body towards her. "That's beautiful!" Y/N giggled, making Sans' face redden. He opened his mouth to form a quick insult to her in order to make him seem like he didn't mean it, but Y/N spoke first.

"Thank you. Your eyes are very pretty as well. It has a nice color to it, too," she replied softly. Sans huffed silently, looking to the side.

"I, uh...thanks," he mumbled as he put his hand in his pockets. He sighed and put coat on right, burying his face in the hood fur. It was obvious that he was pretty flustered right now and reddened, as he did truly feel his chest warm when he was around Y/N. It was strange for him to feel this way so he typically pushed his feelings away and told himself that he was just her guardian per say. But he knew deep down in his heart it wasn't true.

"Look, I got something to say to you," Sans pushed more harshly then intended. "And I don't wanna hear any of this being told or heard by other monsters, got it? This is us and us alone, ya understand? This shit is hard to say, so..." he drifted off. The snow was started to pick up again, making the scene look more aesthetic.

Y/N nodded, listening to him closely when began talking. "This shit isn't said very often down here; no, it's not said at all actually. But you're human, and you have a different heart so..." he trailed off again, scratching the back of his head. He looked Y/N in the eyes and gave her a flustered glare like if he was embarrassed, which she took no offense to. "I don't just give anyone the right to take my coat, waste my time, bother me, stop me from sleeping, and more. It's just you and Boss, and even he has less power than you."

He continued after a deep breath. "And its not because you're human or I pity you. In fact, I couldn't care less if you're soul is strong, since I could still break it; I couldn't care less if you fell down here, since we're trapped down here too. I let you do because... it's like a bandaid, just gotta say it... I care about you. Not even like a sister or close friend, no, I mean if you were about to be shot, I would jump in front of bullet so you could liev put your life happily. I love you."

Y/N was silent, sorta just staring. Her whole body was shook, frozen, and in shock. She didn't even know what she just heard or if she was dreaming. She even forgot that she was freezing due to being too caught up in her feelings. Sans stood there silently for about 10 seconds as well, before he face-palmed and grew red jn embarrassment. That's when a tear escaped the corner of Y/N's eye and a large smile grew on her features.

"Sans," she replied sweetly as she walked over to him. She fell forwards on him and wrapped her arms around the inside of the coat, around his sweater. The embraced him tightly and said, "I love you too!" Sans felt his heart move a little and a new feeling wash over him. Without being able to control it, he felt a genuine smile grow on his face as he hugged her back tightly.

"I'm so...glad," he breathed out heavily, his nerves relaxing. The two stayed in that position for a while before eventually breaking off. Y/N pecked him on the cheek before grabbing his hand.

"We should go back inside, hehe. The food'll get cold," she said as she motioned to the door. Sans nodded nervously, chuckling.

"Yeah, and Grillby will be pissed if we wasted food. I don't wanna deal with that again." The two fo them walked inside the restaurant/bar, they started their way back to the bar. Yet when they got in, the bar was silent. I mean, the restaurant was pitch silent; not only that, but many eyes were on them as they walked in. Y/N completely ignored their exists' and sat down on the barstool, picked up her burger and ate it. Luckily was still warm. Sans on the other hand was hella nervous. No, he was fucking terrified.

Grillby walked over to the two and leaned forward, so than when he whispered, only they could hear. "The bunny chick saw you two hug and kiss. Just play it cool, and they'll forget all about it in a few days." Well shit, Sans thought. Boss is gonna kill me when he finds out.

Y/N just ate her burger in peace, not really caring if other people knew about them. After all, it's their choice to laugh about like a boy kindergartener complaining about holding hands with a girl because it means their "dating," or to hear about it and mind their own business.

#sans x reader #fell sans #underfell #underfell sans #underfell x reader #underfell sans x reader #bad writing #bad plot

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daydream-believin · 4 years ago

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MERLIN’S APPRENTICE & MERLIN’S CHAMPION || trollhunters

warnings: swearing

a/n: if rott gave me anything it gave me this idea

I KNOW I SAID “JUICY” BUT REALLY THAT WAS JUST THE ANGST POTENTIAL,, THAT IM NOT INDULGING IN THIS POST IM SORRY LMAO

OKAY WHAT IM REALLY TALKING BOUT HERE IS A GOOD MERLIN/ARTHUR BUT IT ACTUALLY WORKS

no sorry i haven’t seen bbc merlin don’t come for me i’m ignorant

OKAY SO

we know douxie kept an eye on the human trollhunter and co

but douxie’s really having a hard time convincing himself he’s just doing his job

he’s actually enjoying this a little too much despite how boring staying in the shadows is

and he’s kinda worried?

so he’s got this bright idea: you know what would better help him keeps tabs? if he befriends this person

and so he does

fuck merlin’s shadows

sod the rules

ofc he’s very up front about knowing they’re the trollhunter and that he’s merlin’s apprentice

we wouldn’t want that to become a huge festering secret that eats douxie from the inside out until the inevitable reveal when merlin calls them both to help with the arcane order and they realize they’ve both been lying to each other’s faces for months/years and neither of them know if they could ever trust the other again, right? — phew *catches breath*

but before you know it, mr. casperan and mx. trollhunter are best friends

he’s basically the toby to your jim

and you’re very happy to have a best friend like douxie

he understands that monster hunting hustle

he’s the only person you can vent to and actually talk about what’s going on without sounding like a loon

and douxie likes being able to tell someone all his frustrations with merlin, since you’re also in that boat with him

you spar sometimes. it’s fun, but you’re very careful not to accidentally hurt your friend (he’s extremely careful not to hurt you or wound your ego by effortlessly wiping you out)

ofc, there’s the occasional, brushing of hands, faces a little too close together, accidentally winding up on top of one another, purposefully winding up on top of one another 👀 you know how sparring be

you and douxie are a duo. a duo who have become trollmarket’s resident troublemakers, to vendel’s exasperation

you guys tease each other a lot

you do a lot of stupid shit, cause hey, now you have magic armor and a magic sword and a magic best friend, did you think you wouldn’t get up to some shenanigans?

