#I even had a picture of him printed and hanging on my wall amongst a few other photos | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

typical-simplelove · 3 years

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To Capture a Moment (M. Barzal)

Author's Note: This was a prompt from the ever amazing @thatflyersfan, so thank you for this! The prompt was "taking polaroid photos", and I'm a sucker for childhood friends to lovers, so this is the product! I hope you enjoy it, and please let me know what you thought either in an ask or in the tags. Enjoy!

Author's Note 2: If you reblog this, I'll send you an ask thank you and mention you in an appreciation post (if I do this!)

Warnings: Mentions of sex, one or two slightly NSFW scenes (but VERY mild), a mention of a breeding kink (literally mentioned in one sentence), marriage, pregnancy, Santa, but the rest is just fluff!

Word Count: 9.3k

Enjoy reading!

If anyone were to walk down the hall of your and Mathew’s hallway of your new home, they would see it lined with polaroid pictures. These polaroid pictures show the relationship between you and Mathew from the young age of five to now sharing your new home, married, and with two children. A hallway that was the epitome of a picture is worth a thousand words.

Age 5

“Mathew, please, just stand next to your sister, please,” Mathew’s mother requests. Her tone was close to begging. Your parents had to deal with a family emergency, so they sent you to the Barzal’s to be babysat. Mathew’s mother decided to take Liana, Mathew, and you to Lafarge Park.

Currently, you are sitting on a bench giggling as you watch Mathew sigh as he gets up from where he was sitting next to you. He groaned as he got up and stood next to his sister. He wraps his arm around her but doesn’t smile. At the touch, Liana screams and begins to cry. It was close to her nap time, and the smallest things were making her fussy. Mathew’s mother sighs and goes to pick up her daughter to try to comfort her. Mathew grins widely and sits back down next to you.

“I don’t like taking photos,” Mathew says bluntly. You look at him but are squinting as the sun is in your eyes.

“You like taking photos in your hockey gear,” you point out.

“Yeah, but I don’t like taking photos,” Mathew emphasizes the word photos as if that were enough explanation. It wasn’t. “You know what I mean?”

“No.”

Mathew gives you a curious look, and you want to point out his hair is getting long, but his mother calls Mathew back over to take the photo.

“But I don’t want to,” Mathew whines.

“Mathew,” she says in a mother’s knowing tone, and Mathew gets up exasperatedly. He stands next to his sister. He opts not to put his arm around her this time and looks at you before the picture is taken. You smile widely at him and wave. Mathew wears a giant grin on his face in response. His mother notices Mathew’s wide smile; she smiles when she realizes you are the reason for Mathew’s smile. She takes the photo quickly knowing that Mathew’s smile is short-lived.

“Yn, come take a photo with Mathew,” she calls to you. You skip over to Mathew. Surprisingly, Mathew doesn’t complain about taking another photo. Then again, though, Mathew never complained about anything when it came to you.

“Mom, can we do the fancy camera? The one that prints out right away?” Mathew asks.

“Sure, sweetheart,” Mathew’s mother says and pulls the polaroid camera out of her purse. Mathew insisted she bring it today, and she guesses this was why. “Smile,” she directs and snaps the photo. Once the photo is printed, she places it in her wallet.

“I’m going to hang it on my wall,” Mathew tells you after the photo is taken and that he did. After he got home later that day from dropping you off at home, Mathew begged his mother for the photo. He tapped it on his wall next to his hockey posters because to him, you were just as important. As Mathew moved around for hockey, that photo always followed him around with a few others. It sat in his wallet, and when he felt homesick, he’d look at it with a wide smile. Now, it sits amongst the many polaroid pictures on your wall.

Age 6

Whenever you and Mathew were together, Mathew’s mother always brought the polaroid camera with her. Mathew always loved taking those kinds of photos with you. In the past year, you and Mathew have taken countless polaroid pictures that lined both your walls and his.

Today, you were sitting in a local hockey arena watching Mathew play. Well, you were watching the empty ice getting ready for warmups. You were wearing one of Mathew’s sweatshirts as you shivered in the cold of the arena. You were clutching the mug of hot chocolate Mathew’s mother gave you in hopes of warming up. When Mathew got on the ice for warmups, you smiled widely. Even at such a young age, seeing Mathew would bring a smile to your face and make you all warm and fuzzy.

You walked towards the glass to get a better look at your best friend. When he skated by you, you tapped softly on the glass to alert him you were there. When Mathew turns to see you, he gives you a giant smile from beneath his helmet. He takes a few moments to stop and looks at you for a moment. Mathew’s mother takes the polaroid camera out of her bag and quickly snaps a photo of the two of you in this exact position.

That photo remains on the Barzal mantle till this day.

Age 7

The annual Christmas Fair was back in Vancouver again, and Mathew was super excited to see Santa this year. He figured that his dream of playing in the NHL would come true as long as he asked Santa for it for every year of his life until it happened.

You were both standing in line waiting to go inside the Fair. Despite being bundled up in your warmest sweater, jacket, gloves, and hat, you were still cold. One would think that after spending copious amounts of time in a hockey arena watching Mathew play, you would be used to the cold, but you weren’t.

“Are you cold, Yn?” Mathew asks concerned. He can see you shivering but trying to hide it.

“Just a little,” you lie.

“Oh, here,” Mathew says and walks over to you. He wraps his arms around you in a giant hug to keep you warm. You feel your cheeks warm at the touch, but you, at the age of seven, think it’s just you already warming up. You rest your head on Mathew and wrap your arms around him. “No, keep them in your pockets, so you can keep warm.”

“What about your hands?” you worry.

“Don’t worry, I play hockey; I’m used to the cold,” he reassures you and flashes you his signature grin. Mathew’s mother wasn’t able to capture a polaroid photo of this event, but your mother was able to pull out her phone to capture the moment. Even at the age of 7, Mathew would do absolutely anything for you.

Eventually, yours and Mathew’s families end up inside the fair and in line to see Santa. Now, a hot chocolate in your belly and a warm meal, you were slowly warming up and didn’t need Mathew to hold you anymore. He was bouncing with excitement as you both got closer and closer to the front of the line.

When it was Mathew’s turn to see Santa, he walked up, and you waited in line for your turn. A sudden gust of wind made a giant shiver rack through your body, and Mathew noticed from where he was sitting on Santa’s lap.

“Is everything alright, son?” he asks.

Mathew looks up at him with worry. “My best friend is cold, and I don’t like it when Yn’s cold. I’d rather be cold instead of Yn.”

“Well, maybe we should finish here quickly, so you can go and make Yn warm. What do you say?”

Mathew nods enthusiastically. “Yeah, I like that.”

“So, what do you want, son?”

Mathew looks into Santa’s blue eyes and is about to ask for an NHL career. He then looks at you and sees you shivering. Mathew’s heart stops and realizes that it doesn’t matter if he got the NHL career if you were cold. You couldn’t be cold because if you were cold then you’d get sick. If you were sick, then who would be Mathew’s best friend? “I want Yn not to be sick.”

“Oh, is that so?”

“Yeah,” Mathew nods. “I can’t have my best friend sick because then who would be my best friend.”

“Well, then, I’ll be sure to grant your wish, son,” Santa says. In all his years of doing this, he’s never heard this one before. “Keep Yn close, okay? Yn seems like a special one.”

Mathew always kept those words close to his heart whether or not he remembered who told them to him.

Age 10

For the past ten years, you and Mathew have taken a photo on yours and his birthdays. It was always you on the right and him on the left. Whoever’s birthday it was would be holding the gift the other got them. It was tradition.

It was your tenth birthday, and the day was coming to a close. All your friends had left, and it was just your family and Mathew’s family who were still there. You were on your third piece of cake, and Mathew was trying to convince you to give him a bite, too. He looked nervous.

“Are you okay, Mathew?” you ask after finishing your final piece and giving Mathew a piece.

“I have a gift for you,” he mumbles.

“Oh!” you thought you opened all your gifts.

“Can I give it to you?”

“Yeah, sure,” you answer. Mathew gets up to grab the gift, and you throw out the plate in the trash.

“This is for you,” he says and passes the bag to you. You gently take the wrapping paper out of the bag; you set it to the side and pull out the box. You gasp when you see it. You smile and jump up to give Mathew a hug. You wrap your arms around him.

“Thank you for the polaroid camera, Mathew,” you whisper as he wraps his arms around you.

“Of course, Yn. It’s time you had your own, so we could take all the photos we want.”

“Come on, let’s go and get my mom to take a photo of us.”

You and Mathew go and find his mother. When you find her, you take the camera out of the box and hand it to her. You and Mathew position yourself against the wall, and he wraps an arm around you. You hold the box in your hand and smile. Mathew, though, isn’t looking at the camera; he’s looking at you with the widest grin on his face. All that mattered in his life was making you smile. If he made you smile, then Mathew always wore the happiest grin on his face.

Age 13 - Stargazing

Your parents had to go out of town to take care of your grandparents, so you were staying with the Barzals for the weekend. You were both currently laying on in his backyard on a blanket staring at the stars. It was your favorite pastime — laying together looking up at the stars.

You were both lying next to each other, shoulder to shoulder. You turned your head and looked at Mathew, but you looked to find him already looking at you. “It’s pretty,” he says.

“It is,” you agree and turn back to the sky. Mathew, though, remained looking at you.

“Do you have your polaroid camera?”

“Yeah, right next to me. Why?”

“Let’s take a photo,” Mathew answers. He sits up and leans over around you to grab the camera. In the process, Mathew’s arm brushes your stomach briefly, and his face grows warm at the touch. Somewhere, between the ages of 12 and 13, Mathew has developed a crush on you. He didn’t tell anyone because why would he? At this age, Mathew would get teased for having a crush on you, so he didn’t tell anyone. Besides, he wasn’t even sure if you liked him, too.

Mathew lies back down next to you and rests his head close to yours. He lifts his arm up and positions it so that the both of you are in frame. You both smile, and Mathew presses down the button.

The photo comes out, and Mathew’s heart warms at the picture reflected.

“Can I have my camera? I want a picture of the stars, too,” you ask. He hands you the camera, and his hand brushes yours briefly. You thought nothing of it, but Mathew’s heart was racing. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” Mathew whispers, and you give him a curious look. “What?”

“Nothing, you’re just acting weird.”

“I’m not acting weird; you’re acting weird.”

You laugh. “Whatever. Doesn’t matter.”

Mathew watched you take a photo of the stars in the sky, and he came to one realization: he never wanted to live in a world where you weren’t there.

Age 16

It was Mathew’s 16th birthday, and you were sitting on a garden chair watching him have the time of his life with his friends. As you both started high school, you both found yourself in different friend groups. That wasn’t to say, however, that your friendship wavered. It just meant that you both weren’t next to each other all the time. You were okay with that new realization. You were okay with it because that meant that you could work through your new found feelings for Mathew. You didn’t know when it happened. One day, you were eating lunch with Mathew, your friend, with normal hair and normal eyes and a normal laugh. You were eating lunch with Mathew, your friend, who was normal looking. The next day, though, you were eating lunch with Mathew who had the most beautiful smile, the most beautiful eyes, the softest hair, and was the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen. He was no longer the boy you grew up with. He was Mathew, and you finally understood what all the girls were talking about. It was difficult for you to breathe around him because you wanted him to hold your hand and love you. It went from Mathew being your best friend to you loving Mathew as more than a friend, and it scared you.

You were sitting there smiling when Mathew caught your gaze. He looked you in the eyes and waved. You waved back and warmth filled you. He excused himself from his friends and walked over to where you were sitting.

“You brought the polaroid camera,” he says as he brings a chair next to yours and sits.

“Well, we’ve taken the same photo for the past sixteen years. We might as well continue tradition, right?” you tease.

“Yeah, tradition,” he whispers giving you a look that makes you melt. He leans his head close to yours with a soft smile. “Can I tell you something?”

You nod trying to suppress a shiver.

“Somewhere in the past —”

“Yn, can I borrow your polaroid camera, please?” Liana interrupts as if knowing what Mathew was going to say. You tell her yes, and you see Mathew, out of the corner of your eye, blush and shake his head while also glaring at his sister.

“Um, you were saying?” you ask hoping to rebuild the bubble you both just had.

Mathew looks at you trying to figure out if he wants to continue. “Um, somewhere in the past five or six years or so, I screwed up.”

“Screwed up, how?”

“I fell for you,” Mathew whispers, a blush overcoming his face.

“But, you’re sitting right now,” you say oblivious.

Mathew laughs his laugh, and you melt into a puddle. “I fell in love with you, Yn.”

“Oh. Oh!”

Mathew laughs again with a bashful smile settling on his features. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to fall in love with you.”

“Are you still sorry if I were to tell you I fell in love with you, too?”

“I wouldn’t be sorry, then,” Mathew says and leans his head close to yours. He takes one hand and cups your cheek. He rubs soft patterns on your cheek as he begins to tilt his head. “Can I kiss you?”

“Please,” you beg. Mathew places his lips on yours softly as your hands go to his neck and begin to softly playing the hair at its base. It was a kiss full of fireworks. All the noises around you mellowed out. All the emotions you feel for your best friend come out in one kiss as it deepens. You both pull away when a flash from a camera startles you both.

“Sorry, I just had to,” Liana apologizes, handing you back your camera with the photo printing.

“You didn’t have to,” Mathew grumbles angrily.

“It’s okay. Don’t worry,” you tell her, taking back the camera. You look at the photo and smile. Mathew was gently holding your face as he kissed you softly. You both had wide smiles on your faces as you kissed each other. “See, we have a photo of our first kiss.”

Mathew kisses your forehead softly. “Here’s to many more.”

Age 18

“Yn, come outside, please?” Mathew begs with a pout on his face. “I want to take a photo with you.”

“But we’ve been taking photos all day,” you groan. It was reaching 9pm at night, and the joint graduation party for you and Mathew was over. You were both lounging on your bed reminiscing about the future. Mathew was going to have this amazing NHL career, and you were going to college.

“I just want this one,” Mathew says as he gets off the bed. He looks at the many polaroid photos sitting on your wall of both your family, friends, and him. He was in most of them. He picks up your polaroid camera and grins at you. “Please? My parents bought sparklers, and we haven’t used them yet.”

You get up because Mathew could get you to do anything as long as he gave you that grin. “Okay.”

Mathew takes your hand and leads you both downstairs. “Liana, can you take a photo of us?”

“More photos?” she asks. Liana was just as fed up with taking pictures, too. “Yn, how do you put up with him?”

You shrug with a smile. “It’s easy when I love him.”

“I love him, too, but I can’t put up with him,” Liana mumbles following you both out the door. Mathew inquires about the sparklers and is directed to his mother’s car. You and Liana stand out in your backyard. “What kind of photo does he want?”

“I’m not sure, but I know he wants a polaroid photo.”

“He’s obsessed with those,” Liana comments as Mathew walks up to you two. He hands the polaroid camera to Liana and ushers you over to where he wants to stand. He takes two sparklers out of the box and hands one to you.

“I want to kiss you as we hold the sparklers,” Mathew mumbles against your skin. His words sent shivers down your spine.

“Okay,” you whisper as Mathew lights yours and his sparklers. He looks at you with a wide smile and wraps the arm that’s not holding the sparkler around your waist. You wrap your arm that’s not holding the sparkler across his shoulder and lean in for a kiss. “Liana, take the photo when we kiss, please.”

Liana makes a comment about how disgusting the two of you are before saying an “okay.”

Mathew leans in with a smile and kisses you. You kiss him back with a smile just as wide closing the space between you two. You see the flash out of the corner of your eye and pull away slowly to set the sparkler out. When they’re out, Mathew pulls you in for another kiss full of love and passion. He never gets enough of kissing you; if it were up to him, he’d kiss you for every moment of every day.

“The photo’s ready,” Liana interrupts, not wanting to watch her brother kiss anyone even if it were you. You both separate breathlessly and observe the photo. He wraps his arms around you and settles your back against his front. He rests his head against yours and holds you tightly against his chest.

“We look cute, babe,” Mathew whispers into your ear. You look into his eyes and break out into a smile.

“We do look cute,” you agree. You were about to say something else, but the flash of the polaroid camera interrupts your words.

“Sorry,” Liana apologies. “You guys just looked really cute.”

Mathew kisses your cheek, and his heart bursts with love. He loved you so much that there were no words. From where they were sitting on the back porch, your parents and Mathew’s parents were looking on with love. You and Mathew were perfect for each other, and they knew that your relationship would stand the test of time.

Age 21

You were in New York for the first time during the hockey season. In past times you’ve been in New York, it was either before the season or after the season. This was the first time that your school schedule lined up perfectly with a chance to go see Mathew play on Long Island. You met the WAGs for the first time tonight, and you instantly loved them and them the same. You were currently standing next to Sydney, who took you under her wing, at the glass as warmups just began. You had your new polaroid camera and ready to snap one of Mathew.

“Do you and Mathew have a strong connection to a polaroid camera?” Sydney asks.

You nod with a smile. “Yeah. For as long as I can remember, we’ve always taken photos with a polaroid camera. We have millions of photos together.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen them. Mathew displays them proudly across his apartment. He loves them, but he loves you more,” Sydney teases.

You don’t reply except for smiling bashfully and shaking your head playfully. You were about to say something when Mathew interrupted you by bumping into the boards in front of you. He looks at you, and his heart grows a million sizes seeing you wearing his jersey. You smile when you see him and wave. He begins to show off in front of you with his stick handling. You shake your head playfully at his actions, but you use the opportunity to snap a photo of Mathew. It’s of him concentrating on the puck. You tuck it into your purse to observe later on.

“Did you want me to take one of the two of you?” Grace asks, who was on the other side of you and has also taken you under her wing.

“Would you? That’d be great.”

“Of course,” she says and takes the camera from you.

“Can Grace take a photo of us?” you ask Mathew. You were suddenly nervous that he was going to be embarrassed of your tradition.

“That would be amazing,” he tells you genuinely. He leans against the glass on his side, and you do the same on your side, smiling at Grace. Once the photo is taken, you, once again, put it in your purse to look at later. Mathew waves before rejoining the rest of his team.

“You guys are cute,” Sydney comments with a smile.

“Oh, to be young and in love,” Grace comments and both girls laugh. You put the camera in your purse, and you smile as the heat rushes to your face. Indeed, to be young and in love.

Later that night, you and Mathew were sitting on his couch when you pulled out the polaroids from the day. Mathew looks at the polaroid that you took of him without him knowing and blushes. You notice it and kiss his cheek.

“You look good, babe,” you tease.

“Yeah, but this one is better,” he says pointing to the photo Grace took of you. His hold on you tightens as he rests his head on the crook between your shoulder and neck. “Wanna know why?”

“Why?” you giggle as Mathew’s breath tickles you.

“Because you’re in it,” Mathew flirts.

“Shut up,” you say bashfully as the warmth reaches your face.

“It’s true,” he whispers. “I’m not ready for you to go back to school. I want you here forever.”

“Don’t worry,” you reassure. “After I graduate, I’m going to get a job here in New York, and we’ll be here forever together. Don’t worry; you can’t get rid of me that easy.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Mathew says and places a kiss on your cheek.

Age 22

Mathew is sitting next to your father with a bouquet of flowers and your polaroid camera on his lap. Mathew’s leg is bouncing as he anxiously waits for your name to be called. It was finally your graduation day. You’ve been working hard for the past four years, and it was finally paying off. Mathew was so proud of you, and he was so happy that he got to be here at his super smart, super beautiful girlfriend’s graduation day.

A name a few before yours was called, and Mathew and your family perked their attention to be ready when you were called. In moments, your name was called, and you were walking across the stage. Mathew and your family all stood up to cheer for you. Mathew put the flowers down on his chair and put the camera up to take a photo. He snapped one exactly as you were handed your diploma. He put the photo in his wallet with the same one from when you were five.

As you were walking across the stage, you caught Mathew’s eyes, and he winked at you. You smiled bashfully, and as you sat, you felt the warmth on your face. The rest of the celebration went by quickly as you all threw your caps in the air and cheered. You were done! You finished! You were officially a college graduate! You said tearful goodbyes and congratulations to your friends before making your way to your family and Mathew.

Mathew stood to the side as your grandparents, parents, and siblings embraced you and congratulated you. He could see the impatience in your eyes as you greeted each and everyone of them, wanting to greet Mathew. As you hugged your grandparents after your parents, your mother walked over to Mathew.

“Hand me the polaroid camera. I’ll take a few as she comes over to you,” your mother says, and Mathew hands her the camera.

Finally, finally, it was Mathew’s turn to see you. “Congratulations,” he says to you softly.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

“These are for you,” Mathew says and hands you the flowers. You both vaguely notice the flash of the camera as your mother took a photo of Mathew handing you the flowers. You take the flowers and smile behind them embarrassed. One of your siblings takes the flowers from you, so you can properly embrace Mathew. He wraps you in a giant hug and kisses your forehead. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Thanks, baby.”

“I can’t believe that my girlfriend is a college graduate,” Mathew comments as you pull away to look at him. He leans his head down and kisses you softly. You reach your hands to wrap around his shoulders and pull him closer to you. You both deepen the kiss but not too much as your father was right there watching you two. As you and Mathew kiss, you both, once again, vaguely recall a flash of the polaroid camera. It didn’t matter. When you both were together, especially kissing, the entire world faded away. Finally, you both pull away with breathless smiles.

A few weeks later, you were both back home in Coquitlam, and it was nearing the end of your graduation party. Mathew was sitting on the back deck with his parents, Liana and your dad as the night winded down. In your hand, you held the two photos your mother took and wanted to show Mathew.

“Mind if I steal him for a moment?” you ask resting your hand on Mathew’s shoulder.

“Please, he keeps talking about you, and it’s making me sick,” Liana says. Everyone laughs in response, and you take Mathew’s hand and lead him away from the group.

“What’s up?” he asks.

“I want to show you the photos from graduation,” you tell him. “The polaroids.”

You and Mathew find a spot in the backyard and sit. Mathew sits first and opens his legs for you to sit in between. You rest with your back against his chest, and his arms reach around your waist to hold you tightly. He kisses the side of your cheek as you show him the photos.

“Here’s the first one,” you say and show him one. It’s the photo of Mathew handing you the bouquet of flowers. Smiles are adorned on both your faces, and Mathew’s eyes are laced with nothing but love for you. “We look good.”

“You always say that,” Mathew teases.

“Doesn’t mean it’s not true,” you reply looking at your boyfriend of many, many years.

He kisses your temple. “What’s the next one?”

You flip to the next photo and show it to him.

“Now this one, this one, we look good,” Mathew says, giving you a raised eyebrow. It was a photo of Mathew giving you your congratulatory kiss.

“We do look good,” you comment with a smile.

Mathew was contemplating on whether or not to tell you about the photo he took of you while you walked across the stage. He opted against it wanting to keep the photo to himself for the moment. “This is our thing, isn’t it?”

“What do you mean ‘our thing’?” you ponder.

“You know, all couples have their thing. This is our thing, taking polaroid photos,” Mathew explains.

“I guess it is,” you hum. “It’s not a bad ‘thing’ to have.”

“It really isn’t,” Mathew says and kisses you. He will be forever indebted to his mother for starting this tradition that the two of you have.

Age 24

On your first night after moving to New York, Anthony and Mathew insisted on taking you out to celebrate. You were tired, though, from unpacking and settling in all day, so you told them you didn’t want to do anything crazy. Why was Anthony tagging along? You didn’t know. He was there to help unpack, and he said you three should celebrate, so here you were.

You let Anthony and Mathew pick what they wanted to do as you showered and unpacked your stuff in the washroom. You walked out freshly showered to Mathew and Anthony having wide smiles on their faces.

“What if we took you to Times Square?” Mathew says. He walks over to you and wraps you in a giant hug. You hum in response, but Mathew isn’t sure if it's from the hug or agreeing with going to Times Square. You wrap your arms around him and breathe in his scent. You missed his scent before you moved in with him. You spent a few years back home with a job before you moved to New York. You wanted to be on your own for a bit before making the trek across the continent.

Anthony clears his throat to signal that you and Mathew weren’t the only two in the room. You both pull away, and Mathew’s face is crimson red as he meets his friend’s eyes. “So, Times Square, yes or no?”

“Sure, but not too late because I’m tired,” you reply. Getting to Manhattan from Mathew’s, no your apartment, Long Island apartment was long. You told them the train would be easier, but Mathew and Anthony would rather drive, so driving it was. The entire night was a blur. You were tired and exhausted, and the ecstasy you felt from being in the City with your boyfriend, finally, was too much to handle. You were over the moon overjoyed.

The three of you stopped for a moment in the main square of Times Square, and you looked around in awe. Mathew was watching you with nothing but love in his eyes as you took in the sight. He spent every night over the past few years wishing and dreaming of the nights and days he’d get to have you by his side. Anthony, on the other hand, was rolling his eyes at his best friend’s love sick nature.

“Did you bring your polaroid camera?” Mathew whispers into your ear.

“Yes, why?” you ask with a smile on your face that makes Mathew melt into a puddle.

“Let’s get Beau to take a photo for us.”

You watch as Mathew asks Anthony to take a photo of the two of you; you giggle quietly as Anthony rolls his eyes but says yes. Mathew walks over to you and wraps his arms around you. Anthony holds the camera up as you and Mathew smile for him. However, instead of looking at the camera, Mathew is looking down at you as you smile at the camera. He’s looking at you, the love of his life and the light of his life. Anthony snaps the photo but rolls his eyes at the lovesickness of his best friend. The photo prints, and you throw it into your purse to look at later. You continue to explore the awakeness of the Big Apple with your hand in Mathew’s. You fell in love with the city, and you were excited to be living in the lively state of New York.

Later that night, you’re getting ready for bed and standing at your dresser in the bedroom. You set your purse on it and take the polaroid camera out. Next, you take the photo out of your wallet and look at it. You smile at you and Mathew in the photo. As you’re looking, Mathew walks out of the washroom with his sweats hanging low on his hips without a shirt on and wraps his arms around you. He holds you close against his bare chest and rests his head on your shoulder breathing in your comforting and familiar scent.

“What’re you looking at?” he asks in a low husky voice that sends chills down your spine.

“The photo from tonight,” you say in a low voice as Mathew pulls you closer into his body. “You didn’t even look at the camera.”

“It’s a waste of time to stare at a camera when the best part of my life is right there,” Mathew flirts. He kisses your neck in between words pulling a soft whimper from you.

“You’re such a flirt,” you teasingly scoff. You rest the photo on the dresser and turn around, so you’re facing Mathew. You rest your arms on his shoulders and feel the expanse of the muscles there. You watch as Mathew’s eyes begin to darken and fill with need and desire.

“How else am I supposed to keep my girl satisfied?” he smirks.

“I can think of a few ways,” you tell him confidently before closing the space and placing a kiss on his lips. Mathew instantly picks you up, and you yelp slightly at the sudden touch. He carries you to the bed and places you down slowly. In between kisses, you tell him, “I love you.”

“I love you, too. More than anyone or anything in the world,” he replies. One day, he knew that he’d be getting Anthony to take a photo of the two of you with an engagement ring on your left hand.

Age 25

Engagement Party

Four months after you moved to New York, Mathew proposed to you. He got down on one knee during a date-night at home. You knew something was up when Mathew was nervous the entire night. You, obviously, said yes to forever with your best friend and the love of your life.

Now eight months later, Mathew’s family was throwing you both a small engagement party to celebrate the engagement about a month before your wedding. It was just both of your immediate families and close friends. You didn’t invite many people knowing the majority of the important people in your life would be flying to Vancouver for the wedding in about a month.

You were wearing a white sundress that made you feel like the bride that all movies and books describe. You were surrounded by your family, but most importantly, you were celebrating getting married to your best friend and love of your life.

It was getting late, and you were sitting on Mathew’s lap. You were resting your head on his shoulder with your arms wrapped around his neck and his arms wrapped around yours. The steady breathing from him and his warmth led to you falling asleep. He was tracing small patterns on your hip as he continued to talk to the small group of people around you. At some point, you heard Mathew tell someone to grab his sweater, and he threw it over your shoulders. You were so tired and didn’t tell him you were cold, but he just knew.

You didn’t know when you fell asleep, but you just did. No one noticed you were asleep until someone asked you a question, and you didn’t respond. Mathew looked down at you and noticed that you were sleeping. You looked adorable and comfortable in his arms. Mathew’s heartbeat quickened as he realized that he got to spend the rest of his life with the person in his arms. He got to spend the rest of his life with the person in his arms who looked so at rest, so beautiful, and so happy.

Liana quietly gets up to grab your polaroid camera from your purse. She knew that you’d want to have this documented.

“Get used to this, Mathew,” your dad began. “Yn will be falling asleep in your arms like this forever.”

Mathew smiled at your father’s words and rested his head against yours. He’d be more than okay with that. Liana didn’t tell Mathew he was going to take a photo. She knew that you’d far rather that the photo was candid and not scripted. Liana approached the group quietly and snapped a photo. Mathew was too absorbed in holding you that he didn’t notice. Liana left the photo on your nightstand where you found it the next morning. You smiled at the photo when you saw it knowing you weren’t making a mistake with who you wanted to spend the rest of your life with.

Wedding Day

You woke up the night after your wedding day curled into Mathew’s bare chest. You opened your eyes and a wide smile erupted across your face. You ran your fingers along Mathew’s stomach, and your breath hitched in your throat when you caught sight of your wedding band on your left finger.

“Morning, baby,” Mathew says in his morning voice that still makes your heart flutter. He runs his left hand across your back, and his wedding band sends chills down your spine.

“Did you know that we got married last night?” you ask sweetly.

He gives you a low chuckle. “Yes, I do know that.”

You giggle. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

You both lay in bed for a while in silence before Mathew says anything again. “Liana gave me the photos she took on the polaroid last night.”

“Oh,” you say as you sit up. You and Mathew put Liana in charge of taking a few polaroid photos of the two of you knowing she’d be the best one to do so. Mathew also roped in Anthony, but you both had more faith in Liana.

You sit up against the headboard as Mathew gets up and grabs the envelope that Liana gave him before you both left the previous night. Mathew pulls you against him as he rests against the headboard, too, and hands you the photos. You look in the envelope and notice six photos.

You pull out one and smile at it. It was your first dance with Mathew. Liana took the photo perfectly just as the song was coming to a close and Mathew was twirling you with your dress splaying out around you. Mathew had nothing but love in his for his new wife and a giant smile on his;he had tunnel vision when he looked at you. The entire world faded away except for you. You remember Mathew placing a kiss on you just as you reentered his embrace. Your heart was beating through your chest as Mathew and you continued to dance to the remainder of the song.

“We look good,” you tell him, showing him the photo. Mathew grabs the photo from your hand and is careful to only hold the corners. You’ve been on his case many, many times about not smudging the photo.

“You look good, babe,” Mathew corrects. “You always will look better than me.”

You smile bashfully at your husband’s words and smile into his chest. He tightens his grip around you before grabbing the envelope, placing the photo in it, and grabbing another. He smiles at the photo of him and his mother dancing together. “Look, it’s your mother-in-law,” he comments.

You look at the photo and smile. “Indeed it is.”

“Is it weird that she’s officially your mother-in-law?”

“Not really. I mean, it’s different, but not weird. Your mom has always been in my life, so it’s not like I don’t know her. Is it weird that my parents are your in-laws?”

“Yes, absolutely. The amount of stares that your father has given me? He never scared me when we were growing up, but in the past few years, he has.”

You laugh and place a kiss on his cheek. “Don’t worry. He’s just being protective of his child.”

“It better be just that,” Mathew mumbles. You grab another photo from the envelope and smile at the photo of you and your dad dancing together. Both yours and your father’s eyes had tears in their eyes knowing that this was it. This was what you both knew was coming but weren’t ready for. You were starting a life with Mathew and forming your new family, and your father was losing his child to the man who loves you as much as he does.

You put the photo back in the envelope and grab the next one. It was the photo of the kiss after the officiant said, “you may now kiss your bride.” You and Mathew both had wide smiles on your faces as you leaned in for the first kiss as a married couple. You remember how eager Mathew was to kiss you and how much he needed to kiss you. Sometimes, it makes you wonder how he goes on long roadtrips without kissing you. Mathew’s hands were sitting on your waist under the edges of your veil with his gold wedding band reflecting the light of the ceremony’s venue. Your arms were wrapped around his shoulders with the light reflecting off your grandmother’s tennis bracelet, your something old, and Mathew’s grandmother’s gold bracelet, your something borrowed. The space between you two was non-existent as you both needed to be as close as possible to kiss. You and Mathew both had a professional photographer at the wedding, but there was something more special about the photo being taken by someone who you loved.

The fifth photo is of you and Mathew giving each other a bite of your wedding cake after biting it. You both opted for a traditional two-tiered cake with white fondant and flowers around the base. Mathew had his left arm on your waist, your veil taken off to preserve it, with his right hand holding a fork close to your mouth. You had your dominant hand resting on his chest with your nondominant hand with a fork in it to feed Mathew a piece of cake. You both were looking in each other’s eyes but midlaugh. You couldn’t remember what he said that made you laugh so hard, but you did.

The six and final photo Liana took was of your send off. To reminisce from your high school graduation party, you and Mathew opted for a sparkler send off. Sure, it was cliche but much of your relationship with Mathew was a cliche. You and Mathew were standing in front of his car as your family and friends held sparklers cheering for you all. Mathew had his hands cupping your face and giving you a kiss with a wide smile on his face. You had your arms in his hair holding him close to you. It was a perfect ending for the day of your dreams with the man of your dreams starting the life of your dreams.

