#thirteen pretending to be appalled | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

blooming-violets · 2 years ago

Text

Hold My Hand (sequel to Bring Your Kids to Work Day)

[tasm!peter x fem!reader]

Summary: [link to part one] The trauma of a fire scars more than just the flesh. A sequel to the “Dragging themselves along the ground” prompt.

A/N: This is for @moonyslove78 only but I suppose you can read it too if you’d like.

Six months.

That’s how long it had been since the incident.

Not fire.

Incident.

You couldn’t say the word “fire” anymore. You couldn’t think of it. You couldn’t hear it. That word no longer existed in the English language. Peter knew that. Anything involving the incident was off limits. The last time he had mentioned it was when he asked if you wanted to attend Harrison’s funeral. The way your eyes widened, blurring out of focus, the way your hands started to tremble, the way your breath caught in your throat, made him immediately retract that question. You had been transported back to a time that he couldn’t see, a memory he could only imagine from what was told to him, and one he wished he could steal from your brain to claim as his own. He knew he couldn’t lift your burden. He couldn’t take on your trauma.

It didn’t stop him from trying, though.

Peter was supposed to fix things. He was a protector. He was supposed to keep you safe. He had saved your body from the burning building but your mind had been left behind. It had incinerated in the flames like the charred, blackened corpse of Harrison.

He attended the funeral on your behalf. It was a closed casket. Obviously. Some bodies are not meant to be shown after death. Peter had smiled politely and sent your regards to his family. He tried not to stare too long at the young man’s weeping sister. She looked no older than thirteen. She gripped tightly onto her mother’s hand. He received his own flashbacks of Gwen’s younger brothers’ clinging to their mother, unable to fully comprehend the weight of what was occurring before them.

If he had to pretend like the fire never happened, for your sake, then he would do his best. The weeks after, any newspaper article, any internet post, any television story was banned from your apartment. He made no mention of what happened. The only time it was referenced was when you needed to have the burns, seared into your skin, looked after. Your right hand was no longer able to open and extend fully from the scarring on your palm and fingers. You would have permanent scarring along your arm, as well. They were a constant visual reminder of what happened that afternoon and he often found you with your right arm hidden behind your back to keep it out of view.

You hated the heat now. Even throughout the winter you kept your air conditioning on. Peter spent his winter with a persistent, unshakable cold from being constantly exposed to the frigid air. Anything to keep you happy. He tried to keep your days as normal as possible. You didn’t like to go outside because you felt like you had to be on constant alert around other people but you hated the feeling of being trapped indoors. Peter found a happy compromise by breaking open the lock to your apartment roof and letting you find solace outdoors without the wandering eyes of curious strangers. He hauled two old armchairs up there that May no longer needed. It gave you two some place to sit and stare down at the city street.

You were up there now. You always were. During the day, his duty was to keep your mind occupied. During the night, his duty was to hold you tightly for every night terror that plagued your screaming mind. He would fend off the horrors and keep you safe any way he could.

“You can’t keep pretending like it never happened,” May whispered across the small, round table to her nephew. She had stopped by this morning to drop off leftovers and check in on how things were going. She was appalled at him when he told her the truth. “This is no life for her, Peter.”

He sighed, leaning back in his chair, and staring out your kitchen window. She had no need to whisper. You couldn’t hear her up on the roof.

“She’s not ready,” he replied.

“She’ll never be ready. No one is ever ready to face their trauma. It’s reaching the six month anniversary. It’s time you started talking about it. She needs to get it out,” May reached a hand across the table to pat his arm. “When Ben left us, I wanted to pretend like it was all a terrible dream. I wanted to disappear into the safest parts of my mind where he still existed and block out the rest of the world. But you can’t heal like that. To heal, you must talk about it. You have to get her talking, Peter, before she slips away forever. She needs you to listen to her and hold her hand while she battles her demons. She doesn’t need you to play pretend with fake smiles and act like everything is wonderful.”

Peter closed his eyes. The only time he was able to heal from Gwen was when he started talking about it. May had been the one to listen. She had been the one to hold his hand and guide him through the loss. He should be strong enough to pass that on to the person he loved.

“I’m scared,” he mumbled. “I’m scared it will hurt her too much.”

“It will,” she replied. “It will be painful. It will be hard. But she needs to face what happened. She can’t live on the roof forever, honey. She needs your help to find her way again.”

He gave a solemn nod, “Okay. I’ll see what I can do.”

“Hey,” Peter whispered as he came up behind you.

The sun was starting to set over the buildings. Spring was bringing in warmer weather but dusk was still chilly. You wore nothing but short sleeves as you started out into the horizon. When he looked at you now, you felt empty to him, like your very essence had been stolen from your body. His eyes traveled down to your right arm. The skin was wrinkled and leathery. Your fist was partially closed as it rested against the ledge you leaned on. He reached out to place his hand over your closed one.

“It’s getting chilly out here. Do you want my coat?”

When you didn’t respond, he shrugged off his coat and tucked it around your shoulders.

“How are you feeling?”

Still nothing. He might as well be speaking to a mannequin. He took a deep breath to brace himself for his next sentence. His arm reached out in front of you to subconsciously block your path should you decide to suddenly throw yourself off the building.

“I just got off the phone with Jenny. She told me all about the kids.”

Peter watched carefully for your reaction. After May left, he made a call to your former coworker. It had been too long since he checked on Ollie and Ellie. He spoke to Jenny for over an hour. She told him all about her kids’ healing process. They seemed to be doing alright. Ollie was completely back to his usual self and Ellie had her good and bad days. Both kids had been asking about you for months now.

You blinked a few times as the news set in. Your head tilted to the side.

“I don’t know a Jenny,” you mumbled under your breath.

Peter shuffled closer, standing his ground, “Yes. You do. She’s the mother of Ollie and Ellie. You worked with her. She shared a desk beside you.”

Your shoulders tensed and you shook your head, “No. I don’t know those people. You’re confused.”

He sighed, stepping forward to gently capture your cheek in his palm, turning your head to face him, “Look at me. You know them. Ellie’s been asking for you. She wants to see you.”

You whimpered, trying to turn your head away from him, but he held you steady, “No…I don’t…”

“Yes.” Peter’s voice was firm but his eyes shone with tears. “You know them. You saved them. From the fire.”

You flinched, stumbling back out of his grasp, “No. Stop.”

“You were in a fire. You were trapped in a burning building.”

Your hands clasped against your ears and you squeezed your eyes shut, “Stop it, Peter!”

He gently pulled your arms back down to his side, wrapping them around his waist, “No. You stop it. You were trapped inside a building with two children. Ellie and Ollie. You took care of them. You got them out. You saved them. It happened. It wasn’t pretend. It wasn’t a dream. It was real.”

Tears streamed down your face. You tighten your grip around him, burying your face into the crook of his neck, “No…you saved them…”

“Not me,” Peter whispered. He nuzzled his face against the side of your head, holding you protectively in his arms. “I didn’t know where you were. You got Ellie to safety. You called me. You told me where to go. All I did was break a wall. You saved those kids. And those kids want to see you again. Jenny told me Ellie talks about you every night. She’s…struggling with what happened. I think seeing you again would really help her. You’re the only other person who understands what that little girl went through. I think you can help each other.”

You were silent for a long time. He didn’t press any further for now. Baby steps. You cried softly into his shirt while he stroked your hair. He whispered how much he loved you and how strong he thought you were into your ear. He waited until you were ready.

You took a shaky breath followed by a coughing spell. Your lungs were weaker after the fire. Your voice often suffered from hoarseness and you would fall into coughing fits every so often. He waited until you were finished before pulling back slightly, grasping onto your shoulders, and looking into your watery eyes.

You were still in there. Somewhere.

He would find you and pull you free.

“Please,” Peter rested his forehead against yours. “I need you to do this with me. I want you to meet those kids. I need you to start healing. If you can’t start healing for yourself then start with helping a sweet, scared, little girl with her own healing. They need you. I need you. I’m afraid you’re slipping away from me.”

You lifted your good hand up to his cheek and wiped away a tear. He hadn’t even realized he had been crying. You gave him a soft smile. It was the first one he saw since the day he pulled you from the flames.

“I’m not going anywhere, P. I’m here. I’m not leaving you. Promise.”

“It was so nice of you to agree to this,” Jenny led you and Peter into their family's town house.

You two agreed to babysit the kids while their parents went out for a quick dinner. It was about a month after your rooftop talk. Peter wanted to bring you more back down to earth before exposing you to the children. You weren’t in a perfect place but you were coherent enough to not frighten them. Jenny and her husband were aware of your situation. They agreed to let you watch them for only an hour or two while they were just down the street. If there were any troubles, they would be back in less than five minutes. Jenny was struggling with getting through to Ellie. According to her, Ollie’s excitement over meeting Spider-Man overtook any fear he had from being trapped in a bathroom during the fire but Ellie was silent. She was withdrawn and short tempered. She suffered from nightmares and bed wetting. Jenny was worried she couldn’t reach her daughter as much as she’d like. That’s where you could come in. You were there. You knew what she went through. You could answer the child’s questions better than anyone.

“They’re in the playroom. They’ve already eaten dinner and are in their pjs. You won’t need to put them to bed. We can do that when we get home. Just…play with them and keep them safe. I’m sure Ollie will talk your ear off.” Jenny paused, mulling over something in her mind. “You know, before the fire, it was always Ellie who never stopped talking. Now…well…now it seems like Ollie feels the need to pick up the slack and fill her silence. They sleep in the same bed every night. He wants to protect her. I won’t let him sleep with his Spider-Man mask on so he keeps it tucked under his pillow instead. He said it helps keep Ellie safe from the nightmares.”

Peter glanced over at you. Your jaw was locked tight and your body was stiff. Talking about the fire was still difficult for you. Hearing so much about the twins was starting to overload your emotions. He wondered if this was a mistake. It might be too soon.

“It’s okay,” he leaned over to whisper in your ear. “Hold my hand. I’m right here.”

You took his hand and gave it a tight squeeze. He tried to imagine his own strength leaving his body and entering into you where your hands connected.

Jenny paused at the door to the playroom to give the two lovers a sad smile, “Like we said earlier, if you need us to come home early, please don’t hesitate to ask. We know this is a big deal. If Ellie asks anything you don’t feel comfortable answering, just tell her to ask us when we get home. You can talk openly with them. Their therapist says that it’s good to speak the truth instead of sugar coating everything. They might be young but their trauma is real and they should be able to talk about it however they need to. They don’t need adults to downplay what they went through.” She steadied herself and put on a smile for show, opening the playroom door. “Look who’s here, guys!”

Ollie looked up from his spot on the floor where he was building a block tower and smiled, “I know you! You gave us lollipops.”

Lollipops. Out of everything that happened that afternoon, that’s how he remembered you. Peter almost laughed at the beautiful innocence of it but held it in. He could feel you tensing up beside him. He gave your hand a squeeze.

“You must be Ollie,” he stepped in to cover for you while you better composed yourself. Seeing the twins again must have brought back a flood of memories. “My name’s Peter. I’m going to help watch you guys tonight, if that’s okay with you.” They had only ever met Spider-Man, not Peter. He was much less exciting without a mask.

Ollie looked at him suspiciously, “I dunno. Do you like Spider-Man? What about Paw Patrol?”

Peter smiled. From the corner of his eye he saw you give a tug of a smile too.

“I’m Spider-Man’s second biggest fan. I heard you’re his number one. I don’t know much about Paw Patrol but I’m sure you could teach me everything you know.”

Ollie beamed, “Then you can stay with us. He likes Spider-Man, Ellie!”

He looked over to his sister. Ellie hadn’t moved from her spot curled up on the couch. She was staring up at the ceiling with a picture book resting over her chest. She hadn’t made any acknowledgment towards them since they entered. It was like she was stuck in a daydream. It was a look Peter had become all too familiar with these past months.

Ollie waved his hand at her, “Ellie! Hello? I’m talkin’ to you.” His tiny shoulders sagged when he got no response. “She’s too busy thinking right now. She’ll be back later.”

From beside Peter, you finally stirred to life, “It’s okay. I get lost thinking too much, too. We can wait until she finds her way back.” You dug into your pocket and pulled out two lollipops. “I knew I couldn’t show up today empty handed. Would you like some dessert?”

Ollie ran over to you to snatch one out of your hand as you offered it to him, “Thank you!” He looked to his mother for approval before digging into the treat.

Jenny sighed, “I think we’ll be off. We’ll be just down the street. You have both our numbers. Oliver, you be on your best behavior. Show your guests where everything is in the house if they need anything. Ellie, darling…” She walked over to kiss her daughter’s forehead. “You be good, sweetie. Mommy will be back really soon. If you need me for anything, you ask for the phone to call me, okay?” She turned around to smile at Peter. “Thank you. We’ll text you in about twenty minutes to make sure everything is going well.”

He smiled back, “We’ll be fine. You guys have fun.”

He watched as they left the room and he listened to the front door click locked behind them. He turned his attention to you. Your muscles had lost some of their tension but you still stood rigidly beside him, clinging onto his hand. Your eyes were trained on Ellie as she stared up at the ceiling. He followed your gaze. The young girl’s blonde hair was splayed out over the couch cushion. She looked lost in thought. It was nearly the exact same look you had worn for the last six months. The fire had aged the child faster than anyone was prepared for. Her eyes held the secrets and horrors only you could understand.

Peter gave your shoulder a nudge. He nodded in Ellie’s direction, signaling with his eyes that you should go talk to her. A look of panic flashed across your face. He brushed his thumb over your hand.

“It’s okay,” he silently mouthed. “You can do this.”

You took a deep breath and slipped your hand from his. He watched as you slowly made your way over to Ellie and kneel down beside her.

“Hi,” your voice was soft and gentle. Peter could detect the hint of sadness in it. “You don’t have to look at me if you don’t want to. I’m sure seeing my face might bring back a lot of painful memories. I have them, too. The painful memories. Sometimes they feel so big that I feel like I can’t breathe and they’re choking all the air out of my lungs. Other times they make me feel lost inside my own mind. Like I’m wandering a dark hallway forever and can’t find my way out. You don’t have to look at me, Ellie, if it makes you feel like that, but I want you to know that I’m here. For you. I’m here for you. And I will sit quietly beside you until you feel ready.”

You sat down with your back leaning against the couch. Peter gave you a soft smile, his eyes trying to convey how proud of you he felt.

“I was saved by Spider-Man, you know.” Ollie popped the lollipop out of his mouth and tugged at Peter’s hand. “He punched through a wall and flew through the air with us. He kissed Ellie on the mouth to make her come back to life.”

Peter grinned and plopped down onto the ground in front of him, “I don’t think he was kissing her, Ol. He was probably giving her CPR. That’s when someone helps blow air into someone else’s lungs when they need help breathing.”

Ollie mimicked his crossed legged position on the ground, “Oh. I never heard of CRP before. The lollipop girl was there, too. Spider-Man didn’t like when she wouldn’t open her eyes.”

Your back was straighter than usual as Peter carefully watched you from the corner of his eye. Your breaths were getting heavy but you seemed to be able to keep them under control.

He smiled over at Ollie, “Spider-Man likes to save people. I’m sure he was just worried that someone he was supposed to save wasn’t feeling very well.”

Ellie shot up from her spot on the couch. Her hair was knotted in the back and stuck out at crazy angles as if she’d been laying in that spot for a very long time. She turned dark eyes to glare at Peter.

“Spider-Man is bad at his job,” she huffed. “He didn’t come soon enough. We almost got dead like that one man. He should of helped us sooner. I hate him. He’s not a hero. He’s a bad guy.”

Before Peter could speak, you shifted in your spot to turn around and face the young girl. He watched as you studied her face in silence for a bit. Ellie wasn’t the same person she was before the fire. She was hardened. Angry. You could relate.

You reached your hand out and placed it gently over hers, “It’s not Spider-Man’s fault. There were a lot of people who needed saving that day. He came right when he needed to. I think we made a pretty good team before he got there, don’t you think? You held my hand the whole time even when you were scared. You stayed right by my side and we made it all the way across the office to find Ollie. It was you who reminded me to go get him, Ellie. You helped save yourself and your brother just as much as Spider-Man did.”

Her little face softened and she slumped back into the cousins of the couch, “It was too scary. I didn’t like it.”

“Me either,” you sighed. “I really didn’t like it. It hurt and it was scary and I wish it never happened. But it did. It happened and that’s okay. Sometimes things happen that are out of our control. We just keep pushing forward and doing our best with what we have. I think we did the best job we could have in that situation. I’m so proud of what we were able to do. Look at us. We made it. We’re alive. Everyone who was locked in that bathroom is still here in this room.”