douxie is your impulse control and he’s not a very good one, as he’s just as bad

truthfully archie has the brain cell

and pranks? gods the pranks. you two are always either pranking each other or you’re teaming up to prank some other troll who said smth mean to you in the pub. vendel had to personally put a stop to it (read: chew you out)

doux thinks the world of you tho, you’re such a noble knight, and likes to tell people about how you’re a cinnamon roll, so innocent, so pure

and then they meet you and you directly contradict those statements

trollhunter: i’ve never done anything wrong in my life, ever

douxie: i know this and i love you

(spoiler: you’ve done lots and lots of wrong)

doux spends an awful lot of time slinking around trollmarket now, and he’s in the know for everything that’s happening

(no more being kept in the dark for this wizard apprentice)

and doux knows merlin won’t completely approve of this, but hey, it’s not like he’s helping and thus directly disobeying

really, he’s not helping you at all, it’s really fucking annoying

okay so mayyybe the occasional healing spell. you’ve got those puppy dog eyes he can’t say no to

but you understand his sense of duty, or whatever it is that drives a follower, technically being a follower of merlin yourself

you respect the old geezer (as you have not been turned into a half-troll yet) as a wise mythical figure, and as your best friend’s father

and what a perfect match you are for each other, champion and apprentice, mutually being screwed over by a guy you both think has all the answers

you and douxie help each other grow in your self-worths, that you two are more than the chances merlin has given to you

unfortunately, mortifyingly, you have caught feelings.

douxie has also caught feelings, and is saying nothing yep you have enough on your plate without him putting this on you so he’ll just quietly pine and suffer don’t mind him choking to death in the corner when you take off your helmet and throw back your hair

y’all’s problem really starts manifesting itself as protectiveness. you are really protective of your wizard and he is really protective of his knight

lots of things said that are Not What Friends Say but neither of you really want to be the one to point that out

lots and lots of i love yous that slowly get more and more serious until it’s not exactly platonic anymore

and it’s just really nice to have someone to get coffee (or your favored hot drink) with at four in the morning after a tussle with a troll

and that’s basically how you and douxie spend the bulk of trollhunters, just vibing

as much as you can vibe, with all the changelings and shit trying to murder you all the time

then merlin wakes up and shakes up your world

you are aware of your impending doom

you’re aware of it

merlin keeps looking you up and down like he’s mentally making up the measurements of your coffin

and tbh the idea of fighting gunmar freaks you tf out

and you’re supposed to win that fight?

gods

you’re preparing for your nightmares coming true soon

truthfully you knew your fucking job had a 100% mortality rate

you don’t want to die with regrets

you spill

you spill all the things you’d wanted to tell him and how much he means to you and that you couldn’t bear it if you were a goner before he knew

miraculously, douxie feels the same and tells you all the things he’d been holding back and and what you mean to him and how much he wants to protect you, that you’re gonna make it, if he had anything to say about it

and everything is perfect for one night

now you have a real reason to win

not that saving humanity isn’t a big responsibility on your shoulders and definitely A Reason

but knowing douxie’s waiting for you, for the life you’ll build together after this, the peace you’ll both have, it’s absolutely a big motivation to give your all and come out victorious and survive

hahaha loser you don’t know about the arcane order

and then merlin uses your microwave to cook a weird potion

you and merlin are alone in the house, but there’s no real mind games necessary. you may have grown past thinking he was a god, but in the end, you’re still a follower of merlin, and if merlin thinks this could give you an edge, well, who are you to question his methods

doesn’t mean you aren’t nervous as your master hands you the bottle

yet you don’t even hesitate to drown yourself in the black abyss of the tub

whatever it takes amirite?

and now you’re a half-troll

a sexy half-troll, if you do say so yourself

yeah, no ‘i’m a monster’ angst here, you’re loving the power-up

you’ve got to treat it like a cool new power-up or you will cry actually tbh i lied about the no-angst thing a new body is disorienting

your only real concern is douxie

not concerned for long tho, he sees you and the first thing out of his mouth is “nuclear!”

and he senses your concern, so he does go out of his way to assure you that boy, girl, enby, or half-troll, he loves you for your soul, darling

also again half-troll! you is hot as hell so he’s not really losing anything here 👀

he makes sure you know that too, not to let any insecurities fester

him raking his eyes up and down you gives the opposite effect of the dread merlin sent down your spine doing it

anyways,,,

doux helps out a lot more in the eternal night

like helps merlin re-defeat and re-seal morgana

he’ll do it again in few weeks but with a bigger role you know, this is practice

thank merlin for that edge YOU ARE THE LAST TROLLHUNTER YOU ARE VICTORIOUS YOUVE GOT GUNMARS HEAD IN YOUR HANDS HAHAHA

but now you’ve got to go to new jersey

douxie’s been instructed to stay in arcadia tho 🥺

it’s okay, you’ll see each other again soon

sooner than you realize

and until then you talk each other to sleep every night over the phone <3

merlins glad, actually. he’s glad hisirdoux found some solace. even if it is with the lamb he was raising for the slaughter. maybe things will go okay for them. the time map suggests it might be so

hisirdoux may have done things in a way he didn’t quite approve of, but that’s because he’s becoming his own wizard, and merlin is proud

#okay okay i’m done #see you in wizards #douxie x reader #hisirdoux casperan x reader #tales of arcadia x reader #tales of arcadia imagine #douxie imagine #hisirdoux casperan imagine #hisirdoux casperan #douxie #douxie casperan x reader #tales of arcadia #my writing

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starryyyjoon · 3 years ago

Text

I, you | Kim Namjoon One Shot

word count: 8.2k

pairing: idol!namjoon x fem reader

summary: namjoon meets you again and he can't help but want you to look at him the same way he has all these years.

disclaimer: it's sort of written from y/n pov. kind of smut included, not too much but still. other then that, i don't think there's anything. it was written a long time ago so i don't clearly remember, sorry!