“I can’t wait to see all the professional photos,” you tell him as you put the envelope on the nightstand.

“Who really needs professional photos?”

“I mean, we have all those polaroids from growing up but not many from last night, so we do?”

Mathew looks at you and smiles. “I guess we do.”

The professional photos were exactly what you were hoping for. Each time you looked at them, your heart beat just a tad faster and your stomach did somersaults. Mathew always did have that effect on you.

Honeymoon

After the wedding of your dreams, you and Mathew were off to Paris for a honeymoon of your dreams. Sure, it was very cliche, but, again, everything about yours and Mathew’s relationship was a cliche.

It was halfway through the trip when it dawned on Mathew that you both didn’t have a polaroid photo together. He was shocked to say the least when he realized it. That same day, you and Mathew were heading to the Eiffel Tower, and Mathew figured it was the best opportunity for a photo op, so he threw the camera into your purse and made a mental promise to get a photo of the two of you.

You and Mathew purchased your tickets and took the elevator to the top of the tower. On the descent, you and Mathew got off on the second level to get more pictures opting to take the steps down. You were looking at the Parisian skyline with Mathew holding you against his chest. Your arms were crossed against your chest with Mathew’s arms on top of yours. The metal of his wedding band sending shivers down your spine.

“Can we take a photo?” Mathew mumbles against your ear.

“Yeah,” you whisper back. You aren’t sure why you whispered, but you didn’t want to break the intimate moment.

“I’ll go find someone to take it for us. Polaroid, right?”

You smile softly. “Yeah.”

Mathew asks one of the working attendants to take a photo for you two. You hand the polaroid camera to the attendant. You and Mathew take the same position you were just in; however, now, you were both facing away from the skyline. You smile for the camera, but, as usual, Mathew isn’t looking at the camera but at you.

“Your husband wasn’t looking at the camera, would you like me to retake it?” the attendant asks.

You laugh softly. “No, that’s okay. Thank you.”

The attendant walks away as you look at the photo. “Why don’t you ever look at the camera? We rarely have any photos of us — polaroid or digital — where you look at the camera.”

“I think I’ve said this already, Yn, but there’s no need to look at the camera when all I want to look at is you.”

You smile and shake your head playfully at your husband. “Okay, smooth talker, take a photo of me?”

“Gladly.”

Mathew took way too many pictures of you on his phone, but his words were “it’s important to capture your world in someone else’s eyes” which he did.

Age 27

Three weeks after giving birth to your first son, Isaac, you and Mathew were exhausted to say the least. Being new parents and with the stress of the end of the regular season coming soon, you and Mathew were just plain exhausted.

Mathew was at a hockey game that night. Somehow, despite the exhaustion of being a new father, Mathew was still playing well. He managed to have a four point night; the commentators said something about his new found “father strength.”

The game ended about an hour ago, and Mathew would be home any minute. Finally, finally, Isaac was sleeping and wasn’t crying. You posted a note on the door for Mathew telling him that if he woke Isaac, you were going to a hotel to sleep. Mathew, chuckled to himself, when he read your note. He walked into your apartment, and his heart melted at what he saw. You were sitting on the couch with Isaac sleeping on your chest. You were stroking his back to keep him quiet. Every few moments you’d kiss his head out of love.

You left the polaroid camera on the kitchen counter after taking a few photos of Isaac and your new family. Leaving the camera out allowed for Mathew to take a photo of you without knowing. He puts his stuff down quietly and picks up the camera. He takes it out of the case and snaps a photo. The flash of the camera startles you slightly. When you look over to the flash, you smile when you see your husband. Mathew places the photo facedown on the table and walks over to you. He takes his tie off and rests it on the side of the couch. He sits next to you and kisses your forehead. “Hey,” he whispers.

“Hi,” you whisper back.

“How was Isaac?”

“He was good,” you tell him. “I’m tired. I’m not sure how I’m going to get through the rest of his life.”

“Hey, we’ll be okay, okay? We’ll figure it out, okay?” Mathew reassures.

You nod. “Yeah, we’ll be okay.”

Later that night, you put Isaac down for bed and enter your bedroom. You fell asleep easily that night in Mathew’s arms with a soft smile on your face. Yeah, everything would be okay.

Age 28

Shortly after giving birth to Isaac, both you and Mathew were hit with a really bad case of baby fever. Everytime you or Mathew held Isaac, the next immediate thought you both had was “let’s have another baby.” Every time you saw Mathew doing skin-to-skin contact with Isaac, your heart would flutter with love for your husband, your son, and a strong desire for another baby.

Seven months postpartum, you finally felt comfortable with approaching your husband with the topic of having another baby. Mathew was super excited that you brought it up. At first, trying to conceive was slightly painful. You were both patient with the process knowing it would happen when it would happen. You finally conceived after six months of trying.

Five months later, you felt comfortable announcing it to the world. You bought a whiteboard and wrote a message that said, “Baby Barzal #2 coming soon.” Also, you placed the ultrasound photo on the top corner with a baby jersey with “Barzal 02” on it. You took a photo of it to post both on yours and Mathew’s instagrams. You smiled at the messages you received from your friends, family, the WAGs, and Mathew’s teammates. You both opted not to tell anyone except for immediate family wanting to enjoy the news on your own for the time being.

“Mathew, do you know where the polaroid camera is?” you call out realizing that you had a polaroid of the baby announcement for Isaac but not baby number two.

“On the dresser, probably,” he called from Isaac’s room. You could hear the scrunch in his nose as he changed Isaac’s smelly diaper.

“Thanks, babe,” you call back and walk into your bedroom. You grab the camera and walk back to where you have the pregnancy announcement still sitting on the floor. You snap a photo and smile as you place it on the wall.

With baby #2, your heart was full and excited for what would be coming in the future.

Age 29

“Anthony, please?” you beg.

“Why do you guys always get me to take the photos of the two of you?” Anthony whines.

“Because you’re the best at it!” These words do not convince him further to take a photo of you, Mathew, your daughter, Shannon, and your son, Isaac. “What about, if we have another baby, we name them Anthony”

“What? No,” Mathew yells. “No way. No more kids”

“Just give me the camera,” Anthony sighs. You, who is holding Shannon, and Mathew, who is holding Isaac, walk out to the door of your new house. Shortly after finding out you were pregnant with your second child, you and Mathew began looking for a house to live in, figuring an apartment, no matter the size, was too small for the family you both wanted to build.

Mathew holds Isaac in his right arm and wraps his left arm around your waist. You hold Shannon in your left arm with your right arm wrapped around Mathew and look up at him and smile. He smiles back down at you. Anthony knows, after taking way too many polaroids for you two, when to take the photo — when you both inevitably kiss. As he expected, Mathew leans down and kisses you with a wide smile. Anthony holds up the camera and snaps a photo. You both pull back as Anthony hands the photo and camera to you.

“One of your future kids better have Anthony as their middle name or something. Don’t say you’re not having more because we both know the way Barzy is,” he grumbles as he walks back into your newly finished house.

Mathew goes into Isaac’s bedroom to put him down for a nap as you put Shannon down for a nap and grab the tape to put this new polaroid photo on the wall. You put it up and smile at the rows and rows of photos that line the walls. You stand there looking sentimentally at all the memories.

“Hey, you okay?” Mathew asks and rests an arm around your waist.

“Yeah, just look at all the photos from our lives,” you tell him. You rest your head on his chest as you both your eyes trace over the photos. The photos spanned from many different parts of your lives, both together and separately. On the wall, there are many photos of you and Mathew from when you were young, to young adults, to adults living together in New York. On this wall tells the story of how you were best friends from a young age to being lovers to finally being married. The wall tells the stories of you and your friends from high school and college, and it tells the story of Mathew’s hockey career. The wall tells the story of your engagement and marriage. All the photos are a piece of who you both are.

“Here’s to many more photos on this wall,” Mathew says.

“And to maybe another wall dedicated to polaroid photos,” you add on getting a smirk from Mathew.

“The more kids we have, the more photos we’re going to have.”

You giggle. “I thought you didn’t want any more kids.”

“We make some really great kids, so maybe.”

“And it's not because you have a breeding kink?” you tease, and Mathew blushes at your words.

“Maybe it’s because you look great pregnant.”

“So, maybe more kids?” you suggest with a smile.

“Maybe more kids,” Mathew confirms with a kiss on your cheek.

Despite the wall being 75% filled, you knew that your best days were still ahead of you. You couldn’t wait for the future photos that will tell the story of yours and Mathew’s lives together.

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babylooneytoonz · 4 years

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200 Followers Appreciation Post

I'll be very honest, two months back when I joined Tumblr, I hadn't expected that my writings will be read by many, and the last thing I had expected was to be followed. Now look far we've come, from 0 followers to 200.

A personal thank you and a lot of love to each and every follower of mine.

I think this is the best part of our fandom. We love each other like family.

As a little token of my thank you, I decided to publish two of my requests combined as one today. Hope you like it. 💓

Tommy Shelby x Fem! Reader

Request 1- Prompt "We can’t win. Either I have you and my soul sings but your cries, or we’re apart and your soul rejoices but mine dies."

Request 2- Reader was always in love with Tommy, thinking he can't love her back she starts writing cheap novels as a way to deal with it. Her books become popular and everything is cool until Tommy finds out about her hobby and notices similarities between her writing and real life.

Warnings - Angst

GIF Credits - @thomasshelbyltd thank you. ❤️

A Maid's Diary

You slumped against your desk, letting your head rest against the old wooden table top, your elbows on either side of your face. Your desk was a cluttered mess, with sheets of paper flooded all over. In your hand, you held a pen, as you were just seconds back, scribbling vigorously on a parchment as an idea had just hit you, and just as swiftly, the idea had vanished from your mind.

You couldn't forget and you couldn't forgive your best friend, Linda, for having betrayed you by sharing your diary to a local printing press, who had, without your permission, published your countless feelings that you had penned down in your little diary, without even your consent, although they didn't take the credit for it. You were still the writer, even though the publishers never published your real name on it, just a pen name.

As much as you hated to admit it, the little push made by your friend had worked tremendously and your popularity had grown amongst the lower middle class especially; as that is where you hailed from. They loved your modesty, they loved how humble and down to earth you were, although you were extremely talented.

Little did they know, that the book that had been published, as an act of mistake, was actually based on your life.

"What is it that you are reading?" Tommy pushed his round glasses over his eyes, as he looked through them and fixed his broody stare on his wife.

Grace was sprawled on the couch in his study, shimmering in a beautiful pearl white satin nightgown hanging loosely over her slender frame, her natural blonde hair falling loosely over her shoulders. She seamlessly brought up her ring studded hand to her hair, running her fingers through the locks as her eyes came to rest on her husband.

"Would you look at this Tommy?" She raised a red little book in her hand, showing it to him briefly, before she sat back more comfortably. Their son, Charlie, crawled about on the carpeted floor, playing with a toy train. "I don't know who this woman is, but if you read this book, you would feel like you are a bloody part of it."

"Is it one of those fucking love stories again, Grace?"

"It's much more than that, love. It's complex. It's like reading a person's life, living her memories."

"Right, well, I'm out, I've got a bloody meeting with Arthur at the pub." He stood up, sliding his hand into his waistcoat and pulling out the pocket watch, taking a quick glance at it. He then kissed his wife a goodbye, lifting Charlie up in his arms, "Be good, you cheeky little oaf."

Little did he know, how that would be the last week, that he was spending home with his wife. The next week, Grace Shelby was shot, and she couldn't make it.

As days inched by, Tommy started growing more and more morose. Although he didn't show it, those around him felt it everyday. The snapping and the yelling increased, and Tommy found himself sleeping less and less, and chugging down more and more of that alcohol to keep his mind at rest. There were weeks when Tommy didn't see his son. Although he felt guilty, for neglecting him, as the poor child had lost his mother, just like he had lost his wife, he couldn't bring himself to face him, as he reminded him so much of her.

Soon, weeks turned into months and finally, Tommy's agony subsided to a bit. It wasn't as if it was an overnight process, but somehow, over the course of time, Tommy didn't feel the hurt anymore, as he initially did— or maybe, he learnt to live with it.

One night, when the nightmares crippled him to such an extent that he found himself unable to sleep, he decided to go through Grace's belongings, something he had kept locked up in the attic, afraid to touch them. Holding a lantern in his hand, he walked up the flight of stairs, the old floorboards creaking underneath the weight of his foot as he stepped into the dinghy little room. In a corner, a brown crate was hoarded up, keeping all of Grace's belongings.

Pulling off the the wooden board that was nailed shut, he pried it off and ran his hand through the dust coated silk dresses, his fingers gently brushing against the fabric. He let out a weak, pained exhale, slowly sliding down against the floor, pulling his hand out as he started fumbling around his pockets for a cigarette.

With a lit cigarette in his left hand, he slid his right hand back in, feeling around the box until his palm hit something hard. Pulling it out, he saw a little red book that was now turning a shade of purple at the edges. The book was coated in a sheet of dust, causing Tommy to squint his eyes slightly and scrunch up his nose as he brushed the dust off its cover.

A faint smile, a fond remembrance of Grace reading this book with such enthusiasm brought a weak smile to his lips. He took a drag of his cigarette, pulling himself off the floor and pocketed the book, walking out of the attic.

It was his eyes, eyes that could hold an entire ocean in them, that captivated me. I often found myself looking at him, stealing glances, when no one was looking. A part of me begged for his attention, hoping, yearning that he would atleast give me a glance but he never did.

The more he read through the passages, the more he realized what Grace had meant. This was not just a book, it was someone's life, it was someone's feelings. The words were simple and not at all fancy, the backdrop set was not that of a fine mansion, it was a tiny little house, in a clamoured street, a family of five siblings, four boys and one girl, and the writer, who was just a servant. The writer knew the love she felt for one of the sons of the house was wrong, improper and it was forbidden because she was a servant and they were her employers but she couldn't help how she felt, no matter how hard she tried to forget. Tommy couldn't help but feel drawn— drawn to the writer's pain, her anguish and the feeling of being stuck at the end of a self destructive, one sided love. He knew what it meant to not get to be with the person you loved. He had experienced the pain, although in a different sense but somehow, he could relate. Although Thomas Shelby didn't show any feelings, he had eventually fallen head over heels in love with Grace Burgess and life with her had been a life of roses and poppies, while he was a crown of thorns; that Grace bravely adorned on her head.

It was a cold night, and I was freezing. I could feel my cheeks turning to stone and my hands fervously rubbing against my arms to keep myself warm. I could see them right in front of my eyes; the whole family. They looked happy. They brothers were teasing their sister, who had a look of dismay plastered over her face, and the youngest brother, who was just a toddler, ran about the parlour, sucking on his thumb. I wondered if it was selfishly wrong of me to think of him in this way, to imagine how our little household would have been, had I been bound to him by marriage. I wondered if it was a sin, wondering what I would have named our children if we had a handful of them.

Thomas found himself leaning back comfortably in bed, straining into his glasses, wanting to read more, although his body and his eyes were beyond tired. It was as though he could see a glimpse of his life before the war had been, right through someone else's eyes. He could see little Finn, perched on the carpeted floor, running his toy train all over it, making a weird engine sound with his mouth while John and Arthur teased Ada for something she had probably said. He could picture himself by the window, staring at the dimly lit sky, the illuminating stars, thinking of the moment Greta took her last breath, her frail hand falling limp in his warm one.

How unlucky had he been with women, he had watched the women he loved die, in in his arms.

As I scrubbed the dishes in the kitchen, I could hear the curses in the parlor. He was screaming at himself, bringing the dishes down, breaking them one by one. No one dared stop him, because no one wanted to be slammed against the wall or have to be the one taking a porcelain hit on his face. I wondered if I should step in, maybe give him some tea but I didn't. Maybe, he didn't need it. It was only later that I found out he had lost the love of his life.

He shoved the book aside and sat up straighter, running his palm through his face, his breathing shaky and rushed. He grabbed his cigarette box off the bedside table and lit himself a cigarette. Maybe reading this book had been a mistake, it was opening up all his raw wounds that he had buried away.

He was leaving. I wanted to ask him when he would be back but of course, that would have been such a silly question. And besides, he had a lot more on his plate, why would he want to speak to a servant? I stood behind the kitchen wall, listening to the solemn parting, the shuffling of feet, listening to them leave until finally I could hear them no more— I could hear him no more.

Years after years, I went on with life, with a smile on my face. I did what I always did in the mornings; scrubbing the floors clean, washing the dishes, preparing supper and doing the laundry. At night, though, I thought of him and his blue eyes. I wondered if there was any news, for I hadn't heard anything about him in ages. Maybe my prayers were finally answered, the war ended and they all were back home. Only they weren't themselves. The war had killed a part of them. They were the ghosts of war, left to meander the Earth until they finally died.

"Mr. Shelby?" Tommy sharply looked up, his eyebrows straightened into a visible frown.

"Yes, Mary?"

"Charlie's asleep, the supper's ready. I was wondering if I could get a night off—"

"Mary, you may. You have bloody worked hard enough to earn a night off. Go on then, hurry up, it's pretty dark outside."

He watched her leave, staring at the door before bringing his gaze back to the book, wondering if the writer was out there somewhere. And he wondered, and hoped, that she had finally gotten to be with the man she loved. She deserved it. She deserved all the happiness in the world.

I finally mustered the courage, after what seemed like eternity, to speak my heart out. I was afraid of rejection, but he deserved to know. I deserved to be free of this heavy secret in my heart. I didn't care if he would ask me to leave, stop coming to work from tomorrow but he needed to know I loved him. So, I stepped out into the chilly night, wrapping myself with whatever warm I could find. I walked and walked, until I was at his pub. Of course, he wasn't there. With a heavy heart then, I thought of going back home, through an alley, that was a shorter route. Little did I know, I was never going to get the man I loved for he already had the woman he loved, the woman from the pub; that barmaid. I saw the man I was in love with, from a window, the way I always imagined him to be with me, kissing her and stroking her cheeks. It was as though I heard a devastating sound somewhere close by, but it was nothing but my heart—shattered into two.

Thomas Shelby was many things, but he was not ignorant, or dumb. He slammed the book shut, shoving it on the bedside table. His heart was racing rapidly and he could feel blood rush through his veins. Arching his body forward, placing his elbows on his thighs, he buried his face into his palms. Every single detail in the book, every single piece of writing was something he had experienced before. It couldn't be a mere coincidence, could it? He slid out of bed, stomping through the hallway into his study until he was perched on a stool by the telephone his fingers frivolously moving against it. He knew what he had to do now.

"Pol?" He mumbled into the phone the instant he heard her on the other side.

"Tommy? It's fucking midnight, what's the bloody matter?" Tommy didn't mind he had woken her up. He needed answers.

"Do you remember a maid that worked for us?" He sighed into the receiver.

"Tommy, we have hired a dozen fucking maids, which one are you talking about?"

"She was with us when Greta died, when we went to war—"

On the other side of the telephone, Polly's demeanour softened. She remembered you, she even knew how you loved Thomas, but she could never bring it up to her lips, because she knew that you and Thomas had no future.

"Yes."

"Do you know where she is? And for fucks sake, don't lie."

Your coffee mug lay on the table untouched, smoke bellowing out of it in waves. Outside your window, snow drizzled from the sky, like tiny droplets of fur falling to the ground, your garden sheeted in pristine virgin white.

"Love, you have to bloody see this," your friend Linda's voice echoed through the closed door, loud enough to alert you.

"What is it?" You threw open your window, watching your bestfriend stand at the gate, her eyes fixed to your window, "Just get your bloody arse down here (Y/N), I have to show you something. Come on out, now."

Annoyance.

You practically ran down the flight of stairs, not even stopped to calm your breaths.

"Jesus, Linda, it's fucking snowing, I'm going to freeze to—"

"Sorry love." Linda gave you an apologetic smile, her index finger pointing towards the silhouette of a man leaning by your front gate, slowly sliding out of the periphery of gaze. Neither were you watching her. You were watching a ghost of your past, that stood leaning by the metal gate on your front door, a cap on his head, a long overcoat drawn over his scrawny body. He had gotten weaker than you had last seen him.

"Miss (Y/N)." His voice was curt, yet warm, without a trace of malice in it. After all these years, he was right here, on your doorstep.

"Mr. Shelby? Would you like to come in?"

He shook his head, rather, his eyes and you knew that he didn't want to talk in the confines of your home, under prying eyes. He slowly pulled out a book from his pocket and your eyes widened. Your fingers flew to your lips and you felt a rush of blood in your body, an instant feeling of being in the warmth of a fireplace. You wanted to reply, but you couldn't find the words.

"You read my book, you found me out."

"It wasn't that fucking difficult to figure it out, love."

"Jesus, would you please come in? It's freezing out here, you're going to bloody catch a cold—"

He cut you off as you turned to walk in, grabbing you by your arm, not hard, but firm enough to stop you from walking. He then pulled you towards him, your front hitting his hard chest, to look into his face.

"It was you all along?"

You didn't know what to say anymore. He had found you out. After all these years.

"I don't understand—" You whispered, shaking your head. You couldn't lie, his eyes were making you nervous and all the feelings that had simmered over the course of time were finally lighting up again. "I'm sorry, I didn't know it will get published."

"Do you believe in destiny?" He cut you off.

You narrowed your eyes at him, trying to mentally think where he was going with this, "Perhaps, Mr. Shelby, but you need to be clearer than that."

"I didn't believe in fucking destiny, until this minute. I can't believe I'm fucking saying this—" You could see reluctance in his eyes, an inward fighting. You could see that he was thinking hard, probably having a hard time figuring out what he should say to you. "You remember Greta?"

You were hundred percent sure you weren't smiling, but had you been smiling, it would have withered.

"Yes, Mr. Shelby, the girl that died holding your hand, the girl you loved."

"Good, and what about Grace? The woman you saw at the fucking window."

Your cheeks reddened at the remark with embarassment, making you regret how he had read that part. That was a private thing between Thomas and Grace.

"I didn't mean to pry, I was just passing through the alley and I looked up and I —" You voluntarily bit on your tongue in an attempt to silence yourself because you knew you were babbling and your words were not making much sense. You needed to compose yourself, compose your thoughts.

"I married her, yeah? And do you know what happened then?"

You closed your eyes briefly, hoping he wouldn't see the pain in your eyes. When you blinked your eyes open again, you straightened slightly, almost taking a step away from him. He caught your arm, pulling you back to him.

"We have a lovely boy together, Charlie, he's three almost."

You wondered if Tommy was here to chastise you, to make you apologize, or maybe, your book had caused a rift in their marriage.

"She was shot. Fucking took a bullet that was meant for me. I fucking watched her die. Twice, (Y/N). I think it was my destiny. Will you ask me why?"

"Mr. Shelby—" You hopelessly began, trying to tell him how sorry you were about what had happened. But what could you do? It wasn't as if you had shot Grace.

"Just bloody ask me why."

You stiffened at the harshness of his voice.

"I- Why?"

"Because this fucking destiny had something else in mind for me. Perhaps it was you all along, the one I was maybe meant to be with."

Your eyes widened in surprise at his words, a sudden palpitating feeling in your heart, a sudden throbbing in the back of your mind. You pulled your arm away, wincing slightly at his sudden outburst, instantly moving away.

"Your words make no sense. Will you please stop?"

He parted his lips in an attempt to reply, but all that shot out of his plump lips was foggy winter air and he shut it. His hand flew to the side of your face, but he didn't touch you. He merely took a loose strand of your hair, curling it over his index finger. You could feel the sudden tension, his lips so close to you, you knew if you didn't stop him, he would kiss you. And later regret it.

"Mr. Shelby, this is a mistake. If I was your destiny, I would be the one buried in a grave and not the women you loved. I did love you," you spoke, hopelessly pulling yourself one step away but this time he didn't make an attempt to pull you close, perhaps having sensed your reluctance.

He raised his eyebrow, "Did?"

"I still do, but I don't think we were meant to be."

"I see," he almost stepped closer, reluctantly, fighting for control at the back of his mind. This was a new feeling. He knew he didn't love you yet, but at the same time, he knew he was in love with the woman from the book. The woman who had always loved him.

"Why?"

A single word can hold a vast meaning. A single word can have an answer that you could probably write a book on.

"Because Thomas .. We can’t win. Either I have you and my soul sings but your cries, or we’re apart and your soul rejoices but mine dies," you whispered in a low voice, tears shrouding into your eyes.

"Yet there's a bloody thing that binds us to each other. Something neither you nor I can see," he mumbled under his breath, sliding his hand into his pocket, pulling out a box of cigarettes.

You didn't know what to say to him. Your mind was fervently throbbing through your skull. Your heart leapt with joy but your mind didn't let you be at ease. He waited a few seconds but when he realized you had made up your mind, he decided he will not push you. You had given him the answer. You didn't want him. He nodded softly, letting his eyes wander down to your feet for a bit before giving you a last look as he turned his tail and started walking off, his boots crushing the snow as he started walking away.

And just like that, you realized that history was repeating itself. But this time, it was all your fault. You were letting him walk away when you could finally be happy.

"Thomas stop.." His name flew out of your mouth even before you could clamp your mouth shut. You saw him freeze, but this time, he didn't turn your way, but with his back turned towards you, you missed the hint of a smile that crossed his lips; the way you had stopped him meant that he still had hope.

"I would like to work for you again, does Charlie need a nanny?" You bit your lip.

It was nothing, but yet, it was a start. If destiny really wanted the two of you together then you wanted to try it out from the beginning, maybe make the man fall in love with you and not the woman who wrote the book. You wanted him to love you and not pity you.

"Twenty shillings, you stay at the Arrowe House, no further will be discussed on that, yeah?"

You gave him a weak smile, although you could not see his face.

"I'll see you tomorrow then, Mr. Shelby, first thing in the morning at 9."

He nodded and then, sliding his hands into his pockets, he walked away, his heavy boots crushing the snow underneath, generating a squishing, crunching sound until you could hear him no more. You couldn't wipe that smug smile from your face as you looked up at the sky, scrunching up your nose when you felt something cold; perhaps a snowflake had landed on the tip of your nose. It was a start, a start of a new day and who knew, perhaps a new life for you. Needless to say, you were excited.

#thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby x reader #peaky blinders #tommy shelby #peaky fucking blinders #peaky blinders x reader #200 followers appreciation #thank you for liking my work

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readyplayerhobi · 4 years

Text

Flower | 09

; Hoseok x Reader

; Genre: Fluff, slight angst

; Word Count: 4.2k

; Synopsis: You finally decide to take a dip into the world of online dating and find the Flower dating app. One of the top matches for you proves to be a guy who looks to be your complete opposite; tattooed, pierced, a metalhead and oh…incredibly handsome. What happens when you throw caution to the wind and reach out to him?

; A/N: A Christmas present for you all! This has been my favourite chapter of Flower so far so I hope you all enjoy it too! Please reblog if you enjoyed and let me know what you think in a comment or ask!

; Flower Masterpost

The knock on your front door causes you to pause, clothes in your hand as you put them into your washing machine. You’d been frantically cleaning for the last hour, tidying up your already clean apartment to make sure that it all looked good. When you’d run out of stuff to clean, you’d resorted to washing your clothes early.

Just for something to do while you waited.

But now he’s here. Hoseok is here. At your apartment, for the first time. You’d been to his a few times now but he’d never been to yours. That had been your fault because you simply just hadn’t invited him. It hadn’t entered your head to do that. Not until Chungha got exasperated and pointed out that perhaps he’d like to see where you lived too.

She must have been right because Hoseok had eagerly accepted and so here you were. You’d finished work an hour and a half ago, the time spent since waiting for him to finish and head home to grab his stuff before coming to yours had given you plenty of time to fulminate.

Not only was Hoseok coming over to yours for the first time...but he was going to spend the night. He’d come up with a plan to drive you both to an amusement park a few hours away tomorrow, but it required getting up pretty early. As a result, you’d just blurted out that he could stay with you.

You could tell that he’d been a little shocked at your proposition, not because you were suggesting he stay but because it was you who was suggesting it. He probably hadn’t expected you to propose that for a while yet.

Especially not when you had plans to let him sleep in bed with you too. You’d discussed it with Chungha and Soyeon in depth, wondering whether you should make him sleep out on the couch for the night. They’d been adamant that you couldn’t do that given you were dating, and you’d been together for two months so why not just let him sleep next to you?

If he remained as polite as he’d been, he wouldn’t be putting any moves on you.

The easy way you’d said yes to it and suggested it to him told you, and everyone else who knew you, that you really wanted him to stay over. To sleep next to you. Honestly, it had one of your fantasies. Alongside the sexual ones, sometimes you just thought about him holding you in bed, cuddling with him.

Tonight you were going to get to experience that.

Quickly putting the rest of your clothes into the machine, you pause for a moment as you wonder if it’s stupid of you to be washing your clothes. But you push the thought of the way as you add powder and detergent before turning it on. A final glance around your small apartment lets you see that everything is as clean as it’s going to get and you take in a deep breath, smoothing down your shirt.

Opening the door slowly, you smile at Hoseok as he stands there waiting, a backpack over his shoulder and a bright smile on his own face. “Hi...err...sorry, I was putting my washing on. For some reason. Err...come in.”

He laughs softly as he enters, toeing off his shoes and carefully placing them on the rack you have set up next to the door without even being asked to. Moving forward through the tiny hall, you gesture to the living room and attached kitchen with a nervous movement.

“Errm so...this is the living room, obviously. And the kitchen. The door you just passed is the bathroom and the other door is my bedroom. It’s not very big,” You feel yourself heat up in embarrassment as your hands twist together. “I mean...I can still barely afford it but it’s home at least.”

Hoseok looks around slowly, eyes darting everywhere as he takes in the decor of the place. You weren’t allowed to put things on the wall so the only decorations were on the bookcase in the corner, your television stand, your couch, the coffee table and the drawers next to the bookcase. Looking around, you take it in the same way he does.

A fluffy throw in slate grey is draped over the couch, covering both the back and the seat cushions while an array of interesting cushions and plushies cover it. Your Pusheen plush sits in pride of place but there’s also a bao bun with a smiley face, an overly cartoony calico cat stretched out along the back and a Jack Skellington face on the couch as well.

Other plushies dot the room as well, from the set of Pokémon on the bookcase which included all the Eeveelutions you’d carefully collected over the years and various Pokéball’s to random cute ones and even a Pac-Man. Amongst all of that, was other stuff you’d collected; a range of animal shaped hand creams, a bunch of tiny Harry Potter chibi snow globes, some Funko POP figures featuring Disney characters along with a Totoro clock.

Random lights were currently turned on around the room including the PlayStation logo light, the Mario Mushroom light and a Yoshi egg. Part of you cringed as you took in how...colourful and pretty everything was compared to Hoseok. It looked so...delicate next to him.

He was stood there in black ripped jeans with a Guns n Roses shirt on, his tattoos the only thing that matched the room really. And yet he didn’t look disgusted by it, instead he just looked fascinated. Moving forward, he looked over the various books, Blu-Ray’s and video games you’d collected over the years along with the tiny Totoro figures that almost made up a little set.

“Oh my god...this is literally you in a room.” He marvelled, eyes wide as he took in the light shade that covered the light bulb hanging in the room. It was simple, just a curved circle but it was navy blue with tiny circles cut into little rockets and planets. When you turned it on, which was rarely, it made the room light up with a space theme.

“Err...yeah...I’m sorry, I know it’s a lot.” You apologise, rubbing at your forearm as you feel the swirl of negative feelings within you start to bubble. Already you’re regretting letting him into your home, into your safe space. This was where you felt most comfortable, where you felt happy. You only let people in that you trusted, and after two months you were pretty sure you could.

But it was still overwhelming, letting someone into the very private part of you and letting them see what made you happy.

“Don’t apologise, this is great. You’ve seen my place, it’s barren compared to this. I like it. It’s nice. Feels...cosy.” Hoseok said with a bright grin, white teeth flashing as you glanced at you before looking into your kitchen with eager curiosity.

The cuteness extends into there too, sweet woodland themed animal print oven gloves draped over the oven handle while a whole array of cute magnets cover the fridge along with pictures and important notices. A Totoro egg timer sits next to a little polka dot flower pot on the window sill while a cat themed calendar is propped up on the microwave.

A soft meow combined with pressure on his lower legs causes Hoseok to jump slightly, looking down before he grins even bigger. “Oh hello there! You must be Kasumi! Your mommy has told me so much about you.” He croons in a high pitched voice, the kind people only use on babies or animals.

But you can see the delight in his eyes as she sits in front of him, her cream fluffy coat combining with her dark paws and ears alongside astonishingly azure eyes to make her look like the prettiest cat ever. You were pretty sure that she was a ragdoll cat, which meant it was even more shocking that you’d found her in a shelter as a kitten.

She observes Hoseok for a moment longer before meowing sweetly at him, pushing up to butt his hand with her head and he coos as he crouches down, stroking and talking absolute nonsense to her. You get the sense that he’s just fallen in love at first sight with your cat, the smile on his face bigger than anything you’d seen as she flops to the floor, belly presented and batting at his hand playfully.