“...Not Spider-Man,” Ollie spoke under his breath, not wanting to interrupt their conversation but still wanting to throw in his two cents.

You grinned, glancing over your shoulder at him, “You’d be surprised, kid.”

Peter laughed. He knew what you had said would go over both children’s heads. The sound of his laughter made you laugh along with him. It was the first time in half a year that he got to hear that beautiful sound. It flooded his body with a warm light and brought joyful tears to his eyes. He quickly tried to brush them away before anyone would notice but you were already staring straight at him.

“I love you,” you silently mouthed in his direction.

This was working. Seeing the twins was doing more good than it was harm. He gave a deep sigh and released months of pent up anxiety.

“What’s so funny?” Ellie asked, glancing between the two of you.

You chuckled to yourself, “Nothing. You babies are just too cute.”

“We are not babies!” Both Ellie and Ollie shouted at the same time.

The twins glanced at each other in shock and then fell into their own fit of laughter. Ollie leapt onto the couch to tackle his sister, jumping on top of her, and smothering her with rough hugs.

“Hey, cut it out!” She cried through her laughs. “That tickles!”

Peter scooted closer to you. His fingers grazed lightly down your spine until they rested on your hip. You turned your attention to him. There was something softer about your edges now. A part of who you used to be was returning back into your soul as your walls slowly came down.

“How you doing?” He spoke softly so only you could hear.

You smiled, a genuine one, and nodded, “I’m okay. Really. I’m okay.”

“I knew you would be,” he leaned over to press a quick kiss to your temple. “I never doubted you for a second.”

Ollie leaped off the couch towards the two of you without warning. Peter managed to grab him midair before he crash landed into your side. In one, singular, swoop he tucked the boy under his arm like a football and jumped to his feet, spinning them both around to the sound of over-tired giggles.

“Pretend that I’m Spidey!” He shouted. “I’m swinging through the air with my web shooters. Pew! Pew!” He mimicked the motion of Spider-Man shooting off his webs with his hands.

“Alright, Spidey, a bad guy just robbed a bank. It’s your job to stop him before he gets away!” Peter held Ollie in his arms and lifted him to the ceiling to make it look like he was crawling upside down.

Ollie squealed with joy and scurried across to the wall where Peter pretended to slowly lower him by some imaginary webs.

“There’s the robbers,” Ollie whispered to new best friend. He pointed to you and his sister. “They have the pirate jewels and we gotta get ��em back.”

You gave Ellie a glance to see if she was willing to play along. She brushed her hair out of her eyes with a look of determination and rolled behind you.

“Hurry,” she shouted. “We have to make a run for it! Spider-Man is coming!” She leapt to her feet and held up an imaginary bag. “You’ll never catch us! We have a secret hide-a-away. Quick, let’s go.” Ellie grabbed your hand and the two of you took off out the playroom and down the hall.

What followed could be considered the cutest Spider-Man chase Peter had ever participated in. He easily held Ollie up while he jumped him from wall to wall and swung from Peter’s arms. You and Ellie threw crumpled paper balls and stuffed animals at them as they tried to approach. Peter would weave and dodge with the child in his arms, even going so far as to perfectly tuck and roll with him to avoid the attack of a flying stuffed pig. If the kids were any older than they might feel the need to question where those reflexes came from but, being so young, it only enhanced their already vivid imaginations. There was out of breath panting, delighted screams, and enough laughter to heal every damaged, broken heart under this roof.

By the time Jenny and her husband came home, the four of you were tucked under a freshly made blanket fort while Peter told stories about the adventures of Spider-Man that he “made up” as he went along. The twins were both snuggled to either side of you, Ellie’s hand clutched tightly in your scarred one, as their wide eyes took in everything Peter was saying. You rested your cheek against the top of her head. She didn’t need to talk in depth about her experience in the fire. Not now, at least. All she needed was a little reassurance that it happened and that it was terrible but that she got through it. Seeing your face was the reminder she needed to know that things would be okay in the end. If you could be okay, the person who kept her safe and stayed by her side during the events, then maybe she could be okay too. What Ellie didn’t know is that was exactly what you were searching for, as well. Seeing Ellie be able to laugh and play like a normal child put everything into perspective. Trauma can break a person but it can also build you up from the ashes. You can come out stronger than you ever thought possible. You were no longer just a normal person. You were a survivor. You survived. It took everything inside of you to get there but you did it.

A blanket fort full of people who had beaten the odds and survived tragedy, all being able to laugh together, was a perfect representation of that.

It wasn’t the first time Peter had stood between a child and death, it wouldn’t be the last, but this time was special. This time you were there beside him. He had a flash of the future, one where you were older and holding a baby of your own in your arms while you both cheered on Ellie and Ollie as they graduated from high school with their entire life ahead of them. The thought made him smile.

“Well, isn’t this a happy sight!” Jenny explained as she peeked her head in under the fort.

Ollie leapt up, “Mommy!” He threw his arms around his mother in a big hug.

“It’s too soon,” Ellie complained. “We’re not ready! I don’t want them to go yet. I want them to stay.”

“It’s already past your bedtime,” Jenny scolded her but when she reached out her hand, Ellie happily took it, and she was pulled into a hug. “I take it that means things went well?”

“They were great,” you replied. “I don’t think they could have gone better. I think this was exactly what everyone needed.”

Jenny looked visibly relieved, “And there weren’t any…problems?”

Peter helped you duck out of the fort, “Nope. There was a little talk about it but, in true Spider-Man fashion, Ollie managed to save the day and get everyone lost in a game of bank robbers.”

“I’m so glad to hear it. Thank you two so much. I’m sure we’ll be hearing all about your adventures as we try to wrestle them to sleep.” She helped walk you to the front door. “Kids! If you want to say goodbye to your guests, now is the time!”

They came barreling down the hallway. Ollie crashed into Peter’s arms and was lifted up to wrap his arms around his neck.

“I think you’re better than Spider-Man!” He gave Peter a sloppy kiss on the cheek then proceeded to be held upside down and swung back and forth to an explosion of laughter.

Ellie inched her way closer to you. She wiggled her finger to indicate that you should bend down to her level. You happily obliged. Peter carefully dropped Ollie back to his feet and let his ears pick up what Ellie was whispering softly to you.

“Thank you for coming to play with me today,” she breathed in your ear so only you…and Peter…could hear. “You’re my Spider-Man. You’re my hero.”

Tears welled up in your eyes but you held them at bay, “You’re my hero too, Ellie. I’ve never met anyone braver than you. You crawled through a room full of fire to save your brother. You’re the real Spider-Man.”

She gave a bashful giggle and sprinted away down the hall with Ollie on her heels. You stood up as Peter led you out the front door after saying goodbye to Jenny.

The night was dark and the air was crisp. The two of you walked in silence for a few blocks. Peter wanted to let you digest your night. It was a big moment for you, having to face your past head on.

You gave a loud, long sigh, tilting your head to the dark sky and closing your eyes, “I think we did good today. Don’t you?”

“Very much so. You, especially.”

“I want this night to end on a happy note. I want this night to feel normal. I miss normal,” you reached out your hand for Peter. “Hold my hand.”

He gladly accepted, locking his fingers with you, “I’ll never say no that. Let’s go be normal together.”

“Normal and boring. What could possibly be better than that?”

#the amazing spiderman #tasm #peter parker #andrew garfield #tasm peter parker #tasm x reader #tasm peter #tasm peter x reader #tasm peter parker x reader #peter parker x reader #andrew garfield spiderman #andrew garfield peter parker #peter parker fic #tasm fic #tasm!peter parker

282 notes · View notes

pleathewrites · 10 months ago

Text

bellow the fire into my deadened lungs

chapter 4 excerpt — seroroki first kiss read full story here

“When did you start smoking?”

“Smokin’ what?” Sero’s native accent bleeds into the night fog of his exhale.

“Whatever you’re smoking right now.”

Sero laughs, and it’s rough in all the best ways — raspy, deep, loud enough to bounce off the moon back into Shouto’s lungs.

“It’s just a cigarette, Shou. Started when I was, fuck, thirteen, I think?”

‘Oh, that’s quite — ’, “Young.”

It makes sense, in a way. Sero holds the cigarette with a lazy respect Shouto has only seen his eldest brother uphold. Sero’s voice, upped with the hormones of a teenage boy, scratches on the same words Shouto’s own would hold steady. Even the way Sero sits, in that same corner of his dorm balcony every night Shouto visits, speaks of years of habit. His lithe body folded like a discarded stall pretzel — propped, knobby knees to rest his bulky elbows, the back of his head laid back against his balcony door for easier exhale, leaving his stretched throat vulnerable to Shouto’s quite appalling fantasies.

Shouta has never wanted someone so badly.

“Yeah, well,” Hanta continues, “Not much else to do in my house.”

Shouto remembers.

[ 11 months ago, April — Second Week of U.A., First Year

The door slams shut, and Shouto is finally by himself.

He's beyond thankful the school offers boarding to students who cannot — or simply do not wish to — commute from home. The room U.A. assigned him is smaller than his own at the Todoroki estate but it’s his to do with what he pleases, away from the surveillance of his father and the suffocating silence of his older siblings.

He needs air, and with his own balcony, he doesn’t even have to leave his room to get it.

To say Shouto is… nervous for his first year at U.A. is an understatement. He’d never been to school before, never spoken to so many strangers at once, and he wasn’t even the one talking the majority of the time. He understands the novelty of it all, though — the last son of the Number Two hero, and everyone is itching to ask, ‘What’s it like having such a great hero as a father?’

Well, everyone except his dorm neighbor, who’s apparently been too busy destroying his lungs the next balcony over.

“I think that’s definitely against school-rules.”

The boy startles from where he sits, sucks in a deep breath, and coughs so heavily that Shouto thinks the guy might die. He doesn’t. Instead, the boy’s cough subsides after a few long seconds and he takes a deep inhale before clearing his throat and looking up to meet Shouto’s curious gaze.

This is the moment Shouto thinks Sero Hanta has the largest pair of eyes he’s ever seen. Wide black irises framed by lashes so thick, Shouto wonders if the boy is wearing makeup.

Pale eyelids shut briefly before the boy coughs out a nervous laugh, “Fuck, uh… You gonna tell on me, or sumthn?”

Shouto thinks about it, or pretends to, and tilts his head to the side while his eyes roam over the relaxed form of the delinquent in question. Maybe it was the situation — someone finally asking him something that doesn’t revolve around his family — or, maybe, it was the sleepy accent from a devil-may-care demeanor Shouto hasn’t really encountered before, “No. Provided you let me keep you company.”

This is the moment Shouto also realizes Sero Hanta has the biggest smile he’s ever seen.

Large, slightly crooked teeth glint under a night with no moon and Shouto doesn’t understand why his hands feel so sweaty — he usually has excellent quirk control.

“Yeah man, c’mon on over,” Shouto hops over the rails of both balconies and settles next to the boy, despite his sensitive nose twinging from the bitter smoke, “Couldn’t sleep?

Gulping whatever anxiety lingers in his throat, Shouto nods, “New environment.”

“Yeah,” Sero snorts, “This is nothin’ like home.”

Shouto doesn’t want to talk about his home, “What is your home like?”

Sero takes a puff of his cigarette before his words come out thick with smoke, “Oof, gettin’ deep ‘n personal already. Y’know what they say about the midnight-hours.”

Shouto doesn’t, “What do they say?”

“Somethin’ ‘bout the stars loosenin’ the tongue.”

Shouto rolls his tongue over his teeth, “My tongue is still firmly attached,” He doesn’t think the stars could have such a quirk.

Sero laughs, and Shouto’s not really sure what he said that’s so funny but, Gods, does he wish he knew, because Sero’s lips are stretched wide over his teeth and the tip of his tongue is so pink, “Ah man, how I wish I was smokin’ somethin’ else,” At that, Shouto furrows his brows in confusion, and Sero waves his hand assuringly with the cigarette still lit between two fingers, “Nah, it’s, like, a ‘poetic’ way of saying how people are more likely to be — you know, vulnerable, at night.”

‘Ah, a metaphor,’ Shouto thinks, ‘Like when I bought Fuyumi-nee that sweater she was eyeing for weeks before her birthday and she said she was, ‘so happy, she could die.’ Thankfully, she did not die.’

Shouto nods, “I see… I was not allowed poetry.”

Sero hums, “Didn’t really have access to it, either. Schools were shit in my area.”

To say Shouto was intrigued would be an understatement. Maybe he felt some kind of kinship with the smoking boy whose shoulder warms the right of his. Maybe he was desperate to hear someone else’s story rather than repeat the manicured version of his own for the dozenth time. Maybe he wondered if their stories could be more similar than either of them would think.

“Where are you from? You have an accent you cover up. Why?”

“Slow down, man,” Sero laughs and Shouto’s shoulders shake with it, “I’m not from the city. Some nowhere-village, you wouldn’t’ve heard of it,” Dark eyes twinkle with something that feels like a shared secret, “But yeah, I'll give you that. I’m tryin’ to, y’know, fit in ‘n whatnot.”

“I understand,” Shouto knows all too well about exclusion, “I… don’t think I fit in.”

Sero smiles, “Well. Ya got a spot right here, in this lil’ smoker’s den of mine — ours, if you want it.”

And Shouto’s heart skips a long beat for the first time in his little life. ]

Shouto smiles at the memory.

Over this past year, Sero’s balcony became his solace. A place to vent and scream and curse at the moon. A lighthouse to guide his shivering body out of the roaring oceans of hurt and anger that perpetually marinate in the slim meat of his bones. The warmest blanket of the softest kind of understanding Shouto’s ever known, a constant heat to battle the eternal ice that regularly threatens to freeze him from the inside out. Out of 240 nights, Shouto has spent over half of them hopping onto cold metal that does not belong to him, to sit next to a boy who invites him to belong instead.

Sero’s balcony is where Shouto fits. It is the only place where he can take the world off his shoulders, and be the sixteen-year-old boy he would have been, had he been born under a different God.

It is where Shouto made his first friend. (It will be where Shouto will have his first kiss.)

Because here, under the cloak of quiet galaxies and fading smoke, Shouto is a sixteen-year-old boy with a nearly ten-month-long crush on the person who was kind enough to coax him into their small, star-speckled haven, and offer it as his own.

The secret of Shouto’s affections weighs heavier every day. Touya’s words rattle in his head, ‘maybe you should just — I dunno, tell him that.’ But how? It is often said that Shouto is brave, but in the same breath, Shouto would argue that he has spent the majority of his life alone, with nothing to lose, and he believes bravery without sacrifice shallows itself down to the same arrogance his father suffers from.

With everything that’s happened recently with Touya, with his father under arrest, it doesn’t make sense how, at this moment, the only thing on Shouto’s mind is the way Sero Hanta’s lips wrap over that cancer stick, and how much Shouto wants to lean in and take its place, grab that pointed chin between his own chilly fingers and plead, ‘breathe me in, instead.’

However, losing the peace Sero offers him to a silly moment of desire is not something Shouto thinks he is ready for.

Shouto looks away to mentally shake off his thoughts, and lands on the first thing he sees — a familiar, worn cigarette pack with a unique design oddly felicitous to Sero, “The box is pretty.”

‘It fits you.’

Rogue blue waves rising up to meet a dark sky with an overly bright and full moon. Shouto likens the design to finding serenity in the reality of mother nature's chaos.

Sero takes the box and thumbs over the design absent-mindedly, “Yeah, it used to be the only brand I smoked, really. A bit of a nuisance, though, fuckin’ hard to find — one of those, if you know you know.” He flips the box open, “It’s kinda dumb, but I usually just put the ciggs I buy now in this pack ‘n throw away the original box.”

“Did it taste better than others?” Shouto thinks it must have, to be Sero’s favorite.

“Huh, well, not really. ‘S more like, sentimental value, I guess,” Sero’s laugh rings like rusted, broken bells, “All of ‘em taste the same, really, one way or another. Some’re just extra, y’know, harsh on the throat.”

Shouto thinks that judging by the smell alone, smoking still doesn’t sound very pleasant, “I’ve heard it tastes bad. It smells… strong.”

The shrug of Sero’s shoulder bumps his own in a blissful moment of contact, “Ya get used to it.”

Now, Shouto knows his face tends to be quite expressive — for someone who wasn’t allowed to express much growing up — and so, when Sero looks at him and ticks the corner of his lip in a way Shouto has only ever seen a handful of times when Sero would talk about the more cheeky experiences of his life, he knows he’s been caught. “Why? You wanna try?”