Namjoon walked in, followed by a few staff members and they occupied the empty chairs on the conference table and I smiled at him and the others. He looked great like always, he was in a navy blue hoodie and a khaki colored trouser, with his hair pushed backwards exposing his forehead.

There was something and nothing between me and him and it was too tiring to play pretend. "You look good", he remarked and I smiled at him. He's always being too kind, I looked like absolute shit, I hadn't slept in three days and my clothes were whatever was in my reach that I'd put on after showering and I rushed here.

I had met him before this level of success but I was merely an assistant director myself and we'd talked about Monet and his work together, he'd similar interests to mine but both of us didn't really get anywhere because of our timing and I believed it was for the good. He'd always expressed how he liked my vision and wants to work with me on something and I didn't believe my vision because what even was my vision that he could see and not me and after being this big I didn't really thought he'll even remember me until he hit my phone one day and here I was, at the label's office to discuss the details of his mixtape's music video.

"So, do you've something in mind?", I asked him and he pressed his back on the chair letting out a yawn, he seemed tired.

"Not really! I want it simplistic and not too hard to understand. I haven't thought about it or anything so I don't know, I would await what you propose", he softly said.

"I haven't heard the track because of--", he intervened, "--ah you haven't? You should hear it first", he said and I nodded.

"I would need to hear it", I told him, thinking about the lengthy talks with the illustrator already.

The staff then pin pointed about the budget, the do nots and other details and two of my team members who were seated beside me talked thoroughly in detail about the technicalities. Namjoon looked bored with all the talk that didn't interest him. He wasn't much different from before slightly bigger.

All of us stood up coming to an agreement when Namjoon asked me to walk up to his studio to hear the track and I asked my team members to go ahead first. I walked through the dark corridor behind him while he talked to someone on the phone, all the way to his studio. I didn't really hear what he was talking because I was invested in staring around the place like I hadn't seen a building before.

The walls were all dark and a comforting shade since I didn't like the sun anyway. It seemed like a night mode in real life.

His studio was the corner most, he typed the passcode in and stood aside gesturing for me to walk in, followed by him. He hung up the phone call and put his phone aside, switching the AC on. He sat behind the monitor while he switched it on and I went through my inbox.

"So, how have you been?", his deep tone, made me look up and I fidgeted to put my eyes on something other then him while he turned his chair around to face me.

"I have been okay-ish, like the projects I'm doing I'm satisfied with them so I guess it's kinda okay", I said and regretted it immediately, I don't even talk like this and he knows it.

"Not the work c'mon, you, your boyfriend, family, other things?", a lose smile hung on his lips and I looked at him. How can someone look like that?

"No boyfriend because you know no one can put up with this profession. I haven't slept in three days so I'm fucking annoyed and the work is too much that I don't have time for other things", I shrugged and he chuckled. I didn't want to think about guys, I barely had time for myself. Filmmaking was a time bound profession.

"I relate, trust me I do", he turned his chair back around, his eyes on the computer screen and I looked at him. I could see why he could relate, I mean of course he didn't had time either. I knew idol schedules enough to know how these things go. "Why didn't you come that day?", he asked me and my insides twisted.

"I was hoping you don't bring it up", I said in a small voice.

"Why not? I waited for you", he said without looking at me and I threw my head back on the couch thinking of the time when he'd asked me out officially and I didn't make it. "At least I deserve to know what was more important that you didn't make it", he looked at me and I closed my eyes shut.

"I had a flight, I got an exclusive food show travel experience with discovery and it was too good for an opportunity to miss", I let it out and took a breath in. I knew I could never leave work for a guy, any guy, or anyone as a matter of fact and as much as I'd thought about it on the plane...it all seemed for the better. He wasn't the kind of guy I could've had my regular thing with and I was too young to be serious.

"It was a good show", he told me. I could feel his eyes on me and I didn't flinch. I didn't regret it but his words made me feel guilty. My head was on the headrest of the sofa I sat on and my eyes were closed. My subconscious could feel his curious gaze on me.

"Look away Namjoon", I said and I could feel his gaze was still on me.

"Why didn't you call me when you got back?", he asked me and I looked at him.

"I didn't because our cultures differ, everything is poles apart--what's the point of discussing it now?", I asked him, slightly annoyed. He and I separately needed to focus on our careers and he knew it too damn well.

"Okay", he turned around again as his monitor showed a circle indicating that the programme he'd launched was loading. "It does makes me feel better that my better position in life doesn't changes your opinion on me. Quiet comforting", he said, with a hint of sarcasm in his voice but I chose to ignore it. The last thing I'd be doing is fueling this feeling in him by discussing this useless thing which wouldn't make any difference whatsoever.

"Is this the reason you wanted me to do this project with you?", I asked him and he swiftly turned his chair around.

"No, I don't take all this for granted. I love the stuff you do. I'm pretty updated thanks to how active you're on your social media", he smiled and I couldn't shook the thought of seeing my psychotic episodes on my Instagram, Twitter...everywhere. I'm pretty weird out there.

"I love it, the stories", he flased his dimple smile before turning his chair around again and I felt his warmth, like he meant what he said.

For a second I was taken aback with how tall he was from me and how good he looked, he'd always looked good but he was more mature now and much more reserved. "I'll be calling you often because I won't send it for pre-production without your say on the concept", I told him.

"I'll look forward to a lot of calls", he said. "I'm sorry this is taking a while", he added quickly and for some reason I couldn't look away from him, whose back was visible to me.

"No, take your time", I said, crossing my arms against my chest. I really wished he was a regular guy just making music but then I didn't. I wouldn't want someone to wish that for me. He'd earned all of it and I knew it.