“I’m gonna steal your cat.” He teases, looking up at you with playful eyes and you snort, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Over my dead body. She loves me anyway, right Kasumi?” At her name, her ears twitch and she looks at you upside down, letting out a soft mewl as her loud purrs reach you. You grin and crouch down, arms open as you make kissing noises to her and she immediately jumps up, rushing over to you. Standing back up with her in your arms, you smile smugly at Hoseok and wonder why on earth you’re suddenly competing with him over the affection of your own cat.

It looks like the thought runs through his head as well as he shakes it before walking over to you, dropping his backpack past you onto the couch before he places his hands on your waist. Leaning close, you feel your shoulders rising at his attention and he chuckles quietly.

“I guess I’ve got some competition then, huh?” He murmurs before kissing you, the gesture ever so gentle. It’s nothing intense, yet it fires you up in ways you’d never really considered before. Here, in your home, with your cat in your arms and your boyfriend kissing you, you feel happier than you can remember in recent memory. It feels...almost normal.

Hoseok pulls away quickly, smiling as he looks you up and down with a raised brow. “Can I go change if you’re in your pyjamas already?”

His tone is ever so slightly teasing and you look away, pressing your face into Kasumi’s soft fur to avoid the embarrassment.

“Yeah...sorry. I don’t...I don’t see the point in wasting clothes when I’m at home. Pyjamas or die you know?” He snorts in response, kissing your cheek before grabbing his backpack again.

“I get it, I’ll be back in a minute.”

It turns out that Hoseok’s pyjamas are just...his normal lounge clothes apparently. A pair of plain black sweatpants is combined with an overly large Star Wars shirt, a few holes in both items that cause you to raise a brow in amusement. A far cry from the matching set of pyjamas you’re wearing; a set of Marauder's Map leggings combined with a black shirt and a gold Hogwarts crest.

“You can tell our personalities just from what we’re wearing.” He looks up from his phone, brows raised before looking between you both with a lopsided smile. Without a word, he walks over to you and wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you to him tightly.

Body stiffening automatically without you even meaning, you force yourself to relax in his embrace. You still weren’t used to the open affection Hoseok lavished on you, the casual touches of his not normal enough for you to accept openly like you did with your friends and family. But you were getting there.

You just wished that you could extend the open affection to him in the same way. It was hard though, you weren’t naturally open to physical gestures like that. Normally you just accepted them, but you wanted to discover to be open with him.

Because as you melted into his arms, you realised that you really liked this.

“What are you trying to say, huh? That I’m ratty and old while you’re young and put together?” He teases, squeezing tightly while rocking you from side to side, putting just enough pressure that you have to stagger back as you giggle against his chest.

“No! I mean...you are older than me…”

“Excuse you! I’m only two years older than you! Hardly Hugh Hefner here.” Hoseok protests, his voice loud but you can hear the playfulness in it. It makes you happy to hear that, knowing that he’s going along with you.

“You’re right...you don’t have as much money as him. I’m missing out.” At that, he leans back enough for you to see his face, his jaw dropped while he tries to stop a smile from spreading. It causes you to grin in response, squeezing him tightly in response before you press your face back to his chest. “It’s okay though, you’re pretty.”

“Wow...okay. Does that make me the Playboy Bunny in this situation?” You snort, hands lowering without even meaning to and making him jerk in surprise as you squeeze his ass without even thinking. The very ass that your friends had teased you about weeks ago.

“How do you look with bunny ears and a tail?”

He moves away at that, eyeing you suspiciously as he bites his lower lip, the flesh disappearing between his teeth. “Let’s never find out, shall we?”

“Awww. There’s people who find that kinky. They get dressed up as animals and stuff. Sometimes it’s just...they just wanna dress up but sometimes they dress up and it’s like...they wanna have sex in those suits.” Hoseok just stares at you in disgust, looking away before nodding slowly.

“Sounds great. I’m never doing that. Just want you to know,” he pauses, looking up at the ceiling before cringing and shrugging. You’re suddenly reminded of that woman trying alcohol meme as he makes a considering face. “Okay maybe I’d try it once if you were into it but I don’t think it’s for me.”

You steadfastly avoid his face at that, body heating rapidly at the thought of him thinking about having sex with you knew he probably had. If you were thinking that way about him, then there was no one way someone like him wasn’t thinking that way too. And it was a very strange sensation to know that he wanted you like that.

So you just gestured to the couch, watching as he sits down and scoops Kasumi into his lap. A quick phone call gets you food ordered from your favourite Chinese place, Hoseok stating his preferences to you as he flicks through Netflix and strokes the fluff ball he’s holding.

The next few hours pass by in a food coma bliss of delicious food combined with both of you starting a show on Amazon instead called The Boys. It had surprised you both with how violent and gory it was yet you enjoyed it thoroughly, much to Hoseok’s amusement. Maybe he thought your love of cute things meant that you didn’t like that kind of stuff but you enjoyed it just as much.

You both made it through three episodes before you found yourself getting tired, it was nearing 11pm and as lame as it made you sound...you were someone who went to sleep a bit earlier than that. It amused Hoseok when your head started to loll onto his shoulder, the pleasant warmth and comfort of his body as you cuddled up together lulling you into drowsiness.

Which was why when the episode finally ended, he stood up and gently pulled you up as well. “Come on sleepy, I think it’s time for bed. Sometime’s tired.” He was using that voice that he’d used on Kasumi earlier, and part of you wanted to protest it but you were too drowsy to bother. So instead, you went around the room after shaking his hands off to turn off all the lights.

Hoseok went to the bathroom while you did that, telling you that he was just going to go to the toilet and brush his teeth. By the time you had finished cleaning everything up and throwing the empty Chinese cartons away, he was standing a little awkwardly outside your bedroom.

Smiling, you opened the door and let him in. “You can go in.”

He gave a little smile before heading in and pausing as he looked around once more. Your room was barely big enough for the double bed in it, one side pressed up against the wall while a bedside table rested next to it. A wardrobe was next to that and a chest of drawers along with a mirror.

“Err...sorry...it’s a little cramped.” You say quietly, rubbing your arms nervously once more and he just shakes his head at you with a small sigh that sounds more amused than you’d expected.

“You need to stop apologising for everything. It’s fine, honestly. Don’t stress yourself over it.” He heads over to the bed and looked down at it, teeth clanking against his lip ring as it looked down. “I’m gonna guess that you sleep on this side?”

Pointing at the side closest to the bedside table, you go to nod before realise he’s being rhetorical. It was blatantly obvious which side you slept on, given the other side was covered in a large array of plushies. From more Pokémon to a Star Wars teddy, Toothless from How To Train Your Dragon, a cute cat face, a fluffy llama and so much more.

The side Hoseok would be sleeping on was covered in them and you cover your face in dual embarrassment and horror, realising that you’d blatantly forgotten to clean it off for him. “Err...yeah. You can just...put them on the floor or something. Sorry, I mean…”

You cut yourself off from apologising again at his look but he just smiles and shrugs. “It’s okay, I’ll sort it out.”

Quickly, you leave the room to prevent any further embarrassment for you. Sometimes you really wondered why Hoseok stayed with you given how different you both obviously were. The thought made your chest hurt and you pressed as it, frowning as you did your own nightly routine. It took a little longer than Hoseok’s as you had a whole skincare routine to go through and so ten minutes later you walked back in with a face mask on.

He was lying on his back, pillows propped up behind him as he looked through his phone and you noted with amusement the little ice cream plush that was still situated next to him. In fact...he made the most bizarre image laid there.

Your bedding was white, with tiny rainbows ending in clouds interspersed with yellow stars and little cartoons unicorns and pegasus that jumped and frolicked. You liked your bedding to look as cute as everything else, only it looked childish with him in it now.

His tattoos look at complete odds with it all, dark hair pushed back and making him look even hotter than ever with it all messed up. He looked dark and brooding in your bed, anathema to your bedding and it was both adorable and bizarrely attractive.

A sudden thought rushes through your head that one day, if everything goes right, you’ll be having sex with him in that bed. Cheeks heating, you quickly rush forward and sit on the bed carefully, plugging your phone into the charger before looking back over at him.

“Do you need your phone charging too? I have another cable and plug.” You offer and he lets out a noise, head turning towards you before his eyes finally pull away. When he finally notices your face, he jerks away in shock before his face contorts and he squints at you.

“The fuck is on your face? Are you cosplaying Michael Myers or something?” Hoseok mutters, leaning forward a bit and looking you over. You try not to laugh, not wanting the face mask to move and you push at his face lightly.

“Don’t make me laugh, you’ll ruin it. It’s just a face mask, my night routine.” Laying back on the bed, he pulls a face at you.

“You do that every night? Isn’t it tiring?” You shake your head, checking in your Twitter feed as you wait for the time to pass until you can take it off again. “Is that why your skin always looks so pretty? Or is that makeup?”

“Hoseok! I haven’t worn makeup the last three times we’ve met up. You haven’t noticed between that and makeup?” He just stares at you for a moment before shrugging, his hand suddenly running along your back in slow and steady movements. It feels like electricity moves through your body as he does so, but you can’t tell any sexual intention behind it.

“I feel like no matter what I say here...I’m going to get myself in trouble. So...I will be smart and say that you look beautiful with and without makeup.” His smile is boylike then, making his entire face look far younger than he actually is and you sighed softly in defeat, shaking your head before checking the clock on your bedside table. “Why does your clock look like that?”

You pull off the face mask and throw it into the small trash can underneath the table, gently patting at your face to get the excess moisture to absorb. Glancing at the clock, you note it’s unusual shape and size while the orange numbers glow.

“It’s one of those clocks that simulate sunrise to help make it easier to wake up in the morning. I struggle with feeling tired and in winter I never want to get up. Err...I tend to get a little...or a lot...depressed with it. So I got this because daylight is meant to make you happier so ten minutes before my alarm goes off, it starts to light up and simulate a sunrise. It works pretty well in fairness.” You finish, rubbing your cheeks before grabbing the next step of your routine.

“Really? Huh. Cool.” He hands you his phone once you’ve finished, turning onto his side watching you intently. The attention makes you feel warm inside and finally you’re ready to go to bed, lifting the covers and cautiously sliding in next to him. It feels warm and comfortable as usual, your pillow and bedding maximised for comfort.

Reaching over, you turn off the lamp, leaving you both in darkness. The room feels oppressively silent at that moment before you realise that you can hear his breathing next to you. Suddenly, you feel hyper aware of his every movement and sound, your own body stiff beneath the covers.

A few minutes pass by like that, you unsure what to do now and too tense to sleep even after feeling so drowsy earlier. And then suddenly Hoseok reaches out, his hand resting on your stomach tentatively before stroking gently when you don’t react.

“You’re so tense.” He laughs softly and you feel the need to apologise again. But you hold it back, knowing that you have no reason to apologise. Hoseok knows by now what you’re like, he’s aware of your shy and awkward nature and he must know how out of your comfort zone you’re feeling right now.

Which is why you appreciate how slow he moves, his hand spreading heat through your stomach as his slow movements lead you to relaxing ever so slightly. He keeps doing it, his breathing just as hypnotising and you find your eyelids fluttering shut as the earlier drowsiness comes back.

“Can you turn over? On your side?” Hoseok asks softly, hand pausing and it takes a few seconds for you to acknowledge what he’d said. But you do so, shifting lazily until your back is facing him and your head is pressed comfortably into the pillow with your hand slotted beneath both pillows.

And then carefully shuffles up behind you, a warm and heavy weight sliding around your waist as he wraps an arm around you. Pulling slightly, he tugs you into a more comfortable position and you’re suddenly wide awake again. Even though you’ve been cuddled up with him before on a couch, it’s somehow completely different now that you’re lying together in bed.

Every bit of his front presses to your back and you’ve never been so aware of someone else. He feels like a furnace behind you, though you’re not sure if that’s because he actually is warm or if it’s because your body is burning hot. But you like it, as nervous as it makes you feel.

Your limbs feel like you could go outside and run a marathon yet the idea of leaving the bed is so far beyond you. His warm breath gently puffs against your neck as he settles a little more and you swallow hard, forcing your body to relax as you get used to the feeling. It’s been a long time since you’ve slept next to someone, and you’d never felt comfortable with them.

But you do with him. You do with Hoseok.

And without even realising it, your wandering mind begins to drift off as you lay there comfortably, feeling safe and content about everything.

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levinneheart · 4 years

Text

Trouble Ahead

Prologue

A collab w/ @old-me-is-gone

➳ Description: This is a story between enemies; a middle school friend turned salty, a high school partner turned full debate sessions, and an unfortunate girl stuck in the middle… it seems there is going to be trouble ahead.

➳ Pairing: Tsukishima Kei x Feisty!F!Photographer!Reader x Akaashi Keiji

➳ Prompt: Frenemies, Enemies to Lovers, Love Triangle, Shy Confessions

➳ Genre: FLUFF, ANGST

➳ Word Count: 4,010

➳ Written by: @old-me-is-gone and co-edited by (banner also by): @levinneheart

➳ Disclaimer: Pictures used are not ours and are all credited to their owners. Haikyuu characters are owned by Haruichi Furudate.

Routes: Wit’s End || Partner in Crime

Middle school is meant to be a time where kids can develop and find themselves. In [Y/N]’s case, middle school was the time she garnered a skill and adept talent for photography while also meeting her first friend after moving from Tokyo.

Standing by the counter where she was waiting for her recent photos to be developed while she picked at her nails. The darkroom had become a place of solace for her. Moving from Tokyo to the middle of nowhere, a place also known as Miyagi, hadn’t been easy and starting middle school without any friends was even harder. Since no one made an effort to at least try and befriend her within the first month, [Y/N] had decided that she didn’t need anyone else. So being in the darkroom seemed to be the only valid option for her.

When her mom asked her about her day, she would ramble on and on about the fake experiences she had at school. In her fake world, she was popular and had a lot of friends. In reality, she was just the weird loner girl who took photos of trashcans around the cafeteria. [Y/N] had the darkroom all to herself as she was the only member of the photography club. Although, sometimes other clubs would use her clubroom to store excess club materials and such.

Leaving her to have a single counter for her photos. To make it an actual working darkroom, she used a red tissue paper that she had attached to the hanging ceiling light with a rubber band and blacked out the windows with random cardboard from the kitchens. The other two walls that she didn’t use were reserved for the volleyball club to shove extra netting and brooms into.

She really should have printed out a single paper that wrote: ‘Please Knock, Photos in Developing Stage’, that’s at least what she learned from the hindsight when the door opened again for the nth time and she was greeted with a single sliver of light. [Y/N]’s eye went wide as she stopped picking at her nails. “Wait! Don’t-”

The door slide completely open and [Y/N] squinted at all the sudden light. When she realized what had happened, she rushed to the tins of developing liquid and tried to cover them with her hands so her photos wouldn’t be exposed to light.

“Damn it.” She groaned. She tugged at her hair as her photos went streaky and the coloring blended in together from the light. [Y/N] felt a pang of sadness hit her heart as she whipped around to chastise the person who opened the door.

Standing in the doorway was an oddly tall blond boy. His hair seemed to glow from all the light streaming in. After rubbing her eyes slightly, [Y/N] could make out the glasses on his face and recognized him from the volleyball club. Tsukishima Kei.

Always pleasant visitor. She thought sarcastically, rolling her eyes.

“What the hell are you doing just hanging out in a darkroom?” Tsukishima walked in and inspected the shelves, looking for some equipment.

“Hey! Wait a minute! You should have knocked! Because of you, all my photos are ruined!” She exclaimed, huffing and stomping her foot as she brought Tsukishima’s attention to her by acting tough.

Tsukishima tilted his head before rolling his eyes and grabbing an air pump. Tossing it into the air before catching it again. “Because of me, your photos are ruined?” He scoffed at her, his tone was condescending and sarcastic.

[Y/N] stretched her hands out and gave a quick ‘duh’ in response. Tsukishima gave her a wicked smirk that begged to be punched off of his face. [Y/N] didn’t care if she was a lot shorter than him, she just wanted him to apologize for ruining her photos.

When Tsukishima started to walk towards the exit, [Y/N] ran to block the entrance while holding her hand out on either side of the frame and looking up at him as she sneered, “You need to apologize.” Tsukishima fake lunged at her, causing [Y/N] to flinch and bring her arms to her body while he grabbed hold of her shoulder and moved her away from the door with ease.

“I don’t apologize to entitled brats like you.”

“Entitled brat my ass,” She mumbled before chasing after him. “Get back here you tall excuse for a human!” When [Y/N] realized she wasn’t going to be able to stop him with force so she swallowed her pride and jumped on his back, wrapping her legs around his waist and holding onto his neck with her arms.

“What the fu-” Tsukishima turned around, before trying to pry her off.

“Not until you apologize!” [Y/N] argued.

“I’m sorry. Now, get off of me!”

“It doesn’t sound sincere enough.”

Tsukishima thought back to all the times he had jumped on Akiteru’s back, and how his brother had managed to get him to hop off all on his own. So, remembering what Akiteru did, Tsukishima dropped the air pump and started pretending he was being chocked.

[Y/N] immediately hopped off and ran in front of Tsukishima and held onto his shoulders. “Holy hell. Are you alright?”

Tsukishima held back a smirk as he faked being upset. “No. You really hurt me.”

“What can I do to make it up to you. Hell, I'm really sorry. Like really sorry.” [Y/N] rubbed her elbow and shuffled her feet. [Y/N] rubbed her elbow and shuffled her feet in guilt.

“I’ll think of something.” Tsukishima would never admit it but in the short period of time that he had known the strange (h/c) haired girl, he wanted to be around her more. Nobody had ever had the courage, or sheer idiocy to even try and stand up to him before.

[Y/N] threw her hands up into the air and glared at Tsukishima. “Great, you asshole! Now, I feel indebted to you for some emotional reason.” She picked up the air pump and started walking down the steps towards the gym when Tsukishima called out to her.

“What are you doing?” He walked down to her with a few short strides in his step.

“Helping you. I can work off this icky guilt by helping you. Okay? Let's go.”

Months went by after that. Tsukishima and [Y/N] most definitely didn’t become friends. They just sat together at lunch and hung out at the park. [Y/N] went to all of Tsukishima’s volleyball games whilst Tsukishima went to all of [Y/N]’s art shows. So no, they weren’t friends. They were, merely, people who shared a common experience and decided to continue building upon that shared experience.

Then, news of [Y/N] moving back to Tokyo happened during their third year in middle school. Someone heard [Y/N] talking to her dad on the phone about it, and eventually it spread like wildfire. Some people were pretty upset, after having gotten to know [Y/N]. Other people just honestly didn’t care, but instead wanted in on the drama.

The drama was that apparently since Tsukishima still didn’t know that [Y/N] was moving. And the entire school wanted to see him explode when he finally found out. Which meant that hordes of people hovered around Yamaguchi, Tsukishima, and [Y/N] as they went about their days.

“Do people just actively look for ways to piss me off.” Tsukishima grumbled as he took another spoonful of his chicken noodle soup. Tsukishima felt the eyes of the people hiding to the side of the wall right behind him.

“Tsukki, I honestly doubt it's that!” Yamaguchi comforted. [Y/N] was busy snapping photos of the trees far off while Tsukishima let his eyes and mind wander as he stared at her trying to find the right angle to take a picture. His Adam's apple bobbed when she stood up and stretched her back out. She knelt back down to take a photo but lost balance and fell on her butt, she laughed lightly at herself before getting back up. Tsukishima could feel his heart pound in his chest and his face heat up.

“Are you alright? You're looking a little red there Tsukki?’ Yamaguchi took a bite of the cookie his mom packed for him, talking with his mouth full.

“I'm fine. But, hey, why have so many people been like, extra nice to L/n? A whole bunch of guys from the volleyball club pitched in and bought her a polaroid camera.” Tsukishima wished that the group of underclassmen would have asked him to help pitch in to buy the yellow camera that she adores so much. She never left it alone, keeping it tucked away in its case amongst her school bag.

“Oh? [Y/N]’s moving to Tokyo. Remember?”

Tsukishima dropped his soup, the contents spilling all over the courtyard as he tightens his fists. “What?” He growls out while Yamaguchi slaps his hand over his mouth.

Mumbling his apologizes profusely, “[Y/N] said not to say anything, Tsukki please don’t hate [Y/N], she was just doing what she thought was best- “Tsukki, where are you going?” Tsukishima slams his hands against the table and pushes off, storming to where [Y/N] was standing.

“[Y/N]!” Tsukishima never yelled at her. So, she whips her head around to see a red-faced Tsukishima. [Y/N] thought she saw smoke coming out of his ears. “Were you going to tell me you were moving, or am I just an afterthought?” [Y/N] almost drops her camera from shock. She holds it tight to her chest, cradling it as she cowers away from the raging boy in front of her.

“I was gonna tell you.”

“No, you weren’t.” He spat. He gripped her forearm to pull her closer but when he did, [Y/N] dropped her yellow polaroid camera and it shattered, glass and parts of the camera flew around the concrete courtyard while her eyes glazed over with tears.

“You jerk! Don’t try talking to me, until you're ready to apologize for being such an asshole!” Tears fell from her eyes and spilling over her face before swinging her satchel over her shoulder as she marched to the school building. Tsukishima’s hands ran to his hair, pulling it tightly as he let out a short scream that sounded like a grunt. Yamaguchi walked into the school building and he knew, there wasn’t going to be a way to comfort Tsukishima’s mood when he got like this.

[Y/N] packed up and got ready to move. Putting all of her belongings into suitcases and duffle bags. When she was putting her pictures into her collection of shoeboxes, she glanced at the ones of her and Tsukishima. Her favorite picture was one she had originally given to Tsukishima for his birthday, but she liked it so much she had her mom scan it and print out another copy that [Y/N] laminated.

In the photo, [Y/N] had rubbed birthday cake all over Tsukishima’s face. Giving him a frosting mustache and his hair mixed in with chocolate cake. She pulled him in close, and Tsukishima rested his arm over his shoulders, he gave a side smile while rolling his eyes. Then she gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, getting a photo of her giggling as Tsukishima turned to face her with a blushing face and cake all over him, his eyebrows shot up into his forehead.

Then [Y/N] remembered back at how he had grabbed her arm and made her drop her Polaroid camera. In a fury, she ripped up the photo, sliding down her bed and staring at the now empty wall that was once full of pictures of friends and family.

The next day, while saying goodbye to Yamaguchi, when her mom asked where Tsukishima was, [Y/N] simply said, “We aren’t talking at the moment.”

“Are you sure? I can always call his mom, and we can wait for him to come over so he can say goodbye?” Her mom waited outside the car, but [Y/N] got into the backseat and buckled her seatbelt, refusing to say more on the matter while Yamaguchi waved goodbye to her car that had begun driving off. He hoped that Tsukishima had gotten his text message. And he did, as of right now, he was begging his mom to drive him to [Y/N]’s house.

Tsukishima ran after her parents’ car, hopping out of his mom’s car and tried chasing after [Y/N]. Before realizing, she had already driven too far that his yells for her to come back fell to deaf ears. Tsukishima fell to the ground and stayed silent as he rubbed his thumb of the package of a yellow Polaroid camera that had a simple ‘I’m sorry’ written on a green sticky note.

When his chest began to heave, and his heart felt weighed down while watching her car got out of view. Because, for the first time, he longed for someone who was now gone. Someone who was really gone. And every day over the entire summer, he beat himself up more and more for not apologizing. Because not apologizing had meant that he lost the person he had grown closest to.

[Y/N] was used to going to new schools and moving around a lot in primary school, she had to adjust to all of the changes. But high school was a big jump. A bigger jump than any other jump she had ever taken. Luckily, Fukurodani had accepted her based on both her grades and her talent in photography, saying that such a talent must be nurtured with the right tutelage and proper education. Which [Y/N] thought was just a bunch of pretentious bullshit in order to try and use her grades on their average grade scale.

Needless to say, [Y/N] started her first day. Her dad had bought her a brand-new blue polaroid to make up for what had begun to be known around the L/n household as the ‘Tsukishima Incident’. Armed with a positive attitude and her blue camera, [Y/N] took the first step out of her house and into her high school career.

Trains move fast. And the train system was just so complex and so utterly beautiful. People rush around without a second thought. [Y/N] just had to capture that. Taking photos as she stepped onto the Fukurodani train though, probably wasn’t a good idea though. Because she bumped into someone and dropped her camera. When she heard the plastic crack she cringed and she turned around to face who she had run into.

A boy. A cute boy at that. One with dark blue eyes, with green floating around them. His black hair seemed to be slightly curly, or at the very least slightly wavy. [Y/N] opens her mouth slightly to try and say something but, no words come out as the boy stares to the side of her, not meeting her eyes. [Y/N]’s first thoughts were: wow okay, he’s hot and he’s intimidating.

Akaashi sighed before muttering, “Please pay attention, you could hurt someone.” He didn’t want to stare at her, so he opted for not meeting her eyes. Taking a mental note of her broken camera, and the way she didn’t wear the school skirt but chose to wear the pants instead. Not that he would admit that he was starting at her hips, or her legs for that matter.

“Sorry!”

“It's fine. Just don’t go bumping into people again okay?” Akaashi got off the train, the girl hopping off as well.

“Yeah of course.” [Y/N] paused, wondering if this could be the amplest time to make a friend at her new school, but when she looked back to him, he was gone.

Finally arriving to class, [Y/N] slipped into her new seat, and she bounced her leg up and down. Being in a mixed class with first and second years was going to be pretty exciting. She thought about all the people she could learn from and all the interesting things she would learn throughout the year. When the pretty boy walked in. [Y/N] stopped bouncing her leg in favor of just staying frozen.

Embarrassment flooded her senses. Akaashi sits down and makes conversation with the fellow second year next to him. [Y/N] slides down her seat and tries to cover her face with her long sleeve beige sweater. When the teacher walks in and brings the class to attention, [Y/N] clears her throat lightly and sits back up. Hoping that the boy doesn’t notice her sitting in the back row.

“For the rest of the year, I’m going to assign you partners.” Students immediately turn to look at each other and whisper about being partners. “Partners that I will personally assign.” Disgruntled cries erupt for a second before the teacher shoots a quick glare onto their pupils.

The teacher lists of names, and students shuffle around to sit next to each other. With every passing pair, [Y/N] feels her heart race.

“Akaashi Keiji and L/n [Y/N].” [Y/N] looks around for a moment, wondering about this ‘Akaashi’ guy before her throat goes dry. Sitting down next to her is the same guy she bumped into on the train. Akaashi recognizes [Y/N] from the train.

For the first week the two don’t talk. Merely passing homework between themselves to correct or when [Y/N] forgot a pencil that one time so Akaashi lent one of his to her. They were resigned to this emotional withdrawal from each other. Until they were assigned a project.

“I think it should be on the history of the modern developing process for film and such.” [Y/N] throws out. Tapping her pen against her notebook, accidentally causing ink spots to freckle across the page. Akaashi takes the pen away from her, in order to stop the incessant tapping sound that was beginning to distract him from coming up with an idea for the project.

“Well, the project should be something simple and straightforward. So, how about the history of volleyball? It can be traced back clearly through the Olympics and all of the data is already there.” Akaashi titles her page with VOLLEYBALL HISTORY. [Y/N] rolls her eyes before crossing it out and writing Camera Film Development History. Akaashi pulls out another piece of paper and titles it with the volleyball one. To which [Y/N] wrinkles her nose, before crossing it out and putting her idea down on the paper.

“Stop it.” Akaashi grumbles.

“Never.” [Y/N] writes her idea down and rushes up to the teacher. Akaashi shoots up and grabs her by the hand, pulling her into his chest.

Akaashi promised he would never use the trick Bokuto taught him, but considering the dire situation he was in, he decided that he had no choice. Leaning his head close to hers, [Y/N]’s eyes widened as she moved her head. “Let’s use my idea, Princess.”

[Y/N] fake a gag before slipping out of his grasp. “Ew, no. Never do that again.” When she tries to go to the teacher again, Akaashi groans before pulling her away again. “Let go of me!” She states, trying not to raise her voice.

“Never.” Akaashi mimics her tone from earlier. And [Y/N] turns her face into an image of disgust.

“I said to let go of me!” [Y/N] kicks Akaashi’s shin, making him yelp out in pain. The teacher, having been aware of their argument from the beginning, just sighs and sends them off to the principal’s office.

Akaashi isn’t angry, he’s just upset. But because of a wild and reckless first year, he is the one being punished. Even though [Y/N] is also going to the office, he feels like he’s the one being criticized. He wants to protest and say that she was the one who kicked him, and she was the one who refused to do a compromise with him.

[Y/N] bites down on her tongue as she sits outside the Principal’s office. It's only the second Monday of the year and she is already in trouble, so much for making a good impression on others.

Regardless, through the months that pass, Akaashi and [Y/N] still argue. They don’t physically fight; they just bicker incessantly. The seats in front of them and behind them were vacated once the students had realized their fighting wasn’t going to stop.

[Y/N] tried her best to fit in. But when she was informed that there wasn’t going to be a Photography club, she felt deflated. But when a pair of girls stood around the entrance of the school trying to hand out fliers, [Y/N] too the opportunity to say hi.

The girls, that [Y/N] was now informed of as Yukie and Kaori, asked her if she would be willing to be a manager for the volleyball team which [Y/N] happened to be familiar with, so she agreed. The two girls invited [Y/N] to start training as a manager during a training camp, to which [Y/N] happily agreed to as well.

The training camp had started off well enough. All the third years had started off introducing themselves and had politely begun to ask about [Y/N] and her likes as well as her dislikes. Akaashi spotted her before she spotted him. He groaned and pulled Bokuto aside. “You have got to be messing with me, right?” Akaashi ran a hand through his hair before toying with his hands.

“What do you mean Akaashi?” Bokuto folded his arms while he tilted his head to the side.

“She’s insufferable.” Akaashi stated, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I dunno, [L/n]-kun seems really nice.” Bokuto tapped his chin while shrugging.

“I had to go to the principal's office because of her, remember.” Akaashi leaves out the finer details of the reason why he went to the office though, figuring that Bokuto didn’t need to know all of the information.

Bokuto walks back towards [Y/N] before calling out Akaashi, “She might be different outside of school, you never know ‘Kaashi.”

Akaashi leans his back against the brick wall. Exhaling deeply and closing his eyes. He doesn’t even notice when [Y/N] walks up to him and inspects his jersey. When she taps his shoulder, Akaashi flinched a bit before sighing deeply to calm his nerves. He tries to walk away and [Y/N] immediately grabbed hold of his hand.

“I'm sorry it feels like I'm invading on your life. But the third years are all really nice to me.” [Y/N] holds her hands behind her back as she digs the tip of her shoe into the ground. “And I was wondering if we could actually have a civil conversation about our project. I'm willing to compromise now, if you are.” She looks at him with puppy dog eyes.

How can Akaashi have it in his heart to deny her? When her tone got ever so soft when she talked about the third years being kind to her? Akaashi doesn’t like the way his heart bubbles up at her actions.

“[Y/N]?”

Tsukishima drops his duffel bag, his arms going limp at the sight of her with a second year from Fukurodani and wearing its uniform. And he didn’t like the sight of her smiling since the last memories of her he had were of her with wet eyes and rage. Tsukishima rushes to pick up his bag. Yamaguchi, who had seen the whole scene unfurl, ran after Tsukishima.

Once Tsukishima had stopped, now hiding in the bus, Yamaguchi had finally caught up with his friend. Yamaguchi grew tired of the way he could dance around the topic of [Y/N]. She was their friend, the three of them grew up together. “Tsukishima. What are your feelings for [Y/N]? Tell me the truth.” Yamaguchi crossed his arms and Tsukishima looked up at him with a blank stare, his mouth opening and closing like a fish.

[Y/N] only saw Tsukishima for a moment before he rushed away. She looked back to Akaashi, whose face was slightly red but he still had a blank look plastered on. She had a choice to make. Go after her broken friendship with a childhood friend, or stay with the new and intriguing project partner.

Either way, she knew that there would be trouble ahead.

Routes: Wit’s End || Partner in Crime

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depressedkakashihatake-fics · 3 years

Text

Day Off

Hatake Kakashi/Baki

2481 Words

For: @temarihime

AU: Suna Kakashi Au

A day off. Those were surprisingly rare for Kakashi, especially when he knew that Rasa still had at least five more missions that he wanted him to complete. If it wasn’t for Temari’s insistence that he get the day off to hang out with her after her morning training, he was certain he would have been shipped off to complete another mission last night.

This morning, if Rasa was feeling nice enough to let him get some sleep.

But here he was with a whole day off, and a morning to waste away waiting for his little sister to be done with her training. Part of him wondered if she would convince Kankuro and Gaara to join them, or if she would take the chance to just have some time alone with him. Sometimes she could get a little...possessive, when it came to free time with her big brother.

Either way he couldn’t hang around the Kazekage’s mansion all morning to wait for her. He had the urge to go out and explore Sunagakure. the home he so rarely saw these days. Baki and Temari had told him all about the new shops that had opened in the last few months. Places he hadn’t had a chance to visit yet that they both spoke so highly of.

Though, exploring his home wasn’t so easy these days. Ever since Rasa had given him the hound mask it had become his identity. Something he always had to wear whenever he left the residence to go on a mission, or even to explore Suna. Rasa didn’t want anyone to see his face, claiming that it would upset the villagers and even some of the shinobi who may see him.

He never explained why anyone would be upset if they saw his face. He simply said they would be and ended the discussion. Leaving the residence without his mask over his face wasn’t allowed, which was fine when he was younger. When ‘Suna’s Hound’ wasn’t a thing.