“I don’t know,” He really doesn’t know but the lowered lid of Sero’s large eyes makes Shouto want to try anything, just to keep that dark gaze on him for a few seconds longer.

Sero lays the cigarette box down and scoots closer. The left side of Shouto’s face fills with blood and the heat makes him woozy.

‘Is this what it’s like to feel drunk?’

Shouto can’t really think about yet another teen experience he fears missing out on because there are cool, slender fingers grasping his chin the same way Shouto daydreamed about minutes ago.

Sero briefly turns his head away to take a long drag of his cigarette before facing Shouto again, his whispering mouth barely a centimeter from his own, “C’mere.”

And Shouto listens, leans, lets his body loosen to the calloused thumb pulling at his bottom lip, and opens his mouth. As if on autopilot, at the sound of Sero’s exhale and the reality of being this close to a boy Shouto has spent countless, dreamless nights with — Shouto inhales.

Something rushes to his brain. The smoked tar itches his throat but Shouto was born with the breath of fire. When he exhales, there is a tightness in his chest but Shouto knows it is not the nicotine that affects him so, but the boy whose bottom lip grazes his own and lingers in the lightest caress of a question Shouto has known the answer to for months.

All it takes is the tip of Sero’s strong nose nuzzling the side of his own for Shouto to throw all his cautions to the windless night, lean in, and press.

Sero’s soft kiss is everything he imagined it would be, and more.

read full story here

my other works

36 notes · View notes

bluejaysandblackbats · 11 months ago

Text

Catch and Release

Fandom: DC Comics, Batfam

Summary: AU where Jason doesn't die in the explosion and he and Tim end up attending the same high school months later.

Chapters: 13/?

Characters: Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth, Tim Drake, Dick Grayson, Barbara Gordon, Sebastian Ives, Jack Drake, Janet Drake

Relationships: TBA

Additional Tag: Jason Todd Lives, Jason Todd-centric, POV Jason Todd, POV First Person, Tim Drake Has Issues, Tim Drake Has Issues, Tim Drake is Not Robin, Jason Todd is Not Robin (Anymore), Bruce Wayne Needs a Hug, Alfred Pennyworth is the Best, Alfred Pennyworth Knows, Stalker Tim Drake, Jason Todd Has Chronic Pain, Jason Todd Has PTSD, Angst with a Happy Ending, Unlikely Friends, Injury Recovery, Emotional Baggage, Rage, Bruce Wayne is Bad at Communicating

Chapter Thirteen: Outburst

Tim’s parents had to leave early one afternoon before dinner. I’d grown attached to Tim’s mom and dad. Especially Janet… And I knew why. I sat in the living room with Tim while he ate popcorn. “Tell them to stay,” I whispered.

Tim looked at me like I had two heads. “Why would I do that? They’ve been planning the Zanzibar trip for months. We’re here by ourselves all the time,” Tim replied. I shrugged, swallowing hard as I tried to seem like a normal human being. “Popcorn. Eat. Movie. Watch.”

Janet passed by my side of the couch, and I made eye contact with her. It was stupid and desperate and-. I cried. Tim was appalled, Janet was bewildered, and Mr. Drake was-. Well, he was uncomfortable. “Jason, what’s wrong?” Janet asked. She kneeled beside me and touched my face.

As soon as I started crying, I realized it was wrong. “Nothing… I’m sorry,” I replied, “I’m sorry. I just-. It’s dumb.”

“So dumb,” Tim muttered as he shoved the popcorn bowl in my arms. He stormed out of the room, and Janet felt split between us, so I wiped my tears away and made it easy for her. I stood up and chased Tim.

“Tim, I’m sorry,” I whimpered. He rushed upstairs, and I limped upstairs after him. “Tim, wait-.”

“What’s your deal? They’re my parents,” Tim whispered. He had every right to be angry with me.

“I said I was sorry. Tim, it was a stupid reflex,” I whispered, “I didn’t realize how much I miss my mom… I looked at your mom, and it-. Tim, I didn’t mean anything by it.”

Tim crossed his arms, but his expression softened. His eyes scanned me as he sighed. “Jason, you’re not my friend… You’re my brother, and I’m being selfish,” Tim mumbled, “There’s no reason why we can’t share parents.”

I rubbed my neck, still embarrassed by my outburst. “Tim, you don’t have to pretend you’re okay with-.”

“Jason, we’ve shared a bed. I know all your secrets. You know all mine… We spend every moment of every day together, and I have never been happier. I think-. My parents are hardly ever around, and it hurts. It’s gonna hurt a lot until you stop caring,” Tim explained, “I don’t want you to like my parents because I don’t want you to get your hopes up. You want a mom and dad that stay home and support you and have nice family dinners-. I hate that it’s not that way… But it’ll never be. Look downstairs. They’re gone because they couldn’t be late for their flight.”

I frowned. He was right. I got caught up in the delusion that they could be more than what they were. “I’m glad you don’t hate me… Can we finish the movie?” I asked. Tim nodded. The maid went to bed, and Tim pulled out his laptop.

He’d been itching to return to our plan despite me telling him parts of what was going on. “Jason, when are we gonna go through with the plan?” Tim questioned.

“Halloween… Or New Year’s… We’ve gotta wait for a time when people are extra weird because it’s harder for him to sift through the actual threats and the costumed partygoers,” I explained, “So, while everyone’s having the time of their life… We’ll show him that a couple of teenagers can do his job as well as he can.” Tim grinned.

“What were you gonna make for dinner?” Tim asked.

“I don’t know… Maybe quesadillas. Why?” I questioned.

Tim shrugged. He took the popcorn bowl from me and stared at the TV. “Last night… After you went to bed, I sat with my mom in her office. She told me she was worried I wasn’t happy. Mom was right… I hadn’t been happy. I was sort of-. I dunno… I was alive, but I wasn’t living. I have friends and stuff, but they don’t get me like you do. This is the happiest I’ve been since I was a little kid,” Tim confessed. I hugged my knees and nodded. “I don’t want to be alone anymore. So, I hope that after the plan’s over, and-.”

“Brothers, Tim. We’re brothers. This isn’t some group project where we part ways at the end. I promise,” I reassured him. Family was everything. He fell asleep after the movie ended. His arms lay limp at his sides while the popcorn bowl sat empty on his lap. I chuckled at his loosened jaw and open mouth.

Janet and Mr. Drake wouldn’t be back for at least three weeks. We finished Tim’s Robin costume by then, perfectly recreating my old one. That’s when we received a postcard. Tim tossed it in a box filled with other postcards. Our school closed for a few days for building maintenance… Which left us some time to goof around at the mall. We got milkshakes the size of our heads and walked through half the stores on the second level. It almost felt normal until I saw Bruce. “Tim, let’s go downstairs-.”

“Jason, it’s nice to see-.”

“It’s not nice for me,” I interrupted. Tim couldn’t look up from his drink.

“Well, I-. Don’t I have a right to know what you’ve been up to?” Bruce questioned.

“I’m gonna take Tim out of town,” I answered, “We’re killing time.”

“Overnight trip?” Bruce asked.

“Uh-huh… You want to hug me, don’t you?” I asked. Bruce nodded. I embraced him because I wanted to. I wrapped my arms around him and pressed my face into his chest. He smelled like fresh pine. Bruce rested his chin on top of my head. “I’m not coming home.”

Bruce didn’t immediately let go. “I know… Thanks for humoring me,” Bruce whispered.

“I’m not humoring you… I’m only hugging you because I miss you,” I confessed. It didn’t mean I forgave Bruce.

Bruce let go. “Go have fun,” Bruce whispered. He patted me on the shoulder as he left the store.

“What was that?” Tim asked.

I playfully knocked into Tim. “It’s complicated… Let’s get going. I wanna get a ferry out of here before it gets dark,” I whispered. Tim smiled as he followed me to the food court to get another milkshake, and we left the mall.

Tim shivered involuntarily. “I think these things have caffeine,” Tim laughed as the autumn breeze hit us. I snorted.

“Of course it does,” I chuckled. Tim and I walked to the train, and I sighed. “I’m not mad at him anymore… I’m not going home on principle.”

“What’s the principle?” Tim asked.

“The plan… And Bruce still hasn’t changed his mind about me,” I explained, “He’s wrong.”

Before Tim could reply, some guy pressed his pointer fingers to the back of our spines. “Oww!” I shrieked as I dropped to my knees. Everyone at the stop stared as I curled into a ball and pretended to be in excruciating pain. It wasn’t hard to sell it. I’d been there. The guy ran off, and Tim helped me up.

“Jeez, are you-? You were faking, weren’t you?” Tim half-smiled. I nodded as I dusted my clothes off.

“We’re lucky the train’s coming because we would’ve had to fight him… And that would’ve raised questions,” I whispered, “Besides, we wanna get to the ferry before it gets too dark.”

11 notes · View notes

god-i-love-my-ocs · 7 months ago

Text

furrina !!

Name: Furrina Aisling O’Greenley

Age: 24

Pronouns: She/Her

Sexuality: Straight Ally

Favorite color: Grey

Physical Attributes: Pale complexion, dotted with freckles. Veeeery long blonde hair that has been dyed light blue, goes down to her behind. Bangs, but leaves one side overgrown to cover her right eye. Green eyes! 5’4”—5’6” or so with platforms.

Favorite Attire: Big fan of anything black. Gets cold easily, so she tends to wear warmer clothes, like jackets, fingerless gloves, and beanies. Turtlenecks are a big love for her, along with other graphic tees with shirts underneath them.

Personality: An introvert with a nervous disposition. Constantly seems to worry for people she loves, but that doesn’t stop her from enjoying the time she spends with them. Has a big heart, and loves her friends and family more than anything. A very poetic soul, she’s incredibly sentimental and finds beauty in the touchy moments. Despite her softie personality, she’s very defensive of her work and her name, and is not afraid to stick up for herself and to serve justice when needed. Has a deep hatred for the British, with her family’s generational trauma. Holds grudges easily, and can be aggressive when she needs to be. Has people-pleasing tendencies, and though she’s getting better at tackling them, she still tends to fall into those ways of thinking.

Backstory: Furrina moved from Ireland to the States when she was four years old. From then on, she would visit Ireland every year with her family. Throughout that time, she would learn of her nation’s history, and would be appalled at the violence and sadness of it all. Her grandparents were deeply unhappy people, and though her grandfather died before she was born, her grandmother moved to the States with her and her family. Since then her grandmother has been verbally abusive and controlling of her family, especially her mother. She’s started resenting her grandmother well into her teens. Since she was ten, she started getting into the arts, starting with painting and slowly more into poetry and short story writing. At thirteen she entered her work into a local short story competition, and won third place. She proved herself to be quite the artist, taking after her father, a short story writer. Since then she’s found praise from many, like teachers, people in her local community, and people online. When she made her own blog, she started posting her poetry to reach a larger audience. Though it was overwhelming at first, things were going great, and she soon started earning pay for her work. Unfortunately, over the years, she has been a victim to reposting and others pretending to have created her work, which she had to fight for their being taken cared of. She still lives with her family, and loves them dearly. Though, she is saving for an apartment next to her family’s townhouse, to be free from her grandmother’s influence.

Likes:

Friends

Family

Hanging around bars (NOT BECAUSE SHES IRISH I PROMISE 😭😭😭😭😭)

Stargazing

Reading

Writing

Dislikes:

Busy days

Injustice

Mosquitos

Extra/Notes:

Named after an obscure Roman goddess. Mother majored in folklore and mythology, and loves Roman mythology most of all :]

#sillycharts [furrina]#ocs on tumblr #oc #ocs #my ocs #ask blog #oc ask blog #oc ask prompts #writer #writers on tumblr #writerscommunity #creative writing #writeblr #del’s tiny little guys

1 note · View note

smallfrenchcar28 · 5 years ago

Photo

THE GAYS ARE PLANNING A PRISON BREAK Y'ALL

#doctor who #doctor who spoilers #doctor who season 12 #fugitive of the judoon #the timeless children #regeneration of the daleks #thirteenth doctor #jodie whittaker #captain jack harkness #john barrowman #prisoner of the judoon #the gays are planning a prison break y'all #gonna be a lot of chaotic gay energy #i want flirty jack #thirteen pretending to be appalled #but then flirting back #but also being like I already have my space wife so never gonna happen #thasmin #yasmin khan #thirteen x yasmin #and jack being like there's room for her too she's a cutie #he had a dream about this once #but also remember the one thing i told you not to do #and what did you do doctor #arguing like a married couple as they run through the prison #angry whispering and pausing as a platoon of judoon come in the room #jack commenting on the aesthetic of the prison #such unflattering lighting in the cells #the doctor being more concerned about the crappy food #no custard creams surely this is hell

2K notes · View notes

leviathism · 2 years ago

Note

Omg Hi this is my first time requesting something but there's this lil challenge goin around on TikTok which is called the Rosalia challenge and it's when someone chews gum or pretends to obnoxiously chew gum and looks up and down then roll their eyes at someone I was wondering if you could write a GN teen Mc doing the challenge as a joke towards the brothers and the new Dateables if you want I just thought this would be a funny idea😭😊

obey me x gender neutral reader

Lucifer is livid but he hides it well. You are just a teenager and all teenagers must go through this phase of disrespect… But if you do it again, you’re being tied to the chandelier next to his younger brother. It does not matter if you try and say it’s TikTok challenge. He doesn’t know what that is. He does not tolerate teenagers.

Mammon knows it immediately and recruits you to do it with him to Lucifer immediately. You are both imprisoned for your crimes.

Leviathan cries in his room, hurt and overthinking it. You will need to apologize and get him an action figurine to be granted full forgiveness. You must also promise to never do a prank like that again. He is not the one you should ever do that to. Being judged by a teenager is his worst fear after all.

Satan is angry and confronts you immediately, asking if you have a problem. You can clearly see the frustration with how his eyebrow twitches and his lip curls. He calms down considerably when you tell him it’s a challenge but he’s still a little angry. He’ll be back to normal in an hour or two.

Asmodeus is irritated and plans to get revenge for days. Days. He puts color dye in your shampoo and dyes it some ungodly color that would never suit you. He only feels a little bad when you tell him it’s just a TikTok trend. He offers to help fix your hair as an apology (and also so he doesn’t have to look at it anymore).

Beelzebub just thinks you’re mad at him or something and becomes guilty. “I’m sorry if I ate something of yours again,” he said, looking for your forgiveness while looking like a kicked puppy.

“Again?”

Belphegor flicks you in the face, hard. He does not feel any remorse when you say it’s a trend. In fact, he dares you to do it again and see what happens, “you pathetic teenage human runt.”

Mephistopheles is hurt and appalled. Speechless, even. Has no idea what to say so he just turns and leaves. You won’t see him for another week if you don’t text him and explain.

Raphael doesn’t care. He doesn’t know your name either to be honest.

With Thirteen, you end up trapped on the ceiling of the school in a loose rope net. Demons came to stare and paid for tickets as if you were an animal at the zoo. She kind of reminds you of Lucifer in that moment as you stare down at the brothers, weepy and asking for help. You had been up there for hours.

#obey me x reader #obey me x gender neutral reader #obey me x you #obey me x gn!mc #obey me x gn!reader #obey me x y/n #obey me #mammon x reader #leviathan x reader #lucifer x reader #belphegor x reader #obey me scenarios #obey me head cannons #obey me headcannons #obey me headcanons #obey me crack ig

326 notes · View notes

regency-gardens · 4 years ago

Text

Tethered Hearts- Benedict Bridgerton- 1/?

A/N: hello all! this is my first imagine for Bridgerton and i worked really hard on it and i hope it shows. I've split this into multiple parts and it will likely come out to be about 3 parts though the last one may be short ( its not quite finished). anyways, hope you enjoy! - Callie

warnings: cheating, dramatic little idiots, angst, maybe a couple of spelling errors

word count: 2,270 (yikes)

published: feb. 17. 21

pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x reader

Series master list

part 2

summary: Benedict and Y/N are the perfect match. or so it seemed. when y/n finds out benedict has been unfaithful, their fairy tale romance begins to crash and burn

----

It is said that not everything is as it seems. This is especially true of miss y/n Y/L/N and Mr Benedict Bridgerton. Once believed to be the perfect match, the two were expected to be the first marriage of the new season. However, as the final weeks approach, not only has there been no proposal but it would seem the two have parted ways completely. miss Y/L/N has retreated to her family’s country estate and mister Bridgerton has locked himself away in the Bridgerton home. What could have sent this whirlwind romance to such a dismal end? Rest assured, dear reader, if there is a secret to be found out, this author will find it.