"Look away ___", he said slowly. I could feel his grin through his words and I looked away shaking my head right and left softly. "It's, yeah it's playing", he turned around as the music filled in the empty atmosphere.

It was a slow song with a really fast rap. It was how Namjoon was, he contradicted himself too much. I instantly knew it was his writing from the way the words went and the wordplay came into role. I couldn't help but analyze the song because I was supposed to shoot and sketch a music video for it and at times like this I didn't really get to enjoy the art for the art and I hated it.

"How was it?", he asked me, his eyes fixated on me as the music faded. I wanted it to last.

"The only problem with it is that it ends", I flashed a smlie at him and he shook his head throwing it back.

"That's too corny even for you", Namjoon rolled his eyes but I was being serious. "You know I appreciate heavy critics", he said.

"I didn't find anything to criticize, the writing is great, the composition fits and it has a catchy vibe to it. I think I would listen a song like that on a drive or something? In your case a bicycle but yeah! It's a good song", I summarized my opinion. "Do you like want a trendy video?", I asked him.

"Anything that you want to do with it", he said and I gently nodded. Since it was given to me, I couldn't stop thinking about what to do with it.

"Can you stop thinking about it while you're with me ___?", he chuckled and I looked at him taken aback for a second and then nodded with a soft smile pasted on my lips.

"Your fashion sense has improved", I remarked.

"You look casual", he teased me.

"I, I've no fashion sense. I just wear whatever is there", I told him.

"I don't think so, your Instagram says different", he said.

"It's for the show Namjoon", I said.

"You're really not the type to do that, please don't deceive me", he beamed before he turned his chair around again to minimize the current tabs on the computer.

"You're the last person I'd be deceiving--", my words were cut from an incoming call from one of the producers of one of the shows I was working on. "I need to take this", I told him and answered the call while he just gave me a gentle nod in response.

The producer had informed me about the issues related to casting and the final draft of the script and I knew I had to go.

"Guess I'll see you later, bye", Namjoon said warmly as he smiled at me. The thing was he just knew and that always stuck somewhere.

"Bye", I left.

________________

"I, for one, disagree. C'mon how do you even call it an end?", I threw my hands in the air as we discussed it for the millionth time. I liked Su-ho but his thoughts on GOT made me want to kill him. He is the only person I knew who was satisfied with how it ended.

"I think it was okay, c'mon, you have to consider that the novels didn't end and as compared to that I think it was pretty good", Su-ho claimed while he sat on the bean bag in front of me, pushing it comfortably.

"Don't even start with the novels--", my words were interrupted with the sound of the doorbell, "--they didn't even do a good job interpreting it and I am offended by that. Look there novels", I pointed at my bookshelf, showing him my GOT collection which he knew as I opened the door and my head bumped against Namjoon's chest as he took a step in.

He chuckled as he held the back of my head with one hand and pressed my forehead with the other and rubbed it gently to ease the pain.

"What's uh, what's that? Is it iron", I mocked, pointing at his chest while he let me go from his grip and took his shoes off.

"It can be", he said. "But why were you jumping around so enthusiastically?", he asked me as he seated on the couch in front of Su-ho, as he greeted him and Su-ho greeted him back.

"Game of Thrones heavy discussions", I sighed. "This is Su-ho who's illustrating the storyboard", I told Namjoon.

Su-ho was starstruck and it seemed like it'd take him a good minute to recover and Namjoon was obviously used to it. I didn't call him at the office because a lot of people would want to see him then and it could be exhausting plus he'd a time limit on his hands.

"You know him, ___?", Su-ho widened his eyes at me and I nodded, suppressing my laughter seeing his chaotic ass behave like this.

"A little", I said and I could feel Namjoon's gaze on me. "Maybe a lot", I rephrased. I could see by the way Su-ho looked at me that he needed answers. "Coffee?", I asked Namjoon.

"Oh yeah", he replied and I stood up. "I've thought of two concepts, Su-ho please brief him on it and if you want anything differently Namjoon, you can tell him", I told him as I marched towards the kitchen.

Should I use the regular coffee mugs or should I use the better ones? I mean it doesn't matter anyway but still, it kind of does? I don't know. It just comes to me, the over thinking.

Ah.

I could hear him and Su-ho talking about the concepts faintly and I was low-key proud because I did work hard on them. I opened the cabinet to take out the better coffee mugs.

This is what happens when you stop drinking milk and stop growing up. I rested my hands on the kitchen pavement thinking about how many shoes with heels I'd because of my height.

I wasn't very short but I wasn't my desired height too. It was sad. I was the right person to sell the tonics concerning height because my insecurity would make me buy it. I exhaled heavily and turned around to find Namjoon behind me.

"Let me", my hips pressed against the marble pavement while his body gently pressed against my front, I could spot the mole on his neck while he calmly took the box of mugs out. "Okay?", he whispered softly and I looked on without responding.

"Thanks", I told him, hoping he'd get away from me because this had me feeling some type of way. I won't admit what type of way. That makes it worse.

"Anytime", he clicked his lips, taking a few steps back as I stirred the coffee and poured it in three cups. Should've used regular ones.

"I like the quotes on that wall", he said as I handed him his cup, taking the other two. A wall of my house was covered in post-it notes and other stuff. Some print outs of Van Gogh and Frida's works alongside other things.

"Yeah that? Thanks", I said, as I gave the cup to Su-ho. "Did you decide on something?", I asked, as I sat down and Namjoon just beside me.

"Yeah, the first one. It was kind of okay, he made some alterations so I would send it to you by...maximum tomorrow", Su-ho told me. "But why did you call him here for just this?", he asked me.

"You seem so concerned about his whereabouts", I glared Su-ho . "I told him I could just email him but he insisted on doing it in person", I looked at Namjoon who took a long sip from his coffee.

"Yeah I did, don't worry I was absolutely free", Namjoon smiled at Su-ho and I could see Su-ho fanboy-ing.