Now though, it wasn’t that easy.

Anyone who saw the mask would turn tail a run. No one wanted to be seen around that Hound Shinobi, fearing that their lives might be the next one he take’s if they so much as breathe the wrong way or insult Rasa in his presence.

It was the price he paid for being Rasa’s personal Shinobi. The one who had killed not just the enemy shinobi, but Suna Shinobi as well if the job called for it.

And today it was the reason he was putting aside his hound mask and dressing himself up in a much more relaxed disguise. One that would allow him to flow through the crowded streets of Suna without raising suspicion or causing panic among the citizens.

At least he hoped so. That was the whole goal of his disguise after all, and he’d be a poor Shinobi if he was caught by anyone. Certainly not deserving of the title of the Kazekage’s personal Shinobi.

Putting on the last touch of make-up, he looked into the mirror and smiled when he saw a brunette with soft grey eyes and a pleasant smile staring back at him. It was perfect for a day out. No one would suspect such a friendly face to belong to Kakashi.

He’d be able to find Temari and Baki without any incidents looking like this.

A feeling of excitement buzzed deep in his chest when he thought about seeing Baki again. It had been weeks since he had been able to find a day off with the other man. Something he was sure Rasa was doing on purpose since he had never really liked the relationship building between Kakashi and Baki over the years.

Today though, he’d get to spend time with his little sister and his boyfriend. He’d make sure of it. In fact he had no doubts that part of Temari’s plans for getting him the day off was to get him some time with Baki. She always talked about how sad her Sensei looked when he hadn’t seen him for a few days.

He’d have to repay her for her help, and that definitely included making her a warm bowl of homemade vegetable soup when they got back to the residence.

Taking one last look in the mirror, he smiled at the old familiar face he had created years ago and headed for the window. It would do him no good to be caught leaving his room looking like this.

Then everyone would know who their new visitor really was.

Suna was a lot more lively than Kakashi remembered it. With streets full of villagers making their way through the village, chatting amongst each other as they searched out particular shops or wandered aimlessly with their friends by their side.

It was sort of nice. Years ago when he was a child Kakashi had never seen the villagers so relaxed. Perhaps it had something to do with the war going on back then. A war that hadn’t plagued them for years, though it wasn’t as if the village was completely safe.

Everyone knew about the danger that Gaara presented with Shukaku sealed within him. One bad day and the kid could level the entire village without a thought. Seeing the villagers with such carefree attitudes when there was an ever present danger within the walls of Suna was sort of concerning in a way.

Of course, as he thought that he noticed a sudden shift in the villagers attitudes. The shuffle of people frantically moving to the sides of the street, soft whispers being spoken among each other, and the way that everyone turned their attention to a small group of people making their way up the street towards him.

A group of people that he would recognize anywhere.

“You’re not going to kill Kankuro,” Temari’s voice carried through the street, a mixture of boredom and sternness in her voice. “He was just making a joke, Gaara. Let it go.”

Ahhh, just like at home. Apparently those three never changed.

“It was his decision to test me,” Gaara snarled, his eyes inspecting the area ahead of him and landing on the lone figure still standing in the middle of the street. “Fine, if i can’t kill Kankuro can i kill him?”

Well, that was a terrible way to start his day off.

“How about we avoid murder while we’re in the village,” Baki suggested.“Our job is to protect the people of our village, not murder them.”

As he spoke to his students, Baki zeroed in on the person Gaara was referring to, examining him as he continued to stand in their way. Kakashi could only imagine what was going through his mind at the moment. After all, only an idiot would keep standing in Gaara’s way.

Thinking through his options, Kakashi lifted the camera hanging around his neck and started to toy with the buttons. So far he had only gotten a few pictures of some beautiful Suna landscape and a statue at the entrance to the marketplace that he had never seen before. Nothing too exciting that he would be willing to put into a photo album, but beautiful nonetheless.

Perhaps this was his opportunity to get a picture of his favorite people. He would just have to hope that Baki didn’t try to slaughter him at the suggestion.

Seeing the small group getting closer to him, Kakashi put on his best smile and lifted up his camera. “I suppose you wouldn’t be up for a photo?” He said softly, chucking when he saw Gaara glaring at him “think of it as an apology for wanting to kill me?”

“Gutsy,” He could hear Kankuro snickering behind his hand. A reaction that had probably led him to the original situation of Gaara wanting to murder him. “I suppose you don’t know who you’re talking to.”

“Three brats and a cute Sensei stuck with them,” Temari’s eyes went wide, and he could see Kankuro side eyeing Gaara with fear in his eyes. “Though, I guess the only real brat here is you, since you’re the one causing all the troubles.”

It was Temari’s turn to laugh, her eyes lighting up when Kankuro gave her a betrayed look. “What? He’s right. You’re the one bugging Gaara. You should know better by now.”

“How about we all calm down,” Baki’s eyes hadn’t left him the entire time, still trying to size him up and get a better understanding of what he was dealing with. “I don’t think the Kazekage would be happy having a stranger taking pictures of his children.”

“Then how about just the cute Sensei?” Sukea offered a compromise. “Or are you camera shy?”

Both Kankuro and Temari chuckled at that one, not even bothering to hide it when their Sensei glared back at them. “Go ahead Sensei,” Temari beamed up at him “I’m sure big brother Kakashi won’t mind if you get your picture taken by someone else.”

With a low growl in the back of his throat, Baki turned his eyes back towards the man standing in front of him and huffed. “You can take my picture, on one condition.”

Putting on his best smile, Sukea tilted his head. “Let me guess, you want a picture for this boyfriend of yours?” He chuckled. Baki was always trying to act so cold and distant, but he was such a big softy deep down inside. It was adorable. “I’m sure i can manage that. Though it might take me awhile to get you a nice print.”

How long depended on how many missions Rasa decided to send him on after his day off. Hopefully Baki wasn’t going to be upset if it took a few weeks.

“I was thinking of a date,” Sukea’s eyes widened. That was a brave thing to say right after Temari’s comment about her big brother. “Preferably without the goofy photographer get up.”

Oh.

“Oh!” Well, that was certainly unexpected. “H-How’d you know?”

“The mole,” He glared over at Temari. Had both of them really figured him out that easily. “It’s why Kankuro and Gaara didn’t recognize you. You always have that stupid mask over half your face when you’re around them.”

That was actually fair, he was willing to give it to Temari. Whenever he saw Kankuro or Gaara he was outside of his room so either he was wearing his cloth mask over the lower part of his face, or his Anbu mask. Regardless, Kankuro and Gaara had never actually seen his face.

“What are you talking about, Temari?” Kankuro stepped forward and examined the photographer. “He just looks like any other dork in Suna.”

Closing his eyes, Kakashi took a deep breath and bit back the urge to electrocute Kankuro. He already had Gaara threatening him with murder almost every day, he didn’t need Kakashi to do the same thing.

“For ‘any other Suna dork’ he sure is lethal,” Baki responded to his students jab with a bored tone. “Though when he’s not trying to look like Suna’s local fashion disaster, most people tend to call him ‘The hound’”

Fashion disaster?

Kakashi threw a hand over his chest and gave Baki a wounded look.

“Is that what you really think of me?” He jutted his bottom lip out and gave Baki the best puppy dog eyes that he could muster.

“In this outfit? Absolutely,” Crossing his arms over his chest, Baki huffed “Two out of ten, would not bed.”

Temari and Kankuro both gasped, looking up at their Sensei with amazement and fear. Gaara was the only one who didn’t react, though that was perfectly normal for him. He probably wished he wasn’t here to listen to any of what was going on around him right now.

“Well, at least now i know you have some standards,’ Sukea commented, taking a step into Baki’s space. “I’d say the same for myself, but i am dating you.”

Before Baki could think up a comeback, Sukea leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek, ignoring Temari and Kankuro as they stood behind their Sensei snickering.

Pulling back slowly, Sukea couldn’t help but smile when he saw the pink lipstick stain he had left behind on Baki’s cheek. On him the colour made his lips look a little fuller and provided some much needed colour to a face that rarely ever saw any sun, but on Baki it stood out like a sunflower in the desert.

“How about I take your picture later,” he offered, “in a more private setting.”

For the first time since he had walked up to Sukea with his students, Baki smiled. “That sounds like a good plan,” his hand came up to settle against Sukea’s cheek as he spoke. “Until then, I believe you promised my student some time with her big brother.”

Somehow he wasn’t surprised that Temari had mentioned her plans to hang out with him today. How else would she make sure her Sensei knew that he had to wait his turn to see her big brother on his day off?

“I best hang out with her then,” Sukea smiled, turning his attention over to Temari “Is it just going to be us two unleashed upon Suna today? Or do you want the boys to come along?”

“They can join next time,” Temari sprinted forward and linked her arm with Sukea’s “Today, it’s just me and you. If you can handle that.”

“I think i’ll manage, somehow.” Sukea chuckled.

“Try not to cause too much Havok, will you,” Baki interjected, smirking when Sukea glanced back over at him. “I wouldn’t want to have to explain to Rasa-sama how a photographer got his precious princess into trouble.”

“Like you’d even bother to lie to him that much,” Sukea huffed “you’d tell him right off the bat it was his favorite Anbu operative and he’d send me on an endless string of missions for three months as punishment.”

Running his thumb over Sukea’s cheek, Baki leaned in and pressed a quick kiss against his lips. A small taste of what he would get later when they were back at the Kazekage’s residence and he had washed away all of the makeup and tossed the wig and clothes off to the side.

“Just remember,” Baki whispered against his lips. “If you end up getting into trouble and get punished with back to back missions, it means no cuddles.”

Baki always knew how to make him behave himself, even when he could see the mischievous glint in Temari’s eyes that told him he would be spending the next three hours trying to stop her from causing havoc.

No amount of enjoyment at the cost of other people’s sanity was worth missing out on months worth of cuddles. It simply was not a price that he was willing to pay.

#Hatake Kakashi #Baki #Temari #Gaara #Kankuro #Sukea #Hatake Kakashi/Baki #KakaBaki #A bit long #but i think it's cute lol #25 days of kisses

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imjeralee · 4 years

Text

Wallflower: Chapter 4 - Open Me

Raihan x F!Reader

Disclaimer: Do not own Pokemon

Note: This is my first Pokemon fanfic. I hope you enjoy it :) Originally posted on Archive of Our Own.

Summary: You’re an unassuming Pokemon breeder who works at the nursery in the Wild Area and he’s Raihan, the fearsome gym leader of Hammerlocke who has more than a million followers.

You don’t want anything to do with him but he’s…persistent.

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Warnings: Lemon, smut, violence, language

OPEN ME

...

"Some time ago, this woman did this, uh.... this art performance. It was extreme art, using herself. Basically, she stood with this sign saying that she was letting the public do whatever they wanted to do with her - and she was gonna stand for seven hours and do nothing. She laid out some stuff in front of her - amongst random objects, I think there was a pen, a flower, a gun, a knife...So anyway, she stood and at first, people just stared and watched her. Someone went up to her and gave her a hug. Gave her a handshake. Someone gave her the flower to hold. Someone kissed her on the lips. The public chuckled and laughed, watching this woman stand there like a living dummy. They used the pen and drew on her or something. It began to escalate: someone started taking off her clothes. She stood semi-naked until someone covered her up. Someone slapped her. Someone punched her. I think she started crying but they didn't stop. Someone grabbed the knife and cut the side of her neck. Someone took the gun and put it in her hand, pointed it to her own head. When the time was up and the woman started moving again, the people who hurt her ran away immediately, afraid of the repercussions. When I read that article, I knew: human beings are absolutely disgusting to the core."

She lifts up a knife next. A terrified Deerling trembles in the corner of the room whilst Banette grins.

"That being said, I guess I'm no exception. I'm sorry it had to come to this."

....

Detective Looker is hard at work.

He's got a few things going on - not only has he taken over Raihan's social media account for the time being (it took a lot of persuasion but Raihan finally agreed, vexingly... if he might say so himself) and now he has taken it upon himself to personally investigate the hotel, in particular, room 241. It's Raihan's designated room should he ever visit Circhester, Spikemuth or Wyndon, and Looker's interrogated the majority of staff and checked out all CCTV. No-one reported witnessing any unauthorised persons going in and out of the room and the CCTV does not accurately show the hallway, indicating several blindspots. They also tell him a keycard went missing which was not replaced or brought to management's attention. Looker is not surprised. Of course, there's a hiccup...whilst the hotel staff apologise profusely for their blunders, Looker dismisses them. It sounds like they'll improve their security from now on.

Looker heads to the room, opening the door. Everything is evidence and should be treated with utmost care...he unleashes his Growlithe to sniff out anything. He wouldn't be surprised if Raihan and the girl were snorting up berry dust or anything. Who knows what kids these day were up to...who knows.

Upon checking the room, he stands where the camera in the DVD was facing and finds two light switches in the wall that faces the bed directly. Attempting to remove them, he gets Magnemite to ease it off using it's Magnetic Pull ability and it manages to take the cover off, revealing a square slot where any sort of camera could be placed there, perfect for recording. He takes a few snaps of it using his Rotom phone and inspects the area where the dust doesn't settle. The camera was placed here for some time (a long time, perhaps) but it's long gone now.

Someone had set up a camera way before the one night stand and removed it during the night when both were sleeping. Pretty ballsy, if Looker admits; the perp had gone into the room when Raihan and the girl were in it. But from the testimony, the young couple were drunk as fish so it's not surprising they were out cold for the rest of the night and didn’t notice. The next question is - if no-one saw anyone go in or go out, how did the culprit escape? Looker turns to the window, finds that it's easily opened and proceeds to look outside. Anyone could just use pokemon to fly out here. Also, how did the culprit know where the girl worked to be able to deliver the DVD directly to her workplace?

She probably works for Macro Cosmos. It's the perfect setup - she's Raihan's biggest fan and being an employee of Macro Cosmos, she could have access to what hotel he stays in. Macro Cosmos also has their paws stuck in the Pokemon Nurseries; they pretty much run everything in Galar. They may as well be the government, Looker thinks to himself.

He grabs a pokeball and presses the button. "Go, Dustox." And the large moth pokemon abruptly appears and Looker issues his command: "Dust it."

Dustox flutters around, sprinkling some dust over the window pane where it reveals two handprints.

"Good job, boy." Looker says as Dustox lands atop his head and he pulls out some equipment to take prints. They look small - most likely a female's. Next, Rotom buzzes, indicating a new message. "Talk." Looker mutters, as Rotom flies out.

"Zzrt, I've got the report; I've also got the address of the fan who told Raihan to go to Spikemuth!"

"Thanks, Rotom. This is coming along nicely." He mutters to himself. Grabbing Rotom, he checks the rest of the statistics report; looks like the person has also commented on every single photo and video Raihan has uploaded since...ever. It's simple. Real simple. Just a case of blackmail and obsession after all.

...

Looker arrives in Spikemuth and looks up from his Rotom phone. He's standing in front of an apartment block that looks very rundown. Of course, everything in Spikemuth is grizzled and decrepit, but somehow this sad building really takes the cake. Rotom's provided address mentions the third floor so he quietly makes his way up and stops at the front door. This is it.

Letting go of Rotom, he makes a circle with his finger. "Scan it."

"You got it, champ." Rotom says, before he zooms into the air and a dim blue light glows. "There'zzz only one person inzzide. A man."

"Thanks, I'm going in." Looker knocks on the door and waits.

A few seconds later, the door opens and a middle-aged, bald man in a tracksuit opens it. "Whaddya want?" He slurs, clearly drunk.

Looker holds up his badge. "I'm with the police; I'm looking for - "

He doesn't even get to finish his sentence because the man yells over his shoulder, "What are you in trouble for this time?! Now the po-po's here!"

There is no response.

The man sighs, opens the door and grunts at Looker, "C'mon in."

With an eyebrow raised, Looker steps inside. The flat is in a disgusting state and there's a terrible odor. Feces, perhaps. Looker follows the man down the small hallway of the cramped apartment, stepping over heaps of trash and boxes and upturned furniture on the floor and they stop at a random door. The man proceeds to slam his huge fist over it and it rattles in the doorframe

"Hey, are you in there?!" He yells, before he tries again, but there is still no response.

Looker holds out his arm. "Stand back." With a hefty kick, the door opens violently and swings on the hinges.

Inside, it's a fairly normal room, save for the numerous posters of Raihan pasted to the walls and a bunch of magazines on the floor with Raihan's picture on it, along with the mangled carcass of a dead Deerling. The man gags and runs back towards the direction of the living room whilst Looker steps in.

"Rotom?"

"Yezzzir?"

"Let's get a team here."

"Okay-doo."

...

The Wild Area...

"I've got two wonderful arms, I've got two wonderful lips, I'm over twenty one and I'm free…Oh, I've got a hive full o' honey, for the right kind of honeybee…"

In the Rolling Fields, a young man sits in the middle of a patch of tall grass with a jar of honey in hand and a small plastic knife in his other which he's using to spread over his face.

A group of trainers pass him whilst chatting animatedly and giggling, all female - looks like they're heading to Motostoke - and they stop as soon as they spot him, eyes wide. Realising he's being watched, he grins and waves at them. "Ladies! You wanna see my Lickilicky? He's big and pink - "

"Ewww! Weirdo!" They scream loudly before quickly scampering away.

He looks upset. "What's wrong with Lickilicky?" Rummaging a hand through his pockets, he takes out a pokeball and presses the button, releasing a large pink pokemon and he continues spreading honey over his chin. "Wait," He pauses abruptly, frowning. "How does this work again? Was I meant to put honey on myself, or on a pokemon? What do you think, Licky?"

His pokemon turns to him and sticks it's massive pink tongue out in response.

"Eh, fair enough. Okay, here goes nothing. Let's give it a shot." Once he's finished giving himself a honey moustache, he moves to stand up and holds his arms out, dropping the knife to the ground - but then his phone rings and he fishes Rotom out from his pocket. "Yello."

"Um, it's me."

"What's up?"

“I...I think I have a date. Can you help me?”

“Hell yeah, I will!” He shouts down the phone before he hangs up, then - "Frick, why'd I do that? Damn, where we gonna meet?"

He immediately calls her back.

"Yeah?" She sounds exhausted.

"Where we gonna meet and when?"

"Can we meet right now? The date is tomorrow. Are you in Galar? Sorry for the short notice..."

"Nah, s'alright, I wasn't doing anything important anyway," He replies, "And yeah, I'm in the Wild Area. Meet you outside your workplace?"

"Sure."

After he hangs up a second time, there is a loud rustling noise emitting from the right. He gasps and whips his glance over over. "What was that?"

There's another loud rustle to the left which makes him leap frantically in the air.

"Huh? What? Who?"

Another rustle.

"Who goes there?"

Glancing left and right, he can't tell where the noise is coming from but then the grass parts and a dark shadow leaps out. His eyes widen.

…..

You're waiting outside the nursery as agreed, checking your phone for any messages when you see a figure sprinting towards you from the horizon. It's some dude dressed up as a Galarian Ponyta. Oh, wait. You know this dude.

"Help! Help me! Demon cat! Demon cats are chasing me!!" He yells, waving his arms around.

It's Glenn. Finally, he's here. Took him long enough. He's rushing towards the nursery with his Lickilicky waddling after him and there's something chasing him; you notice it's a couple of Purrloin that have all set their eyes on him.

Throwing a glance over his shoulder, he hisses, "Back, I say! All of you, stay back! Oh? You want a battle, do you? Fine!!" He grabs a pokeball from his belt and tosses it without looking and throws his arms in the air, "Go Kricketune! Delelele whooooop!"

You continue to watch as a large, reddish insect pokemon appears in a burst out of light and it stands its ground in front of the rampaging Purrloin - however, it's quickly pushed to the ground and trampled over.

"No!" Glenn yelps, before he spies you and proceeds to hurriedly make his way towards you, hiding behind your back, "Oh good, you're here. Do something!"

"Okay, I got this." You mutter; the Purrloin stop before you, peering up at you inquisitively whilst Glenn quivers in fear. You quickly fish out some spare berries from your bag which you keep handy for these sorts of situations and squat down to hand the fruit to them. They surround you at once and you distribute the food in an orderly fashion. "One for you...one for you.... aaaaaaaand...one for you." You mutter as they line up, single file. Once each pokemon has a berry, they purr and meow appreciatively at you before turning to leave quietly.

From behind your shoulder, you hear: "Are they gone? Are the demon cats gone?"

"Yeah."

"Phew!" Glenn pokes his head out and sighs. "Thanks for taking care of that, sis. These Purrloin walk on their hind legs! That's not normal!" He exclaims as he returns his Kricketune and Lickilicky into their pokeballs.

"It's a Galar thing." You reply, before you squint your eyes at him, "Are you high?"

"Me? High? No, of course not. I've been clean for years, sis. Years."

"Right, okay. Come on then, let's go. It's getting late."

"Sure, sure. I'm so happy you called me." He gushes, as you both begin your trek down the beaten path of the Wild Area that will lead you to Hammerlocke where you will get the train; Glenn quickly falls into the same pace as you, folding his arms behind his head - which he does all the time but suddenly it reminds you of Raihan.

Glenn is your foster brother and a self-proclaimed Pokemaniac, choosing to dress up as random pokemon depending on his mood. A week ago he was a Bidoof, a few days ago he was a Weedle. Today, he is a Galarian Ponyta, a pokemon he's been on the lookout for a long time since he read about them. He still stays in Johto somewhere in Mahogany Town, but he likes to visit you a lot on sporadic occasions and luckily for you when you called him - he was in the Wild Area. You've asked Glenn to help you choose an outfit for your date. He was responsible for picking out the black dress from Goldenrod department store - the one you wore to the club - so overall, he's good with fashion and naturally you called him first because you trust his opinions.

He was also a berry addict. Specifically, the lum. Yes, that one. Out of all the berries he could get addicted to, it had to be that one. He got addicted to lum berries at a young age and spent much of his youth going to shady places, throwing most of his cash to dealers just to snort some lum dust. He’s been clean for years, or he says, but sometimes you’re not sure. There's no telltale sign right now - no red, watery eyes and there's no distinct smell of the lum either. You guess you have to take his word for it.

"Wait, before I forget - " Glenn removes his Ponyta hood, leaving himself in his white sweater and slacks with the pink-blue edges, and he proceeds to take out two pokeballs, handing them to you, "I brought your pokemon."

You grin widely as you take the pokeballs off him. "Thanks!!" You'll let your pokemon out later, and stuff their capsules into the pocket of your bag.

"I guess the only pokemon you're missing from your team would be a Goodra, Dragonite, Kommo-o and a Hydreigon, right?"

"And a Dragapult." You remind him.

"Why do you want one so badly? Is it because they look like they're so done with life and shit?"

"Uh, no, but - hey, what happened to that Dreepy trader?"

"He said he wanted your Metagross in exchange."

You make a face. "NO."

And he snickers, crosses his arms over his chest. "Yep, I called the trade off.”

"Thanks. So, what pokemon were you looking for this time?"

"A Vespiqueen, but no luck." He says with a sigh.

"You should've dressed up as a Combee."

"I wanted to but I couldn't make the costume in time." He sighs again, "Anyway, this isn't about me. This is about you. How's it goin'? How's Galar? You got a date, right?"

You immediately throw your glance to the ground and kick a stone away from your path, cheeks going pink. "...Yeah."

"Who's the lucky dude?"

"Um...it's Raihan."

Glenn's eyes bulges for a split second but then his expression returns to normal. "Oh. Figures. He loves dragon Pokemon and you use some dragon pokemon, so you got something in common." He scratches his chin next, "Raihan, huh. He's a bit of a celebrity around here; didn't know you would like his type."

You blush furiously in response. "I don't know if I should go."

"Huh? But you called me for help, didn't you?"

"Well, yeah."

"Then you should go. Give it a shot. Ahhh, my little sis is going on a date with the hot-blooded dragon tamer. That's adorable." Glenn reaches over and pulls at your cheek affectionately.

You smile awkwardly in response. There's more to it, of course, but you're reluctant to tell Glenn the entire truth. Once you're at Hammerlocke, you take the train to Wyndon - even though you're heading there tomorrow - and upon arrival, you and Glenn head to the boutique. Raihan's asked you out on short notice and you're sure there's nothing in your current wardrobe, so the Wyndon boutique will have to do. Compared to the boutiques in the region, the Wyndon store offers some of the best selection of clothing. Stepping inside, you're greeted with hundreds of clothing racks and your eyes are assaulted with dozens of colourful garb, shoes and handbags.

As you grimace under your breath, Glenn rolls his sleeves up and grins widely. "Right, let's get you sorted!"

...

Wyndon, next day.

Needless to say, you didn't get a very good night's sleep and when you had heard a Corviknight crowing, indicating it was morning, you groaned and sat up in bed, glancing over to the folded clothes on the stool which you had bought yesterday with Glenn's help. It was rather exciting at first and shopping with Glenn is very much fun and games, but now...not so much. The initial excitement is gone now, replaced with an underlying sense of dread. You're afraid. Why are you doing this? What will you say to Raihan when you see him? What will you talk about during your time together? What if it gets awkward? What if he thinks you're boring as hell and that you have nothing in common? You smacked a hand to your forehead as you slipped out of bed, full of regret and feeling sick to the stomach; it's not like you agreed to go on the date either but he's expecting you to turn up now and you're too afraid to message him saying you don't want to go anymore.

Glenn said he could wait with you at the Wyndon pokemon centre for moral support which you didn't think was necessary; it doesn't make you feel any better.

Yet, you're waiting in the Pokemon Centre; Glenn stands at the rounded table, going through photos on his phone whilst you peep outside the double glazed window. Here you are, dressed and dolled up. It took you almost three hours to get ready. You look the same as you did at the nightclub but the makeup's a bit toned down, especially with your eyeliner. There's still ten minutes to go until the date officially starts but your indication of Raihan's arrival is a cacophony of manic female screaming and cheering. People are pointing to a specific direction so you follow where their fingers are pointing to and you see that Raihan has appeared, having just arrived at the large fountain in the town square; he smiles and waves at a few shrieking fans - he's donned in a casual black t-shirt and denims (and looking very much like the way he did at that talkshow) - before he abruptly steps towards the fountain and plops himself down on an empty, dry space, bringing out his Rotom phone. High above and the sky is turning grey, indicating that it will be raining soon.

Your eyes grow wide as your Rotom phone buzzes and he flies out; you have received a photo from Raihan - he just snapped a photo of himself at the fountain and has sent it to you. The caption below says:

Doofus: I'm here :)

You don't know how to reply, your feet suddenly anchored to the spot. "...He's actually here." You croak out. "He's here, Glenn."

Glenn doesn't look up from his phone. “You thought he wasn't serious? That he was playing a cruel joke on you? This isn't prom night or high school or whatever.”

“Y-yeah...”

"Well, now that he’s here and obviously very serious, what are you waiting for? Go to him."

You shake your head furiously, taking a few steps back from the window. "Um...not yet."

"Huh?" He looks up, confused. "You're gonna make him wait?"

"...It's not that. I...I don't think I can do this."

"What do you mean?"

"This is a bad idea."

"No, it's not."

"Yes, it is."

"You can't keep letting whatever you're scared of stop you from doing things, sis." Glenn says, but you don't leave the safety of the pokemon centre.

As the minutes tick by, you see Raihan occasionally checking his phone, talking to some fans who would go up to him for selfies and autographs. Once that's done, he would look up and around and check his phone again for updates from your end (but obviously there's none because you didn't reply to his message). You hear a loud booming clap of thunder overhead and it occurs to you that the weather's getting worse and soon, the window becomes streaked with droplets.

"Look, it’s raining now." Glenn adds, "And it's pretty bad. Go and get him. Go get your man."

You stare at Raihan, who is still rooted in his seat on the fountain. He hasn't moved at all. Glancing at your phone, you realise you've left Raihan waiting for almost ten minutes. And as Glenn pointed out, it's beginning to rain heavily.

"Shit. You're right. Goddamnit, he's gonna get sick." You utter under your breath, "Glenn, I'm going."

"Whoohoo! Good luck! And most importantly, have fun!”

You pull your umbrella from your bag and open it as you rush out of the pokemon centre, running over to the fountain. Raihan doesn't notice you coming and since he hasn't moved from his spot at all, he's very drenched; once you arrive, you hold the umbrella over his head and he promptly looks up.

"Sorry, I'm late!" You exclaim, "Well, no, I wasn't late, I was - uh, never mind, I-I have kept you waiting and for that I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

He stares at you from head to toe; you're wearing a long-sleeved shirt dress with a belt and black shorts underneath, along with matching black chelsea boots. After he's had a good look at you, he immediately stands up and envelopes you into a tight hug. The umbrella jiggles in your hand and almost threatens to fall but you manage to hold onto it. Despite being completely wet, his body is warm.

"It's okay, I didn't wait for long." He says, as he nuzzles you affectionately. He sounds happy.

What a doofus, he clearly did wait for a long time.

"You came." He adds.

"O-of course I'd come." You utter, and you exhale quietly under your breath as he bundles you up in his arms and gives you a tight squeeze. "...Sorry." You mumble again, throwing your gaze to the side as your chin rests on his broad shoulder. You can't help but apologise again and again.

His arms lower from your waist, large hands resting on the sides of your legs and the contact makes you blush heavily, your fingers clinching the damp fabric of his t-shirt. “Your outfit is too short.” He murmurs as he strokes the sides of your bare thighs before he slips his fingers underneath the material of your shorts - he’s almost at your ass - and he succeeds in sending a few shivers down your spine.

”You don’t like it?”

“No,” He mutters, “But it’s dangerous to wear something like that in front of me.”

Honestly, it’s quite a tacky thing to say but somehow he can get away with it because your face ends up a thousand shades of red before you defiantly turn your head to the side. “S-shut up.” You mumble as he leans over to press his lips over your cheek and you close your eye as he begins to trail little kisses over the side of your face. What were you expecting? Heck, you are deliberately wearing a sexy outfit for this date.

He moves towards your mouth and presses a deep kiss on your lips which kind of takes you off guard but before you can react, he pulls away and says, "What do you want to do first?"

"You're soaked." You squeak out, "I'm sorry."

He plants his hand atop your head, ruffling your head as he grins at you in response.

"Okay, I'm here and you're here. Your obsessed fan could also be here and watching us this very moment. What the hell are we doing, being in the wide open like this? This is bad. We should not be doing this." Glancing around, you see some of the Wyndon locals running for shelter from the rain, disappearing into their homes or nearby restaurants which now look pretty full. You're not too sure if it's a good idea if you should go with Raihan to such a busy place. You ponder to yourself briefly and it hits you. "Never mind; I have an idea."

....

Glimwood Tangle.

"Ahhhh. This is so much better." You sigh, wiping your brow with relief, "It's nice, dark and quiet here. No-one will see us."

The Glimwood Tangle is the perfect place - maybe not so much for a date, but if Raihan insists in spending some time with you, this is a good option. It's not raining here either, thank goodness. Of course, you're just a few paths away from Ballonlea as well, so you guess you could invite Raihan for tea or something nearer the end (and not for sex, nooo... and you hope he would respect that too). You took the Corviknight taxi - which was a bad idea because it was really cramped inside and you were both basically rubbing shoulders - which he didn't object to or anything, in fact he pretty much wanted you to sit in his lap but luckily for you and unlucky for him, there was just enough space.

You found the entire taxi ride darn near claustrophobic and he had his hand planted over your bare leg the entire time so you're relieved to have finally arrived at the woods - even when you exited the taxi, he let you go out first and the damn cramped cubicle meant when you both stood up and turned, your ass basically grinded invitingly against his hips. If it couldn't have been anymore damn obvious, there's tension between you and Raihan and you're not sure what will emerge from this.

In the woods, you look around whilst Raihan tries to get a signal on his phone. There's not many people around at all and as you mentioned, it's dark and quiet. You prefer this more than any other town or city. You take one step forwards and -

SQUELCH.

Throwing your glance down, you see your foot is stuck in thick mud, fast. "Motherfu - “

Raihan’s watching you.

”-Fuh...Furret. These are brand new."

He chuckles as you try to pull and tug your leg free but to no avail. Raihan steps over, invulnerable to the mud (but of course he is) and reaches for you, scooping you up with one hand under the back of your knees and the other around your shoulder and with unimaginable strength, he hoists you out - but now you're stuck in his hold, being carried bridal style which embarrasses you greatly.

"What are you doing?"

"Saving my princess." He replies cheerfully as he carries you through the woods. You blush the entire way; when you're away from the muddy terrain and back onto the path, you both find a large glowing mushroom and decide to sit down and Raihan looks around inquisitively. You get the feeling that he doesn't come here often, and you wonder if he has even come here before at all. He doesn't look used to his surroundings.

"Are you okay?" You ask, as Raihan looks up at the non-existent sky. "Is it too quiet here? Too dark? Some people find the Glimwood Tangle unnerving."

"It’s not so bad here.”

"Yeah, but people are rumoured to disappear or get lost for days. Weeks, even. So, not many people like passing here and as you can see, it's really dark. Like it's almost noon but it looks like it's night-time right now. It can really mess with your biological clock," You muse out loud, "N-not that I chose to stay near here because of those reasons, of course. “

You go silent; it occurs to you that he was observing you as you babbled and now you’re scared to death that you’d put him off with your ramblings. Did it make any sense? Or was it all garbage? Why did you say those things in the first place anyway? You couldn’t help it - it was like verbal diarrhoea. Have you made things awkward now?