Lady Whistledown

Y/n toyed with the ends of her braid, her novel long forgotten in her lap after ages of rereading the same paragraph. She couldn't seem to keep her mind from wandering back to Benedict. No matter how hard she tried to forget him- to hate him- she couldn't. She wondered what he was doing and What he was thinking. She wondered if he wondered about her.

You see, they'd met when they were children- y/n and the Bridgertons. Y/n was Daphne's age, but she and Eloise made fast friends despite the difference. From ages nine to thirteen they'd spend their days playing pretend in the garden, writing fantastical stories, and poems about as deep as a puddle; which was just about all a twelve-year-old could manage. They were like sisters, attached at the hip, and a as a result, the whole Bridgerton family treated her like one of their own. But when y/n turned fourteen things began to change for her.

She started to stay up at night. for the first time, she began seriously thinking of love and what it would be like to find someone to spend the rest of your life with. When she thought of these things her mind always seemed to wander to the second Bridgerton son, Benedict. At first, she was appalled by the thought, having seen him as a brother for so many years. But, as time went on, she couldn’t fight it off anymore.

By the time she was seventeen she was positive that she could never love another man like she did Benedict. Even if he did only see her as a younger sister. With all the wisdom of a seventeen-year-old, she concluded that unrequited love was better than love with any other.

Eloise wasn’t always too fond of the idea of y/n marrying one of her brothers. In her eyes, no one was good enough and she wasn’t ready to lose her best friend to any man, let alone one of her brothers. (Everyone always assumed it’d be Collin.) But one day, whilst she was reciting her newest poem, she noticed y/n’s gaze straying to the other side of the room where Benedict sat reading the papers. It didn’t take long for her to put two and two together and suddenly the idea of y/n becoming her actual sister ( in-law ) became much more appealing and thus Eloise put her plan into action to have Benedict fall in love with her best friend.

It wasn’t easy, mind you. Benedict was about as oblivious as they come and y/n was too shy for her own good. Playing matchmaker without either of them knowing was a challenge indeed.

She would ‘accidentally’ forget her book in her room and leave them to retrieve it. Or she would force him to come along during one of their outings and made sure y/n was always next to him. No matter how much she pushed them together though, nothing seemed to stick. But finally, when y/n was twenty- only a year before her debut- she could see the change in his eyes.

All Benedict knew was one moment he was listening to her play the piano, just like she had a million times before when he looks over and the sunlight is hitting her just right and she looks like an angel. Suddenly, everything made sense. Suddenly the random butterflies in his stomach when he saw her didn’t seem so random. Suddenly, all the times he got angry when another man danced with her didn’t seem like something an overprotective friend would do. He finally realized he was in love.

This wasn’t the result of something Eloise did, but she gave herself the credit nonetheless. It wouldn’t be long before the two finally confessed their love for the other, though the circumstances were less than ideal.

It was after one of the many balls of the season. Y/n left early because of a headache, accompanied by her brother, henry. It was on the way back to their home when an unexpected storm hit. The roads quickly became flooded and soon enough their carriage was stuck in the mud. Henry decided to run ahead with the driver for help, leaving y/n alone and afraid with the driver’s dagger should anything happen.

Benedict, having lost all interest in the ball after y/n had left, wasn’t far behind and came across the carriage on the side of the road. He recognized it as hers by the Y/L/N family crest painted in gold on the door. Upon getting closer he noticed it was stuck and neither the driver nor its passengers were inside. Filled with the worry of what might have happened, he ordered his own driver to pull over so he might investigate.

He pries open the carriage door to find her terrified and curled on the floor, holding a small dagger. The fear flooding her finally drained as she gazed into his eyes and she felt safe. He quickly climbed in to escape the rain.

“Are you alright? Are you hurt? Were you robbed? Where's henry? ” y/n calms him by placing a gentle hand on his shoulder forcing him to stop inspecting her for injuries and look at her. There’s a moment of tense silence as it dawns on the two of them just how close they are and how improper it all was. Should it get out, it undoubtedly would have been the scandal of the season. Benedict’s breathing is erratic as the adrenaline courses through his veins. He can’t look away from her eyes. “When I saw the carriage i thought…”

She places a gloved hand on his cheek and he leans into the warmth, his eyelids fluttering shut for a moment. They forget the world around them and fall into their own blissful bubble. In a moment of lost inhibitions, they begin to fall into one another, lips meeting in a passionate but tender kiss. When they pull away, there isn’t a hint of regret on their faces. Benedict can’t help but say,

“I love you.”

Just then the carriage door swings open to reveal y/n’s brother, Henry. There is a stunned silence before,

“I won’t tell father if you don’t tell him I left you alone.”

“Deal.”

After that night Benedict could hardly stay away. For the next year If she wasn’t at the Bridgerton home, he was visiting the Y/L/N home. This almost made Eloise regret wanting them to get together. They always excused it by saying they were practicing their drawing together or trading books. Whatever would get lady Y/L/N’s ever-suspicious eye off of them.

Eventually, they could keep it a secret no more and they stopped trying to hide that Benedict intended on courting her. It might have been a bigger scandal had the ton not known of their growing up together. If anything, they were expecting it. so when y/n made her debut to society, all the eager young ladies and ambitious mama’s looked upon her with jealousy, having made a presumed match before the rest of them could get their hands on the wealthy bachelor. Despite this y/n would spend the next few weeks in a blissful, love fuelled haze. Only for the veil to be ripped from her eyes in an instant.

She felt her chest tighten as she recalled her conversation with Eloise just three weeks ago.

“How is the hunt for Whistledown coming along?” y/n asked quietly over a cup of tea. She and Eloise sat by the large windows in the Bridgerton common area as the rest of the Bridgerton brood chatted amongst themselves. All except Benedict who sat alone in the corner, scribbling away in the sketchbook y/n was almost never allowed to see. Partly because Benedict was shy of his work and partly because the majority of his drawings were of y/n herself.

“I dare say, I’ve solved the mystery. I believe Lady Whistledown to be none other than Madame Delacroix!” y/n’s eyebrows shot up in surprise and she struggled to keep from choking on her tea. Eloise smiled and giggled in excitement.

“Are you certain?” Eloise nodded enthusiastically.

“Quite! See- I interrogated her myself just the other day when the modiste was closed! She told me herself, “I have no intention of compromising anyone.” i mean, perhaps she was just saying this to get rid of me but i'm not so sure. She and benedict weren't too thrilled by my interruption but I think-”

“Interruption? What was Benedict doing at the Modiste?” Eloise had gotten so caught up in her exciting new Whistledown discovery, she hadn't registered what she had said. The look of confusion on y/n's face made her realize that she’d just revealed Benedict’s biggest and darkest secret. She’d sworn to him after he’d been caught to never tell a soul what she saw, especially y/n. She wanted to, but she couldn’t bear to see y/n heartbroken, and reluctantly agreed to secrecy. Unsure of what to say, Eloise sat there stunned as y/n slowly put down her tea and tried to gather her thoughts.

“Eloise, what was he doing at the Modiste.” The worry was clear and present in her voice. Y/n fought every doubtful thought in her head. Benedict would never. This is a misunderstanding, to be sure. He loves me.

“I-i don’t...i-”

“Do not lie to me, Eloise. You can lie to anyone in this world but you know you cannot lie to me.” Eloise stared at her dearest friend, knowing she had no choice. She had to betray her brother and break y/n’s heart.

“You weren't supposed to find out…” y/n closed her eyes, feeling her heart drop to the pit of her stomach. She knew what Eloise was saying but it didn't make it any easier to hear. “ they met at ...an exhibition. I'm sure it means nothing, y/n, he loves you, I know he does.”

Y/n was quiet for a moment, trying to wrap her mind around the situation. How long had he been seeing this woman? Had their whole relationship been a lie? she had been played for a fool by the man she trusted most. Her thoughts were spinning around her head like a tornado. She shook her head in disbelief and huffed.

“well, maybe you don't know your brother as well as you think you do. I certainly didn't.” unable to meet Eloise’s eyes, y/n stood and quietly announced her leaving. Benedict glanced up from his drawing of her just in time to see her quickly wipe a tear from her cheek.

He looked to Eloise who stared back at him apologetically. As if reading her mind, his stomach dropped. He threw his sketchbook aside with haste in an attempt to catch her on her way out but she was running now.

“Benedict?” Lady Bridgerton called after her son, confused.

“Let him go, mama.” Eloise said, watching the door they had run out of, biting her nail.

Just as y/n was running out of the front doors of the Bridgerton house, Benedict called out to her from the top of the stairs.

“Y/n, please!”

“How could you!” she screeched, whipping around to face him. tears were falling freely down her reddened face. Even now, as he watched his world fall apart, he couldn't help but think of how beautiful she looked. “I thought you loved me. I feel like I don't even know who you are anymore.”

“You do know me!” he cried desperately. He ran to her, reaching for a gloved hand soaked with tears. “I do love you, y/n. She means nothing to me, it was a mistake.”

“And just how many times did you make that mistake?” she asked. Her voice was low and raspy, her eyes cold with anger and betrayal. When he failed to respond, she pried her hand from his.

“Please, give me one more chance. I am still the same benedict.” his heart was breaking in his chest; Crushed by his own selfishness and naivete. She shook her head and backed away. It was like she was looking at a stranger.

“Are you? I have loved you since I was fourteen Benedict. Long before you ever noticed me. For years I felt like a pathetic little invisible puppy dog following you around but then one day you loved me too and I felt like I mattered to someone. I felt whole. But now.. Now I feel just like that scared, pathetic little fourteen-year-old girl again. You were careless with my heart and you shattered it. You've made a fool of me for the last time.”

At that moment, Lady Bridgerton appeared at the top of the stairs, calling for her son.

“Goodbye, mister Bridgerton.” y/n turned and climbed into her waiting carriage, leaving behind the shattered pieces of her heart in the hands of the man she once regarded as the love of her life.

part 2

#bridgerton #bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict x reader #imagine #imagines #anthony bridgerton #anthony x reader #anthony bridgerton x reader #simon basset #Benedict bridgerton x fem!reader

480 notes · View notes

jenomark · 4 years ago

Text

➔Pairing: Haechan x Reader (Female) ➔Other Members/ Characters: -.- ➔Genre: Fluff ➔Warnings: Angst | Mentions of death | Cursing ➔Word count: 6,865

➔Summary: He was always yours, even before you wrote a book about him, even before he disappeared from your life after high school, and even before he broke his promise.

➔Request: can I request a drabble of haechan friends to lovers? 🥺

➔ I hope you don’t mind that I turned this into a longer story that is more on the fluff side. I felt really inspired to do so. Thanks for sending in the request! 💚

You

You hated school. Not because you weren’t serious about your studies. You liked the subjects well enough. You liked eating lunch at a table, a little package of apple slices, and a chocolate milk that always tasted like the carton it was in. You liked hanging up your coat in the coat closet, little rain droplets dripping on the wooden floor when the weather was bad. You liked your teachers and how they would encourage your love of reading. You liked all the things to like except one: school hours meant time away from him.

Him. He pulled your hair sometimes when he was bored. You cried once, your mother saying something sexist about how he must like you. Your father never paid attention, just kept watching the television. You wondered if all boys were that stupid. He also made fun of the way your nose would wiggle when you talked. He had a smart comment for everything. He thought he was smarter than you, even. There weren't many nice things to say right off the top of your head, but you loved him anyway.

During the school year, the school hours especially, you never talked to him. He was off parading around with his squad of friends, each one more pigheaded than the last. They’d act like they didn’t care about school in the schoolyard, but all of them got decent grades. Sometimes they would pick on others boys, the principal telling others that that’s just what boys did. Sometimes he would raise his hand in class and answer the right question, and even though you sat next to each other in class, he’d never look at you.

Your school life was a little different. You were off spending time hovering by doorways, wishing the days would end until you could see him again. You looked at him from the corner of your eye, a question of whether you truly knew him or not always on your tongue. You didn’t spend time pretending other people were your friends, because your best friend had always been him.

After school felt like a different time zone. Neither of you took your time with homework. You would rush, a telltale sign being poorly erased letters and crumpled papers shoved into bookbags. Usually, he would walk to your house and meet you in the tent in the backyard, talking long before he reached the entrance. He always talked about his day as if you weren’t in it. He liked to talk a lot.

“I don’t want to hear it.” you would say. “I don’t know why you’re friends with those people.”

You were both at an age where you were figuring stuff out. You fought a lot, with him storming out of your backyard tent and walking home, and you resisting the urge to follow him. There was always a phone call from his concerned mother, eased by your own mother reassuring her that you’d both work out your differences soon. You’d been best friends since you were even younger, clinging to each other only when other people weren’t looking. It was too late to make a clean break.

Summers were your favorite because you had him all to yourself. At that age, you weren’t aware that keeping him was holding him back from other things. You were all too happy to lounge on a beach with him, watching him get stuck in the sand and laughing at him until your stomach hurt. To you, it was the purest form of love.

Time made things weird, as it does. The summers you used to love started fading out. He no longer came on family trips. Instead, he went to summer camps with other thirteen-year-old boys. He would come back boasting about being taught to shave his face by the older kids, and then he would show you his new skills. Even though you were disinterested, you always watched him intensely, thinking that if he let you in to this one valuable piece of information, he would open the door to the rest. He never did.

Gradually, after-school hangouts were taken away from you, too. Your father’s only contribution to any conversation was to say that your best friend would be more interested in girls now. Even as your parents left you alone, the words of “But I’m a girl!” leaving your lips until the last light was shut off, you never really understood what it meant. In fact, it wasn’t until he flirted with someone else in front of your face that you got the hint. You were a girl, but he never thought of you that way. And he would rather spend his time after school walking to someone else’s house.

None of that was as bad as high school was. Up until then, you’d been clutching at straws to make the friendship what it once was. You made the tent bigger to accommodate his growing frame. You offered to pay for movies if he’d come alone, and you would even sit through the boring ones just for him. On the rare chance that you’d guilt trip him into staying a little longer with you, it was enough to keep you enduring. When high school truly hit, the studying took up most of your time. The scraps that were left were spent having family time, or visiting schools your mother wanted you to attend after high school.

Though he no longer ignored you in school, things had gotten harder. He was dating often, sweeping girls off their feet with his wild, charming sense of humor. It was hard for them not to get jealous of you. Though you weren’t around much, the bond you both shared was obvious to everyone who watched the pair of you together. He never really wanted to choose between his childhood best friend and someone he was seeing, but the choice was always very apparent to you.

“Maybe you should date, too,” he had said.

You shut it down quickly, appalled that he would even suggest a thing. When you realized your dismissal must have hurt his feelings, you backtracked.

“Do you have anyone in mind?” you asked.

His smile made you feel like you were on top of the world. Of course he had someone to introduce to you. Thus, the double date was born. You could tag along with him and his girlfriend, with a friend of his you eventually started dating. It wasn’t the most ideal situation, but it had rekindled something in your friendship you didn’t know you’d been missing.

He had even come around to your house more. You came home from a study group one time to see him in your childhood tent, his long legs sticking out of it. He bent his body forward, holding up a bag of snacks you recognized.

“You still sit in here?” he asked.

You sat down next to him, the plastic of the tent hitting you in the forehead. “When I need to think.”

“You have a brain?”

“Funny.” you said. “Why are you here?”

He got a far away look in his eyes, like he did whenever he was truly going to say something stupid. There were times he spoke philosophically, because deep down, he was never the stupid little boy you said he was.

“Life is moving too fast,” he said. “Remember when we were kids and it moved so slow? I would suffer waiting for summer.”

“I remember it vividly.” you said. “Are you feeling nostalgic?”

He ate some of the snacks, offering you some. When you didn’t take it, he pulled on your hair a little bit. It pulled you to wherever he was at, back in time to when things felt much easier than they were. High school was ending, and you were all walking down different paths, none of them leading back to this tent.

“I want you to promise me something.” he said. “After high school, I want us to always be best friends. This last year has made me realize how much I missed you.”

You wanted to tell him how much you missed him, to take his hand and hold it in yours. There was something in you that couldn’t do it. You just kept chewing, waiting for him to keep talking.

“Let’s promise to call each other at least once a day when we’re adults.” he said, getting this excited look in his eyes. He felt more like the real Haechan right then than he ever had in the past five years.

“Promise.” you said, holding out your pinky and getting ready to kiss your thumb.