"You're so in line today", I pressed my words.

"Shut up", Su-ho eyed me. I wrapped my hands around the coffee mug feeling its warmth.

After I talked to Namjoon for a while about the shoot and he explained to me about their company procedure and how they usually did things. I didn't like doing music videos or commercials, there's a lot of time you're bound by what the music video demands and you've to stick with that so that was that. I usually preferred either cinema like movies or dramas, I hadn't done much but I had done a few and travel shows were my preference.

"I'll see you next time then", Su-ho politely remarked looking at Namjoon and he smiled and gently bowed his head. I walked with him up-to the door. "I didn't, what the hell, you could've given me a heads up?", Su-ho whispered slowly to me as I leaned against the door.

"I didn't knew you were a fan", I said and he playfully hit me on my arm.

"I still can't believe it, you've to answer my hot questions next time", he said and I nodded.

"Okay okay", I closed the door shut behind me, taking a seat on the far side of the sofa me and Namjoon were seated on. He was scanning my bookshelf and I was looking at him.

"Literally 70% of it is fiction", he said. I read a lot of fiction and he read a lot of nonfiction.

"You should read fiction", I said and he looked at me slightly pissed.

"I do read fiction just not thar much", he pointed at my bookshelf. "If you've to recommend one, shoot", he said.

"Recommend, uh, the secrets of happiness", I said randomly and his face sunk in annoyance. "It's not a book talking about literal secrets of happiness, it has a story", I told him.

"Ah okay...I will try reading that. Let me take your copy", he said.

"No", I said back in a split second.

"I won't lose it, c'mon, ___", he said. I couldn't believe his testimony on not losing it.

"Fine, but it's annotated. You'll owe me big time if you lose it", I said and he nodded vigorously.

"Your place is great", he said looking around the house and I couldn't see why, I mean yeah maybe but not that I find it great if I think from his point of view.

"I'm barely here anyway. I pay rent for no reason", I kept the empty mug in my hand on the glass table in front of us.

"That was your friend though, Su-ho?", Namjoon asked as he kept his cup, followed by me.

"Oh yeah! I met him for work but then it's been a while since I know him, it's been years actually and he's a friend now", I said thinking about Su-ho. I don't know why I bothered explaining. It's been a good five years since Namjoon and I hadn't been in touch and there was a little catching up to do.

"You've always had a lot of friends, don't you", he sighed as he sat cross legged on the sofa facing me. I do have plenty friends honestly.

"Kind of", I shrugged. His gaze on me made me sit back in a more cautious way as I fixed my posture. "Namjoon...", I called out his name when the doorbell rung and I was irritated. "Give me a second", I stood up and walked up-to the main door.

It was my neighbor who's mother had left their house keys with me and he was here to take it back. He thanked me for keeping it and walked up to his own flat which was in front of mine.

I closed the door shut and Namjoon was standing by the balcony seeing a cactus I had grown since I couldn't grow any other plant because I was never home to take care of them in case.

"It's cute", he said as he picked the potted plant and stared at it for a little while and I stood behind him and watched him see it.

"You know your pupils dilate when you see plants", I said and he smiled to himself. He kept the cactus back in its resting place and stared at me. "What?", I asked him.

"You were going to say something", he said, his voice sounded deeper then usual for a second and I licked my bottom lip in haste.

"Oh that, you know the alterations you made? I will directly mail it to the staff and maybe cc you because it won't need a second check anyway. I've to get this done a little early since I've--", he turned towards me and I took a step back but there was barely any space and my back was pressed against the wall, "--what is it?", I asked but it came out as a whisper.

"Here", he dragged his index finger across my bottom lip and there was something on my lip. I didn't really see what was on there because of his presence so close to me. My heartbeat had fastened and I could feel it. Something I didn't want to feel.

"Thanks, I guess", I said slowly and he flashed his dimple smile at me and in that moment he seemed the opposite of the dominant he was a few seconds ago.

"Do you know you look really good?", he said, as his fingers ran across my ear touching the piercings one by one. I regretted having three all of a sudden. "And I didn't intended to do this but ___ I uh", he bent over a little, his lips a few inches away from my ear and his breath was falling on my neck.

"Namjoon", I said, trying to not look at him. I knew damn well I couldn't be able to control myself.

"Hmm", his voice was so small and I could feel goosebumps all over my neck. His gaze on me was strong and I had jitters in my stomach.

"I, uh--let's not okay", I put my hands on his shoulder as he pulled me more closer with a jolt and I gasped.

"Do you really not want to?", he asked me. It was a while since I was in this close proximity of someone like this but my subconscious kept telling me not to. "I don't understand what you find so undesirable about me", he took a few steps back and looked away.

What?

"Do you think I find you undesirable?", I asked him, pressing my lips suppressing my smile. I couldn't get how could he change roles in a span of few seconds.

"Yeah, it's pretty evident really", he sighed, looking at the the far side of the sky at the horizon and I saw him sulking.

"It's not that, are you fucking dumb? It's just you know you shouldn't start things you can't take care of", I said. For some reason I've always felt a little hesitant with him. "But you're desirable enough", I added.

"Sudden validation from you, ah", he clicked his lips in mockery and I felt bad. The last thing I wanted was to look like I was playing hard to get. I didn't feel competent enough in my heart. "Let me kiss you", he said, taking a few steps closer breaking the chain of my thoughts and I hated being so much in control and feeling a little out of place.

I was back to where I was a few seconds ago, me cornered and he put his lips on mine and my body automatically responded. He took over me in a second. My hands rested on his back and clutched the fabric. His hands travelled below my hips as he pulled me upwards and my legs wrapped around his waist. He didn't stop kissing me for one second and I didn't want him to, as he pressed his mouth harder on mine and I bit back a moan. I could feel the heat in my body and every vein seemed to electrify. He walked me up-to my bedroom like he knew which suddenly felt foreign to me as he laid me on the bed, breaking the kiss and I was breathless, panting for air.