As you worry, he asks, “Do you live in Ballonlea or Stow-on-Side?"

"Ballonlea. You can see my cottage over there." You point to the left where between some giant, neon mushrooms, you can see the roof of your cottage in-between the stems.

"Nice." He comments with a grin, before he takes off his orange sweatband which is damp with rain and as he wrings it dry, you get a rare view of Raihan without his headband, revealing the sides of his shaved head and his dreadlocks. You can feel your cheeks heating up as you look at his rugged side profile and angled jaw, the amount of manly appeal he oozes is enough to reduce you to a blushing mess. He's still fairly damp, his black t-shirt clinging to his muscles and you can see the lean outline of his biceps. Looks like he works out a lot...hot damn, you should've paid more attention to the training videos he posts up online. There's a reason they're insanely popular with fans.

You try to focus on the topic at hand here, clearing your throat, "My pokemon like it a lot here, except Espie. She prefers Johto."

"What other pokemon do you have?"

"I have a Drifloon; he's been with me for a long time. And I have a Poliwag. He refuses to evolve though, so we tied an Everstone around his tail. He lives in my bathroom."

Raihan chuckles again. Surprisingly....the conversation's been pretty fluid and he's extremely easy-going. “I got something for you.”

”Huh?”

Delving into his pocket, he takes out a pokeball with a ribbon tied neatly around the middle. Fancy. “This is for you.”

You don’t move. Your gut feels like it’s twisted into a tight knot.

”Go on, it’s yours.”

You nervously accept the pokeball from him and he gestures for you to open it, releasing whatever is inside. You press the button and a red light flashes briefly before the Pokemon appears. Your eyes widen at once. It’s a round purplish-pink blob that blinks it’s little eyes at you before opening its mouth wide. It makes a gurgling noise and your jaw drops.

”A Goomy!!?!” You exclaim, and you can’t help the smile that blossoms on your face; Raihan watches, grinning at your reaction. “But...why? You didn’t have to.”

“He needs a home and I know you’ll take good care of him.”

As the Goomy looks between you and Raihan, you hold your arms out. It slowly slithers over to you and you lift it up and into your arms. Uh, okay.... now your clothes are feeling a little damp. There’s a slime trail over your front and as Goomy gurgles happily, you smile cheerfully at it and rub at one of it’s little horns.

”Oh, so cute...” You can’t wait to raise him into a Goodra that will destroy anything and everything. Oh yeah. Turning to Raihan, you grin, “Thanks. I’ll look after him.”

He grins at you in response as you return your new Goomy into the pokeball. Shit, you didn’t get anything for Raihan. But his gift was totally unexpected! You weren’t expecting any presents!!! What are you going to do?

“What's it like being a Pokemon Breeder?" He asks, snapping you out of your thoughts.

"O-oh, well, I like it very much, I get to see lots of pokemon everyday. I look after a lot of pokemon everyday." You babble again, "I look after the babies, I look after the eggs, and I deliver eggs. For EV training, I only accept up to five pokemon; I take them to places with specific pokemon to battle for stat gain."

He rubs his chin in thought, "Where did you learn how to EV train?"

It's then you throw your glance to the ground and bring your knees to your chest. "....When I was a kid, I brought Beldum to Show and Tell. My classmates laughed at him and said mean things so I wanted to train him up to become stronger. I took him to the mountains and we battled a lot of Trapinch. Along the way, I noticed his attack stats kept increasing as I levelled him up." You mumble, "I never forgot that moment, not once."

"I know." He says nonchalantly, "You told me."

You whip your head to him in confusion as he smiles coolly at you. "When did I ever tell you that?"

"Didn't you watch the rest of the video?"

Your cheeks go red. "Uh........No." You utter, after a pregnant pause, "...No, I...I didn’t."

His expression gradually dissolves into one of disappointment and his face crumbles slightly. Oh shit, now that you think about it... you didn't finish watching it. You scratch your elbow, pondering.

"What's it like being a gym leader?" You ask timidly, and also wanting to change the subject, "And why did you decide to become one?"

"Hah, good question." He replies, "I like battling and training pokemon. Being a gym leader means I constantly get challenged by people from all across the region; there's always something new to look forward to everyday and my pokemon can get stronger. One day, when we're strong enough, we'll beat Leon."

You admire his positivity, you really do. And his energy. You give him a small smile as he grins at you again and a comfortable silence settles between the two of you; inwardly, you’re quite happy that the date seems to be going in a good direction. You muse silently whilst Raihan takes out his phone and attempts to take a selfie of himself with a green mushroom behind him. It's too dark for him to show up properly, however. You're about to say something when you hear a rustle in the grass below you and you turn your head to the source of the noise.

“Did you hear that??" You whisper, leaning over to see who or what is making the ruckus; when a pokemon emerges, your eyes widen and you unconsciously grab his arm. "Raihan, look, it's a Ponyta!"

"Hm?" He peers over the edge of the mushroom beside you.

As you point excitedly to the grass below, the small horse pokemon trots out from the undergrowth and glances around cautiously before it begins to feast on the grass. "Damn, all my pokemon are too strong. They'll just kill it - I mean, make it, er, faint - in one move."

"I'll catch it for you." Raihan says; he stuffs his headband into his pocket, hops off his seat and drops to the ground carefully and quietly before reaching for you with arms outstretched.

You swallow down slightly and gingerly slide off the mushroom, holding onto his shoulders for support; he slips his arms around your waist securely and effortlessly hoists you down and when your feet touch the ground, he's still holding you tightly and your noses are almost touching. You mutter your thanks as he lets go of you slowly before reaching for an ultra ball that's nestled behind his back. Approaching the Ponyta, he tosses the ultra ball and a large pokemon emerges - it's his Sandaconda. The Ponyta, startled, decides to face it head on. You look at it's multicoloured mane that is a beautiful shade of mixed pastel blue and pink. So adorable!!!

"Go, Sandaconda! Use headbutt!" He instructs, and the sand snake pokemon proceeds to ram itself at the pokemon. It didn't get a chance to retaliate at all! The Ponyta drops to the ground, not exactly knocked out but reeling from the impact. Weakened, Raihan grins and then grabs a spare pokeball from his pocket and throws it at the downed pokemon. You're surprised he's helping you catch it, and when the ball clicks shut successfully after wiggling around for three times, you watch numbly as Raihan collects it, returning his pokemon at the same time. With the pokeball in hands, he heads back to your direction and hands you the capsule. "There you go. She's all yours."

He’s surprising you a lot today. And he’s gotten you another Pokemon.

"Thanks, Raihan."

“Whatever Pokemon you want, I’ll get it for you.”

”You don’t have to.”

”I want to.”

Your cheeks flame up immediately.

”What’s next on your list?”

You think about Dragapult and an image of the ghost slash dragon type appears in your mind. Oh, Glenn is right. Dragapult really does look like he is done with life and shit. Now you really want one. “Dreepy....” You mutter, in a slight zombie trance.

”Okay, I’ll get you one.”

��Wha - ?! Raihan, I didn’t mean it, I was just - seriously, don’t. It’s okay.”

As you splutter, clearly flustered by his generosity, he chuckles. You give him a timid smile, throwing your glance to the pokeball in your hands, then back up at him. He hasn't looked away from you at all. It grows silent for a while between the two of you where you're both staring at each other - to your surprise, you’re able to maintain the eye contact without wanting to look or turn away.

Maybe it’s because you’re anticipating him to kiss you and as predicted, Raihan slowly begins to lean in. You freeze on the spot then, watching as his face comes closer and closer and your heart beats harder. It’s that giddy Butterfrees-in-the-stomach feeling again but this time, it’s strangely pleasant. His gaze lands on your lips and when he finally nears you; he pauses and flicks his glance up at you as though he’s waiting for something. Your permission, perhaps? When you don’t move, he closes the gap and gently pecks you on the lips, reaching for your hand and squeezing it. You force yourself not to move and discover you’re able to stand still. The corner of your lip tugs upwards against his mouth which causes him to grin in response as he smooches you again quickly.

When you both pull away, you mutter, "...Shall we head to Ballonlea?"

"Sure."

You place the pokeball with the newly captured Ponyta into your bag beside Goomy’s and once that's done, Raihan begins to guide you out of the woods. Hand in hand, you both walk towards the direction of Ballonlea where he would occasionally nudge you playfully using his shoulder and you would nudge him back. The only source of light comes from the glowing mushrooms but it's really relaxing to be here. You see some other pokemon in your path, including some Shiinotic and Morelull who all hide away from you, disappearing into the darkness. Up ahead and you see some gym challenger being pranked on by Impidimps. Soon, the town comes into view and you lead the way to your house where you see a cardboard box on your doorstep.

Huh, that wasn't there before...and it couldn't be mail, either.

Stopping directly in front of it, you and Raihan stare at the box and then look at each other. It says 'Open Me' and there's an awful stench emitting from inside. That wipes the smile clean off your face; Raihan steers you behind him and you quickly grab his arm. "Wait! No, don't open it. Call Looker."

He eyes the box cautiously, "...Yeah. You're right." Just as Raihan pulls out his phone, his screen flashes, indicating a call from the detective you had just mentioned. "You called at a great time."

"What happened?" You can hear Looker's gravelly voice from the receiver.

"I'm with her. There's a weird box outside her doorstep."

"Okay, I'm heading over. Don't open it."

"What do you think is inside?"

"...A dead pokemon, or parts of one, probably."

There's a brief silence before Raihan hangs up.

"A dead pokemon?!" You exclaim in shock; Raihan returns his phone and turns to you, then encircles his arms around your waist wordlessly and holds you tight against him; he's strong, you can't wriggle free from his embrace. "Raihan, we shouldn't have - this person knows where I live! And now this... this is awful!”

Raihan doesn't say anything except press his lips against your forehead in an effort to calm you down whilst rubbing your arm soothingly.

The wait for Looker is excruciatingly long.

#raihan x reader #Raihan x you #raihan #pokemon #pokemonshield #pokemonsword #pokemonswordandshield #jeralee #fanfic #fic #archiveofmyown #wallflower #kibana

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allfandomxreader · 4 years

Text

After Dust Settles

Pairings: Steve Harrington x Reader

Summary: As a teenager, you never could’ve imagined the life you and Steve would share together.

Warnings: Language, minor blood and anxiety mention, but I think that’s it

Words: 2.1k

A/N: So this could either be a one shot or if you guys like it I could make it into a mini series, let me know if you'd like me to continue it!! Not my gif!

Masterlist

Cold tile was pressed against your cheek. Steve murmured somewhere next to you in and out of conscious from his drugged state. You desperately wanted to reach for him, to hold his hand, to escape. God, you really wanted to escape.

When the Russians returned, they yanked your fallen bodies from the floor, asking once again “Who do you work for?” for the thousandth time. You couldn’t answer, your eyes fixated on the blood smears where Steve laid just moments ago. You’ve survived the Demogorgon and even his army of dogs, but you were going to die in a secret fortress beneath your part time job. It was almost comical.

The doctor, which by now you’ve decided wasn’t an actual doctor, reached for tools on a metal try. The scraping of metal sent chills down your spine, his footsteps that grew louder as he reached for Steve’s hand didn’t help either. The boy pressed against your back squirmed to get away from his grip, it was only then did you scream about the code.

The Mind Flayer roars, his hands swarmed around the open area trying to capture anything that dared to move. Your eyes were trained to the floor, trying your hardest not to stare at the creature that stood only a few yards away. You can’t hear anything, not Steve who tried to snap you out of your daze, not Robin who demanded answers to questions you couldn’t quite answer, even the fireworks sounded like they were miles away.

You needed to breathe. Air. You needed air.

It’s been years since the supernatural had left Hawkins, the small town is now deemed safe. There aren’t any more Russians, no sign of monsters, all the fighting ceased after Starcourt. Dust that the lab and the Upside Down kicked up has since settled.

It had been ages since you’ve woken up gasping, hands trembling, and coated with sweat. Nightmares haven’t been so common lately, you almost forgot they existed. Almost.

On any given morning, you’d reach for Steve. Usually, he’d still be sleeping, his lips always parted, his hair messy and fanning the pillow beneath him. Today however, the spot beside you is abandoned by Steve and stolen by four paws and a wagging tail. You smile at Grover, gently running your hand along his spine as his tail thumps softly against the mattress, eyes pleading to stay in bed just a second longer.

Steve would flip if he saw the sight, complaining for days about shedding and muddy paws. The beagle knows he’s not allowed in bed. Steve drilled that memo in his head the second he sprinted through the door, sniffing all his new surroundings. It only took him a few nights to understand the concept. But you let it slide, just this once.

It took only a moment to regain your bearings and be brought back to reality. The room around you is dark despite sunlight trying to invade the room behind closed curtains. Pictures hang neatly on the walls, a pile of Steve’s clothes in the corner, two stray cups litter the bedside table. You are home. You are safe.

Sighing, you pull yourself out of bed and into the kitchen, Grover’s muffled footsteps trailing behind you. The house is oddly silent, Steve clearly isn’t home, the note on the fridge only confirms it. “Store run, be home soon -S”

There couldn’t possibly be anything either of you needed for the day, grocery shopping has always been a Sunday errand. You haven’t even made the list yet, there’s no telling what that clueless man will bring back.

It’s Saturday, the day reserved for sleeping in and movie marathons with your husband. Saturday isn’t a day for waking up alone, weekdays are. Well, not for you, your job demands early mornings whereas Steve’s alarm goes off an hour after you leave. For years, Steve’s always been there the moment your eyes open. Of course, on the day you needed it most, he’s gone. You’ve always had shit luck though.

Grover eats happily while you brew a pot of coffee and scrub away the grime from last night’s dinner off dishes as it brews, quietly humming to yourself. You can’t help but bask in the comfort of your home.

There’s only two bedrooms, a quaint kitchen, a decently sized living room, and a small dining area. It’s nothing like the grand house Steve lived in before, there’s no way you could afford a three story abode and both of you refused to take money from his parents. But it’s away from Hawkins, just a few states away from bad memories.

The life you know now is nothing you could’ve dreamed of as a teenager. Married to your best friend, each of you pursuing dream jobs, being a home and dog owner, with a white picket fence to top it off. It’s all you could’ve asked for back then, and at the time it seemed so untangable, so unrealistic. It was hard picturing such a happy and bright future when you were surrounded with death and gore.

For the most part, both of you have healed. Your wounds are now faint scars, nightmares are a rare occurrence instead of every night. You don’t jump when the phone rings or panic when there’s a knock at the door. You don’t have to worry about saving the world anymore, only bills and what to cook for dinner, or whose turn it is to lock the door. For some, such a simple life would be excruciatingly boring, but for you and Steve it’s paradise.

“Hey sleepy head,” Steve calls from the front door, keys and plastic bags dangling from his hands. “You weren’t supposed to be up yet, I wanted to surprise you with breakfast.” He explains, kicking the door shut with his foot.

“I was wondering why you went to the store so early.” You smile, shutting the tap off and drying your hands. He sets the bags down on the counter, leaning in to peck your cheek.

“I didn’t want to wake you, you looked so peaceful even if you were snoring louder than Grover.” You bat his shoulder as he scratches the beloved dog behind his ears. “How’d you sleep?” You shrug, looking away only for a moment but Steve knows your mannerisms too well. His face softens as he pulls you into his arms. “Nightmare?”

“Yeah.” His hand combs through your hair as he holds you close, just his touch and the scent of his cologne put your mind at ease.

“I’m sorry, if I had known, I wouldn’t have left.”

“It’s okay, I’m a big girl. I can fight monsters all by myself.” You giggle pulling away and emptying the contents of the groceries.

“When have I ever let you fight on your own?” Steve helps place the food items on the counter, pancake mix, chocolate chips, and syrup are now placed neatly on the laminate. “I rented a few movies for tonight, I got The Princess Bride, The Labyrinth, and Alien 2.”

“We’ve already seen those.” You laugh, grabbing a mixing bowl from the cabinet above.

“And we loved them so we’re watching them again --hey stop that, it’s my turn to cook.” He says gently tugging the bowl out of your hands. You raise your hands in surrender as he begins to follow the instructions printed on the box.

Steve and you have always gone back and forth with household chores. You made it abundantly clear that you’d never be the kind of wife to do all the cooking and cleaning the second you said “I do”. It wasn’t a shock that Steve was okay with this, he was already used to caring for himself since his mother was barely around to do it for him. Hence the chores list hanging on the fridge, each of you having an even number beneath your names.

While Steve cooks, you set plates and silverware on the dining room table before flicking through the mail. You don’t open the ones labeled for Steve or even the bills, that can always be a problem for Monday.

One stands out amongst the rest. To Mr. and Mrs. Harringtonyou smile at the scribbled handwriting, you don’t know if you’ll get used to being Mrs. Harrington. “I think the kids wrote us.” You pad back into the kitchen, waving the crisp envelope in the air. You tear into the paper as Steve cranes his neck, hand still mixing pancake batter.

A single polaroid falls into your hands, each kid dressed in their cap in gown. Their arms are thrown over each other’s shoulders, grinning at the lens, their happiness frozen in time. “Miss you both, can’t wait to see you.” You read aloud, smiling at the faces you miss more than anything. “They’ve gotten so big, I can’t believe they’re graduating.”

“They’re about to be adults like us.” Steve chuckles, scooping batter into the skillet. You don’t look away from the tiny photo, tracing their faces with your fingertips. You can only imagine Mrs. Wheeler ordering them to pose, to stand up straighter, to smile for “just one more!”the same way she did when it was you, Steve, Nancy, and Johnathon graduating.

“They look so happy.” You whisper. Steve looks up then, noticing the falter in your smile. He sets down his spatula, ignoring the pancake that will most likely be burnt by the time he returns.

“Are you?” He asks, weaving his arms around your torso.

“The happiest.” You kiss his cheek, passing the photo into his hands for him to get a good look.

“Do you think that’s why you haven’t been sleeping well?” He nods towards the invitations plastered onto the fridge, “Your nightmares usually come back before we visit. Do you think it’s anxiety?” He asks, walking towards the fridge and placing the picture right in the middle of graduation party invites.

“Maybe,” You shrug, flipping the forgotten pancake, only earning a glare from your husband. “It was burning!”

“I told you it was my turn to cook!” You laugh and hop onto the counter as he takes over once more.

“I get scared sometimes,” You admit, Steve doesn’t turn away from the food but you know he’s listening. “Like, I get it, it’s over and it’s been over. And life has been so,so good, you know? But I feel like I’m always waiting for the other shoe to drop. For us to have to fight again and I’m so tired of fighting.”

“Hey,” Steve whispers making his way towards you, his fingertips absentmindedly stroking your arms, “It’s been over for a long time. And I understand, returning to Hawkins has always been hard, but we’ve done it many times and everything has been okay. We see the kids, we spend too much money at the arcade, we eat dinner with our parents, and then we come home. We come home without bruises, we come home without something new to give us nightmares.”

You sigh, leaning your head against Steve’s chest knowing he’s right. It’s just anxiety, it had to be.

You and Steve eat in a comfortable silence, the only noises are from your forks scraping against plates or him asking if you could pass the syrup. You’re lost in your own thoughts, feeling excitement to return to the kids but dreading the “Welcome to Hawkins” sign once you enter city limits.

“Steve?” You ask, he only hums in response as he shovels another bite into his mouth. “Let’s say it isn’t over. When we go home and for whatever reason the Mind Flayer is back and they asked us to help… Would we do it?” Steve ponders for a moment as he chews, swallowing before he answers.

“Yeah, I’d like to think we would. It’s not really in our nature to sit back as our friends save the world.” He smiles, although there’s a hint of pain evident in the way he curls his lips. “We’d fight how we always do… Together. All of us.”

“Yeah,” You nod, pushing your now empty plate forward. “Can you do me a favor?” He quirks a brow as he stands, grabbing both dishes to clear the table. “When we leave, can you make sure to pack that bat?”

“The bat? You want me to pack the bat?” He laughs.

“Yeah, you know, just in case.” You shrug.

“Anything for you.” He kisses the top of your head before heading into the kitchen to start the dishes, leaving you alone at the table, once again lost in your thoughts.

You hope visiting Hawkins will be like the last one, a vacation spent smiling, laughing, eating Mrs. Wheeler’s home cooked dinner after the kids’ graduation ceremony. You hope the door is closed like everyone told you, you hope El won’t have to use her powers to defeat a greater evil again. You’ve already saved the world twice; you hope you won’t have to do it a third.

Forever Tags: @superfrankie111 // @rueinn // @lemonadeorange73 // @simplechicwithacrazedheart // @youshutthefuckupville // @captainpeggy40

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington imagine #Steve Harrington gif #steve harrington hc #steve harrington one shot #Steve harrington fic #joe keery #joe keery imagine #joe keery fic #joe keery headcanon #stranger things #stranger things imagine #stranger things x reader #stranger things preference

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heli0s-writes · 5 years

Text

VI. Three Conversations

Summary: You have three conversations, respectively, with Peggy, Steve, and Sam. Pairings: Steve Rogers x Reader A/N: Very dialogue-based! Thanks for reading and let me know what you think! Not too much happened here as far as ~*~Steve-time~*~ goes, but sometimes break-ups be like this, y'all.

Slow Like Honey Masterpost

The phone in your hand feels like it weighs a damn ton.

Steve’s message echoes through your apartment, bouncing off the walls of your brain, too. Honey. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.

“Stupid!” You chuck the phone on your bed where it bounces into the dresser before tumbling to the floor with a thud. The insult is both for yourself and Steve, and you huff the entire time as you finish getting ready and head out the door for your first workday. In your head, a single string of words spin uncontrollably: How could he? How could he? How could he?

“You all right there?” Heather’s concerned voice snaps you out of the miserable derailing train of your thoughts—crashing right into a cliffside.

“Hm? Yeah. Totally fine.” You smile at her. The two of you are exiting the gym together and heading to lunch. The morning has been full of professional developments which feel like what hell might be if it was led by your Operations Manager—monotone, unqualified, boring. The packet of strategies in your hand is heavy and you’ll probably shred it with your bare hands once you return to your room. You’re in quite a mood.

In the teacher’s lounge sits a spread of pastries to celebrate the first workday. You know exactly where it’s been ordered from and you pass right through the room. Jessica Sweetwater calls out to you to try out the pie and you grin, promising to come back as soon as you drop off your things.

Heather closes the door when you’ve both returned to the dusty room with the still-stacked chairs and desks. The windows are drawn. She flips on one light switch when you plop down in your swivel chair.

“Got anything for me to do?” She volunteers meekly. She knows something has happened between you and Steve; it’s hard to hide and too easy to put together.

“No, it’s okay. Enjoy your lunch.” What are the five stages of grief again?

“Huh?” Heather asks. You shake your head—must have said it out loud.

“Nothing. Sorry.”

The phone rings, and you absently fiddle around in your pocket for it. Steve’s face lights up on the screen— now cracked from when it pitched into the corner of the dresser. It’s a picture the two of you took together on the couch, with your head against his shoulder, eyes closed and laughing. He’s smiling too— perfect white teeth as he looks into the camera. Full brown beard. Ocean eyes, olive flecked. Damn it.

Your hand shakes, and from across the room, Heather sends you a sympathetic glimpse before she steps out and closes the door.

“Hello.” You say in monotone.

Silence on the other line greets you back.

You ask again, steeling your voice, and finally, a shuddering breath passes. Steve stutters your name a few times before asking, “Did you get my message?”

“Yes.” Your brain is melting. You can hear the sincerity in his voice, and you know he’s sorry. He sounds like he’s been crying because his voice is a bit scratchy and gruff. You probably do too.

“I- I uh… What can I do?”

Abrupt anger burns out the sympathy in you. “Oh, go fuck yourself!” and then it quells as quickly as it had arrived. “Ugh. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that.” You mutter, face heated. “No! I’m not sorry.”

You’re backtracking and unable to find the right feeling to begin with—Hurt? Resentment? Disappointment? Or understanding? Because all of them are here, mixing together in a sickly-sweet potion.

Then, a wretched sob escapes, and you feel so stupid for breaking down over just the sound of his voice.

“Oh baby,” He sighs, “God. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I hurt you like this.”

It pours out of your eyes and nose and mouth like the smashing of an hourglass, releasing a summer’s worth of sand. You press your hand to your forehead and try to hold it back, but it continues relentlessly.

You scold him angrily in-between choked sobs. “You didn’t even call. You did nothing, Steve. Fuck. I understand your priorities. I know you love Sarah and want what’s best for her. I do too, you know!”

“I know—”

You gasp and cut him off, take a breath to calm your voice. “I get it. Okay? I get it. It doesn’t change the fact that I feel so stupid.”

“You’re not.” He whispers, “You’re not. It’s me. It’s all my fault. I know I have no right to ask you...” He pauses. “I-- Yester—Sarah asked if you were coming to the airport.”

A scoff finds its way out when the anger returns. Tears well up again in your eyes. Fuck! Why is he doing this? “Her flight lands at eight Friday night. She really misses you.” He continues. “She... would like to see you. I do too.”

“Is that right? You want to see me after the last two weeks? Fuck you.”

You hang up, slamming the phone face-down on the table while another sob wrenches itself from your throat.

Pulling your shirt over your face, you muffle the howling scream in your palms.

—

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

You show up at the airport fifteen minutes early and park your car underneath the shade of the blue section. Lot 5. A three-minute walk across the way. Your last workday consisted of rearranging your room back to its former glory. Dusting. Hanging posters. Sorting books and changing out colored butcher paper. Laminating so many things. Writing 24 new names on binders. And journals. And folders. And workbooks.

You dragged yourself home at 3:30 and took a swig of wine and a long nap. Your wrists hurt. Your feet hurt. Your heart, most of all, hurts.

Then, you spent the next three hours debating whether or not this was going to be either fine, or goddamnstupidwhatthefuck. So far, it has been fine.

Now, as you cross the street and see Steve standing with his fists shoved in his pockets, the switch reverses and fine becomes goddamnitstupidwhatthefuck. How does his beard stay so fucking --- ugh! His hair has grown, too, the ends of it flipping out when it touches it neck.

You take in a shaky breath with every step your feet cross the road’s white block lines. Your hands come up to smooth your white and orange flower print blouse, but you put them back down. There’s no one to impress here, you chide yourself.

Steve’s smile is wary and sad, and he dips his head low to regard you. His greeting gets lost in the honking and bathumpthump of cars running over speed bumps. “She’ll be out soon. Want to go in?”

You step behind him, holding onto the strap of your purse like it is the only thing to keep you on earth. Through the sliding doors and into the bag check line, the two of you stand awkwardly, waiting until the next teller is available. You let your thoughts loose amongst the strangers with roller bags and pressed suits, or mothers wearing sweatpants, teenagers returning from summer vacations, finding anything else to care about but him.

“Sorry sir, there’s no unaccompanied minor by that name on the flight.”

Steve shakes his head, “That can’t be right— look, it’s my daughter and we need passes to get her at the gate.”

“Sir, the passenger with that name isn’t traveling alone. You’ll have to wait by luggage pick-up for them.”

Steve frowns and steps away as you follow him. He shakes his head, “I didn’t know Peggy would be coming back with Sarah.” He tells you in a hushed voice, “If you.. if you want to leave… I understand.”

Part of you wants to disintegrate from this airport, not just leave. Leave is a term that sounds serene, normal, decidedly rational— a term for people who have the grace to choose to depart. Your departure would be instant, like being struck by lightning and cremated on the spot.

But it’s already too late. You are already here, with him. And it is 8:38, the plane has already landed. So, you smile defeatedly and shake your head. “I’m fine.” The former Misses Peggy Rogers will shatter you with her perfect white teeth and prim posture while Mister Rogers stands watch and you’ll kiss Sarah on the cheek before you go home to pick up what’s left of your pieces.

Steve doesn’t push it. He only leads you to baggage claim 6 and stares at the flight of stairs that disappear up to the second floor. The first wave of arrivals streams down with scattered footsteps. Two families and a few young men with backpacks come to stand by the dusty conveyor belt. A few more passengers follow them before the crowd picks up with a steady current of arrivals.

Clicking heels and a high-pitched voice alerts you of the one arrival you are here for.

And then you see them, walking down the escalator because Peggy Carter doesn’t stand still for anything. Even on an already moving platform she is face-forward and in motion by her own accord. Sarah follows her with the same determination, holding her hand and slipping through standing people easily.

“That baby cried a lot, mumma. I couldn’t fall asleep.”

“Shh, Sarah. It’s rude to say those things. Babies cry, it’s natural, my love.”

“Did I cry a lot?”

“Yes, darling, you did.”

Steve sucks in a sharp breath upon seeing them, and you exhale just a little bit for him. You could cry too, like that baby, because the wave of emotions crashing over you is exploding saltwater into every single wound that has been punctured into you this summer. Seeing them, the three of them now, all together, is the final nail in the coffin. The final puncture, and the final seal— hard, metal, definitive.

You are the lonely remainder in this familial equation.

Sarah catches sight of you first and takes off as soon as her feet hit the slate tight-knit airport carpet. She’s yelling your last name in between shrieks of “Daddy!” and when you think she might pause to say hello to her father, she leaps forward into you, instead.

Third time is the charm, you think, as she careens into your arms and you pitch over with a small squeal. It happens too quickly, you’re too far away, and Steve doesn’t catch you this time. The idea of how fitting it all is tears a laugh from your throat.

“Sarah!” Her parents exclaim in unison as they both rush forward. You put your hand up when Steve bends down and brush yourself off, picking bits of fibers from your knees. Sarah doesn’t give you a chance to stand as she reaches into a pink and orange fanny pack around her middle.

“Look!! I used the camera a lot! Look at this horse with a carriage! And this man with the tall hat just like in our Snapshots book when Nate went to the U.K.!”

She dumps the contents of her pack out onto the floor and all over your legs as you stare on, open-mouthed. “Thank you thank you thank you so much for letting me use the camera!” She surges forward into your arms again and wraps all four appendages around your body.

You’re glad you wore pants as you pat her back with a smile, “I’m happy you liked it, Sarah. C’mon, let’s clean this up.” You quickly scoop as many polaroids into your hands as possible so that neither of the other adults will try to help you. Sarah tugs open the mouth of her pack and you slip them in before standing.

Steve and Peggy exchange firm, grim lines of their mouths, speaking in low tones to each other about why the flight has changed—why Peggy’s in town, and why she didn’t tell Steve. You stand around awkwardly and clear your throat. “Well—uh, Sarah. You ready to go home?” You ask, eyes fixed on the young girl. She blinks by your side, as if suddenly remembering that she hasn’t said a word to her father at all.

“Yeah! Daddy!” But mid-step, she turns around to tug at your hand. “Can you come over for dinner again?”

Steve shushes her and lifts her up onto his hip, “You don’t want to spend time with your dear old dad, Sarah?” She’s ready to argue with him, but Peggy steps up and pinches her cheeks.

“Steven, would you mind getting our bags from the luggage claim?”

He sends the two of you a worried look, but his daughter has already hopped out of his arms and tugging him towards the crowd of people who wait for their bags. You are left alone with the former Misses Peggy Rogers and her flawlessly lined red lipstick.

“Hello.” She smiles carefully, placing her hands together. You stare on, as if gazing into the sun, blinded by her composure. The two of you must look like complete opposites—her in a pressed black suit and matching pencil skirt, creamy silk button up decorated with delicate lace collars, polished black heels pointing forward directly at you who is dressed down in a blouse and blue jeans. Your ballet flats are well-worn and dirty. Your hair is a knotted and tangled bun.

“I know what you must think of me,” Peggy begins, sending you a sad smile. “I just—well, I had business in the states, but I really wanted to come and apologize to you.”

“I’m sorry, what?” You blurt. “Apologize?”

She laughs a disappointed tone, as if she’s scolding herself, “Green’s never been a good color for me. And I suppose I needed the reminder.”

What the fresh hell is she talking about, you think as you continue to listen as much as you can. If that comet is coming to incinerate you, you only wish it would hurry up.

“Sarah wouldn’t stop talking about you when she arrived. Really, the whole time. And I… I just felt so replaced that I acted selfishly and irresponsibly—I.. I was so jealous. I knew who you were, of course—” Yes, of course. You’ve been sending her weekly newsletters all year, the same as you send every other parent in your classroom. You begin to shake your head- to stop her from continuing because you can’t bear to hear any more of it, but she pushes through, and her will is leaps and bounds stronger than your own.

“I saw how… changed Sarah was. How she’d grown. And I know that I have you to thank for it. I just… I felt as if suddenly my little girl had forgotten all about me and… I’m sorry. I’m sorry if I’ve ruined what you and Steve have.”

“Had.” You correct her candidly. “And thank you. For your apology. But I’m just Sarah’s former teacher—I’m not your replacement, in any way. Really.”

You slip away from Peggy’s apologetic brown eyes and linked fingers. You don’t bother to look behind you when she calls out to you. Your muddy flats stomp as quickly as they can out the sliding doors and back into the safe confines of your car where you blare the radio as loudly as you can to drown out the static fritz in your mind.

The lights in your apartment are turned off, save for the one strand of Christmas lights you line around the perimeter of your room. The walls glow a melting array of peach and rose, dappled with blue-green, and you plant yourself face-first into the mattress that smells only like detergent. He’s been washed out. You sigh.

In bed, you think about Peggy Carter’s apology and her manicured fingers clutched together and squeezing themselves so tightly.

It doesn’t matter. She’s not even the person you’re most upset with.