Haechan linked his pinky with yours, his thumb connecting to your thumb. You leaned down to kiss it at the same time, your faces coming closer to each other than they had in a long time.

Sadly, after high school, the promise was never kept. The image of him walking away from your backyard was the last time you saw him in any place you called home.

~♡~

You held the phone away from your ear because it was too hot. In your other hand, you held a cold, strawberry smoothie, the condensation dripping down your fingers. The sidewalks were busy, so it was tricky trying to weave in and out of the people, all while holding an unfinished manuscript for the next book you were writing. Years of dodging kids in school hallways made you a pro. As you were about to collide with a delivery man, you spun around gracefully and avoided disaster. After taking a sip of smoothie, you brought the phone closer to your ear.

“Do people still do book signings for physical copies?” you asked. “I thought everything was about selfies now. I definitely don’t look good with the flash on.”

“Of course.” your agent told you over the phone. “I don’t think anyone over the age of existence does. How old are you?”

“Twenty-four.” you said.

Your agent on the other end sighed. “You’re too young to be worried about any of this. I’ll book you for the signing and people will come, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

You wanted to rattle off all the reasons you were freaking out over it, but you were in public. You took another sip of smoothie and looked at the manuscript tucked against your body. Twenty-four and published, with your book rising in the charts, and a second book underway. You shouldn’t be so scared to have human interactions with strangers who enjoy your work, and yet...

“Okay.” you said, closing your eyes for a moment.” Okay, you can do it. I don’t know why I get like this. Seriously, you’re the best.”

“I know. I know.” your agent said. “Take a bath and relax. Call me later.”

You hung up and threw your phone in the deep recesses of your bag. Your one hand was wet, and you didn’t want it touching the papers, so you tucked them deeper against your body and kept on walking.

~♡~

“A book signing. Can you believe it?” you said into the phone. There was no answer on the other end, not even a little static. You walked a little slower on the sidewalk, letting the outside world disappear from your vision. You took a deep breath. “I sold so many copies, mom. I know you would be proud of me.”

The message ended with a beep. You left the phone on your ear and stopped walking. You stood still, wondering if one day calling your mother and leaving messages on her old cell phone would eventually make you feel better. She died shortly after you graduated from high school, and the phone number was the only part of her still kept alive. You called it whenever you felt a little lost, or on days when you had exciting news to share.

Feeling a tightness in your chest, you turned off your phone and dropped it into your bag. You were almost home, but you felt like you weren’t ready to face your apartment again. You found it so funny that your professional life was so full and booked, but your personal life was so hollow and empty.

You turned away, thinking that you could retrace your steps and find yourself on a street with a cafe still open. You would gladly sit at that table and write, watching strangers living their lives, each one stuffed to the brim of character. Men that tried hitting on women who were disinterested, the click-clacking of their heels walking away from potential danger. Mothers with their children, each child holding a mushy, spit-covered ice cream cone. There was always someone who didn’t belong in the crowd, someone your eyes glossed over, and someone who brought up memories of someone you used to know. It was your favorite pastime: watching people who weren’t watching you. You smiled at the thought of getting to live those many lives, when you remembered that there was always a writing deadline to attend to.

Another time, you thought, before taking the remaining steps to your apartment and looking through the darkened glass front door. Maybe you would take up your agent's suggestion of taking a bath.

Feeling a little more jolly, you walked up the steps and let yourself in. You stopped to check your mailbox (empty), stopped to check your phone messages one last time (also empty), and lastly, checked your surroundings. When you were sure no one was around, you walked up the steps, feeling tired both mentally and physically. When you reached the top of the hallway, you stopped.

“Haechan.” you said, his name too quiet for him to hear.

Sitting outside your door, a hood over his head, sat the boy who used to pull on your ponytail. Only now, the figure in all-black clothes, a little 5 o’clock shadow on his face, the one that looked up at you like he didn’t recognize you, pulled at your heartstrings.

~♡~

You liked to remember Haechan often, especially considering the main character of your book was written with him in mind. Well, you changed his name in the book and made him a lot cooler, but the core of him was the same. Both men were the epicenter of your whole world, even though one of them had left years ago.

Looking at him sitting on your floor transported you back in time. Briefly, your mind tried to convince yourself that you were seeing a ghost from the past. But, when he got up from the floor, approaching you cautiously, and he paused for a second before reaching out his arms to hug you, your fingertips knew what your brain didn’t: he was real.

“Why are you here?” you blurted, pulling away from him, your body regretful that you had let him go.

“I don’t get a hello?” he asked.

You raised your eyebrows, the surprise on your face real. You were struggling with words, which annoyed you as a writer. All you could do was look at his face and how much it had changed over the last few years. He was a man now. He was a little taller, and the baby fat on his cheeks was gone. He still couldn’t dress right, and the old confidence faded, but he was still as handsome as ever. When he smiled to show that he was joking, you couldn’t stop looking at his teeth.

“How did you find out where I live?” you asked.

“Your dad.” he said.

Haechan didn’t so much as give his apologies for missing your mother’s funeral, and he had the good graces not to bring her up at all. You felt grateful, saving the pain of both things for another time.

“I don’t talk to him much anymore.” you said. “He only comes by to give me old things he thinks I want.”

Not knowing what to do with the piece of information, Haechan shoved his hands into his pockets. You hated how awkward it felt being in front of him. The silence outside of your apartment was magnified by your deep breathing.

“Are you here because of my book?” you asked.

Puzzled, Haechan blinked. “Book? I didn’t read your book.”

You adjusted your bag in your hands and thought of something to say. Before you could speak, Haechan motioned to the bag he brought sitting in front of your apartment door. You looked at it, the big black boulder holding no significance to you.

“I was actually just passing through town. I was wondering if you could let me stay a night.” he said.

Him

He said he hated the apples, even though they were his favorite fruit. He put them on your lunch tray when you weren’t looking, because if you’d seen him do it, you would have made a fuss. Then, he’d get up from your table and go back to wherever his other friends were, because that was what was expected of him. But his eyes always went back to your table to make sure you were eating well, and he would try his best to remember the way you’d smile when you looked down and saw what he had left behind.

He hated school. It was full of adults who tried to change him. Laugh a little less, they said. Don’t be a clown. Don’t make too much trouble. There was never any room for dreamers or troublemakers, never any kind of future for those who didn’t have plans by the time they were pulled from the womb. Behave and listen. Listen and learn, or we’ll call your parents. He had heard it all by the time he was thirteen, and he hated every bit of it.

Not you, though. You never tried to change him. You let him go on his way, even though he knew you felt like he was abandoning you. You were the only person he trusted most days, and in the tent in your backyard, he had felt most like himself.

“I don’t want to hear it.” you had said once. You were angry, he could see it in the way you tried not to say what you wanted to say. “I don’t know why you’re friends with those people.”

He hadn’t known, either. They liked the way he made them laugh, and he liked the attention they gave him. They were different, in the way that they didn’t remind him that friendships were temporary, that everyone you know might someday disappear. He was terrified of that, of the idea that good things didn’t last.

“Are you jealous?” he asked.

He wanted the words to sting. He knew you were jealous, and he knew you would never admit to it. He would have been jealous, too, if the roles were reversed. He wanted nothing more than for you to admit that you cared about him, that you loved him, or to rouse any kind of feeling in you at all. Those words spawned a fight that made it hard for either of you to bounce back from. He pulled and picked at you until you were deteriorating in front of his eyes. Choice words were said, and though the wounds healed as you both grew older, neither of you really forgot the beginning of the end.

Summer came and went, time never slowing down for anybody. The hatred burning in his heart subsided as he grew into himself more, though he never really learned how to savor the moments as they happened. He was always reaching for more, stuffing his greedy face full of anything that could keep him content.

His phone calls to you melted down to just one call per week. He didn’t stop by the tent as much, didn’t ask to catch up on homework. He was drifting through school, using the passage of time to measure the length of girls legs, and how they’d move in his direction any time he smiled.

“Maybe you should date, too,” he had said.

His bright idea didn’t rub off on you. You didn’t smile, didn’t look at him the excited way he looked at you. When you shut it down so quickly, he wondered if your rejection had something to do with him. He was trying really hard to keep your friendship alive, even catching up in the hallways before class to make sure you were taking care of yourself.

“Do you have anyone in mind?” you asked, a simple smile appearing and disappearing before he could blink.

Introducing you to one of his friends, in hindsight, wasn’t the best idea. He’d had better, but he could hardly take it back. You looked happy when his friend's attention was on you. You were radiant. And it was the perfect set-up. You both could double date and spend time together, just like the old days, even making both of your dates uncomfortable by how close of a bond you had together.

When the jealousy arrived in a perfect little handbasket, he was sure it was payback for treating you differently, as he was getting to know himself more. He burned whenever he saw you with the other boy, whenever you reached out for his hand, your lips quivering for a kiss. He would stay up late at night in a restless fit, his mind taking turns convincing himself that you were losing your virginity every waking moment.

“You’re spending a lot of time at my house.” you had said to him on more than one occasion.

“Do you mind?” he asked. “I can go home, if you want.”

“No.” you said quickly, your eyes sparkling.

He wanted to kiss you then. It was a fleeting , special moment, and it hovered in the air between you both from that moment forward. He thought maybe he was imagining it, but he had been close to many girls, and no one looked at him the way you did.

Sitting in your tent, his legs stretched out of it because he was too big, he thought back to every time you made his heart do backflips in his chest. Ever since you were small, he had feelings for you. In fact, his parents used to joke that the two of you would end up together one day, maybe have a wedding in the backyard, your inside jokes written into your vows.

Hearing leaves crunching underfoot, he sat up. “You still sit in this thing?” he asked.

You sat down next to him, the plastic of the tent hitting you in the forehead. “When I need to think.”

“You have a brain?”

“Funny.” you said. “Why are you here?”

He wasn’t sure why. He had been taking a walk and found himself there, his feet knowing exactly where to go. He had been thinking too hard about life after high school, and about what kind of man he wanted to be.

“Life is moving too fast,” he said. “Remember when we were kids and it moved so slow? I would suffer waiting for summer.”

“I remember it vividly.” you said. “Are you feeling nostalgic?”

He ate some of the snacks, offering you some. When you didn’t take it, he pulled on your hair a little bit. Getting you to eat properly was important to him. If he wasn’t around to remind you to take care of yourself, how would you survive the rest of life without him?

“I want you to promise me something.” he said. “After high school, I want us to always be best friends. This last year has made me realize how much I missed you.”

When he felt like he was going to cry, he shoved more food into his face. He was watching you out of the corner of his eye, wondering if he should continue. When you remained quiet, he began again.

“Promise.” you said, holding out your pinky and getting ready to kiss your thumb.

Haechan linked his pinky with yours, his thumb connecting to your thumb. You leaned down to kiss it at the same time, your faces coming closer to each other than they had in a long time. It would be so easy to seal the deal with a real kiss, one that had been years in the making. But he didn’t, and neither did you.

“I have to go.” he said, getting to his feet. “You’re going to keep your promise, right?”

“Have I ever broken a promise to you?” you asked.

~♡~

He was raised not to comment on the state of other people’s homes, good or not. Looking around yours, he wanted so badly to tell you how well you were doing for yourself, and how proud of you he was. He looked around, his fingers itching to touch the pretty ceramic birds on an end table, to run a fingertip on a dustless counter and hold it up to the light.

“You can put your bag down over here.” you said, motioning to a spot beside the couch. “My couch isn’t much, but it is comfortable.”

You were a little awkward, your eyes unable to connect with his. He could see your mind waiting to defend yourself against the little jabs old Haechan would have made about your space. When he didn’t, you didn’t let your shoulders relax. He moved further inside your apartment, and to your confusion, he said it was a nice place, and that he would be happy to sleep wherever.

Compared to your nerves, he was quite calm. He felt like he had walked into a time machine and transported himself into the backyard again. It was like nothing had changed at all. You still looked the same, with nicer clothes that looked more expensive than the average persons. It looked like you went to the hair salon to ask for an “adult” haircut, but your baby face made it hard to take you seriously.

“Are you hungry?” he asked.

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”

Haechan shrugged. “Sure.”

When you didn’t ask if he was hungry, Haechan made himself comfortable on the couch. You sat on an opposite chair, folding your hands in your lap. You kept looking around the room nervously, as if you were scared to be alone with a stranger. It hurt him a little bit, but he was mature enough to let it slide.

“Thank you for letting me stay.” he said.

“It’s fine.”

Haechan sighed. “This is much harder than I thought it would be.”

“What is?” you asked, touching your fingers to your neck.

He shook his head. “Nothing.”

You got up from your chair as if you’d been electrocuted. “I forgot I need to make a phone call. I will be right back. Don’t touch anything.”

Haechan watched you as you grabbed your bag and left the room. Never one to keep still, an old habit that never died, he got up and looked around. He came across the room you entered and saw that the door was ajar. He didn’t listen to the conversation, just grabbed little pieces of it regarding a book signing to take place the next day.

“So soon?” he heard you ask the person on the other end of the phone.

Haechan walked away, his attention set on the fireplace. On top of it sat a bunch of picture frames, one of which he was in. Haechan stared at it for a long time, his eyes tracing the outline of the little boy he used to be. In the picture, the two of you were hanging onto each other. You were maybe eight years old, ice cream running down your chin, and a blissful ignorance only a child can carry on your sweet face.

He didn’t know where things had gone wrong. The two of you should have been friends forever. It just made sense. He reached out to touch his fingers to the photo but reeled back when he saw your face in the reflection.

“My mother took that photo.” you said, appearing behind him.

He nodded. “I remember.”

The air was heavy. He wanted to apologize for not going to her funeral. He had been out of the country during that time, but he should have called you. He could have written a letter, he could have done anything else but ignore it.

“I was scared.” Haechan said, the words surprising himself.

You held up a hand, as if you didn’t want to talk about it, but Haechan continued, “I loved her, too.”

You turned your back and went into the kitchen. Quietly, Haechan followed. He wasn’t going to bring it up anymore. He sensed your sadness because it brewed in his chest, too. He sat on a stool as you got yourself a cup and poured cold water from a pitcher into it.

“How was your trip?” you asked, your voice shaky.” Are you still traveling?”

Since he left high school, Haechan felt aimless. He needed to explore the world in an attempt to further his education surrounding himself. He had traveled to many countries and met many people that changed him. Disappearing was never the plan, but it was addicting to not have phone calls, or to adhere to schedules.

“I’m seeing where it goes.” he said.

You took a sip of water and never stopped looking at him. When you were done, you placed it on the counter. “I guess I should ask the million dollar question.”

Haechan leaned back in his stool, “Hit me with what you got.”

“Why are you here?” you asked.

“I didn’t want to pay for a hotel.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I’m not a liar.”

“Haechan, I’ve known you all my life.” you said. “Lying is your calling.”

“I wanted to see you.”

You inhaled and exhaled slowly. “Stop lying to me.”

“I’m not lying.” he said. “I’ve never lied to you.”

The bitterness was morphing your face. He could tell you were thinking back to the promise, about how broken it had made you. After he left, he heard from his parents that you called his house often to ask where he had gone. You wrote him letters that were undelivered. You nearly followed him halfway across the world until your mother got sick.

“Okay.” he said. “It wasn’t a lie when I made that promise. I had every intention of being with you until we were old and wrinkly.”

“Please.” you said. “You knew what you were going to do before you did it. You booked the plane ticket two weeks in advance. You were with me at graduation. You kissed me.”

He remembered the kiss well. He had thought about it often on his travels, remembering the way your velvety lips felt, and how he never wanted to stop kissing you. The kiss made sense. It was the one thing time had every permission to slow down.

“I know.” he said.

He kissed you. You didn’t kiss him. He was happy about graduating. He was riding the high of the plane ticket, of the unknown waiting for him. He was scared it was the last chance he had to show you his feelings. When you kissed him back and it felt so good, he was then scared that he would never have the guts to leave.

You continued speaking, each word obliterating his thoughts, “ You want to think going away was just some spontaneous thrill, Haechan, but it fucking wasn’t. You could have told me it was what you wanted. I would have understood. You didn’t have to leave without saying goodbye. You didn’t have to-”

You couldn’t say the words, so he finished them for you. “-leave. I know. I’m sorry. This isn’t an excuse, but I...didn’t want to lose you.”

The words felt stupid as soon as he said them. You held your hand up to your head and said you had a headache. Haechan took the time to excuse himself and use the bathroom, locking himself away to figure out what he really thought was going to happen when he showed up at your door to get you back.