I didn't had any resort in me to stop. I didn't want him to stop. I couldn't care more about whatever that had me concerned for a while. He watched me look at him and his lips curved in a smirk. "Should I stop?", he teased me taking a seat on the edge of the bed and I looked away from him to the right side, scoffing.

I pushed myself up, my hands at the hem of the lose white t-shirt I'd on and for a second I hesitated at the fact that he must've seen better flesh than mine but I pulled it upwards exposing myself in front of him as his eyes went everywhere. "Do you want to stop?", I asked him, as I crawled over to him. He didn't object as I sat on his lap and took his face in my hands. I looked in his eyes. He looked beautiful. I traced the outline of his skull, his jaw as I pushed his hair locks that were on his forehead behind. "Do you want to stop Namjoon?", I asked him again as he held me tight, giving me my answer.

He tugged at my neck with his mouth leaving a trail of gentle kisses down and I could feel my nipples startlingly prominent beneath the black lightweight bra I had on. I clutched his hair as he bit my neck suddenly and I gasped.

He pushed me on to him, nearer but there was barely any space for me to come close and I could feel him all over. He messily kissed me before groping my bottom and I-I cut a breath in. He would take turns and be gentler a second and rough the another. "Namjoon", I called out gasping which fueled him even more. He looked at me and smiled proudly at how he had me without doing much.

He flicked the straps of my bra shoving it down exposing my breasts and I could feel my nipples harden to the point it was painful. I wanted him. I wanted him to touch me, more. The way my body responded to his touch was almost funny, how quick, how wet.

I patiently unbuttoned his shirt and stripped it off of him while he looked at me with a gaze I couldn't quite make anything of, he just looked at me while he let me work on him. My hands touched his chest and my eyes examined his torso, his skin was warm and his gaze on me gave me confidence like he wanted me back as much I wanted him.

I was forgetting my own desperation for his touch as my hand traveled behind his back, trailing down to his spine and he looked at me as he cut a sharp breath in and I felt good seeing him giving in to me. His arms surrounded mine unclasping my bra in a second and he threw it off on the floor.

I half expected him to grab me and grope my breast but he swept me in his arms as his vaguely pink mouth pressed against mine and instead of hastily grabbing me, his mouth simply rested against mine and it was worse, much more intoxicating. I, on instinct coiled my arms against his neck.

As my tongue demanded entrance and he smiled before letting me, and in a second, roles were reversed, the romantic was gone. He took control and pressed his mouth harder on me with his thumb and finger pressing my nipple and my nails dug deeper in his neck. "Joon...", I on instinct called out, as I gasped for breath but he didn't let me.

He was hard against me and I grinded next to him which seemed to please him while he left my mouth, burning with a wanting for more while my sex clenched as he took control of my body putting his arms around my back and they were free to go anywhere. I wouldn't dare stop him.

A second later, he laid me on the bed and hovered over me before taking my shorts off in a whirl and pushed my underwear off me that it didn't seem reusable. I anticipated his actions but he pushed a thumb into my bottom without no warning and I clutched the sheets, a yell escaping my mouth. My fingers curled meanwhile his other arm grabbed my breast cupping it and a second later his forefinger and middle finger slipped inside of me and my grip on the sheets tightened.

"Shh", he hissed in my ear and I hadn't realized a moan had escaped my mouth. My whole body rocked in less then a minute and I couldn't control my voice, I gasped for breath and I moaned even louder then before. "I didn't take you for a screamer ___", Namjoon seemed amused while embarrassment washed over me as I laid exposed in front of him.

"Let me go down on you", I told him and he looked taken aback as I pushed myself up.

"Do you really want to?", he asked and I shifted closer to him, placing a gentle kiss on his lips.

"I would love to", I told him. "Do you want me to?", I asked him.

"Yeah, I mean yeah", he said when his phone rang echoing in the room and his face flushed into irritation as he looked at me and I nodded gesturing him to take it. He took it out of his pocket and answered it. With every word he spoke, his irritation grew. He hung up the phone call. "Where's the wardrobe?", he asked me and my eyes pointed behind him.

Namjoon opened my wardrobe and took out a very lose t-shirt of his choice from my stack of comfortable clothes. He held my arms and slipped the t-shirt on me, pulling me close. He stroked my face and he smiled in my face which forced me to smile as well.

"Am I suppose to expect something from you or should I forget this?", I asked him as his fingers tucked the few strands of my hair behind my ear.

"You're supposed to expect everything, don't dare forget it", he whispered in my ear, nibbling on it and I couldn't help but giggle. "I want to talk to you but I've to go now and I hate it", he smiled at me.

"Okay, go", I told him and he chuckled before letting me off him and he wore his shirt back on.

After seeing him off and taking a shower, I laid back on the couch in the living room thinking about everything that had happened. I didn't regret it, I wasn't thinking much about it anyway.

The guys I'd sex with or made out with, I disliked them because of their narcissism. I appreciated my ability to find guys that were a-grade assholes. I've always had this feeling that I am lacking in some sense with other people. I look normal, like I should but I get this insecurity when taking my clothes off.

I didn't knew what Namjoon thought about it and asking him would be weird. No one who knows me like him would think I am this insecure or anxious about this stuff but then a major part of it has to do with my aura, I guess?

________________

I took a bite of the sandwich that I held in my hand as I walked around the second set just nearby to the first one. I stood afar, taking a good look, even though the storyboard fits the sights I still need to frame out a rough sketch work in my head.

I took another bite staring at the beach and the path to it and then back to the set that we'd build up by man power. It was pretty accurate in my eyes but I wanted to hear from my assistant director.

I took the walkie talkie out from the pocket of my denim and pressed the centre button, "Jae-chan, where are you?"

In a second he reverted, "Ah sunbae I am near the gripper".

"Come to the road that leads to the beach", I said, before shoving the walkie talkie down in my pocket.