It doesn’t matter at all.

The first day back to school is in five days, with a whole new set of children who require your attention. You have bigger concerns than your crumpled little feelings.

There are thirteen students in the gym who sit bouncing their knees. You’ve met some of them at the early open house yesterday and some of their parents at the orientation after the final Monday workday. You remember a few—Kalyn, Carson, Phoebe, Meredith. Some were harder to recall, like the set of similar-lengthed brown hair of two girls.

They file in slowly before the first bell, and soon enough you meet all twenty-four pairs of big eyes full of wonder as they search around the tops of their classmates’ heads looking for familiar friends from Kindergarten.

You read them a book—First Day Jitters, about a character who is afraid of the first day of school because she doesn’t know if her peers will like her at the new school. At the end of the story, it turns out the character is the teacher and the class erupts into laughter and asks you if you are nervous.

Yes! Of course! you reply. You are. They titter and wiggle their heads. Your heart is about to burst.

At recess, you chat with Heather and walk around the grassy path, keeping your eye on as many of your students as possible. Jared scrapes his knee in a rather physical game of soccer, and you catch Ruby before she slips off a swing. When you blow the whistle to line up, you see that second grade is already filing out the back door.

It’s complete and utter chaos. They stream down the ramp and screech and your mostly single-file line begins to wobble and curve. Heather briskly walks back and forth down the row to reel them in, counting the tops of heads by twos, making sure all are present.

“Woah! It’s okay. Let’s scoot over so the big kids don’t run into us!” You call over the shouts of a hundred children.

The other first grade classes aren’t faring any better as more yelling breaks out.

Just as you think you can begin leading them back in, a body crashes into the back of your legs and you stagger.

It’s Sarah. She’s pressing her face into your hip and there are two rivers running from her eyes. “I wanna go home!” Behind her are Harper and Grayson, both shyly waving.

“Sarah,” You say firmly, taking a second to signal to your previous students. Then you try to peel her grip from your legs, “Sarah, I have to go with my class.” Her teacher stands by the railing, giving you a silent plead with her eyes. All morning, she mouths, hasn’t stopped.

“No! No no no no! Please please please!” She’s heartbroken, squeezing her eyes shut as if it could be the balm to ease her crying. If she keeps this up, she’ll likely vomit. “Please don’t go please don’t go! D-”

“Sarah!” You put a finger up as you kneel, then you motion for Heather to take the rest of the class inside. “Sarah Rogers, listen to me.” The hiccupping ceases for only a second.

“You’re in second grade now and I know it’s tough, but you have to stop.”

Then, it gets louder, more panicked, almost to a shriek as she grips you tighter. You’re in way over your head as the last child in your class disappears into the school, and your brain is spinning every possibility you have to find one that is best suited for this situation. You mouth a message back to her teacher—who graciously nods, and then you tug Sarah along inside. She sniffles the whole way and when she gets to the door to your room, she’s wailing again. “Stay here.” You say.

Heather starts the kids on lunchtime, and you grab your phone. “Sarah. I’m going to call your dad. He is going to talk to you. You may eat lunch with me. And then you are going to go back to class. Okay?”

She nods tearfully.

“But this is the only time. This cannot happen again.”

She nods once more.

Steve picks up on the second ring—alert, confused, a little hopeful. “Hello, Mister Rogers,” You say as calmly as possible even as his daughter continues to sputter in the background. It’s like you’re reading a television prompter, but the plan in your head must go just right or else Sarah’s breakdown is going to also cause the rest of your kids to panic.

“Sarah is having a very emotional morning. I have invited her to eat lunch with me, but could you please console her just for a second?”

He pauses- begins to say yes, halts, begins a different sentence, but finally, he stops and breathes a sigh. “Yes. Thank you for reaching out to me.”

The wall of necessary professionalism separates you both.

Lunch is spent mostly fielding off Sarah’s questions about when you’ll come back to her house. She speaks much too loudly about the time you watched The Little Mermaid and soon enough the rest of your class wants to know when you’ll be visiting each of them for a sleepover.

“Not a sleepover!” You exclaim, but the moshpit of voices only responds with, “Yay, sleepover!”

Heather is laughing so hard she’s pitched over her desk. You grumble and put your head down before escorting Sarah back to her class at the end of lunch.

Her teacher meets you at the door and ushers her in quietly.

“Thank you so much.” She sighs, “Apparently it’s been like this for days. Dad walked her to the room this morning really tardy and he was... not happy.” She says the last bit painfully and you can just imagine what Steve must have looked like. “He said he’s not working today but I wasn’t sure if calling him was a good idea. First day, you know?”

You push your hair from your forehead, hum a little because it’s Wednesday and Steve isn’t working? Also—being tardy is very unlike him.

“Yeah. I mean...” You find your words again and peek through the door’s window to where Sarah has laid her head down. “You’re fine, Christine. It’s... this happened at the end of the year last year. She should be okay for the rest of the day. Esther is usually pretty good with her, too. Have you tried calling her?”

“Yes. And Esther sent her back. I’m pretty worried—if this is frequent, does she need a behavioral plan?”

Oh Christ, you think, it’s really not that serious. And Steve is going to lose his mind if he gets summoned to sit in a conference for behavioral intervention in the first week. You shake your head quickly, “It might be too early to tell. Can you send her to my room at dismissal? I’ll talk to dad at the end of the day.”

Your colleague smiles and thanks you again before slipping back into her class. You wander down the hallway, take a deep breath, and return to your own post.

Sarah links her fingers through yours and stares at her feet as she walks. “I’m sorry.” She says as you lead her down the ramp and around the dismissal cones. “I don’t like school.”

“Don’t say that, Sarah. You liked school last year.”

“No. I like you. I don’t like Miss Parsons.”

“You don’t know Miss Parsons. You might hurt her feelings if you say that.”

“Daddy says you are upset with him. And that you can’t be his friend anymore because he did something wrong…. did he hurt your feelings?”

You shut your eyes for a second, and you hope Sarah’s out of harm’s way. You hope a little that somebody’s SUV full of children will pummel right into you. Let you splat over the traffic circle. Add a little color to the concrete.

“He said he was very sorry.” Sarah peers up at you with those giant doll-eyes.

“Yes, he did.”

“Okay. Can you come over today?”

“Sarah... it’s not that simple.” But to her, it certainly is. Saying sorry means, you take responsibility for what you did—the wrong that you did—and it is an all-absolving expression. Then the hurt and the wrong disappears and then you can be friends with that person again.

The world of adults is not that simple, but Sarah Rogers does not yet live in that world.

“Daddy!” She perks up at the sight of the familiar blue sedan.

Steve steps out of the car sporting a cap and sunglasses. It really is his day off. He rushes over, “Hey.” He breathes when his feet finally point at you and still.

“Hey.” You motion for Sarah to get into the car and she does, waving to you and yanking the handle until the door swings shut. “She cried all day. Before and after lunch with me.”

Steve puts his face in both his hands, “Shit, I’m sorry. It’s been like this since she got home.”

“Since Friday?” You ask in disbelief.

His defeated nod almost breaks your heart. “It’s constant. Nothing helps. We’ve gone to the movies, the pool, made her favorite dinner... which apparently has now become the yuckiest thing, and she just...”

“Did you talk to her mom about it?” You venture to ask, steeling your heart that begins to squeeze at the idea of Peggy. “Did she experience this on the trip?”

He takes off his sunglasses and you see the deep blue that rests below his eyelids. You feel as tired as he looks as the sun beats down on you both. “Yes. She said the only thing that helped was the camera.” Steve looks slightly uncomfortable and you sigh because you know exactly what he’s thinking. Now that Sarah is back home, the camera has finished serving its purpose. Now she needs more. And he thinks she needs you.

“Christine is thinking about a behavioral plan.” You admit, and then correct yourself when Steve doesn’t seem to recall the name, “Parsons. Steve, your child’s teacher. Christine Parsons.”

He shakes his head, “Shit. Sorry, I knew that. What is a behavioral plan?”

You explain the process of him being called into a conference and how the teacher will outline with interventionists ways to implement and manage behavior modification. You try your best not to use the kind of jargon that only educators understand, but it’s really hard to explain to a man that his daughter is throwing a tantrum and needs to be mediated with without making it sound like she’s just a brat. Because she’s not.

“Jesus.”

“It sounds worse than it is... but it is kind of bad. Especially since...” You shrug, unsure of how to word the next part. How would you say it if you didn’t know him? It would be so disengaged, you think, and you really need for Steve to understand that it is urgent.

“Because she wasn’t like this with you last year?”

“It’s not me.” You reply, “And it’s not her teacher, either.”

“So it’s me?” He steps back, crossing his arms. No, he’s not understanding at all. You almost roll your eyes at the way he cocks his eyebrow and pulls his mouth, but another teacher breezes by and smiles so the exasperation you have pushes itself down. You forget sometimes that Steve Rogers isn’t perfect. He can also be a little snide and short-tempered.

He’s looking at you now, sunglasses hanging from his shirt collar, standing defensively with his weight on one leg.

“Okay,” You sigh, exhausted by him. He wouldn’t act like this if you weren’t who you were. “This is really neither the time nor the place. I’m not your child’s teacher. Take it up with her, Mister Rogers.” And then you turn to walk away but damn your conscience—it pulls you back despite how angry you are with him.

You wish you could say fuck you like you’ve done before but little Sarah is sitting in the car bopping her head along to the radio and you can’t stop thinking about how she was bawling her eyes out for five hours today.

“Listen up, Steve.” You announce, “You and I aside, I’d like to impart some knowledge onto you as a professional, and also a bit as a child of divorce.”

Stepping closer, you glare into his eyes, which are now wide with shock at your firm tone.

“Your child is suffering, and that is a bold word, but it’s true. She doesn’t know it, but you do, and I do. And because you are privileged enough to afford her the courtesy—I suggest you take her to a child therapist who can talk to her about her emotions and work through them before they fester into something worse.”

He swallows, “Therapy?”

“Yes. Therapy. We have a school counselor, but Sarah does not want to see her. And unfortunately, I think it’s going to take more than Esther. Take her to therapy. Go for forty-five minutes once or twice a week and see the difference it will make. It will. Don’t think about the stigma. Think about your child.”

Steve opens his mouth again, but you push right through his protests, “From my personal experience, I wish I had that option. But instead—as you know-- my rough patch involved a lot of running away from home. My mother did not know how to talk to me, and I did not know how to talk to her. A therapist would have helped both of us if we could have afforded it—or even known about it.”

Then, quieter, you frown. “Steve, even if my attempts weren’t serious—and even if Sarah’s acting out might not be as bad as you think, what happened with my mother and I changed our relationship for years. Do you want that?"

A soft banging on the window pulls both of your attention back to the car where Sarah has started pressing her face to it until her cheeks become flattened white circles against the glass.

“Daddy!” Her voice is muffled, “Daddy! I’m hungry! Is Miss Marnie coming? Or am I going with you?”

He whips over to her and then back to you. You wave to Sarah one last time and then begin to cross the street where cars carefully pull around the bend and back out the circle. “Take the advice, Steve. It’s good.”

“Okay.” Steve calls faintly at your retreating back. “Okay.”

Thank God, you think. Thank God that Steve Rogers loves his daughter more than his pride because you have figuratively eviscerated him in broad daylight. A part of you is so sad that it had to be you who tells him this—in this way. But you’re not confident that anyone else could have. He loves Sarah. He loves her so much that it’s easy for him to become defensive about it, and you know it hurts him to realize that his love alone isn’t enough to raise her.

With a final tight-lipped smile, you respectfully go back inside.

The second day runs a lot more smoothly, and the third day is as easy as a breeze. Granted, it’s a hot, humid, sticky type of summer breeze as you Clorox wipe down twenty-four desks smeared with Elmer’s Glue. How they manage to do this in such a small amount of time is both fascinating and disturbing.

On the fourth day, you arrive at work to a surprise back-to-school Teacher Breakfast and you head to your classroom without another thought. Later on, as you hear from Heather, there were no Rogers-es in sight. You grumble a little at the thought of missing out on two free yogurts and a bagel. But alas, life moves on just fine without both the breakfast and the Rogers-es.

You return to equilibrium in the following weeks: in bed at eleven, up at six, work-work-work, repeat. Wine still exists and is soothing. Your cabinets are stocked once again with tuna. British Bake Show is still fantastic and bless Noel Fielding for dressing himself. There are no more sightings of Sarah in tears and no more run-ins with Steve in parking lots.

On a bright Saturday morning, you put on some flower-patched denim shorts and head to the PTA picnic where it is crawling with parents and children on the front lawn of your school. There are checkered red and white blankets and corn-hole games set up all around. In the middle are three picnic tables side-by-side littered with tinfoil trays of food. Even a popsicle truck is parked to the side.

You put your contribution in the middle of the table after waving to familiar faces in the crowd. Edward’s mom is there, wearing apple-shaped earrings and you smile at how he’s grown so much. It’s barely a second after you set down the homemade rice-krispies that someone comes by and peeks over your shoulder.

“Those look awesome.”

Turning, you tilt the brim of your sunhat away from your face to find the source of the compliment. It’s hard to see, because the sun shines right into your eyes when you try.

“Thanks!” You blink the burn away and try again. “Sorry—wish I could actually look at you when I talk to you!”

The man laughs a little and reaches forward to take a star-shaped treat from your tray. “Nah. Honestly I’ve just been walking with my eyes shut for the past twenty minutes. Forgot my sunglasses.” He takes a big bite of the treat and a leg of the star gets crushed into his mouth.

“How’s it?” You ask timidly when the blinding afterimages fade away and you can finally make out his features. The first thing you see is –Jesus, that adorable gap between his front teeth. True to his word, his eyes are squeezed tightly.

“Oh man, these are so good. And you cut them into stars? You must be a teacher.”

You laugh again because his mirth is so infectious, “I am. First grade. And thanks!”

“Mmf—don’t let the kids see me. I’ve been eating all their desserts.” He swallows the mouthful and brushes the crumbs from his fingers. “I’m Sam.”

You give him your name and shake his hand, even though both of you have little sticky spots from the marshmallow.

He steps to the side when a student of yours comes tumbling over and gives your leg a hug. You make a bit of chit-chat with her before something else shinier comes along and she’s bounding across the yard to a newly set up face-paint stand.

“So…” You motion vaguely, “What brings you to—”

“the PTA Picnic? Since I’m obviously too good-looking to be a teacher or a dad?”

You shrug shyly, ignoring his overt teasing, “Well, I meant the dessert table. I’ve only seen you here, and you’ve admitted to stealing sweets from all the children.”

He crosses his arms and laughs again, showing you that gap in his teeth and the round shape of his high cheekbones. Gosh, he’s really charming, you think. Sam picks up another treat from your aluminum foil tray and rolls his eyes in exaggeration.

“You know how in The Chocolate Factory, Willy Wonka is super paranoid that his competitors sent spies to steal his ideas?”

“O…kay…”

“Right, right—yeah not a good way to start a conversation, I definitely see that now.” He shakes his head, “Anyway, I’m like the spy because look at all these desserts and… listen, I just started this new job and you can never have too many ideas, right? Baker, by the way.”

You realize you are frowning at him when he sends you a curious look.

“My Wonka reference put you off that bad, huh?”

“You’re a baker?” You’re blighted or something. Another freakin’ baker? There must be a neon sign that is pointing them to you, and you would really like for that sign to shut off.

“Yeah. You might have heard of the place before—pretty popular. Oh! There’s my boss.” He tips his finger in the air over your head and you don’t need to turn around to see who his boss is. Instead, you pull the brim of your hat down and sigh. You can already hear Steve’s unyielding strides reaching the table.

He stops next to you and whispers a quiet hello and you respond in the same clipped tone. Sam looks suspiciously between the two of your suddenly stiff bodies and raises an eyebrow. “Is this?” He waggles his finger back and forth, “Oh. This is… Oh… shhhhhhhhit…”

After circling the dessert table for the last half-hour since his arrival, Sam Wilson suddenly finds the corn-hole game on the other side of the lawn very interesting. He doesn’t even bother to come up with any kind of excuse as he takes two long steps away from Steve and then books it because as a relatively new employee, flirting with your boss’ ex-girlfriend seems like a sure-fire way to get fired.

Next Chapter

#marvel #mcu #steve rogers x reader #fanfiction #steve rogers #modern AU #slow like honey heli0s #reader insert

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dlwritings · 4 years

Text

Call Him Hers | Dean Winchester | pt 6

series masterlist found here

general masterlist found here

pairing - Mark-of-Cain!Dean x plus-size!reader word count - 2,769 warnings - language, someone is an asshole to (Y/N)

(A/N) - find my Office reference lol

summary - (Y/N), Charlie, and the Winchesters are headed to the reunion! With a new friend and a hot outfit, (Y/N) is feeling pretty optimistic. Like Dean says, the night’s just gonna be fun. What could go wrong?

(previous) (next)

Charlie insisted on (Y/N) and Dean getting ready separately, just like she had the night they went out to the bars. (Y/N) knew now that Charlie was right and she couldn’t wear jeans and a flannel, so she reluctantly asked her what else she packed for her. “Well, your school colors are blue and white, right?” she asked. (Y/N) nodded. “Well, then I got you this.” She went in her bag and pulled out a short blue wrap dress with spaghetti straps and a deep neckline. (Y/N) clenched her jaw and raised her eyebrows.

“Seriously?” she said.

“You still don’t trust me?” Charlie said back. “Even after how Dean looked at you the other night?” (Y/N) groaned and surrendered, knowing she was right, as usual. She went to the bathroom to change, curl her hair, and add a bit of intensity to her makeup. She had only been in there for all of ten minutes when there was a knock at the door. She opened it, one hand still on her curling iron, to reveal Charlie. She immediately started wolf whistling at her, gawking and pretending to drool like she was a piece of meat.

“Get out before I suffocate you with hairspray,” (Y/N) said to her. Charlie blew her a kiss.

“Sam texted,” she said. “Dean’s gonna be ready in twenty. Me and Sam have to head out to get ready for the catering thing.”

“Okay,” she said. “Leave the door unlocked for Dean then. I’ll probably still be getting ready when he gets here.”

“Okay,” Charlie said with a nod. “Good luck tonight.” (Y/N) furrowed her eyebrows.

“Yeah,” she said slowly. “You too?”

“You know what I mean,” Charlie said.

“I really don’t,” (Y/N) said back.

Charlie groaned in annoyance. “If you don’t make a move on Dean, I’m gonna make one for you.” (Y/N) held her hands up with a short shake of her head.

“What does that even mean?”

Charlie opened her mouth to say something only to close it again.

“Right,” (Y/N) said with a slight chuckle. “Go. I’ll see you at the school.”

Once (Y/N) was alone, she grabbed her phone to play some music as she got ready. She had a playlist called Dean Approved that she would play when Dean was in the room. It wasn’t that she wasn’t a fan of the same music he was, but she’d be lying if she said she didn’t have some Demi Lovato marathons from time to time. But if Dean walked in and heard her playing Cool for the Summer, she wasn’t sure he’d ever let her live it down.

She finished adding some curls to her hair and braiding a headband across her head with a few sections just as her favorite Night Ranger song, Sister Christian started to play. She bounced on the balls of her feet as she danced around the bathroom, singing along to the song.

“Motorin! What’s your price for flight? *na na na na na na* And finding Mr Right?”

“Really?” (Y/N) jumped out of her skin and turned around to see Dean. She hadn’t been looking in the mirror, too busy going through her makeup bag, which was why she hadn’t seen him walk in.

“What?” she asked once she caught her breath.

Dean laughed. “Na na na na na na?”

“I like to sing to the instrumental,” she said, sticking her tongue out at him when he mocked the way she mimicked the guitar tune.

She leaned over the counter a bit, trying to get closer to the mirror as she applied her eyeliner. Dean had to bite his lips just so he wouldn’t moan at the way the fabric hugged her ass. He knew if she bent over anymore, he’d have a perfect view of her underwear.

Unless she wasn’t wearing underwear.

“Well,” Dean said, clearing his throat. “You are boner-ific.”

He made the joke to get his mind off the truth behind it.

“Ew,” she said, scrunching her nose up with a grin as she looked at his reflection. “Please don’t ever say that to me again.”

Dean laughed. “I’m just saying. You look good.” She capped her eyeliner and turned to look at Dean. He must’ve known her school colors too, because he was wearing royal blue slacks that perfectly matched her dress, a white button-up dress shirt, and some brown dress shoes.

“Well,” she said, composing herself a bit and reaching out to brush her hand across his shoulder. “You don’t look too bad yourself.”

She passed Dean to leave the bathroom and saw Charlie left her a pair of shoes. They were gold, strappy heels, and she sighed as soon as she saw them. “If I have to kick any ass tonight in these heels,” she said, “I will not be happy.”

“Don’t worry,” Dean said. “Tonight’s just gonna be fun. I can feel it.”

“Oh you can feel it?” she repeated sarcastically. “Well then I’m ready.” Dean rolled his eyes at her with a grin and grabbed her hand.

“C’mon,” he said. “I’m ready to show off my smokin’ wife.”

“You know,” she said, “your positivity is really ruining my cynical mood.” Dean just laughed, and the two of them headed off to school.

On the drive over, they ran through their game plan. They had talked with Charlie and Sam, and they split up the targets amongst themselves to observe throughout the night. She’d keep an eye on Jennifer and Chris, Dean would watch Ryan and Jojo, Charlie would watch Danny, and Sam would look out for anyone else who might look suspicious. The other two suspects (Jamie and Natasha) weren’t at the reunion, so they were really banking on one of these five being their vamp.

(Y/N) couldn’t lie. After her whole interaction with Jennifer, she was feeling more comfortable about going to the reunion. Nicole and Stephanie were nice to talk to, and it looked like things between her and Jennifer weren’t as horrible as they once seemed. Now that she could actually relax about the whole event, she hoped she’d be able to achieve a little bit more in terms of the job.

She and Dean walked inside the school and were immediately met with loud music. They were playing all the tunes that were the biggest hits when she graduated in 2005. After only being there for 15 minutes, they heard Beverly Hills by Weezer, Sugar, We’re Goin Down by Fall Out Boy, and My Humps by The Black Eyed Peas. There were some similarities to her prom, except she was much happier and had the best looking man on her arm.

The two of them got some drinks and made their way through the gym, looking at all the photos and paraphernalia Jennifer had managed to get together. Just like she had told her earlier in the day, Jennifer had done an awesome job organizing the event. Her senior class picture was blown up and hanging on the wall, and there were some other blown up prints that were scattered throughout the room. She recognized some of the events: the homecoming football game, her senior prom, the school’s musical, and spirit week. Some people had a great high school experience.

“(Y/N)! Dean!”

They both turned around and saw Nicole and Stephanie sitting at a table, so they smiled and headed over. “(Y/N) you’re looking hot,” Nicole said as they sat down. “Dean, you’re a lucky man.” Dean smiled -though it didn’t meet his eyes- and nodded.

Sure, he was a lucky man, but only until this job was over.

“I know,” he said. (Y/N) cocked her head to the side and looked at him, silently trying to ask him if he was okay. He just leaned forward and placed a kiss to her lips. She was a little caught off guard, but she hid it well. She knew her cheeks turned pink as he pulled away. She took a large sip of her drink and smiled at Nicole and Stephanie.

“So this looks great, right?”

The four of them chatted for a long time. Jennifer and Alec came over at one point to join them, and they all praised her on how well it was turning out. Most other people didn’t pay them any attention, and (Y/N) truthfully didn’t mind. Dean at one point stepped away to get more food (in actuality, just to chat with Sam) and Nicole and Stephanie both gave her sweet smiles. “What?” she asked with a laugh. “Why’re you looking at me like that?”

“Okay,” Stephanie laughed, holding her hands up, “I may not be attracted to men, but even I’ll say it. Dean’s smokin’.”

“And the way he looks at you,” Nicole gushed. “God. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“You know,” (Y/N) said, gazing over at Dean, “Jennifer said the same thing. I just don’t see it.”

“Well,” Nicole said, “he only does it when you’re not looking. Sometimes he looks away like you’re two nervous teens and he doesn’t want to get caught. It’s completely endearing.”

As they were gazing over at Dean, (Y/N) caught a glimpse of Chris. He was looking around, and something about him was putting her off. When she saw him head for the exit, she excused herself from the table and casually went to follow him. She cursed her heels for clicking against the linoleum, and there was a part of her that was grateful when he left the school so her footsteps wouldn’t be as loud.

When Chris made his way down to the pool house, she felt her thigh holster just to make sure her knife was still where it needed to be. She couldn’t exactly carry a machete with her, so her knife soaked in vampire poison would have to do. She snuck into the pool house and grabbed her flashlight from her handbag, holding it up as she crept through the dark building. Rookie mistake, she thought, the minute something hard hit her over the head.

When Dean got back to the table, he was confused when (Y/N) wasn’t there. “Oh, I think she ran to the bathroom or something,” Nicole said with a wave of her hand. “She just stepped out, like, a minute ago.”

“Great,” Dean said. “Thanks.”

He left the gym, knowing the bathroom was probably the last place (Y/N) actually was. When he stepped out of the gym, he checked his phone and saw that he missed a text from her: Tailing Chris. Looks like pool house.

“Fuck,” Dean mumbled. He shot Sam and Charlie a quick text explaining what was happening and jogged down to the pool house.

He opened the door and walked in, keeping his flashlight off and his machete in hand, grateful he could hide the latter in his coat at the event. He knew she only had a knife with vampire poison, and he hoped she was able to survive with it.

Before he knew it, he was out cold.

She woke up tied to a pole in the pool house. Beside her, Dean was still unconscious. “Shit,” she mumbled to herself, fighting against the ropes she was tied with. “Dean.” She tried to speak loud enough to wake him up but quiet enough that whoever had captured her didn’t hear.

She heard someone come into the room and tensed, looking in the direction of the sound.

“How long have you been turned?” she asked as soon as Chris crept out of the shadows.

“Well,” he said sarcastically, tapping his finger against his chin, “how long has Amanda been missing?”

“Three weeks,” she answered.

“Then three weeks,” he said with a smile.

“How many are in your nest?” she asked. She was just trying to bide her time before Dean woke up and managed to get out his pocket knife and cut through his ropes. This was why she hated wearing dresses. No pockets for hiding tools!

“You really just want all my secrets, don’t you (Y/N)?” he asked with a grin.

“I guess so,” she said.

“Well, I hate to break it to you,” he said, “but I’m the only one left. A couple other hunters came by and killed off the rest of the nest.”

“Who were they?”

Chris shrugged. “Didn’t bother to learn their names before I killed them.”

Dean woke up then, and she and Chris both turned to look at him. “Well, good morning, Mr. Winchester,” Chris said, crouching in front of Dean. “I’ve heard so much about you. I’ve been dying to meet you.”

“Look man,” Dean said, shaking his head a bit to clear away the fuzziness in his brain, “I don’t swing that way.”

“Mm,” Chris said, standing up. “Just as charming as they say.”

“So what’s your play here, Chris?” (Y/N) asked as Chris fished his phone out of his pocket. “Are you turning these girls? Trying to build a new nest?”

“No, no,” Chris said casually, waving his hand as he put his phone back in his pocket after typing something out. “I’m just killing them.” He sauntered over to her and crouched in front of her. “But you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Because if I turned you, you’d have a family.” She swallowed thickly and clenched her jaw, refusing to break eye contact with Chris. If she did that, he won. “You see, you’re so desperate for love. You cling to guys like the Winchesters here-” He waved offhandedly to Dean. “-in a pathetic attempt to make up for your dad. You remember your dad, right?” She bit her tongue and breathed heavily through her nose. “You think we didn’t notice? All of us at school? Think Shawn didn’t tell us about how your daddy used to hit you? We’d have a nice laugh about it, because you might not’ve been able to see it, but we all could.”

“See what?” she asked. She couldn’t help it. He was saying all the things that would get her to cave. She knew she fell into his trap, but she wasn’t sure she cared.

Chris grinned. “How no one could ever love you. How Shawn was always pretending. How your dad couldn’t handle pretending anymore. We saw your present, (Y/N), and it sure wasn’t hard to see your future.” He looked over at Dean before turning to her again. “And we were right, because Dean here? Dean doesn’t love you either. How could he? How could anyone love a girl like you?”

She felt tears pooling in her eyes, and she hung her head so he wouldn’t see them. Her action just made him laugh and lift her chin with his fingers. “Get away from her before I break every bone in your body,” Dean suddenly growled. Chris looked over at him with an amused smirk. “I’ll fucking kill you, man, I swear to god.” Chris stood up and walked over to Dean.

“I really think this is bullshit, man,” he said, motioning between her and Dean. “I just don’t get it. You’re obviously pretending for her, but why go as far as marriage? Why pretend you love her that much? Unless-” He gasped like he cracked the whole case. “Oh! This is all fake! You’re not actually married, are you?” He started laughing, resting his hand on his stomach as he threw his head back. “That is hilarious. God, you-” He turned to her again. “You really are pathetic.”

Chris grabbed a knife from the inside of his jacket and walked back over to her. “You know, Dean,” Chris said, crouching in front of her again. “I think (Y/N) over here might really love you. I think you might be pretending, but for her, she thinks she can make it real. Because I know for a fact-” He gently ran the tip of the knife against her chest. “-she’s not wearing a bra. And her underwear?” He grinned. “Practically see-through. I think she was hoping for some action with you tonight.”

Her cheeks were bright red, and she knew there were tears falling from her eyes. She was embarrassed, and if Dean hadn’t broken out of his restraints yet, she wasn’t sure he was going to. Was she going to die after getting humiliated by some loser from high school?

“You know,” she said, sniffing to stop her tears, “you used to be an alright guy, Chris. A little creepy, but not an asshole. Not like this.”

Chris shrugged. “Well, people change.”

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

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loyally-unfaithful · 4 years

Text

—; even if i am fooling myself, my feelings are true . (4)

word count: 5.3k

pairing: origami cyclone | ivan karelin / gn!reader

genre: hurt/comfort

summary: even if he was lying to you by pretending to be your lover, he told himself it was worth it. it made you happy. it helped you. he’s helping you. this ruse is only done in good faith.

if it were to make you smile, if it were to help you brighten up, then all his lies and deceptions could be forgiven, he rationalised.

a/n: this chapter do be monologue city,,,

i have arthritis i would like a refund for my bones.

the hero knows he promised to see you again the next day, but it’s been a few days now since he has last seen you. you must be back at home by now. alone. were you okay? he can’t help but feel worried about you due to your limited mobility. guilt stings even more painfully now that he had calmed down. he has virtually subjected you to a prolonged radio silence after leaving abruptly.

and he still needed to tell you the truth...

the hero had put off meeting you again, because it meant seeing you again. it meant he had to tell you the truth. it meant he’d no longer be able to meet you.

he chastised himself. what was expecting? really, what did he expect to happen? he berated himself, guilt clawing at him. what was he doing, impersonating your lover? he felt ill. he should’ve stopped meeting you after that campaign ended. but for reasons that escaped him, he continued. was it selfishness? was it greed? what pushed him to continue? whatever had happened, it wasn’t supposed to. he was just supposed to check in on you, make sure you’re getting on well, and move on in his life. he was supposed to stay neutral, indifferent, objective. you were just any other stranger that he would help throughout his career as a hero. but you had been so lovely and so unassuming that he must’ve…? without realising it, he had gotten himself too involved and was now in too deep, allowing his shameful self to form feelings for your kind and beautiful self. trying to distance himself from you to no avail, he found himself uselessly fighting feelings that have sprouted without his permission. he was fighting a losing battle, and a war that wasn’t tilting into his favour. he had hoped that these stubborn feelings would disappear, hopefully sooner rather than later, but it seemed that they refused to leave him alone.

the blond let out a harsh sigh. he’s noticed he has been doing that a lot, much more that usual. when it went well it went wonderfully, sublime; when it went badly it went awfully, dreadful.

he can’t keep going like this.

it’s not fair for you.

it’s not fair for him.

he can’t lead you on, and he can’t continue to delude himself.

each step he took to your residence were heavier than the last. listlessly, he dragged his feet. it had rained last night, making this walk even more unpleasant and gloomy. concluding what was both the slowest and fastest walk he had ever had the displeasure of taking, he lifted his gaze off of the pavement to take in your house. it was superficially identical to the other houses in the neighbourhood, but then again, houses in this district of the bronze stage often looked the same. it was a modest one-storey house, which felt anything but modest. it looked oppressive, intimidating. it terrified him. what was in store for him within those walls terrifying him further.

knowing that simply anticipating would do him no good, ivan shook his head, trying to shake his nervousness away, to no avail. he tried willing his legs to move, to get closer to your house, with no success. fixed in place, immobilised by dread. he stood idle, head turned down, in front of your home for what felt like an eternity, surprised that you hadn’t noticed the stranger in front of your property first.

he sighed.

the pathetic puddle by his feet reflected an even more pathetic him.

he stared silently at kotetsu’s reflection under him: « you’ve gotta tell them. they deserve to know. ». with a disappointed sigh, he gazed back at the small pool who gazed back with his disappointing face. he, “kotetsu”, had told himself to tell you the truth. but did he have the courage to?

no longer able to bear taylor’s silent judgement, ivan lifted his head and slowly climbed up the front steps to your front door.

the puddle, murky as it always was, remained as unbothered as it had always been.

his finger hovered over the doorbell. did he have the courage to? he bit his lips hard enough to draw blood. could he meet your eyes? momentarily retracting his hand, he resisted submitting to his anxiety and willed himself to push the bell.

ivan could hear the ringing echoing inside your walls.

and then silence.

one beat.

two beat.

then another.

were you not home?

you always had very quiet steps, he told himself. everything is ok.

his knee jerk reaction to the prolonged silence was to take it as a sign that today wasn’t the day. a message from a power above telling him that he can postpone it for another day… whenever that other day was. his usual reaction would be to take this as an opportunity to throw in the towel and go home. but for you (and for himself), he’ll fight his impulse to cower away.

but still… this silence was slightly concerning.

had something happened to you?

the hero’s mind jumped through different conclusions to rationalise your lack of response.

maybe you went out…

maybe you weren’t awake…

what if you had hurt yourself and couldn’t get bac—

he reached out to ring the doorbell yet again, but stopped halfway as the door creaked open.