You

You collapsed onto your couch. The last hour felt like a whirlwind of thoughts and feelings. You were older and more equipped to handle confrontation, but there was something about seeing Haechan that made you want to curl in your mother’s lap like a child. You bit down on your thumb and thought of the ways you could ask him to leave your private space. There was a hotel down the street that was relatively cheap.

You looked at the photo on the fireplace. The little boy staring back at you had no idea one day he would break your heart into a million pieces. He was still a little unsure of himself, his smile unknowingly gearing up to be mischievous in a few years time. You thought of the grown man in the bathroom, and how the years had passed, but he still felt the same. A part of you wanted to pinch his cheek and wrap your arms around him like you would when you were young. An even bigger part of you wanted to kiss him to see if the feelings still lingered, even though you already knew the answer to that.

Moving your foot, you accidentally nudged his backpack. You looked down at it. It was worn in places, with band buttons adorning the front. One of the zippers was open and the edge of something was sticking out. You looked at your closed bathroom door and back to the backpack before gathering up your courage and unzipping it slowly.

Digging your hand inside, you pulled out a corner of his underwear. With a quick “Ew”, you shoved it back inside. Your knuckle touched against something hard. You wrapped your hand around it and unearthed it to see that it was your book. You pulled it out even more and audibly gasped.

“You liar.” you whispered.

Hearing the toilet flush, you panicked and pulled the book all the way out and shoved it underneath your couch pillow. Quickly, you zipped his backpack and sat back, crossing one leg over the other. When Haechan came out, he hardly looked at you.

“Coming here was a bad idea,” he said. “I don’t know what I expected.”

You stood up. “Wait.”

Haechan didn’t hear you. He grabbed his bag and threw it over his shoulder. You could see that his face was wet where he had thrown water on it. He didn’t make eye contact with you, just waved his hand and apologized for being an inconvenience.

“Leaving again?” you said.

Haechan stopped moving. He turned back. “I thought about you every day I was gone. Every day. And every day, my next thought was that I didn’t deserve you.”

You didn’t know what to say, so you said nothing at all. For a beat or two, you both stared, your eyes searching each other's. You could see every age of Haechan since you’d known him on his face, from the adorable child to the handsome adult.

You let Haechan leave this time. He closed the door with a soft click, his presence feeling like a fever dream. Mindlessly, you sat back down on your couch, and only remembered the book still laying there after some time.

You took your book and placed it on your lap. It was so worn that some of the pages were slipping out of the binding. You opened it carefully and flipped through the pages, the margins filled up with black pen ink. Haechan had written down his input on most pages with things like:

Am I really like this? There is no way this guy is cooler than me.

You know? You’re actually kind of funny.

Your mother was better than us all.

You closed the book with a snap and felt the tears falling. You put your head down and tried to feel everything all at once.

~♡~

Your agent walked next to you, her stride slowing to match yours. She didn’t outright say you looked like shit, though it was the truth. Your eyes were a little red, your cheeks were puffy, and you kept itching your neck all throughout the night until there were red scratch marks all on your skin.

She held open the door to the bookstore “Are you nervous?”

“Am I nervous?” you asked. “I’m shitting myself. I don’t think anyone is going to show up, but with my life, I’m pretty sure I can deal with the embarrassment.”

Your agent rattled on and on about how special you were to people. She dragged you throughout the two story bookstore, pulling you harder when you tried stalling. You mostly blocked out her words to save your sanity. You didn’t love when people tried buttering you up.

“Just over in this section.” she said. “It starts in twenty minutes, so don’t expect many people right away.”

When you both turned the corner, there was a sizable line leading up to a table stacked with new books. When the people saw you, they gawked. Some clapped, which made your face turn as hot as your neck.

“I can’t do this.” you whispered.

Your agent directed you to a chair, holding you down by your shoulders, so you wouldn’t run away. You took a sip of cold water sitting by your side.

“They’re all here for you.” she said. “Smile and try to be happy.”

“I’ll try.” you said, but when someone smiled at you in front of the line, you felt yourself returning a genuine smile.

Twenty minutes passed by faster than you wished. When the first person approached the table, you tried to remember your school teachers who believed in you. You recalled all the people who inspired your stories, making a mental bid to thank them for making the first signing so sweet.

“I really love how you write.” someone had said. Hearing those words made you feel touched. You tried your hardest not to tear up, signing your sloppy signature as best you could.

“Thank you.” you said, the gratitude you felt hopefully being translated well.

You signed for a long time, the line growing and growing as time passed. Some people came with their own dog-eared books, others with fresh copies. They asked what your upcoming book was about, which made you excited to finish writing it.

“There isn’t a set ending quite yet, but I’m writing like crazy!” you said.

You looked down at a book before you and smiled, your fingers touching the pages softly. You signed it and handed it back, giving the fan a smile that reached your eyes. When your eyes locked with his, you felt the world move. Staring back at you was Haechan.

“I would have given you my own copy to sign.” he said. “But I seem to have misplaced it.”

There was a knowing smile on his face that made you feel flushed all over. He took the signed book back and tucked it underneath his arm. Since yesterday, he looked freshly showered in a similar black t-shirt and jeans. His hair was carefully laid flat on his head like he cared what he looked like in public. He looked handsome, and his cheeks were definitely not puffy.

“Why didn’t you just tell me you read the book?” you asked.

“You and I both know I don’t make the best choices.” he said.

You smiled faintly. There was pain in the smile he returned. You wanted so badly to reach across the table and smooth away the lines on his forehead.

“I know this isn’t the best place.” he said, turning around to look at the line behind him. “But I came here to tell you the truth of why I was outside of your door yesterday.”

“Okay.” you said, your attention no longer on those people.

Haechan continued. “You see, I’m not traveling anymore. “

“You’re not?” you asked. “Then, what are you doing?”

“I’m coming home.”

You didn’t know what he expected of you, but he looked a little deflated when you held out your hand. He looked at the book under his arm and back at your hand, his smile unsure. He took the book out and placed it gently into the palm of your hand. You placed the book back onto the table and opened to the space where you had signed your name.

“I’m not going to ask for promises anymore.” you said. “I’ve always asked you for too much. For now, I would just like to tell you something.”

In the book, just below your name, you signed “I love you, Haechan.”

Before you could even close the book, Haechan came around the table and brought you into a big hug that certainly felt like home.

#haechan #donghyuck #lee donghyuck #lee haechan #nct #nct 127 #nct dream #haechan fluff #haechan fanfiction #donghyuck fluff #donghyuck fanfiction #nct haechan #nct fluff #nct fanfiction

184 notes · View notes

bi-reginald · 3 years ago

Text

put me in a car (i just want to go home)

Bobby’s turning eighteen tomorrow and he thinks he’s going to throw up.

Bobby doesn't want to grow up without Sunset Curve.

ao3 link in the reblogs!

Bobby’s turning eighteen tomorrow and he thinks he’s going to throw up.

He’s laying in his bed, just watching the clock tick on. It’s twelve past nine at night. Now it's thirteen past nine. With the passage of time, comes ugly dread building in his gut.

Everyone keeps nudging him in excitement, and asking him whether he’s ready to be an adult. He acts like he’s joking when he says he’s not ready, but there's a lot of truth to his words. He’s not sure if he’ll ever be ready. Not without… not without them. It’s his birthday tomorrow and he’s feeling sick to his stomach.

Bile had risen in his throat when his grandma called and asked what he wanted as a present a week ago.

“I dunno, ma,” he had told her, sure that all his secrets were exposed through his voice alone, “surprise me.”

She didn’t seem to notice, which resulted in a battle between relief and frustration. Bobby didn’t really know what to feel these days. He couldn’t bring himself to care.

“Alright,” she had said after a few minutes of mindless chatter, “I’ll see you later.”

“See you.”

The words hung heavy in his throat. He’s sure he’s going to get fucking cologne again, but why does it even matter? He’s turning eighteen and they’re not here.

He’s still lying on his bed when his dad offers to go on a drive with him and he feels sick. It shouldn’t even remind him of them but it does and its stupid because he’d never driven with them before. Never even talked about it. But there’s something in the way that his dad turns up the radio that reminds him of Luke, a little bit of Alex in the way he chastises him when he forgets to turn on his indicator, and he knows that if Reggie were in the back he’d telling him that he was doing a great job no matter how shitty of a driver they both knew he was.

He wishes he could drive alone, but even more so he wishes he hadn’t said yes to the stupid drive in the first place because it’s his birthday tomorrow and they are gone.

“They cared about you, you know,” his dad says finally, not looking him in the eye. Bobby isn’t surprised that his dad knew what was on his mind. They were on his mind a lot.

No fucking shit, Dad. Bobby wants to punch and scream because he knows and that makes it a hundred times worse. He knows that they cared and if they hadn’t, maybe it wouldn’t hurt so fucking much. The phrase makes him think of the funeral, strangers and friends alike telling him empty words that they were just saying in a poor attempt at comfort. ‘They cared’ means jack shit to Bobby - he knows they cared. He wouldn’t be here, the day before his birthday, about to cry in his dad's shitty car if he didn’t know they cared. He wishes people would just shut the hell up because he’s mourning and he doesn’t need to hear that his friends liked him.

“Yeah,” he says instead, “I know.”

He pulls over, if only for road safety’s sake. He’s not sure how he’s going to drive in this state, especially when tears are threatening to blur his vision. He turns his head to the side because his dad is the last person he wants to see him cry. Its so fucking stupid and he’s going to vomit because tomorrow he’s eighteen and they aren’t coming back.

At some point he decides that enough is enough, so he gets out of the car, probably slamming the door a little too hard. He doesn’t go far - just far enough to find an empty can to kick as aggressively and as far as he can. It does nothing to help him feel better. A part of him wants his dad to stay where he is. He doesn’t think he can deal with anything that he does if he joins him. The other part wants him to follow him out just to avoid the discomfort of getting back in the car when he’s done sulking.

But his dad, to Bobby’s surprise, does neither. No, his dad gets into the driver’s seat and drives off.

It takes three seconds to register, but once it does, Bobby just blinks. The sheer absurdity of it all shocks him out of his grief for a moment. His dad wouldn’t just leave him at - he checks his watch - 10pm on the side of the road to find his own way home.

He spends five minutes swearing and debating whether to start to walk home or not, before his dad parks next to him, rolling down the window.

“...I got you gummy bears.”

“You LEFT me here, at ten o’clock, to get gummy bears?” He asks, appalled, “You didn’t even tell me where you were going!”

His dad at least has the decency to look sheepish.

“You like gummy bears.”

Bobby has to cut him some slack - he’s never been good at the whole… emotional aspect of fatherhood, but at least he’s trying. Something Bobby hasn’t been doing much of lately. Granted, Bobby thinks he’d rather not be left stranded on the side of the road, but he does like gummy bears.

And if it takes leaving him on the side of the road for Bobby to snap out of this depressed state he’s in, well, he’ll take what he can get.

So, he hops in the passenger seat, and eats some gummy bears and tries to pretend he’s not still sick with the idea that he’s growing up and they're not.

And what do you know, it works a little. He can pretend on the drive home that the gummy bears are just a snack, that his dad didn’t just leave him on the side of the fucking road, that the song playing on the radio doesn’t remind him painfully of Sunset Curve.

At some point, he’s not sure when, he gets home and goes straight back to his bed. Not to sleep - he doesn’t think he can sleep. Hours speed by like seconds and seconds feel like hours but, staring at the clock, he manages to make it to 11:59pm. The minute before he turns eighteen.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers to no one in particular, “I shouldn’t be the only one left.”

Or maybe he says it to three people in particular. Either way, whoever he’s saying it to isn’t there, and he has a gross feeling in his stomach as he watches the time tick past twelve.

Bobby’s turning eighteen today and he thinks he’s going to throw up.

#cw vomit mentions #like a lot of them #theres nothing described but he mentions needing to a lot #bobby shaw #jatp #julie and the phantoms #fics #sunset curve

16 notes · View notes

zalrin · 4 years ago

Text

Dream SMP x Detroit: Become Human AU

DSMP x DBH AU Part 2

Background Information: I was inspired to do this after watching Tubbo's play-through of Detroit: Become Human. At first, I was planning on posting art with descriptions, but I'm over flowing with ideas and not enough artistic talent to hurry along...

Author's Note: Okay, I'm going to be completely honest. Both part 1 and part 2 are pretty much posted on impulse. I should be going to sleep because I have work in the morning, and I started on this post early with that thought in mind, but for some reason my computer is glitching... I've written this out almost three times T-T Everything was deleted at one point, with NOTHING SAVED, so I was nearly about to rage quit... Pray for me. My patience is not unlimited.

Aside from all that, please enjoy! I worked REALLY hard on this (even excluding all the technical issues) so I really do hope you enjoy!

Character Plots:

1. Technoblade

Technoblade, notoriously known as the rogue deviant, was always a mystery due to the fact that no one, not even CyberLife, knew what model android he was. This was due to the fact that Techno was actually not even an android, but a human. This all began at a young age of thirteen, when Techno started to question the set rules of society and how he fit into its rigid hierarchy. Although it was just a budding curiosity, one he didn’t expect to go anywhere, it soon took a drastic turn. After pretending to be an android, just for fun, he was appalled by how he was treated by his fellow humans. More so than the random civilians, he was more disgusted by the inaction of the police. As an act of rebellion for the present corruption of authority, he committed small acts of violence and destruction of public property. He promoted equality and spoke out against the tyrannical attitude of those in power. Due to him indiscriminately acting out against both humans and androids alike, fighting against anyone in power who became physical and bullied those weaker than them, public opinion slowly began to shift. He eventually went from a crazy anarchist to a modern-day robin hood, much to the government’s dismay. Even those that flocked to his side, joining his cause, were a good mix of both androids and humans. His growing popularity began to raise the urgency of his capture, making his name slowly climb up the Most Wanted list. Eventually, while on his many brushes and runs from the police, he met with Detective Kristin (before she was promoted to Lieutenant) and her android partner, Philza. After many encounters, Techno and Phil surprisingly became close friends. In fact, they became so inseparable that their relationship was more akin to family than just friends. Though Phil didn’t particularly condone Techno’s more violent methods, he still supported his cause from behind. Willing to dirty his hands and become the mole, Phil secretly fed Techno intel from classified files as well as supplying Techno with android fuel, aka. Blue Blood. It was only later that Techno revealed to Phil his human identity, Phil being the only one he ever disclosed that information to, but Phil swore to never reveal his secret. Besides, the fuel was necessary for Techno’s growing followers, eventually taking on the name of The Syndicate. Techno understood the reason Phil never openly supported him, even though the android was more than willing to. It was to protect his loved one, Kristin, who would eventually become his wife. Techno understood, even supported Phil, and worked harder to never be a burden to his closest friend. Suddenly, Techno’s reputation exploded when a video clip of him went viral on social media. Though the government tried to spin the story in their favor, the video captured the full extent of the event. Techno had fought off several CyberLife security officers and police forces, exhibiting exceptional fighting prowess, while also making off with a ton of android fuel. He and his team had tried to hijack the vehicle loaded with the goods mid-route but was caught and almost apprehended. However, the thing that raised his public opinion to his favor was not just his fighting capabilities, but also how little he endangered the civilians around him. Instead, it was the government officials who had unintentionally dragged innocent people into this chaotic fight, suspecting them to be on Techno’s side. Then, not long after his growing popularity, Techno and Dream teamed up, officially marking Technoblade’s name as number one on the FBI’s Most Wanted Fugitives list.