The sea met the sky at the far point of the horizon and how the world is full of these illusions which are not real we know but we still believe. After all there's beauty in things that you don't get. Vastness maybe?

Sea and sky — the two melancholic blues.

"Sunbae?", Jae Chan broke the chain of my thoughts and I glanced at him before looking at the sea. His breath was heavy, I could tell he ran here.

"You could have walked, Chan-ah", I said, smiling. He was really young and passionate about filmmaking but also a little silly. He's cute.

"Ah it's okay. Did you need something?", he asked politely and I shook my head. I liked the input of many people on the same thing, it showed the number of opinions that could centre around one thing that you make in a different context which is then perceived in another.

"Do you think this is accurate in terms of the story board?", I asked him and he seemed lost in thought.

"I would say slightly better because the storyboard is still animation and this is real so I would say better. I'm pretty sure it'll be good sunbae", he told me and I could feel a smile flush on my lips. "You are nervous, aren't you?", he asked me.

"Yeah", I wrinkled my nose, turning around to walk off. I patted Jae Chan's back and he started walking with me.

"You don't have to be, and oh, he's here", he said assuring me and I knew who he meant by he.

My mind automatically went to the day in my apartment. Namjoon had messaged me after but he got busier with his work and I am not a text-er plus I'd a lot of things to do before I left Korea. It was, I didn't knew anything and I didn't want to think about it. I hoped he'd pretend nothing happened, please. But I knew he won't.

I sighed and as I entered the main set, around the vanity and food truck, the manager and Namjoon's staff members greeted me. After that, I mean impractically I wanted earth to open and swallow me. Living is hard anyway.

I'd a flight on the weekend, I'd to pack and I'd to get new boots but I'm just dumb because I'm trying to think of other things. I need a new nail paint, do I? I looked at my nails which were painted black. Maybe grey?

"Sunbae?", Jae Chan shook me and I looked at him. He gestured me to look up front and Namjoon was right there looking like Namjoon.

"Hi", I awkwardly waved at him.

"Hi", he flashed his dimple smile at me. His dimple smile hits me.

"You can get the makeup and hair done, I've a few things to recheck", I excused myself. This is awkward. This is so awkward. I hate it.

Even though I had that awkwardness lingering around but we were nearing to the end of the shoot which went really good because everyone worked so hard. It was mostly one-takes and the lighting supported the whole setting making it so easier for us to finish.

Moreover, it was a while since I had done a music video so it felt good being back on a set like this. Namjoon looked really good with the styling and although I knew the outfits pre-shoot, he still looked better then I'd imagined him to look which enhanced the whole vibe of the music video. He owned earthly tones.

That's why casting and styling is so important. Very much. Makes a gigantic difference.

"What's wrong with you?", I didn't notice he was standing next to me with a small fan in his hands while we prepped for the last shot.

"What's wrong with me?", I asked him, as I adjusted the frame in the main camera. I didn't want this conversation especially right now, especially here.

"I mean...you knowww?", I could feel his stare while I shifted the camera, something is wrong with this.

"I don't know", I said, without looking at him. I was unintentionally making him mad and nothing else.

"I was really scared that you'd say this and see, I mean, why can't you behave normal when I mention anything about us?", he hissed near me and I looked around. Luckily there was no one in our proximity to hear this conversation.

"I-I, Namjoon", I exclaimed, vaguely pointing at the setting hoping we could do this later and I could explain that I would love us but he needs to understand that I won't even be in Korea as much as he thinks I would be and that's why it won't work out.

"I don't care", he eyed me.

"I do. I care, okay? There's no us to begin with and I know I was stupid enough to ask you what I should expect out of, what would you call it, we made out. That's that", I tried being really slow and I could feel annoyance in his sight.

"Made out! Okay, okay fine. I can't believe I deal with you. You're the one who doesn't text or call or even respond to it and that's bare minimum ___", he pondered and I internally rolled my eyes.

I was leaving on the weekend. I was always leaving. That's it. "I don't have to and I have a life Namjoon. I've been working non stop all this time. I don't expect you to understand", I said, standing up from my seat while I called for the head DOP from the walkie talkie.

"You don't want to be understood ___", Namjoon said, grabbing me from my arm and stopping me. He wasn't wrong. A few eyes snapped and I forced a smile immediately. "I like you, I like you a lot. Deal with it", he walked past me.

Deal with it.

As if.

Very abruptly, the last shot rolled in and it was over. The music video was done in a day. It was originally a two day sketch but we had to narrow it down to one day because of Namjoon's schedule and it was worrisome because it did seem impossible but things went smoothly and it was successfully over.

I told Jae Chan to wrap the filming site, though most of it was done while I was present. I picked my bag from a table to leave, kept right ahead from the vanity. Namjoon had left, I guess. I wasn't sure because after the last shot he was angry. He had his jaw clenched all that time, he barely managed to keep it out on the music video.

He was like this, his anger was pretty evident and that hadn't changed.

I like you. I like you a lot.

I couldn't wrap my head around that thought. Did he like me all this time? It sounded pretty crazy to me. I had never thought about anything with Namjoon. He was a friend I could like but I didn't, I had never expected anything out of my acquaintance with him anyway.

"You ate?", his deep voice made me look at him who stood at the steps of the vanity. He hadn't left yet.

"No", I said. He had changed into his normal clothes, the makeup was gone but he still looked great. His natural complexion was shining as the set lights fell onto his face. It made me surer how Namjoon needed someone who could be there rather then somebody who's never there.

"Come eat something", he said calmly. He looked much composed then before.

"I am not hungry", I stated just when he darted towards me. He held me by my forearm, dragging me into the vanity which was empty except for us. A few dishes were laid out on the table in front of the small couch.