« how can i help y— taylor? » you had sounded as surprised to see him as he was to you.

oh. you were ok. he breathed out in relief. you were ok.

« please, come in, you offered, moving out of the way. sorry to make you wait, i wasn’t… i wasn’t expecting to see you… sorry about the mess… you mumbled. »

the hero gulped, fighting the fear that rose up within him from hearing the door click closed behind him. he can’t run away. no going back now: he had to tell you the truth. taking his mind off of his nerves, he decided to look around and observe the interior of your house. you said “mess” but the house is more or less in order, unless you were referring to the few stacks of books that littered your house. still... he struggled to call it a mess, as the odd misplaced books here and there didn’t even feel out place within your humble abode: it blended with the other decor into the stylish deep green walls and light brown tiles. the only thing he could qualify as being messy would be the light covering of dust that was slowly gathering on some of the furniture’s surface, along with the few papers and knickknacks strewn about, but they were out of the way enough that nothing ever seemed cluttered.

to his delight, the curios have all been of japanese origins, from the hand fans (« an ōgi! » he noted excitedly.) to the rough stacks of woodblock prints (« where did they get so many ukiyo-e prints? » he asked himself.). in fact, closer inspection would suggest that quite a few of the furnishings decorating your house were japanese in nature: the tapestry hung on your wall (he was sure those were called a tenugui.), the forgotten matcha tea set on the kitchen counter (« there was even a chasen?! »), and the japanese pottery and porcelain safely tucked into a glass cupboard (he wonders if he could get the opportunity to use the hagi ware chawan amongst the set.). he had to stop himself from literally beaming in excitement and dashing to ogle the wares. who would’ve known you’d have such a collection in your house? he needed to calm down, lest he attracted your suspicion, and swallowed his bubbling elation.

he followed your lead to wherever you were walking back to, inquisitively taking in his surroundings, distracting his mind from his previous anxieties.

« i, uh… no one’s been home since i went to the hospital. you walked back towards your open living room. and i’ve kinda been putting off cleaning. you laughed. – don’t worry about it… he assured you, still taking in this unknown territory. »

briefly, he let his attention back to you and to where you walked: to your open living room, which was connected to your kitchen. further to the side, he could see the stairs that led to your suspended bedroom. it seemed that this house had more or less the same make and architecture as tiger’s apartment, though with drastically different decor, he noted. though with more than less difficulty, you managed to get around your house just fine. despite your pronounced limp you continued at a regular, albeit slowed, pace. your gait was sometimes slowed by the fact that you sometimes had to hang on some of the fittings to maintain your balance and ivan had to fight the urge to rush over and help you walk.

you probably wouldn’t like for him to encroach on your newfound autonomy, he figured.

after finally reaching the living room, you had carefully sat yourself down on the floor in front of the coffee table. noticing the crafting papers and shavings surrounding where you sat, he thoughtlessly asked: « were you making something? no wonder you took a bit to respond. i’m sorry for interrupting you... – mhm, i’m just making menko cards. you elaborated as you carefully positioned your impaired leg. and it’s alright, you couldn’t have known. – menko cards? his interest was piqued. – yeah, just thought it would be fun, you shrugged. wanna help? – sure! he answered delightedly, failing to hide the eagerness in his voice. i mean, why not… you just laughed at his childlike enthusiasm. – i’d really appreciate it you could help me cut out the picture, you asked. »

he eased himself down next to you, trying his hardest not to appear bothered by your proximity. everything is ok. he’ll help you in this last activity. because it had interested him. because he wanted to treasure the last moments he got to spend with you. the very last. he doesn’t like the finality of that, but the truth had to be said. guilt stung like an open wound whenever he remembered that he was lying to you. he wouldn’t be mad if you condemned him for “exploiting” you. if he were to tell you the truth there was no way you’d forgive him, much less continue to seek out his affection. your resentment would be well deserved, even if the thought of being disliked by you hurt him.

his despair grew as he thought of the aftermath. it would leave him heartbroken, but what about you? you would’ve been deceived, not once but twice: by both he and your former lover. he really didn’t think this decision through, did he? this was a selfish and cruel scheme to begin with. just a misguided attempt to assist someone who didn’t even asked for his assistance. he doesn’t want to doubt your resilience, but surely, if he came clean you’d be deeply saddened and devastated again… he didn’t want to be the reason you felt lost again and returned to being miserable. he didn’t want to be the cause of your melancholy, the cause of a relapse. but that was exactly what he was going to cause you, wasn’t it? he was the cause of your grief and strife.

if this ended with him broken-hearted, he’d end up shattering whatever had remained of yours and leave you inconsolable.

this was a mistake. he’d caused you more pain than solace. this was a mistake. lies and sweet words aren’t what would have saved you. they weren’t what you needed. this was a mistake.

what would he even say? a “sorry” wouldn’t suffice. not even the sincerest apology would fix this. those words would only hurt you more.

he made his bed, now he had to lay in it. if only he never roped you into this.

spirit down again, he sighed and looked upon the table to tackle his newly appointed objective. a sharp contrast from the rest of your orderly home, the table was cluttered with random bits of paper and cardboard (both circular and rectangular, of various sizes), different crafting materials like scissors and box cutters, and hero related paraphernalia.

« people don’t usually make menko cards… he muttered. why not just buy the hero cards (‘my own are still collecting dust aren’t they…’)? he quizzed, flipping around a finished card of himself. despite his doubting tone, he carefully placed the work back down and got to cutting the few images off of few magazine pages. – that would be too easy. you shrugged. besides, i was planning to gift them to my niece. the bugger has bought everything i could find, and well… afford, in the shops. you admitted. – that makes sense… he replied, focusing on the task at hand. – the rascal loves all of this hero stuff but she absolutely loves sky high, you chuckled. it’s all she talks about. it’s like she lives and breathes the guy, said she wanted to be a hero and help people like he did. » you pretended to be annoyed, but he could hear the fondness in your voice. even though he’s supposed to start distancing himself from you, to start preparing himself for the upcoming heartbreak, he can’t help but continue to be endeared by you.

this was all so… incredibly mundane. everything just felt so incredibly ordinary. your interactions, the things you did together. it’s like it’s always been this way. the things you spoke about, and even the silence that you would share. there was always a certain comfort to be had together. it’s like this was normal, and he was the one you were always with. it’s like this was a routine. who knows, maybe in a different world, one where you two had met through different circumstances, maybe the two of you would’ve gotten together, he mused. but he had already ruined any chance of that he concluded. maybe had your lives gone a different way… maybe in another lifetime.

maybe this life wasn’t the one he was supposed to meet you in.

you sighed, straightening your back, before curling over your work once more: « sky high’s power is wind manipulation right? you pursed your lips. if i had that kind of power, i’d just spend most of my day flying to places. can you imagine? never having to put up with traffic? you rambled thoughtlessly. »

unbeknownst to you, ivan’s mind wandered back to a few years ago when he learnt that without the involvement of his custom made jetpacks sky high’s power could only allow him to float, and fought to stifle the laugh that crept up his throat. oblivious, you asked, sounding half-curious half-bored as you continued to abuse the material under your hands: « hey love, if you could have any next power in the world, what would you pick? »

ivan tilted his head towards you, and let his hand drop back down on the carpeted floor. change his ability for a different one? any kind at all? he took the time to ponder it, seriously considering the question. of course, he admired kotetsu’s and barnaby’s hundred power, but could he really utilise that correctly, what with the constraints? what about edward’s power? he had an actual chance to be a hero with his ability… or even lunatic and his fearsome control over his devastating blue flames. if he could use that for good? to help people? there were too many different abilities, each one more capable than the one he actually possessed.

« hmm… i guess… anything that’s useful; something that can be used to help others. he answered truthfully. i’m sorry, that must’ve been really vague. he laughed nervously. you shook your head with a smile. – that’s very noble of you, you praised as you continued working. truthfully, i envy your integrity. you confessed. – mm? why is that? what next power would you have chosen? he inquired. – oh, like if i had a second next power? you replied absentmindedly, focused on a particularly stubborn piece of cardboard which refused to cut. »

wait. did he hear that right?

« are… are you a next? » he asked, sounding something like perturbed.

« hmm? »

« is there something you’r… »

there wasn’t any need to elaborate: your face had said it all. like a criminal caught red-handed, your expression was the perfect picture of shock. he would even think you were scandalised. you pressed your lips into a thin line, eyebrows knitted in dismay.

« must’ve be a freudian slip… » you tried to laugh, neither of you amused. « it’s really nothing noteworthy or important— » you started on a lie, but grimaced slightly.

catching unto your tic, he pleaded, voice serious: « tell me the truth… please… »

you shifted in you seat uncomfortably, eyes dashing across your room looking at everything except his eyes. you were deeply aware of the eyes laser-focused on you, locked onto you to the point where you swore it could bore through you. you sighed and resigned yourself to telling him the truth. the entire truth, and nothing but the truth. it’s not like you could lie to his face: « before i tell you, do you promise not to leave before i finished explaining everything? you opened your mouth and closed them again. you’re free to hate me all you want, but please don’t… you turned away and bit your lips. »

he didn’t know what to anticipate. was your ability that alarming? he nodded, preparing himself for… whatever you were going to reveal to him.

« it’s honestly nothing incredible… you started. i couldn’t be a hero with it… i swear. it’s... you paused, as you tried to find the right words to divulge your ability. the right words to explain it clearly without making it into a fuss.

lie detection, you said, plainly, without much relish or fanfare. um... my ability only allows me to see through lies, or anything meant to deceive: lies, half-truths, manipulations, omission of detail… you hesitated. illusions.

i guess, neither of you ever noticed… they, um, taylor, didn’t know either… »

it’s shocking how easily this fabricated world crumbled.

you knew? what do you mean?? ivan had sat facing you, frozen in place. by fear, confusion, apprehension. he felt embarrassed, ashamed. were you just playing along to spare his feelings? he really should’ve told you earlier. look at where his inaction led him.

he should’ve been the one who came clean, instead of forcing you to tell the truth on his behalf.

« how long…? half wanting and not wanting to know the truth. he had a guess. if what you had said was true then... how long have you known? »

still not facing him, you cast your gaze downwards, clasping your hands together: « since the first time… when i saw you, i knew you weren’t the real taylor and just assumed it was you, origami. what with your involvement during the campaign and all... i’m guessing i’ve assumed correctly?

the hero sat motionless, but made no attempt to disprove your assumption. if what you had said about your ability was true, then there would be no point to lying.

at first i really… didn’t understand why you kept visiting me, as my former partner no less. i still don’t, for that matter… though i’m willing to give you the benefit of the doubt and assume that you have good intentions. i knew it was you, so i was a bit standoffish and suspicious when we first met… i thought you wanted to take advantage of me while i was helpless to stroke your own ego, or conduct some sort of ploy to boost your own popularity. i’m... really sorry for assuming something like that about you… i’m not sure where i got that idea as you never seemed to be that kind of person... you had been so sincere when i asked why you kept visiting me and kept pretending… well not pretending, you seemed to have genuinely cared about me, that i guess i started to drop my guard and trusted you.

your eyes were tinged with a sadness and confusion that he wished to get rid of, but it was no longer his place. it never was his place. you shook your head.

i’m really sorry. i really truly am for not letting you know sooner instead of letting it go this far… at first i… i played along because i didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable or feel humiliated by revealing that i could see through your disguise, and i wanted to wait for you to come clean first. but i guess… somewhere along the lines you’ve become a part of my routine and i’ve become quite fond of spending my time with you. of you. you quickly added. i know that i was going through a vulnerable moment of my life, which may have made me too trusting, but i really mean it: i’m really happy that i met you that day. i know you were just playing your role and that nothing ever meant anything… and i’m aware that you could’ve just… up and left whenever you got tired of dealing with my crap. even though it’s all fake, i’ve really enjoyed the time we got to spent together and i’m really happy i got to be with you. i’m really happy for being able to get to know you as a person, origami. »

you tried to smile to convey your gratefulness, but it came out wrong. it wavered and was visibly bittersweet. as you said that, your voice held such remorsefulness that baffled him. it was his fault in the first place, trapping the both of you in a punishment of his own creation. he should be the one apologising to you, he should be the one begging you for forgiveness as he explained himself. he should be the one who told you the truth. you had every reason to feel disgusted by him and hate him, and yet, here you were putting yourself down for his sake.

you were slightly surprised when you heard him respond, his voice no longer bearing that confident tone and smooth accent that you had recognised to be taylor’s. instead it was the boyish voice you had come to know was origami cyclone’s. but this time, it was devoid of any energy and lacked the boisterous intonation that often accompanied his words: « no, i- i’m the one who should apologise: i should’ve been the one to tell you the truth… if anyone should feel angry or betrayed, it should be you… i was the one who decided to set this all up after all…

after facing you, it was his turn to look away, avoiding your gaze.

i didn’t mean let it go this far … lying to you to this extent and for this long… but of course, i allowed it to get out of hand… i’m sorry, i should’ve told you sooner, if i ever made you uncomfortable at any point during this whole mess i’m really sorry. i... it was stupid. you never reached out for help and i’m sure you would’ve gotten through this just fine by yourself. my intent was never to manipulate you for my own gain or to use you… i had wanted to help you, naively thinking that i could fix you… it was selfish of me to just force my way into your life and help you, even though you never asked for mine. it was foolish to think i could just… pull the wool over your eyes like that, and it was unfair to you.

the blond considered stopping there, allowing a tangible silence, even more oppressive than the tension, to invade the room. should he tell you? should he…? he tried his best to summon a renewed determination. it was high time that he was honest to you, he told himself. honest to you. honest to himself, as well.

i suppose it’s pointless to lie to you, so i’ll tell you the truth: i... i— the circumstances in which we met were less than ideal, and i wished that we could’ve gotten to know each other differently, but… during the course of… whatever it is we had, i had stupidly hoped that the closeness i felt between us wasn’t imagined, and that you felt the same affection for me as i did for you.

despite his fear, he dared himself to turn back to where you had sat, bracing himself for what your eyes held. will it be repulsion? hostility? regret? vilification? he was scared, but even so he faced them.

my appearance may have not been mine, but my actions were. you’re free to doubt the validity of my words, but… even though i was pretending to be someone else i- my feelings are true. »

finding himself surprised for the umpteenth time that day, you fully turned to face him. you didn’t seem to be reacting badly, but you weren’t reacting much at all. you simply sat there, stunned at his display of honesty. were you combing through his words to detect any possible lies? he figured he deserved that level of distrust, after doing nothing but lie to you. he knows he shouldn’t feel so relieved when he wasn’t even in the clear yet, but at least you weren’t reacting badly and he was infinitely grateful for your seemingly infinite graciousness.

finally, you seemed to have recovered your voice: « i believe you. »

three words. three simple words that managed to lift all the weight off of his shoulders. you believed him. he didn’t deserve your forgiveness, and yet you gave it to him freely.

« could i see… no, nevermind. you had retracted your hesitant request. i’ve already made you go through too much for my sake. i’m grateful for being able to see you, regardless of who you look like. »

he shook his head, relenting: « you deserve to know the truth. it’s the least i could do after everything i made you endure… » with a blue flash, “taylor” disappeared. in their place was a young man with a mop of unruly blond hair. he fidgeted nervously with his hands under the baggy purple varsity jacket he wore, which coupled with his hunched posture, made him look smaller than he probably was. his striking and alluring purple eyes seemed to be permanently locked into an expression of worry and refused to meet your eyes. « i’m sorry… i’m probably way off from what you expected... » he muttered, dejectedly.

not expecting any sort of positive reaction for his underwhelming appearance, he turned his amethyst eyes elsewhere. he waited for your reaction, anticipating the worst. always anticipating the worst.

in one swift motion, you reached out to embrace him tightly. his body tensed up, having been caught off guard by the sudden affectionate gesture. his hands dropped from their hovering around your form as his wide eyes ran wildly across the room before they returned to settle on you. confusion laced his voice as he softly called out your name. he didn't know what to do with his arms as you wrapped your arms around him ever so gently. should he return… your gesture? but his arms laid uselessly next to him, still too stunned by your response.

yet again, he felt that same tingly feeling where you held him. the warmth that you brought to him reawakened those butterflies, making him feel light and fuzzy. is this ok? is feeling like this ok? is liking you ok?

« stop saying stuff like that about yourself, origami… you keep underselling yourself. you’re incredible, you’re kind, and yet you’re humble. your voice was soft as you spoke. i wasn’t just waxing poetics when i praised you, not just lip service to appeal to you because i could see behind your trick. i meant it when i said i admired you. even before i met you, i’ve admired you. »

you pulled away, if only to place your hands on either side of his face and to lift his eyes, making him face you, properly face you, for the first time in a long time. he was taken aback by how gentle and soft your gaze was. who were those kind eyes for? surely not him. he didn’t deserve such honest adoration. there was no reason for admiration, contentment, or appreciation to have their eyes on him. and yet, those compassionate eyes continue to gaze back at him. your beautiful eyes continued to look back at his own dull eyes.

was this really ok after everything he put you through? was it really ok to derive so much comfort from your hold?

you hoped your continued eye contact conveyed your sincerity.

« origami, you’re one of the most selfless and brave person i’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing, and now i’ve come to learn that you’re handsome to boot. you never cease to amaze me in the best way possible, and im so so grateful that you’re still here ori— finally waking from his daze and regaining some semblance of control over his limbs, he moved his arm to return your hold and wrapped them closely around you. he allowed the warmth he felt to fully consume him and buried his face in the crook of your neck, trying to get as physically close to you as possible. – ivan. he whispered in your ear, almost afraid. – ivan…? you echoed. – … my name is ivan. – is that so? then... thank you, ivan. thank you so so much. thank you for being here for me. thank you for everything. »

he knows now with certainty that he adores the way his name sounded with your voice. he couldn’t see your face from the position you were in, but he could imagine your captivating smile. the same one he adored so much. your careful hands had traveled to his head, stroking his hair, playing with an errant lock, and he adores your touch.

the small kindling that you had lit turned into a newfound courage that consumed him like wildfire. this unwanted and foolish adoration he held for you had proven itself to be phoenix, renewing itself as heartfelt and profound.

if you had allowed it, then he’s sure it was ok to be like this. to like being with you.

he adored you. and he hopes you adored him in kind.

« i— »

as he was about to say something, his communicator beeped relentlessly and he has never hated that sound more in his life until now. taken slightly by surprise, you both let go of each other and looked confused at each other—though he was intimately aware of where you rested your hands when you let go of each other: one on his shoulder, the other one on his hip. the latter of which he thoughtlessly gripped with his free hand, keeping it in place, not willing to part from you quite yet. not willing to let go quite yet. he whipped his right hand up, fumbling between taking this call and apologising to you for having interrupted what had been a very pleasant moment, the unexpected call flustering him. up until now, it had never annoyed him quite to this extent. he grumbled something you didn’t quite catch. his gaze flicked back and forth, from you, to his communicator, back to you.

he needed to take this, he needed to be there for agnes’ briefing. it was time sensitive, but so was the thing he wanted to tell you. he was torn: he needed to tell you something. he needed to answer before his employer forcefully answered his call for him and intruded.

« i… »

the indecision was clear in his eyes, so instead you made the choice for him: « it’s alright, go. »

you let your hand trail up his jaw, and placed it there. his attention was immediately brought back to you and the pleasant buzzing that often followed your touch. you smiled as you felt his hand follow your own and moved to rest it atop yours.

« i’ll be cheering for you, love. »

a/n: might fuck around and make a fluffy sequel who knows

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mollymauk-teafleak · 4 years

Text

Help Wanted (chapter four)

Huge thanks to my amazing betas @spiky-lesbian and @minky-for-short!

Please consider leaving a comment on Ao3 if you’d like to support my writing!

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4

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WARNING: This chapter and the next few will deal with Fjord coping with his own sexuality and internalised homophobia. Avoid if this is a trigger for you.

Caduceus and Fjord start coming closer, when something comes roaring up to pull them apart

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“So...Caduceus, huh?”

Beau wasn’t very good at difficult conversations. She knew that. Whenever she had to have one, whether it was navigating her relationship with her girlfriends, letting Jester know when she needed some quiet time or getting Yasha to be more open about how she was feeling, the person she usually turned to was Fjord. He’d never say it himself but he was good at feelings talk, at least when he was out of his own head. Even when he’d been far away, the two of them had texted whenever he was docked, and he’d always been able to help her figure out what to say. Not that she could tell him that. He’d have cringed and gotten awkward about it and insisted he was really no good at ‘soft stuff’.

And Beau would have felt that urge to slap the hell out of that Vandran guy. And Avantika. And everyone else who’d ever made Fjord feel like he was worthless if he wasn’t ‘strong’. But that would have taken a long time.

But this time, she couldn’t ask Fjord what to say or how to make her smile look less like a grimace or how not to come off like a grumpy asshole. Because the person she wanted to have this tricky conversation with was Fjord himself.

And so far it was going as well as she’d expected.

Fjord gave her a puzzled look from across the counter, “Caduceus. Yeah, I know the fellah. Tall, furry, dresses like a college age stoner. I only see him every day but Sundays.”

“Damn, that is exactly how he dresses…” Beau muttered, looking across at where Cad himself was standing, seeing his drop crotch pants in an eye watering geometric print in a new light, “Anyway, I just mean...he’s nice, right?”

Fjord narrowed his eyes, “Uh, yeah. He is nice.”

“And you’ve been getting on really well?”

“I guess, yeah. We talk a lot, we’ve actually started texting. I don’t think he’s ever done it before but he seems like he’s getting the hang of it...I know he seems a little slow but he’s actually way smarter than people realise, he knows more about plants than, well, anyone I think and all this stuff he just remembers off the top of his head, his memory for some stuff just crazy. Last night when we were texting, he was describing how to make some real complicated stew thing and I know for a fact he didn’t have the recipe book because that's here and he wasn’t googling it because I don’t think he knows how to do that but he remembered everything about it…” he stopped, like he’d just realised how long he’d been talking and flushed, “Beau, when are you getting to your point?”

Beau cursed internally. The answer was she had no idea. But she had to try.

“Just sayin’... seems like you’ve got a bit of a...a thing going on with him. A connection.”

That had definitely been the wrong thing to say. Fjord’s shoulders immediately hunched, his jaw set in that stubborn, defensive way. The blush became a fire across his face, turning his green skin splotchy. He looked like a teenager caught spray painting a wall.

“What? He’s just a friend,” he said, more curt than he probably realised, “Like I said, I see him every day. I’m allowed to have friends, ain’t I?”

Beau held up her palms, getting the strong sensation that Fjord wasn’t talking to her anymore, not in his head anyway, “Sure, sure. Course.”

“You and Jess said I should work here, you wanted me to get to know him, that’s all I’m doing-”

“Right!” Beau raised her voice a little, frowning, “I know, Fjord, I know. Jeez, I was just asking…”

“Well maybe don’t next time,” he snapped, “He’s just a friend...here’s your coffee.”

The last part was muttered a little resentfully as he pushed the biodegradable cup towards her more forcefully than he needed to, quickly turning on his heel and nearly fleeing into the kitchen, with a half caught comment about having work to do.

Beau groaned and slumped on her stool. She knew exactly what was going to happen now, Fjord would spend a day being cold and awkward around her then would snap right back to the way they’d been before, as if the botched conversation had never happened. That’s how it had gone every other time Beau had tried to steer him into talking about...well, anything even remotely adjacent to that.

She’d tried before Caduceus was ever in the picture. She’d tried to bring it up around bonfires they’d set on the beach on weekends Fjord had stayed with her because the orphanage was crushing him, on the nights they’d sneak onto the school field when her own home became unbearable to be in and she needed to talk to someone who didn’t treat her like she was a mistake for being herself. She’d waited expectantly when she’d come out to him, at their usual booth in the cheap diner they both frequented, like there was a second half to the conversation in the wings.

None had worked. How were you supposed to tell someone you saw something in them when they didn’t see it themselves? When other parts of them, parts that had been transplanted in against their will, would hate it and punish them for it?

As little as she liked it, Beau realised all she could do was sit back and hope against hope that something would grow in Fjord.

Well, she sighed as she jumped down and went to head to class, if anyone could make something grow in the harshest conditions it was Caduceus.

It happened so slowly.

It started with side glances, Fjord clearly noticing things he hadn’t before. Things like the tattoo at the base of Caduceus’ neck that was only visible when he wore his hair with his undercut exposed. Things like the swirl of smooth oak he wore through the hole in his ear. Things like the markings he shaved into the fur around his wrist on certain days, namely the week when the seasons were shifting, as spring became summer. They’d always been part of him, of course but now Fjord’s eye seemed drawn to them more than ever.

And then it became questions. Not big questions but small ones that betrayed a much bigger curiosity. One day, when Fjord came in to find Cad meditating on the floor in the middle of the cafe, he politely tiptoed around him and left him to it. But he spent the morning clearly chewing over a question and finally, as the two of them sat and ate lunch in the kitchen, he burst out and asked if Cad thought about anything in particular when he did that or if he just let his mind wander. Cad had smiled and happily ran him through some meditation basics, breathing and thought exercises and such. Fjord had listened intently before quickly busying himself with his sandwich and mumbling something about it sounding interesting but not really for him.

The next day, he’d asked Cad if talking to the plants as he did counted as talking to his goddess too. Then he’d asked if she had a particular special day or if she had a temple of some kind somewhere. Then he’d asked if the way Caduceus did his hair had something to do with her whole spiral thing, the way he usually did it in braided buns on either side of his head.

Cad answered every question patiently, as if simply indulging his friend’s curiosity. After all, she was a lesser known deity in these parts, of course she’d seem interesting to someone who had grown up in a city. But each one lit a hope in his chest, like fireflies buzzing in his ribcage.

And then it wasn’t a question, it was a realisation.

“That’s a wave, isn’t it?”

Caduceus looked up from where he was lounging on one of the sofas, sewing a torn cushion back together, “Hm?”

Fjord was over in the corner, one of the carved talismans in his hand. There were several dotted around the store, looking just like indoor rockery amongst the plants or interesting art sculptures. But if someone knew what they were looking for, they’d see them everywhere. This one was a palm sized river rock, carved with the Wildmother’s spiral and painted in watercolours. His sister had made it for him before he’d left, pressing it into his palm as he’d been packing, when the rest of his family had already started keeping their distance.

Clarabelle had always been a favourite of his.

It seemed to fit perfectly in Fjord’s palm and he was studying it like he had no idea how it had gotten there, the watering can hanging limp and forgotten in his other hand.

“The symbol,” he murmured, face creased in a gentle, curious frown, “It’s a wave, isn’t it?”

Cad leaned forward, setting his needle and thread to one side, lazily resting his chin on his knees, “It is. Melora’s of the sea as well as the forest. Where’s wilder than the sea, after all?”

“I...I didn’t know that,” Fjord’s voice was small and his eyes hadn’t lifted from the talisman.

Cad nodded, “She guides the passage of ships and protects those who sail the waves, anywhere in the world. Particularly from storms.”

That snapped Fjord’s eyes up, as if one of the words Cad had spoken was a fishing line that he’d jerked, “Really?’

Cad tried to feel nothing at the sudden intensity in the half orc’s stare, “Yes. She’s all about protection and balance when people travel through wild places. Keeping things as they should be.”

Again, something about that tugged at Fjord. Enough to make him set down the watering can and come to sit on the sofa opposite Caduceus’, leaning forward on his knees. The quiet of the cafe after hours seemed to intensify, wrap around them as if they weren’t just the only two people in the building but the whole world.

“You said she’s about healing,” his voice was raspy, like he was having to fight to keep some emotion out of it, “But what about...forgiving?”

Cad blinked slowly, ears twitching, “Forgiving?”

Fjord lowered his voice, “Like if you’d...done something you weren’t proud of. Or thought something or...or you were something you weren’t proud of...or at least you thought you should be...would she still…” he seemed unable to keep going, like he was grasping for words that weren’t there.

Cad took a moment to really look at him before he answered. It was like he was seeing him in a different light, the way the colour of some eyes could look completely different depending on where you stood. There was a fear in Fjord’s face he’d never seen before, a kind of raw and innocent fear that belonged to a child. A child who didn’t understand why he’d been hurt as badly as he had. Who’d spend his life trying to reason out that hurt, finding flaws in himself that weren’t there, just to justify it all. Because if it wasn’t there then the world was just plain cruel and that couldn’t be true.

Cad was good at reading people, he was good at understanding faces and the feelings behind them. But he hadn’t seen this. And it broke his heart.

“Fjord,” he eventually murmured, wanting so badly to reach across the table to him but knowing that would do more harm than good, “Nothing is unforgivable. Certainly nothing you’ve done. And some things...some things don’t even require forgiveness, no matter what other people have told you.”

Fjord swallowed hard, “And she...she’d think so too?”

“Without hesitation,” Cad answered immediately, never breaking his gaze.

At that, something in Fjord seemed to recede, pull away. Something that didn’t have form or shape or colour so it was hard to say how it did it, but the sensation was unmistakable. A kind of...darkness had withdrawn ever so slightly.

And he managed to nod.

Thank you, thank you, thank you Cad chanted desperately in his head as he kept his face in a gentle smile and reached over to Fjord, putting his large hands over the half orc’s callused ones and closing his fingers over the talisman in.

“Why don’t you keep that, Fjord?” he murmured, “I want you to have it.”

Fjord opened his mouth to insist he couldn’t but Caduceus was already shaking his head, “It’s not a promise or anything, it’s just...a gift. It’s just a gift. From one friend to another.”

Fjord bit his lip, though the anxiety in his eyes was bleeding away, “I…”

Cad’s hands were still on Fjord’s, somehow he’d not taken them away yet, “Just use it as a reminder that...you’re good, Fjord. No matter what you’ve been told, you’re fundamentally good. And change is always possible.”

“Caduceus…” It was part question, part plea for help, part just saying his name because he wanted to hear it out loud.

There was so much more he wanted to say in return, words beating in his mouth like a second heartbeat, straining for flight. Words that would chase that darkness away for good, make it flinch so he could catch it in his hands and show Fjord how small and twisted and wrong it really was, how he didn’t have to believe what it said ever again. How it had never been part of him but something he’d been forced to take.

And then everything broke into a hundred pieces as a car horn blared outside, again and again like an angry heartbeat. Both of them jumped a mile, Cad’s ears flattening against his head and Fjord whipping around as if expecting a blow.

“Oh…” he eventually said, when the shock had died down to just an unpleasant buzz in the nerves, “It’s Avantika…”

Sure enough, past the windows and the doodles of plants and mushrooms Jester had done for Cad in glass paints when he’d first opened, out on the darkened street was a car. The horn blared again, a shout into the previously calm twilight.

“She never normally comes to get me this late,” Fjord looked lost, still childlike and terrified, “Why…I should go…”

There was a pause then, a pause that could have lasted a lifetime to the two men caught in it. A possibility bloomed between them, a road opening up in a held breath. And then a choice was silently made. Fjord stood up, a different man, broader shouldered and with a set jaw and a mask on his face he’d worn for so long.

“I’m sorry, Cad,” this other man said, “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“Right,” Cad murmured, still reeling, “Tomorrow.”

He went to stand too but then he felt it, the talisman. Not in Fjord’s hands but his own, left there, abandoned like a broken promise.

And for a moment, the other man was gone as Fjord whispered, “I’m sorry, Cad,” and fled, taking any unspoken words with him out into the night.

The door falling shut behind him sounded louder than it had any right to.

For a long time Cad stayed sat down, looking at the talisman left in his hands, all strength to stand gone out of him. He heard the car door slamming shut outside, the tyres screeching against the road as it drove away but he didn’t look to see it happen.

He didn’t understand.

Caduceus was still yawning as he walked from where he parked to the front of the cafe. He hadn’t slept well in the night, for obvious reasons, and was feeling every minute of tossing and turning as he walked through a chilly dawn.

The tiredness wasn’t helping him work out how he was going to approach Fjord today. He didn’t want things to be awkward, he didn’t want to lose a friend. But he couldn’t figure out how on earth he was supposed to keep that from happening after things had gone so disastrously wrong. Had he pushed him? Had he come off controlling? Had he seen a desire in Fjord that hadn’t really been there, that he’d only wanted to see?

Caduceus was used to being so sure of his decisions. Even when they’d been the rash, impulsive decisions of his youth, even when no one else seemed to follow his reasoning, at least he’d always been secure in his next step forward. Like the paths through the grove he’d walked so many times, he always knew where he was setting his feet.

Now he couldn’t even be sure there was ground underneath him at all. And if he didn’t find it soon, he’d lose sight of Fjord completely.