2. Dream

Clay, or better known as Dream, was once a star employee at CyberLife. He was actually one of the many brilliant minds that helped make CyberLife into the giant company that it is. However, Dream soon gave up his employment due to the many restrictions they had placed on his creative vigor. Instead, he pursued his own android business, taking on the name Dream for both branding purposes and to embody his own "dreams." Teaming up with fellow ex-employees, Sapnap and George, the three were an ambitious trio that were talented enough to eventually become a threat to CyberLife’s growing industry and monopoly over the android market. When Dream realized that his life was being targeted by CyberLife, even being threatened to either come back into their company or give up on his current business, he became more determined to grow his industry. This even propelled him to start designing his most prized creation, DreamXD. However, his unbending will soon began to falter. CyberLife took a different approach when they realized that Dream did not hold his life more dear than his company. They began to threaten not just his life but also the lives of his most trusted partners and friends. This finally forced Dream to worry, eventually driving his friends away. Dream knew Sapnap and George like the back of his hand. He knew that the two would stick by him, through thick and thin, so he didn’t even give them that choice. Instead, his attitude towards them got worse and worse, until they eventually cut all ties with him. That was the only way he believed he could protect them. However, Dream underestimated the effects his friends had on his mental stability. Eventually, without their presence, he became more insane from the combined pressure, stress, and loneliness. Soon, he realized that it was getting too dangerous to stay still and was forced into hiding. With little time, Dream only took the incomplete DreamXD with him and shook off those tailing him. Then, he left his most prized possession to his dear ex-partner and friend, George. Dream intentionally left DreamXD incomplete. He had created the android in his image and left him unfinished to gather experience and human emotions on his own. This was the only android in existence that had been designed not only to be a deviant, but to be a human. Even with high expectations for his own future, Dream never could shake off the feeling of death following close at his heels. DreamXD was created to be his contingency plan. In the event that Dream died before his goals were achieved, DreamXD was programmed to take over Dream’s human life, or the life of Clay. Of course, Dream knew that free will was a part of humanity. That’s why he left DreamXD with a choice. While forced into hiding by CyberLife, the company spread rumors about his capture and imprisonment. CyberLife hoped that it could lure out his loved ones, baiting Dream to come out of hiding, but they had underestimated him. They had failed to realize just how severely Dream had cut out all his friends and loved ones from his life, leaving no one behind. No one to look back for him, or so the two thought... Surprisingly, even on the run Dream was fairly rich. He had planned out many things in the event CyberLife truly carried out their threats, and hidden many resources to one day come back to. However, he could not leave the city. Not while his goal was still left unfinished. So this left him with no place to stay for long periods of time, leaving him essentially homeless. That’s when he reached out to Technoblade, whose infamy had grown exponentially. The two had similar goals and so easily agreed to a partnership. Technoblade wanted to take down the tyranny of the government, while Dream wanted to end CyberLife’s influence over the android market and quiet down his chaotic life. Since CyberLife was a large reason for the power corruption, the two found working together to be simple. Techno would help Dream by providing him a place to stay, as well as offering man power when available and needed. Dream, on the other hand, would assist with supplies and android repairs, using his expertise in androids to even upgrade their parts. However, outside of these agreements they wouldn’t get in one another's way. They would only provide assistance if their plans overlapped. The two had a good understanding of the nature of their relationship. They were neither friends nor enemies. Just partners. Nothing more, nothing less.

PREVIOUS PARTS: 1

Note: I'm sorry, but after writing all this over again, nearly from scratch, three times... I really can't be bothered to go back and fix anything. I know I could have done better, but I'm kind of defeated right now and a bit tired. Please understand and I really do hope you enjoyed the read! Feel free to leave a comment on what you thought of it or maybe ways to improve the story! I'm all ears (when I have free time) ^^ And thank you so much for all the likes on my previous post! I'm really happy that you all enjoyed it <3

29 notes · View notes

rosesisupposes · 4 years ago

Text

sweet tea in the summer

in what is definitely a shock to all, i really love folklore.

read on ao3

characters: Patton, Roman, Virgil, Brief Logan, Brief Remy

pairings: platonic to romantic royality; paternal prinxiety; paternal moxiety

word count: 3,980

tags: trans Patton, parental transphobia (including deadnaming, misgendering), parental homophobia, gender euphoria, childhood friends to lovers, heavily closeted trans boy, coming out, endless fluff

a/n: inspired by both “seven” off folklore and "It's Nice To Have A Friend" from Lover

⁂

Part 1: seven

They grow up as neighbors, just a street away, enough that Ro passes Pat's house going to and from school, and they walk together sometimes.

Roman may not be the smartest, book-wise, but well. Some things he just gets. And it does not take much for him, even as a seven-year-old, to pick up on the way Pat tenses up going home, to connect that with the distant yelling he hears some nights.

He finds Pat one afternoon, hiding in a little group of trees. The pink frilly dress is a mess- and Pat's hair is dramatically shorter than it was yesterday.

Pat's also crying in a way that Roman can tell has been going on for a while.

"You're Pat, right?" Roman says, plopping down by the same tree.

Pat looks shocked and surprised but nods.

"I'm Roman! We should play!"

"You want to play with me?" Pat asks.

"Yeah! You seem fun! C'mon, we can go over my house, Papa won't mind!"

Pat flinches. "Are you sure?"

"Yup! Let's go!"

And Pat would question it more but Roman is ebullient and it seems easier to just go along with it. It can't be worse than crying alone.

Roman's Papa is not surprised that Roman's acquired a friend somewhat by force. Virgil just smiles wearily and asks if Pat would like some crackers with banana and cinnamon, too?

Pat nods, and Roman's delighted, already talking a mile a minute about ideas he had for playing pretend!

Virgil eventually cuts into the flow and reminds Roman that he hasn't actually introduced his friend yet.

"Oh! Sorry! Papa, this is Pat!"

"What's Pat short for?" Virgil asks, smile gently at the wary look on Pat's face. "Is it cause he's only got little legs?"

Pat's face splits into an enormous grin at the pun. "It's short for- um. Actually, I don't think I like it very much? It feels icky. I like the Pat part though."

"Can I give you a nickname?!" Roman asks, starry-eyed. "I think, um. Pat pat. Pipat. Patton!"

"Patton?" Pat tries out. "I like that. Patton. Hi, I'm Patton!"

Virgil smiles. "Nice to meet you, Patton. Now, that dress looks very messy, and not easy to play in, would you like to borrow some shorts?"

Patton smiles, eyes tearing up just a bit. "I would love that, are you sure it's okay?"

"Yes! Yes it is!" Roman interjects. "Here, you can come pick out something of mine! They'll probably fit!!"

"Slow down, my dashing little princey," Virgil says, grabbing the back of Roman's tee with the ease of long practice. "You need to finish eating your snack. Patton can come with me and we'll pick something while you finish. Okay?"

"Yes, Papa," Roman says, pouting. He sighs dramatically as he eats his crackers with exaggerated effort.

Patton walks behind Virgil down a hallway covered in dozens of drawings. Many are half-finished, but all clearly show enthusiasm and more than a little glitter.

Virgil grabs a couple of options, taking some of the clothes Roman's just starting to grow out of. Patton is just a bit on the smaller side still. He gives the boy a stack of clothes and shows him the bathroom, where he can change in private.

But, some sixth sense of Dad Instincts tells him he should wait in the hall right by the bathroom door. Just in case. (In case of what, he's not quite sure yet, but-)

Fuck, yup, that is definitely the sound of a little boy trying to cry as quietly as possible.

"Patton? Kiddo, you okay in there?"

Patton sniffles and replies, "I'm fine!"

Virgil frowns. "Can I come in, buddy?"

A pause.

"Oh-okay."

Patton has put on khaki shorts and a blue polo, but his hands are shaking as he looks at his discarded dress.

"Hey, kiddo, what's wrong?" Virgil asks in his softest Papa Voice.

"I'm being bad," Patton whispers. "I ruined my dress and I'm not wearing it and I cut my hair myself and I wasn't s'posed to and-"

Virgil hesitates, then sits on the tiled floor, pulling the sniffling boy into his lap.

"Hey, Pat, it's okay. It's just clothes and hair, okay, kiddo? Do you like how it looks?"

"Yes, but-"

"That's all that matters, buddy. And if you don't like it, hair grows back, clothes can get cleaned. I can clean your dress while you play, so you don't have to bring it home dirty, if you want?"

"I don't want him to be angry," Patton says in a tiny voice. "He scares me when he's angry."

Virgil tries very hard to be level-headed for his son, who really needs a solid presence. Which means he's had seven years of practice to be able to not swear loudly at the fear in Patton's voice, to not go off on a rampage to the Corwan house and give Mr. Corwan a piece of his mind. Instead, he hugs Patton into his chest, shushing quietly, rubbing the little boy's back as he sniffles into Virgil's hoodie.

"You know what we're gonna do, Pat? I'm gonna make sure your dress is all cleaned up, and when we're all done playing, we'll walk you home, okay?" He suppresses the fury from his voice as he adds, "And I'll tell your dad that it was all your idea to make sure you got cleaned up, and that it wasn't your fault it got dirty. How's that sound, kiddo?"

Patton nods, face still buried in the soft material of the black hoodie.

"Let's go, okay? Roman should be done with his snack by now."

Patton holds Virgil's hand on the walk back to the kitchen. Virgil has already half-committed to adopting this boy into their household if Mr. Corwan makes him cry again.

Roman is still in his seat, but barely. One of the crackers is just a pile of crumbs, and there's banana smooshed on his cheek. The minute he sees Patton, he's leaping out of his seat.

"Let's go play! I think we should be pirates! Or knights! Or-"

"Hey, what do we say about playing with guests?"

Roman catches himself. "I should let him have ideas too?"

"That's right, princey. C'mere."

Virgil has to let go of Patton's hand to wipe up Roman's face, because getting him to stand still is a two hand job.

He stands them shoulder-to-shoulder. "Okay, boys, you have a quest today!"

Roman's eyes are shining with excitement already.

Patton looks more concerned. "A quest?"

"Yes," Virgil says solemnly. "Your quest is to make sure your friend is having fun the whole time, and to listen to each other. Okay?"

Roman bounces in place. "Yes! I'm gonna be the best quester ever! Promise, Pat, you're gonna have so much fun!"

Roman grabs Pat's hand and they run out together to the back yard. Virgil sets himself up to clean the dress right by the big window to keep an eye on them, one ear always open for the cries of skinned knees or a-little-too-roughhousing

Patton smiles, face glowing as he listens to Roman's idea of how they can be pirate-witch-knight-ninjas.

It's nice to have a friend.

⁂

Part 2: thirteen

"Psstt!!! Patty!"

Patton turns to see Roman grinning hugely from his locker across the hallway. He waves frantically to get him to come over.

"What's up, buttercup?"

"It's here! Papa texted me, it just arrived!"

Patton freezes, eyes wide. "Already? Really? You mean it?!"

Roman nods, grinning hugely. "So you're coming over today. We'll say it's for that bio project if we have to, kay?"

Patton brushes at his eyes, making sure he's not tearing up visibly. He surprises Roman with a fierce hug. "Thank you, Roro."

Roman hugs back just as tightly, but he responds in a whisper so quiet that only his friend can hear. "You deserve it, Patton."

Patton can't stop smiling, even as his eyes feel like they're getting misty. "Oh gosh, how am I supposed to focus on algebra now? Can we just skip the last two periods?"

"Pat Corwan, 8th Grade Class President, wants to skip classes?" Roman replies with a mock gasp. "I'm shocked and appalled. And no, I have long-block scene study, there's no way I'm skipping."

"I know, I know. I'll see you soon!" Grinning, Patton walks away to his class, practically floating.

His desk-mate takes one look as he sits down and arches a brow. "So, Corwan, did he finally ask you out or what?"

"What?" Patton asks, barely aware he'd spoken.

Logan Williams sighs. "Sanders. Did he ask you out? You're smiling even more than normal. If I sunburned easy, I'd be concerned right now."

"Um, no? Ro and I are just best friends," Patton replies.

Logan rolls his eyes. "Best friends? You go to his house half the time after school, everyone's been waiting for you two to officially start dating."

"I-"

"Actually, if you were waiting for an excuse, you should run for Homecoming King & Queen together, I have a bet on that being the timing."

Patton frowns. "I have no plans to run for homecoming anything. I'm on the selection committee, that would be favoritism."

Logan shrugs. "Suit yourself. My only interest is in getting to finally hear a different topic of speculation during the lunchtime gossip mill. But you should probably know-"

Patton looks apprehensive. "Know what?"

Logan adjusts his glasses. "Half the grade already calls you The Future Mrs. Sanders."

Patton swallows a lump in his throat, fingers fidgeting with the material of his skirt. "I don't care what they all call me. He's my friend."

Patton turns his focus back to the lesson, but he keeps spacing out and missing parts, thinking about Logan's comments. But soon enough he's through algebra, and history passes without incident, and he's on his way to the Sanders house on Roman's bus.

As they walk through the door, Roman trills loudly, "Paaapaaaa!!!!!!! We're hoooOOOmmmeee!"

"I think I missed the part where I raised a rooster instead of a Roman," Virgil grumbles, emerging from his home office. "Heya, Patton!"

"Hi, Virgil," Patton says, grinning happily as Virgil immediately opens his arms for a hug. It's been years since he's even tried to call Roman's dad 'Mr. Sanders', because Virgil objects that it makes him sound like some corporate square.

"You wanna see it now or do you need to decompress first?" Virgil asks.

"Now please!" Patton says, and Roman claps and runs to the entrance hall to find the package waiting there.

Practically bouncing, Roman hands the package to Patton as he goes into the spare bedroom that's practically become his. His hands shake a little as he tears open the packaging.

"Patton? Kiddo, you okay in there?" Virgil asks through the door.

Patton emerges, tears leaking down his cheeks. He's changed into some of the clothes he keeps here, plus his new addition - pants, a polo, and his brand-new binder.

Roman bursts into applause, wolf-whistling and cheering. Virgil just smiles. "How's it feel, kiddo?"

Patton smiles at them, eyes damp. "It feels perfect. Thank you so much for letting me get it sent here."

"Anytime you need, Patton," Virgil says. "You know you're an honorary Sanders. Now, do you remember the safety tips we talked about?"

"No sleeping in it, or wearing for too many hours at a time, and try not to exercise in it?"

"That's right, kiddo. And you can keep it here until you feel comfortable wearing it out and about."

Roman hugs Patton carefully, not squeezing as tight as he normally does. "You look very handsome, Pat."

Patton just blushes and hugs back, amazed by the new feeling of the less-squish-in-the-front of the hug.

"Also I know it's our excuse but can you actually help with me bio, I can't get the hang of the cycles."

"Anytime, Roro."

Much later that evening, after a spaghetti dinner and several hours of 'homework' that actually accomplished one half hour's worth, Patton leans back against the bedspread with a happy sigh.

Roman looks up, eyes glowing in contentment. "Hey, you. You good?"

Patton looks down at his flatter chest and smiles. "Yeah, it's- I'm so happy, Ro. Thank you again."

"It's what you deserve, Pat," Roman says earnestly. "You deserve to have your family fully embrace and accept you, too, but until then you've got us."

Patton makes grabby hands, and Roman scoots over to hug him tightly. They don't always need words.

"Ro-" Pat says quietly, a thought suddenly popping into his head and out his mouth. "Did you know that half the grade calls me The Future Mrs. Sanders?"

Roman stiffens, not making eye contact. "I've, uh. Heard that once or twice, yeah. I know it sucks, Pat, but I don't know how to discourage it without outing you."

Patton takes a breath. "That part- I mean, I'm used to it. But-"

Roman sits back, looking concerned. "You know you deserve to have people use your pronouns and honorifics, right? It's not too much to ask. It won't be an imposition, I promise, it's just courtesy-"

"I know, Roro, thank you. No, I um. Yeah, that Mrs. part is still an unyeah, but-"

Roman waits, a little confused.

Patton closes his eyes. "Does the other part bother you? The part where they're implying that we- that we'd get, you know."

"Married?" Roman squeaks out.

"Yeah, that."

"I- I mean, you'll be my best friend no matter what but um, maybe, occasionally, Ithinkaboutthattooyeah?" Roman says all in a rush, blushing furiously.

Patton opens his eyes to see Roman's red face, then reaches out and takes Roman's hand. "Oh thank goodness."

Roman stares at their interlocked hands for a long moment, face growing steadily redder. "Really?" he manages to squawk out. "You- you really- me?"

"Who could I possibly like more than you, Roro?" Patton replies, and he's blushing too, now. "I- I love you, Roman. As much as I know how."

Roman makes a strangled sound of delight, only able to smile and nod. He swallows, trying to compose himself, and whispers, "Patton - will you be my boyfriend?"

Patton is fairly sure he could never contain more warm fuzzies than he does right now, hearing "boyfriend" applied to himself, from this wonderful, wonderful boy that has been his best friend for 6 years.

"Only if you're be mine too, buttercup," he whispers, happy tears sparkling in his eyes for the second time today.

⁂

Part 3: twenty-one

Roman watches Patton moving around their dorm room as he paces. In his head Roman counts how many minutes have elapsed and decides it’s time to interfere.

“Honeycake, you can always decide not to, you know that, right?”

Patton flashes him a distracted smile. “I know, sweetheart, but that’s the problem. I want to, I’m just-“ He twists his hands nervously. “I’m nervous, Ro.”

“Would it help to talk over why you’re nervous, or do you want to not think about it?”

Patton paces again, back and forth, then sighs. “I’m going to do this eventually, so I might as well do it now. I want to remember tomorrow without regret.”