"Eat and leave", he said, taking a seat on one of the chairs in front of the mirrors fidgeting with his phone while I quietly sat on the couch. I just wanted it to be over but I'd no appetite so I kept staring at the couple of Italian dishes which were pasta, carbonara I guess, rissoto and also jjangmyeong. "Just eat anything ___", he said, without bothering to look at me.

"I don't really have an appetite", I said, throwing my head back and looking at the ceiling of the vanity.

"What you've is a habit of skipping meals", he eyed me.

I looked at him. "Do you remember everything? Like literally everything?", I asked him as curiosity brimmed in my eyes.

"You don't?", he asked me back. "Well, for me, yeah I do. I did remember every thing but I should probably forget now. I didn't really asked to work with you because I wanted something but I can't say I didn't hope", he locked his phone and kept it on the space in front him. "I mean, we did had something. We did have something a few days ago. You can't exactly call me a friend and I've never seen you as one. The moment you walked in trying to fix the mess on the set since then till now I can't say I didn't hope you'd look at me the same way", he said, bringing all the memories back alive, but it was true, I never looked at him the way he'd wanted me to, hell, I couldn't believe it one bit. "It's true", he said, as if he just read my mind.

It was, it didn't made sense to me. How could he? Why would he? I uh, I think shit's wrong with me because even now I can't seem to focus on someone who confessed their feelings and that someone being Namjoon from all people.

I remember when I was one of the assistant directors under the director for one of the most low-key and low budget project. They didn't had many resources and our firm wasn't doing well either. We always had to come up with hacks, unknown locations for shooting...it was always so hard. We didn't had any respect in the industry.

It was two companies in one boat at the end of bankruptcy and we were so young and such good friends. I knew the rest of the members too but I kind of had a certain vibe with Namjoon. He could get me without having to speak.

I locked at him, his face was fixated on me and I could like him, in fact I did love him not romantically, I just did. I had a lot of love for him. He was caring for the people around him and I loved talking to him. He never once made anyone feel like he was a celebrity back then and a global celebrity now well yeah. He did deserve someone who could be here for him.

He stood up and walked towards me and my eyes followed him. He took a seat next to me and I could see he picked a bowl up but I didn't see which one because I couldn't stop looking at him. Namjoon took a significant amount and extended it to me and I looked at the noodles for a second and then at him. He just nodded and I ate it.

It was good.

"Thanks", I said, wiping the corners of my mouth with my fingers.

"Do you want me to feed you all the way or can you eat your own?", he asked me.

"I will eat", I told him and he gave me the bowl so I could eat on my own. "You ate?", I asked him and he instantly nodded.

"You're going somewhere, aren't you?", he asked me and I felt as if I've just been struck with something.

"Hmm", I said, my mouth almost filled. "And, I...I want to tell you something like adults and clear it. Namjoon you know my work and I am always not here, never. It's useless. Trust me on this, it's not like that but you know you'll need someone beside you and I can't be the one", I told him, calmly, before gulping water down.

"I know that but I'm okay with it. In fact, we would go hand in hand better because I can't take you out on exotic dates as well. This is what you get", he vaguely gestured at the vanity and I chuckled and he warmly smiled at me.

After a second, I spoke much seriously then before, "It will be hard and you know that. It'll be frustrating. You could hate me".

"If you've tired it with someone before, I am not exactly happy knowing this, but you shouldn't compare me with some random dude with a peculiar taste in leather clothing", he rolled his eyes, shifting his back comfortably.

"Hey! Don't be mean just because you see stuff on my Instagram", I scoffed and he maintained his long face.

"No really, what do you take me for? You think you won't have time for me? I won't have time for you", he went on.

"Namjoon", I dragged his name. His tendency to be sarcastic at odd moments is unmatched.

"Don't call my name like that", he stared at my eyes.

"Like what?", I asked him.

"Like you can love me", he said.

"I...you don't have to be like this", I said, keeping the empty bowl on the table.

"Give me a chance then, try it out. I would wait for you I promise", Namjoon took my hand in his and covered it with his warmth.

"Will I be able to...wait?", I looked away from him, thinking about it so hard.

"___ don't think too much. I promise, we'll be fine", he said, his hands travelling to my waist and before he could grab it. I screeched closer to him. I cupped his face and attached my lips to his, while his hands held on my body.

________________

My relationship with Namjoon was better then I imagined it. I tried my best to be there for him and he was surprisingly almost there for me but it wasn't exactly easy.

It was months and months of hardships and Namjoon was more needy then I thought him to be, he needed a lot of assurance. I don't understand the notion that he holds of everyone wanting me so he needs to be extra careful. I still don't get that his insecure ass doesn't trusts his own members, he won't let me meet them at all.

He was really different. He shifted from dominant to romantic in one second. I loved that. I kind of missed it so much.

He held my hand I could feel it by the way his skin felt against mine, he whirled me around and in a second his hand rested on my waist as he urged me to walk next to him. He was in a perfect disguise and I looked at him. I could tell he was smiling beneath his black mask.

"See, this is why I don't trust other guys! How could you let someone do this to you in the midst of the road in a foreign country?", he asked me.

"No stranger would confidently do this to anyone in a foreign country", I playfully hit him on his leg and he stopped, pretending to be gravely hurt. "I can't believe you", I looked at him as I went with his act. I supported him in standing completely. In a second, he intertwined his fingers with mine.

"I missed you", he softly whispered in my ear.

"I missed you too", I whispered back, softly. I pulled him in an empty alley and pulled his mask down. "I need you to do something", I told him, nibbling on his ear and I could feel my skin feel the heat that it yearned for since a couple of months before him going on tour.

"Right now?", he asked surprised.

"Yeah, right now", I said and I could feel him harden against my pelvis.

"You are...so, not right now. Let's go to your hotel room. I'm still famous", he pulled me closer and I chuckled. He turned me around, pulling his mask down, he kissed me hard. His mouth pressed against mine. I held him tightly and he gasped. "I love you", he softly said before pulling his mask up.

"I, you", I held his hand again.

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