Roman stands and grabs Patton’s fidgeting hands, holding them in his and looking directly into Patton’s eyes. “Let’s do this, Pat. I’m here for you, always.”

Patton smiles weakly. “Can you dial, I’m going to chicken out.”

Roman nods, and unlocks Patton’s phone. In just a couple buttons, it’s ringing on speaker.

“You’ve reached the Corwan residence.”

Patton takes a breath, and says, “Hi, Dad.”

“Ah, good, we were beginning to worry we’d miss the ceremony tomorrow!”

“Yeah,” Patton says, a little shaky. “Well, I’ve asked, and there will be tickets for you and Mom at the box office.”

“Thank you. You know how excited we are to watch you graduate! We are so proud of you, Patricia.”

Patton flinches, and Roman immediately grabs his hand and squeezes.

“Um, yeah. I- I don’t know if we’ll have time to go out after, there’s a lot of stuff for the program and student leadership-“

”If you think we’re not going to take our daughter out to dinner on her big day, you’ve got another thing coming!” he replies in a jovial tone. Patton flinches again.

“Oh- okay then, Dad. I’ll see if there’s time. Um. See you tomorrow.”

“Can’t wait!”

Patton hangs up, head bowed. Roman immediately starts to peppering his face in kisses.

“My sweet, dear man, you are so brave and wonderful and also I will absolutely make those tickets disappear if you’d like them not to come after all.”

Patton leans into Roman’s chest with a shaky chuckle. “No, I think it’s time, love. I don’t want to keep hiding.”

The next day, the campus is a zoo, filled with families and balloons and people trying to find an open spot for photoshoots in their caps and gowns.

Roman and Virgil have teamed up to convince Patton to be subjected to full model treatment, Roman earnestly whispering “Make it fashion!” from behind Virgil’s clicking camera. Patton’s laughing as he tries to balance on the hippo statue that is their school’s mascot.

Then, though, it’s time, and Roman and Patton wave to Virgil as they file into the huge staging area with their classmates. They’re a sea of maroon robes, brightened by cords and stoles in various colors for all the school’s affinity groups and activities. Patton’s got so many, he looks like he’s wearing a rainbow. He fidgets with his colored stole. “Ro-“ he says, grabbing for his boyfriend’s hand.

“Patton, my light, you look amazing,” Roman says, leaning in close so only Patton can hear his murmur. “You are so, so strong, and so brave, and I love you to the moon and to Saturn.”

Patton smiles into Roman's shoulder, and manages to relax. They share a quick, chaste kiss, then separate to their halves of the alphabet.

Luckily, as they file in, their seats end up just across the aisle from each other, and Roman keeps turning to blow kisses.

The good thing about being in the Cs is that Patton doesn’t have too long to sit and let his nervousness fester. He walks up to the stage in procession, seeing Roman mouth “You’ve got this!” from the crowd of graduates.

“Cosgrave, Alicia” walks across the stage to the cheers of her family and accepts her diploma. Patton takes a deep breath.

“Corwan, Patton!”

He pushes his various cords out of the way to reveal his stole’s colors: stripes of light blue, pink, and white. He squares his shoulders, and walks across the stage. He’s not looking at the crowd, but he recognizes Virgil’s whooping.

He accepts his diploma, shakes the university president’s hand, and poses for the staged picture all before allowing himself to look up into the bleachers.

He can immediately see the Corwans. They don’t look mad, just- confused. His dad seems to be studying the program intently. He turns back to his seat, to see Roman’s smile glowing from across the aisle.

“I’m so proud of you,” he mouths, eyes shining, and Patton lets out a relieved sigh. He did it. And Roman’s here. It will be okay, no matter what happens next.

The rest of the ceremony melts away, and all Patton really remembers is Roman pulling faces at him as the speakers drag on, and him having to muffle his giggles.

The minute they’re standing to proceed out, Roman leaves his place in line to sneak over and slip his hand into Patton‘s. He sticks by his side until they’re out in the meeting area. Patton has a deathgrip on Roman’s hand with nervousness as he looks around the crowd.

Virgil finds them first, and Roman’s very flamboyant uncle Remy is there, too, stealing Roman’s mortarboard to pose dramatically.

Then Patton hears the polite cough behind him that he knows is his mom. He turns, Roman’s hand in his still, with the Sanders brothers at his back.

“Why did they say your name like that?” his dad asks bluntly.

Patton straightens. “Because that’s the name on my diploma.”

“Patricia, what’s the meaning of this-“

“It’s Patton, dad. I changed it legally.”

“Patty, what are you saying?” his mom asks, frowning.

Patton plucks at his stole. “I’m trans, mum. I’m a boy. And I was always meant to be one, no matter how many dresses I wore.”

His heart is in his throat, beating like mad, but Roman’s squeezing his hand in pride and Virgil and Remy are behind him. He can practically hear Remy sliding his glasses down his nose to glare at the Corwans.

”And you’re okay with this- this delusion?!” Mr. Corwan demands, turning to glare at Roman.

“Absolutely,” Roman replies immediately. “He’s been my boyfriend for 7 years, and I love him as he is and exactly as he is.”

”This- no, that’s ridiculous, Patricia,” his dad spits out. “No daughter of mine is going to be part of this trender nonsense. I thought that was clear.”

“You made your position clear he was seven and scared to go home,” Virgil cuts in acidly. His hand is warm and comforting on Patton’s shoulder. “You made it clear that he’d have to hide himself from his own parents because they couldn’t find a way to love their child as a son.”

Mr. Corwan sputters, turning purple, as Mrs. Corwan turns white.

“Well- you can say goodbye to any help from us-"

“What help?” Remy drawls. “Ya boy’s graduated, been hired, and signed a lease without you. He doesn’t need your assistance even if you wanted to give it.”

Mrs. Corwan purses her lips. “Well, I hope that he,” she says tightly, exaggerating the pronoun in what is clearly intended as mockery, “is prepared to go through life without a family.”

Roman takes a step in front of Patton at that. “You’re not ashamed to say that to your only kid? Really? I’ve got news for you, ma’am. He’ll always have a family.”

“What, you mean that?” she asks with a derisive sniff at Virgil and Remy still holding Patton’s shoulders.

“No,” Roman says, suddenly calm. “I mean this."

He turns, smoothly sinking to one knee as he smiles up into Patton’s shocked-into-smiling face.

“Patton Corwan, my gorgeous man, love of my life, will you do me the honor of becoming my husband?”

All the heaviness in his chest melts away and the knots in his stomach dissolve as Patton smiles down into Roman’s adoring gaze. “Oh Roman,” Patton says. “I would love nothing more.”

“I will not stand for-“ Mr. Corwan gets out, but Patton’s gaze locks onto his.

“Congrats. You don’t need to. You already said no daughter of yours will be like me, and you were right. You’ve made it clear I’m not your family. And as long as that’s how you feel, I don’t want to be.” Before he can sputter out an answer, Patton adds, “Plus, it’s way too late to object. Should’ve been there over Christmas if you wanted to, now you’re gonna have to forever hold your peace.”

“I’m- what?”

“Can I tell them?” Roman says, standing with a huge grin. Patton nods, starting to laugh.

“Patton asked me to marry him way back in December, the minute he got his early job offer. It was a beautiful ceremony. It even had the kind of dress I’m sure you were picturing, and I wore it particularly well, if I do say so myself.”

“Oh, rough luck babes, looks like your invites got lost,” Remy drawls. “Well, maybe you’ll get to get to your other kid’s wedding. Oh wait.”

Virgil grins. “You two spouses want to go get graduation lunch now? My treat. I think they’re gonna need a minute.”

“Or a couple thousand,” Remy mutters.

Patton turns away from his parents, beaming at his family. “That would be wonderful, Papa.”

⁂

#royality #trans patton #ts patton #ts roman #ts virgil #paternal prinxiety #paternal moxiety #transphobia #gender euphoria #Papa Virgil #found family #roses writes fanfic #do it for dani

72 notes · View notes

originlist · 4 years ago

Text

i just wanted to write laurel having Caring and being real mad about it @caimkairos

It’s not like Laurel does much in terms of getting into situations she can’t find her way out if without dying, but she does have an ego that leads to biting off more than she can chew sometimes. Combined with not having a contracted Servant and it ends in there being some unfortunate missteps. But! She is not entirely alone. Friends come in handy. Laurel waltzes down Chaldea’s hall, a pleased spring in her step at avoiding danger, with her latest partner in crime alongside. “You saved my skin out there, Bei,” she says with a merry hum.

Bei deflects promptly. “It’s my job, and I’d like to keep you out of trouble.” It’s probably for the best she doesn’t die.

“Nah, you did great!” Laurel isn’t going to fall for it. She hops a bit. “And we pulled out all a-okay, which is a new one for me. It deserves a celebration. You get to pick. It’s been a while since I cooked and magic takes calories, I’m gonna make snacks. Whatcha want?”

Bei thinks a moment, and when they speak it’s with careful syllables. “Something with meat… would be nice.”

Laurel pauses a step for that, a moment of surprise, before she carries right on as to keep things casual. “You like meat? How come you didn’t say anything?” She hardly eats it, out of incident ended up pescatarian at best, so if Bei likes meat and all the food in Laurel’s dorm she offers is mainly vegetarian, then that means… has she seriously been doing a bad job feeding them all this time?

Bei shakes their head to deflect immediately. “It’s not a big concern, don’t worry.” Sheesh, they even clocked that she was going to make a deal out of it. But still, they also sound hesitant, awkward, like they’re worried about how their words are going to be weighed, as if there’s something other than the face of the matter. “I can eat things that aren’t. I simply… feel fuller with meat”

Oh, so there was. Laurel stops fully now, turning to face Bei with her hands on her hips to make them directly acknowledge her expression, a mix of appalled and offended. “And you didn’t say anything?” They didn’t just ask?! Aren’t they friends?! She can’t even feed them properly! Bei’s protesting, flustered and self-conscious, trying to say something about how it’s strange, they don’t want to be strange, but— too late, Laurel’s grabbed them by the lapel and is dragging them off like taking a troublesome child to time-out. Only she’s doing so gently.

Laurel realizes she has no power whatsoever compared to Bei and isn’t even pretending. She also knows that they’d follow along with her when she wants. “I have to make up for what, so many bad snacks? This is an emergency.” If anyone’s in the kitchen doing whatever it is they do, they won’t be for long. Laurel is a one-man storm of misdirected emotional maladaption and she’s going to get her way.

What ‘her way’ is would be storming the kitchen, seating Bei down at a table that’s within talking distance from the nearest stovetop, and kicking out anyone who happens to be in earshot. It might have been a long time since she last made most species of meat food, but by God she’s not going to be shown up now. She ends up freeing a wrapped pack of bacon and something else she hasn’t expected yet from the group fridge (it was probably for someone, but she’ll pay them back later, or something, burn that bridge when she gets to it) and setting at least the former to sizzling on a pan.

She was distracted enough by it that she’d stopped talking, but now that all she’s doing is waiting to cook, it’s coming back. At least she’s a little quieter, and does the favour of being quiet until a batch of cooked bacon that’s only mildly burnt (it’s easy, okay, she’s not a professional) is plonked down before Bei, who’s been fidgeting.

Alright, she’s fine. Normal. Mostly! Bei eats and almost immediately tears up shoving a piece of bacon into their mouth, as if it’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for them, and that makes Laurel feel a whole host of things all over again. Eurgh!

Their heart is full of… stuff? Feelings? It’s gross, whatever it is, and Laurel slaps another batch of bacon on the frying pan. “I can’t believe this whole time you were just sitting there and eating whatever without even saying it sucks. There’s a limit to being polite! If you can’t do it for you, think about how embarrassed I am, since I’ve apparently been feeding you shit and calling myself a host. You’re allowed to tell me the bacon sucks, too, I know it’s burnt, don’t lie.” And there’s the open explanation (in part) for this whole tirade, that she’s embarrassed that she never asked or knew, and now even more so that she’s not even good at cooking something as simple as bacon! For her friend! Argh! Shitty hosting, this is! Being embarrassed is the worst! The worst! Even redirecting it to this ridiculous reaction isn’t helping.

Bah! Laurel flips the bacon with an exaggerated grumble. The betrayal… the lying and making her think she has her shit together with having friends over even in Chaldea… it was all false! Couldn’t even do the basis of providing good snacks. “You!” She points the tongs she’s using accusingly at Bei, which is lacking threat mostly because the stove is separated from the seating area by an island and decent distance. She’s within ranting range, not accurate throwing tongs range. “Do you even like tea? Don’t be polite to save my feelings, give me a solid yes or no as to if the tea I give you is shit.”

Saying it was shit would probably make her even more exasperated, but she would follow through and procure better supplies. Laurel is nothing if not dedicated. At least this time, Bei nods quickly (hopefully not still lying to make her less whatever-she-is-right-now). They swallow a little too fast, hold back a cough, and nod again. “Yes! Yes. Don’t worry. Your tea is great. You don’t oversteep it and there’s always sugar on hand, so it’s good.”

Hmm. A moment, then: “Okay! I’ll take that!” Good enough, she’s going to take that as honest and pin her continuing pride on it. Good enough to keep Laurel from continuing to talk shit while she cooks. Bei’s free to go back to eating whatever she puts in front of them, including the burnt things. Laurel is, quite frankly, impressed.

She manages to cook the entire pack of bacon before she takes a break, and stops by sitting on the table next to Bei, watching them scarf food. They still look emotional about it and once they’re done they turn to her with eyes large, already stumbling out a thanks for her. Laurel just sighs, leans slightly against them so her face isn’t easily seen. “God, dude, you’re just so fucking… sad.” That’s probably not a good thing to say out loud. Redefine, clarify: “I don’t mean it like, pitiable or anything, you just. I used to be a pretty fucked up kid, y’know? You remind me of me when I was real little, before I turned into an angry bastard, only you’re even worse off, where I don’t think I can even say that we compare. And it makes me so sad.”

Everybody’s so fucked up. Especially here. Laurel’s got nothing on this and she doesn’t even know what ‘this’ is exactly, but there’s so many stories with Servants that make her feel like she can’t even claim she relates to some fucked-up-childhood story. But here she is. Probably projecting. Still, right now she sees somebody who was at some point told ‘hey. You don’t get to ask for things. You don’t get to have people who love you,’ and she can’t let that sit.

She can at least give this stupid idiot magic cat-goblin as much meat as they can fit in their body. “Y’know. I haven’t told anyone in Chaldea this, but like.” Why’s she talking. Laurel doesn’t even know, it just keeps happening. But it’s fair, right? She clicks her tongue. “Growing up for me sucked, and I have a baby brother back home. Well, not baby, he’s thirteen. I’d do anything for that brat and he knows it. It’s a lot, and dangerous, to get around my other blood relatives, and I miss him like a motherfucker— two birthdays he’s had where I couldn’t call him now, and it breaks my heart— but it’s because I decided I wasn’t gonna let anybody I care about get stepped all over or hurt because of their position. I don’t want kids growing up like I did. You acting like that, like you get stepped all over, and then letting me not even do the basics of feeding you properly while you’re saying shit like ‘it’s fine, I’m happy with the bare minimum’, it just makes me…”

She gestures vaguely trying to find the words. Nothing comes up, and she frowns at middle distance in annoyance at its lack of helping her. “Argh! It’s sad! You know what I mean.” Good enough! It’s not eloquent. She tugs Bei’s head over into a hug where she can rest her cheek against the top of their head, speaking in a grumble. “Just, look, you’re allowed to speak your piece to me and if anyone ever hurts you I’ll kill ‘em.”

Laurel lets that sit for a moment or two, still not letting Bei go. They can go back to eating in a second, she’s having a moment, by which she means she needs to recover from the earlier moment and act like nothing happened. There’s a sniffing sound. Man, she really hasn’t said any of that shit out loud to anyone but Ash back home…. That’s wild. “Don’t tell anybody I have feelings or I’ll smack you,” she mutters, completely not serious but still sounding a bit miffed at having said feelings, before she lets Bei go and steps back.

Inhale. Exhale. Hands go to her hips. Recovered! Back to being fun and pretty and not feeling weak things like sadness or embarrassment. “That’s enough of me being a sap. Not my best look. Alright. You like fish? I can cook the hell out of some salmon. How ‘bout eggs? Do those count as carnivorous food? They’re protein, yeah?” Back to chatter and back to the stove. She’ll cook until Bei’s full (and some for herself) or tells her to stop, it’s fine. She can do that! Regain her ‘being a good host’ title.

#mun writes #misc : laurel #drabble : laurel

2 notes · View notes