As he rounded the corner, out onto the quiet little street where his cafe stood, he realised with a sinking heart that he had no time left to figure it out. Because Fjord was already there, under the still glowing street lamp outside the door, hunched against the chill in that threadbare hoodie of his.

Cad’s ears drooped and he prayed for wisdom as he crossed the space between them, trying to smile.

“Morning, Fjord,” he called when there was still a few yards between them, “You’re early…”

The closer he got, the more his tiredness was replaced with a cold, heavy dread. Because Fjord looked fine. Far too fine. Like he was holding it that way quite deliberately because behind it all was something else.

“Uh, yeah,” even his voice was measured, like an actor delivering lines, “I came in a little early because...because I need to talk to you about something.”

“Well,” Cad turned to unlock the door, “We can talk inside, it’s a little too chilly to-”

“No,” Fjord interrupted, “I think I need to say this now, Caduceus.”

He stopped, the dread crystallising into a full on fear in his stomach, key freezing halfway in the lock, “...oh?”

“I’m leaving.”

And there it was.

Fjord broke, unable to look at him anymore, eyes falling to the pavement between them, “Avantika bought a ship. Well...we bought a ship, really but...thats why she came to get me last night, to tell me. She got tired of waiting for another captain to take us on so...so I guess we’re just doing it ourselves. We won’t be setting out right away but I need to go help get everything ready so...tomorrow’s going to be my last day.”

There was a second long pause, before the key turned in the lock with a sharp click. Cad stepped inside, still not having said a word, calmly slipping off his coat and putting on his apron, the only sign he’d heard being a tremble in his hands as he knotted it in the front.

“Well, that’s a shame,” he finally said, voice quiet, “We can talk more about the logistics of that but I need to go and get the produce out for today. You can sort out the tables. I’ll be in the store room if you need me.”

Fjord’s eyes were up, looking shocked and confused, like he’d been waiting for an explosion that hadn’t come, “Sure...yeah, I can do that…”

“Right,” Cad stepped away into the back room and down the steps into the basement, walking quickly, keeping his head up and his jaw still just in case Fjord was still looking.

It was only when the heavy door of the store room closed behind him, so he knew that he had a good ten minutes before anyone would get suspicious and enough distance that no one would hear, only then did he stop and sit down heavily on a wooden box.

Only then did Caduceus allow himself to sob.

#fjorclay #teahaw #fjord #caduceus clay #modern au #coffee shop au #cr: fjord #cr: caduceus #critical role #internalised homophobia #pining

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thecoleopterawithana · 5 years

Text

The Surrealist

— Not to be Reproduced (La reproduction interdite), by René Magritte (1937).

–

I don’t examine myself that way. I just am. I just go through it. I just wake in the morning and go to bed at night and whatever happens during the day just happens. I don’t really know how I am.

— Paul McCartney, in Music Express: 'Paul McCartney Wings It Alone' (April/May 1982).

–

“In an attempt to explain the significance of surrealist art, René Magritte expressed the view that surrealist images emerge spontaneously, as in dreams, and only after that are the images given meaning. As a result, the genre has the power to convey important ideas even if the artist does not consciously set out to do so.”

–

This series – I just woke up one morning and I had a germ of an idea, which is all I want really. I don’t want too formed an idea, it’s just not who I am. This little series comes from this image I got of someone scratching three fingers down a wall. I woke up with this thing and I thought it would be just a black canvas and these three-fingered scratches, like someone in prison and they’re either trying to get out or they’re trying to mark the dates. I woke up with this thing and I thought it would be just a black canvas and these three-fingered scratches, like someone in prison and they’re either trying to get out or they’re trying to mark the dates. It’s like graffiti. That set me off on a little bunch of paintings. And things happen, like I didn’t want it to just be black, so I was going to make it blue-black. So I threw some blue on the canvas and was going to blend it. But then a shape emerged with this blue, and I still don’t know what it is. It looks vaguely phallic, or somebody’s ass bending away from you. But that’s what started to fascinate me. It’s probably an accident, but also what I like about that is the inner content, that I have no idea what my dreams are about. I’ve no idea, yet they’re every bit as real as sitting here with you. But my interior world, I think it’s not a bad idea to try and tap it.

My view is that these things are there whether you want them or not, in your interior. You don’t call up dreams, they happen, often the exact opposite of what you want. You can be heterosexual and be having a homosexual dream and wake up, and think, “Shit, am I gay?” I like that you don’t have control over it. But there is some control – it is you dreaming, it is your mind it’s all happening in. In a way my equation would be that my computer is fully loaded by now. Maybe in younger people there’s a little bit of loading to go, but mine’s loaded pretty much, so what I try and do is allow it to print out unbeknown to me. And I’m interested to hear what it’s got in there.

I think we must be interested as musicians as often our music arrives that way. I dreamed the song Yesterday. It was just in a dream, I woke up one morning and had a melody in my head. so I have to believe in that.

— Paul McCartney, in “Luigi’s Alcove” by Karen Wright, for Modern Painters (August 2000).

–

John: Now whether he’s – [Paul] was expressing himself because whether we plan it to express our innermost feelings, or sort of surreal it like Dylan, or – Paul, you could say, his lyrics are very sort of… non-specific – if one knows the person, one knows what is coming down. You know, you can read what’s being said—

Yoko: Between the lines.

John: Between the lines. Because people’s expressions and feelings come out in their work whether they want it to or not. So I always express myself directly, or [in the] language of the streets, and other people don’t. And that’s what it was all about. And I don’t go ‘round thinking, “how do you sleep?” the same as I don’t go, “imagine there’s no heaven,” you know. Because it’s 1973 now, and it’s a different world. And as you’ve probably heard, or people have read, Paul and I have communicated [...].

— John Lennon, interview with DJ Elliot Mintz (16 April 1973).

–

I think everything that comes out of the songs – even Paul’s songs now, which are apparently about nothing – the same way as calligraphy shows and your handwriting shows you everything about yourself. Or [Bob] Dylan too. Dylan might try to hide in a subterfuge of clever, Allen Ginsberg-type words, or hippie words, but it was always apparent, if you look below the surface, what is being said. Resentfulness, or love, or hate. And it’s apparent in all work. It’s just harder to see when it’s… written in gobbledy-gook.

— John Lennon, interviewed by David Sheff for Playboy (August 1980).

–

McCartney has written some of the world’s most famous love songs, but has he ever worried about revealing too much of himself? “Yes, but you’ve got to get over that feeling quickly, because that’s the game.” Some songs turned out to be more personal than he realised when he was writing them. The Beatles’ Yesterday will be 50 years old in August. McCartney famously dreamed the melody. But its opening line was originally, “Scrambled eggs/Oh my baby, how I love your legs.” McCartney followed his own advice and “bombed through”, ending up with a universally known song about loss and regret. But its initial spur was more prosaic. “There are a lot of mindsets when you’re writing a song – and one of them is commercial,” he admits. “It’s like any job, where if you do a certain thing you’ll progress in that job. In songwriting it’s an unspoken thing, but I recognise it. I remember hearing somewhere that people like sad songs, so I thought, ‘OK, I’ll write a sad song.’ I knew what I was getting into…” So, in a way, you were acting when you wrote it? “Yes. I wrote from the point of view of someone who was sad. But when you’re taking on a part, it’s usually you you’re writing about. Your psychiatrist would say it’s you.”

— Paul McCartney, interviewed by Mark Blake for Q: Songs in the key of Paul (May 2015).

–

John: There’s no comparison for me. ‘Cause we’re—

Hilburn: You mean comparing artistically, or you mean comparing sales-wise and stuff?

John: Oh, sales-wise, forget it. [Paul] always had more fans than me, in the Cavern… So there’s no comparison on that level. And on the other level, I don’t think it counts. I think it’s like comparing… I don’t know, Magritte and, er – Picasso, if you want to put it on that level. Or whatever. How can you compare it?

Hilburn: Was there ever any sense of competition when you—

John: It’s like trying to compare Gaugin and Van Gogh. They were friends, as well.

— John Lennon talks with Robert Hilburn from The LA Times (10 October 1980).

–

In the beginning, art was what we talked about. [John] told me he thought he was like [surrealist painter René] Magritte. Why? Because, you know, you have the image of Magritte with the bowler hat and the suit, looking very square, but really his work was very surreal and far out. John was living in suburbia, and he was very embarrassed about that, because he felt as if he was not very hip. When he invited me to his house the first time, the first thing he said when I got there was, “I think of myself as Magritte.”

— Yoko Ono, interviewed for The New York Times (7 October 2004).

–

The dream is over Yesterday I was the dream weaver But now I’m reborn I was the Walrus But now I’m John

–

I told you about the walrus and me, man You know we're as close as can be, man Well here's another clue for you all The Walrus was Paul

–

I’ve always loved Mr Magritte’s work and have admired him since the 1960s when I first became aware of his work. I love his paintings so much that I once took a trip to Paris to visit Magritte’s art dealer Alexander Iolas and had a very pleasant meal in his apartment above the gallery. We then went downstairs to see the paintings and I was able to select three pictures.

Robert [Fraser - art dealer and friend] also brought me other interesting Magritte’s pictures over the years and one of them became the inspiration for the original Beatles Apple Records label: the big green apple was inspired by Magritte.

We were amongst the many people who have been hugely influenced by this great artist's work.

— Paul McCartney, in Paintings On The Wall - René Magritte (1898 - 1967) (March 2015).

–

— Le Jeu de Mourre (The Game of Mora), by René Magritte (1966).

–

I had this friend called Robert Fraser, who was a gallery owner in London. We used to hang out a lot. And I told him I really loved Magritte. We were discovering Magritte in the sixties, just through magazines and things. And we just loved his sense of humour. And when we heard that he was a very ordinary bloke who used to paint from nine to one o'clock, and with his bowler hat, it became even more intriguing. Robert used to look around for pictures for me, because he knew I liked him. It was so cheap then, it's terrible to think how cheap they were. But anyway, we just loved him ... One day he brought this painting to my house. We were out in the garden, it was a summer's day. And he didn't want to disturb us, I think we were filming or something. So he left this picture of Magritte. It was an apple - and he just left it on the dining room table and he went. It just had written across it "Au revoir", on this beautiful green apple. And I thought that was like a great thing to do. He knew I'd love it and he knew I'd want it and I'd pay him later. [...] So it was like wow! What a great conceptual thing to do, you know. And this big green apple, which I still have now, became the inspiration for the logo. And then we decided to cut it in half for the B-side!

— Paul McCartney, interviewed by Johan Ral (1993).

–

Linda bought me these for my birthday once [he produces the paint-spattered spectacles of surrealist painter René Magritte which he keeps in a Perspex box on his desk]. Georgette, his wife, was selling the contents of his studio and Linda bought me the easel and his spectacles and some small linen canvases which I didn't dare paint on. I'm such a huge fan that was just mega. I was intimidated for weeks about painting on the canvases but in the end I just went, "Agghhhh!" and I did. Then I tried on the glasses which are a very powerful prescription; they'll give you a headache! What I love about Magritte is he turned the world upside down and inside out in terms of meaning and significance. Science and philosophy and religion are starting to converge on this idea that, whatever hat you put on, you are still you. Dickens writes Little Dorrit but he still comes through in her character. Burroughs and Ginsberg show through in their writing. Magritte's specs are a reminder: the world is a jungle of crazy interpretations.

— Paul McCartney, interviewed by Michael Odell for The Guardian (29 November 2008).

–

— Son of Man, by René Magritte (1964).

–

If I was to shout, “NAME A SURREALIST PAINTER!” at you, the name you many might reach for first, is one of his contemporaries: Salvador Dalí.

Based in Paris for the early part of his career, Dalí was a flamboyantly dressed dandy, with a manically upturned moustache, a colossal ego (who writes a whole book dedicated to their moustache?) and a propensity to drive around in his white Rolls Royce with 500kg of cauliflowers stuffed in the back, as he liked their shape. Fellow Paris-based artist, and founder of surrealism, André Breton kept and bred praying mantises – on account of how the female of the species rapaciously devours the male after mating.

Magritte could not have been any more different. He looked like a banker, dressed in a sober black suit and a bowler hat. [...] But once you come face to face with his paintings, you realise that the bowler hat was merely a front.

Magritte was, in many ways, far more subversive than the flamboyant Dalí. While it’s fair to say that no one painted better scenes of tigers-escaping-out-of-fish-mouths-while-simultaneously-mid-pounce-onto-a-naked women-on-an-iceberg, Dalí’s hallucinatory dreamscapes didn’t anchor in reality. Magritte’s work did: he made ordinary objects shriek.

[...]

He liked to obscure the views of faces – particularly his own - as well as places. Hiding objects over other objects was one of his parlour tricks: like placing a perfectly aligned painted canvas in front of a window and simulating the real view from it.

Magritte was always hiding behind something, whether language or class, or bathing in the anonymity of dozens of faceless salary men. Perhaps all that levitating in his 1953 work ‘Golconda’, was how Magritte saw himself: conducting extraordinary feats of ordinariness.

— Golconda, by René Magritte (1953).

He wasn’t the only artist who, through the cracks of a quiet, clean-cut image, you can glimpse subversion: like all the lonely people, his work stood slightly behind from his public persona.

— by Adam Jacques, on Paintings On The Wall - René Magritte (1898 - 1967), as suggested by Paul McCartney.

More on the painters series:

The Painter of Sunflowers and The Man in a Red Beret | Lennon-McCartney VS Gauguin & Van Gogh

171 notes · View notes

batwake · 4 years

Text

Dreams Passing By - reddie - anti soulmate au part four

ao3 link

summary: Richie and Eddie tackle road trips, viral videos, marriage, and the future.

“There is no end to the adventures we can have

if only we seek them with our eyes open.”

—Jawaharlal Nehru

It’s raining as they leave Washington and enter Idaho, the sky a purplish sort of grey. Richie is humming along to the beat of the rain against the windows, strumming his ukulele with his feet up on the dashboard and head tipped back to the roof of the car.

Even though it’s raining, Richie pesters Eddie to pull over next to the WELCOME TO IDAHO sign. It’s bright blue and stands out amongst the plains; tall grass in varying shades of yellow and green that go up to Richie’s knees when he steps out of the passenger door.

“Make it quick,” Eddie shouts over the wind, which has begun to pick up. The grass is up to Eddie’s waist, and he feels as if it’s about to swallow him whole. The dirt underneath his shoes feels wet and loose, very distinctly different from the firm streets of Seattle.

Richie hands Eddie the camera as he steps up to the sign. His wild black hair is blowing in every direction and his glasses are foggy, but Richie slaps on a smile and throws up a peace sign.

A click, a shutter, and a flash, then the whirring of the camera printing the little white slip. Eddie hurries back into the car to let the photo develop as Richie hovers around the sign with the camera that has just been handed to him, ignoring the rain.

The car is still warm when Eddie slips into the driver's seat.

Eddie has always liked cars. He liked the simple intricacies of them. He liked opening up the hood and being able to dig through machinery and wires to find the problem, cutting a wire here, or pressing a button there.

Replacing the part altogether.

He looks up as Richie opens the door and plops back into the seat, wetter than Eddie is. His hair has been slicked back with the rain, and his glasses placed on the top of his head as he holds another slowly developing photo in his hand.

Before Eddie can say anything, Richie is placing a messy kiss right on Eddie’s mouth. He tastes like rainwater and cinnamon gum and a little like the joint that he smoked before they left.

They kiss for a little while, uncomfortable as they stretch over the gap between their seats to focus solely on each other. Eddie likes kissing, he had come to find. Or maybe he just likes Richie.

Once they split and Eddie is pulling back onto the road, Richie grabs Eddie’s photo from the dashboard and holds it up next to the one that Eddie took.

Richie’s picture is still fading into full technicolor, but even faded Eddie can tell what it is. R + E is written in black sharpie on the bright blue sign, cementing that they had been there.

“Cute,” Eddie says, even though he means, permanent.

They pin both of the photos to the felt ceiling of Eddie’s car.

“One state down,” says Richie, reaching around the seats to grab his ukulele from the back.

Only thirteen more until Maine.

Trashmouth is traveling @richietoziersings

bye washington!! look how enthused spaghetti is instagram.com/p/hg70GG3s...

Trashmouth is traveling @richietoziersings

hey @bevmashanscom please take care of our kitties

Trashmouth is traveling @richietoziersings

hey @benhanscomarch please don’t let bev forget to take care of our kitties

They end their first day in the middle of Montana, two more photos added to the ceiling of the car. This time of Eddie and the sign, and the second of another R + E that Richie has scribbled.

Their only options are hotels that are too expensive or run down motels, where Eddie doesn’t trust the blankets. They find a mostly vacant rest area to park in, the only other sign of life being several trucks across the lot. They brush their teeth in the bathrooms and study the maps that are hanging on the walls. Eddie resists the urge to buy a coffee from the vending machine.

Instead they retreat to the back of the car, where Eddie has removed the back seats and shoved in Richie’s old mattress, covered in all of the pillows and blankets from their apartment. They both take a melatonin, in an effort to be well rested for the drive in the morning, and Richie swallows down the pills that he’s been taking for the last year and a half or so.

“I’m proud of you,” Eddie says as Richie swallows the last of many and crawls under the blankets, close to Eddie, even though there’s still a bit of room on the other side of the makeshift bed. There have been days where they had to fight and yell to get Richie to take his medication. Days where Richie was too sad to get out of bed but didn’t want to close his eyes because there were no Dreams waiting for him.

When Richie doesn’t answer, Eddie pulls Richie closer. Wraps both of his arms around his head and intertwines their legs together. Into Richie’s hair, Eddie’s breath steadies and slows until he is asleep. A minute later, Richie’s tight grip on Eddie’s hips loosen as he follows suit.

Eddie stirs out of sleep sometime well into the night, only being disturbed by the sound of a car passing by their end of the lot. It takes a moment for him to remember where he is. No Thor at his feet, or busy city sounds outside their window. His pillow feels more like an arm than a pillow.

He tilts his head to the side. It is, in fact, Richie’s arm.

The Hello Kitty watch on Richie’s wrist, which is just barely visible from Eddie’s position on his arm, displays the time as 3:47 AM , which then blinks into 3:48 AM after a moment.

The streetlight nearby streams in through the back widow, and Eddie takes a moment to ponder the idea of curtains for their makeshift home. Then, he rolls back on his side and wraps himself back around Richie, whose eyes remain closed and his breaths stay even.

Richie is casted in an eerie sort of glow from the streetlight, his face soft and open with sleep. The light highlights his freckles and moles, and leaves a shadow across the bump on his nose. Without glasses Richie doesn’t look much like himself, his eyes not magnified and his eyebrows pulled in to a slight frown.

Eddie presses his mouth to the corner of Richie’s mouth, then to his jaw, nose, cheek, eyelids, and stops at the side of his head. The kisses are soft and barely there, just enough to ground Eddie.

He’s not Dreaming, despite the tickle at the back of his neck and the butterflies in his stomach.

Maybe I am, Eddie thinks as he drifts off again. It’s not like I would know.

It’s a fifteen hour drive from their spot in Montana to their next stop in Wisconsin. Richie poses with the North Dakota sign, pointing at the words that say LEGENDARY and his other hand pointing at himself. The Minnesota sign is big and made out of stone, and busy with tourists, so they get a picture together when an eldery Chinese woman offers to take it for them. Richie holds Eddie up like a bride, and Eddie tosses his head back towards the sun, warm on his face.

Trashmouth is traveling @richietoziersings

i recorded this little song on my phone while we were driving through wisconsin

enjoy xo https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YLKPgbcYQ_g

[VIDEO DESC. - “A TRAVEL SONG - RICHIE TOZIER”

Richie Tozier sits in the passenger seat of a moving car, his ukulele in his hands and a notebook on his lap, Eddie Kaspbrak next to him behind the wheel. Just behind them is their messy little nest, just piles of blankets and pillows on top of each other, as well as their photos pinned to the ceiling. From the way the camera shakes and the rumble of the road causes a slight buzzing sound, it is clear that the phone is precariously balanced on the dashboard.

“You ready?” asks Richie, turning his head towards Eddie.

Eddie responds by turning on his blinker and switching lanes.

Richie turns to the camera and grins, then starts playing his song.]

I awoke to trees passing by at the speed of 65

It took a while to realize where I had spent the night

Through sunlight squint my eyes, so see you by my side

Just sit back and enjoy the ride

[chorus]

I don’t need a bed,

no I’m not tired yet,

so go full speed ahead

We’ll end up where we get,

and as we bid adieu

to the towns that we’re passing through,

I don’t care where we’re headed to,

I will go anywhere with you.

Looking down as we fly through the night over the Seattle skyline

It all looks different from this height, a city simplified

Every home a tiny light with a family inside

So we wave goodbye to mine

[chorus]

And the bags stay packed for weeks at a time even though I been back

I leave them cause I don’t know when I’ll be taking off again

[chorus]

-- I Will Go Anywhere With You, Richie Tozier

[Richie and Eddie sneak glances at each other and make funny faces throughout the whole video.

When Richie finishes, Eddie says warmly, “It was okay.”

As Richie reaches forward to stop the recording, he says, “one take baby!”

END OF VIDEO DESC.]

The sky is scattered with stars as they enter Wisconsin. They’re later than they intended.

“I was hoping to check into a motel tonight,” Eddie groans as he pulls to the side of the road. Richie just claps his hands together.

“I like spending the night in Lucielle.” There’s a thump as Richie removes his feet from the dashboard and pats the dust he left behind from his sneakers lovingly. “Ain’t that right baby?”

Eddie honks the horn, startling Richie. That sends both of them into fits of laughter, the kind where you quickly forget what you were laughing about and instead just hone in on the feeling of being blissfully happy.

It’s Eddie’s turn to pose with the giant wooden “Wisconsin Welcomes You!” sign. In careful, practiced handwriting, Richie writes NO SLEEP/NO DREAMS, R+E.

Eddie looks over his shoulder. “I forget we don’t share them. Sometimes,” he adds quickly.

Richie doesn’t hesitate to pull Eddie into his arms, lifting him up off the ground and spinning him underneath the stars. Into the smooth skin of Eddie’s cheek, Richie says, “life’s a dream with you,” and it only sounds a little bit like a cheesy song lyric.

As they walk back to the car, photos in hand, Richie bumps Eddie’s shoulder lightly with his fist. “Seriously, Spaghetti.”

“What?”

“Imagine if we had the Dreams.”

Eddie stops abruptly and trips over himself, but Richie catches his wrist at the last second. He manages to collect himself, his heart beating fast and the doctor in his brain overanalyzing Richie’s words.

“I don’t know what you mean.” They’ve never really spoken about the Dreams, not so candidly. The absence of the Dreams in Eddie and the gaping, barely scabbed over wound that the Dreams had left in Richie made the topic easy to skirt over.

Richie’s hand is still on Eddie’s wrist. He’s certain that the other man can feel his heartbeat beneath his fingers.

Soulmates was more of an open topic between them. It was easy to slip into their own definition. They’re young, in love, and are soulmates. The Dreams were an entirely different subject.

“I can’t imagine you being able to put up with me while awake and asleep,” Richie says, popping the uncomfortable bubble that had shot up around Eddie.

“You underestimate me.”

“I’m just saying,” Richie begins, finally letting go of Eddie after a calculated squeeze and moving to climb into the back of the car, ready to begin pinning the photos up. “You go to sleep, and bam! I’m there, ready to be just as annoying as I was before you even fell asleep.”

Eddie climbs back into the front seat and gets them back on the highway, keeping an eye out for a rest stop. “You underestimate me, Trashmouth.”

A sneaker is tossed into the front seat, followed by a second one. Eddie wouldn’t be surprised if Richie was naked by the time he parked the car.

He nearly was. The car was barely in park before Richie was tugging Eddie through the gap in the seats and pressing his mouth to the first bit of skin he could touch.

“Does Wisconsin make you horny and philosophical?” Eddie asks, the final L becoming more of a whine as Richie works on getting Eddie’s clothes off.

Richie huffs a laugh. “It’s the smell of cheese, really romantic.”

They slip into an easy kiss. The car moves underneath them as Eddie leans over to one of the suitcases that they keep between the seats and the mattress, digging around in one of the pockets until he finds the cloth bag full of lighters, grinders, and a jar of weed.

Richie pumps his fist into the air and pulls Eddie into his lap. “God, you’re my soulmate,” he moans.

Eddie likes the way it sounds coming out of Richie’s mouth.

Sometimes Eddie wakes up feeling like he’s forgetting something.

He means to ask Richie about it, wonders if he feels the same thing. If he wakes up particularly well rested, and feels the echo of a presence.

Imagine if we had the Dreams, Richie had said.

Eddie can imagine.

He’s startled, for a moment, when he wakes up in the back of the car and Richie isn’t next to him.

Then, Eddie hears faraway, tinny sounding music. Smells coffee, and maybe weed, but that could be lingering on them from the night before.

Eddie manages to wiggle on some boxers, a t-shirt, and a mismatched pair of socks, all belonging to Richie, then pulls a blanket with him as he exits the car.

Sure enough, Richie sits on the roof of the car, sunglasses over his eyes, joint between his fingers, and music playing from the nearly broken speakers of an old ipod. Eddie actually recognizes the song— Love Today, by MIKA. Richie likes to sing it loudly in their apartment, hitting the falsetto perfectly as he makes fried eggs and pretends that their cats are his adoring fans, watching him dance in his underwear and atrociously patterned shirts.

“Aren’t you cold?” asks Eddie as he climbs up. It’s early morning, a chill still clinging to the air even though the sun is high. He tosses the blanket over both of their shoulders and takes the cup that is passed to him, still full but no longer hot.

“I drive today?” Richie asks instead of a response. It’s more of a statement than a question.

“Sure.” Eddie gives in easily, resting his head against Richie’s shoulder. “We’re just about half way.”

Maine still seems impossibly far away. Yet, Eddie longs for more distance. More states for he and Richie to see, pictures to take, adventures to have.

“Lookit,” Richie says after a moment of digging through his sweatshirt pocket and passing the joint to Eddie. “We’re famous.”

It takes several seconds for Eddie to process what he’s looking at, before he realizes that it’s a twitter feed.

Eddie doesn’t understand twitter, or the internet in general really, but he’s subjected to it enough through Richie, who has a small following through the Seattle music scene.

But on Richie’s phone screen, there are hundreds of posts to scroll through, the top ones garnering thousands of likes and retweets. Most of the tweets mention Richie Tozier, or hot doctor soulmate.

When Eddie looks over at Richie, eyes wide, his sunglasses are pushed up onto his head and his smile is full of teeth. “When I posted that video on youtube, I barely had a thousand followers. This morning, I have nearly three hundred thousand.”

Eddie hits his shoulder. Richie proceeds to fall to his back, cackling and smacking the roof of the car. “Richard Wentworth Tozier!” Eddie shouts, but can’t suppress his grin as he looks down at Richie.

He throws his hands up. “I don’t know how it happened! We’re one hit wonders, Eds.”

Eddie turns back to the phone. There’s a tweet with fifty thousand likes, just a screencap from the video of Richie and Eddie looking at each other captioned, damn! these bitches r gay! good for them!

“This is ridiculous,” Eddie finally says after he feels he’s scrolled enough. “Aren’t I supposed to be the famous one?”

“Listen, Eddie, my love, you may have been listed as one of the top 1,685 physicians in the world as of 2018, but I got us on buzzfeed.”

Richie takes his phone as it’s passed, and looks at it absently. Presumably revelling in his newfound internet fame.

They sit on the roof by themselves for a little while, laughing at tweets or texting their friends. Once they get off the phone with Beverly (who has, thankfully, been looking after Thor and Cathy-Parr in their absence), they retreat back inside their home away from home, and hit the road once more.

Trashmouth is traveling (and FaMoUs?!?) @richietoziersings

hello , new followers. welcom to my twitter where post about music sometimes and mstly my cats and eddie

Trashmouth is traveling (and FaMoUs?!?) @richietoziersings

eds does not have twitter but thanks you all for the nice words. he respectfully asks that you all remember that he is a very sophisticated doctor and that im the only one allowed to call him secxy

Trashmouth is traveling (and FaMoUs?!?) @richietoziersings

im mostly just mad that a song i wrote in ten minutes in a video i filmed in five minutes went viral before the vid of me doing stnad up comedy at a middle school talent show did

𝖇𝖊𝖛 @bevmarshanscom

@richietoziersings it’s bc your sexy doctor boyfriend is in this one

BUZZFEED -- Who Is Richie Tozier, And More Importantly, Who Is His ‘Hot Doctor Soulmate’?

reddit.com

r/videos - posted by u/mallerisms

guy writes and films ‘travel song’ as he and soulmate go on a roadtrip

youtu.be.com/watch?v=YLKPg...

reddit.com

r/MadeMeSmile - posted by u/anthill

Cutest video of a Seattle musician and his soulmate

youtu.be.com/watch?v=YLKPg...

THE Losers Club >

Stan Uris: I’m framing the Buzzfeed article about Richie and Eddie.

Bev Marsh: Which one?

Bev Marsh: [attatchment]

Bill Denbrough: That’s three too many.

Mike Hanlon: I liked the tweet that said Rich looks like someone threw him into trashcan with a blindfold and askd him to make an outfit

Ben Hanscom: i don’t even know what that means :(

RICHIE<3: mr Trending on Twitter is getting us too lost in illinois to comment

RICHIE<3: just kidding

RICHIE<3: he requests that stanley frame the Trashcan Tweet, and that it would look good in our bathroom

RICHIE<3: this is eddie BTW

They truly do get lost in Illinois. They don’t get to drive through Chicago, but instead end up at a beach in Michigan after making a detour. Several detours.

Further North than they anticipated, but hey. No time like the present.

Eddie knows they could be in Derry in a day with diligent driving. He’s sure Richie knows this. Still, they pull into the beach parking lot just as the sun begins to set. There aren’t many people around, a couple scattered here and there, or a girl running along the shoreline, a man with his dog.

Richie wastes no time, barely putting the car in park before he’s kicking off his shoes and sticking his toes into the sand. Eddie scrambles for their camera, grabbing it from the mess of blankets and capturing Richie’s moment. He’s in a child-like pose, legs apart and head tipped down, arms held out for balance. His hair is wild with the wind, and the pink sun highlights his freckled face and reflects off his glasses.

Eddie catches up quickly, abandoning his own shoes next to Richie’s.

“No sunsets like these in Seattle, eh?” Richie holds out his hand for Eddie to take. Their fingers slip easily into each other, like puzzle pieces.

From two different puzzles, Eddie thinks, looking at their hands.

“The beaches in Seattle aren’t this clean either,” he notes, eyes moving past their hands to the pristine sand. This makes Richie laugh into Eddie’s palm, which he had pulled to his mouth to kiss. Within a few seconds he’s running off again, just managing to kick his jeans off and toss his shirt with reckless abandon. Into the water he goes, glasses and everything.

He’s underwater for a while, enough time for Eddie to step up close, just dipping his toes into the water. The waves splash against his ankles and leave tingling foam on this skin.

Black hair resurfaces. Water drips down his face and on his glasses, all the way down his neck and chest. He looks like a wet dog as he shakes the moisture from his hair, but even then, Richie straightens and smiles toothily. “Fresh water!” he cries happily, throwing his arms open and letting a particularly large wave hit him in the back.

It’s so stupid and so beautiful that it makes Eddie’s chest stretch and constrict. It’s not long before Eddie is abandoning his own shirt and pants, jumping into the lake after Richie.

The water feels cold, especially as the sun dips further beneath the horizon, but it doesn’t last long as Richie’s hands and arms glide over Eddie’s shoulders. It feels second nature for him to stretch up and press their mouths together.

A strong wave hits Richie’s back and sends both of them toppling under the water. Eddie can hear Richie’s muffled, warbled laughter under the water, pressed close to Eddie’s ear.

“God,” Richie breathes once they’ve resurfaced and he has Eddie propped up against him. “I want to marry you.”

There’s a certain kind of lilt in his tone, something reassuring and familiar. It resonates deep within Eddie, through his heart and his brain and his soul, pulling laughter out of him.

Richie’s mouth connects with Eddie’s shoulder as his arms come around his neck. “I love you,” follows the laughter that still falls out of Eddie. “I fucking love you.”

It feels ridiculous. It’s not a soft or tender moment. It’s hysterical, and feels like them. It doesn’t feel any different than Richie calling him Eddie-Spaghetti, or Eddie chattering over Richie’s minor injuries around the house.

Another wave knocks them over, and further into each other they fall.

The sun has long since set on their beach in Michigan once they pull themselves out of the water. It’s freezing out; they all but sprint back to the car. Richie buries himself into one of their heavy quilts, and Eddie drowns in one of Richie’s weird secondhand finds, a sweatshirt that says EAT TWAT, SMOKE POT, SMILE A LOT.

Eddie’s old ipod is cycling through his teenage playlist. Every once in a while, Richie’s arm comes out of its cocoon to slap at Eddie with laughter or disbelief at whatever song comes on. He had a particularly stellar laughing fit during Eddie’s powerful rendition of Waterloo.

Things have quieted down after then after a streak of slower songs. Love Of My Life fades into Come Sail Away as Richie’s head pokes out of his blanket. His hair has dried wilder than usual, thanks to the combination of the freshwater and the quilt. “Eds?”

“Hm?” Eddie doesn’t look up from the styrofoam box of Chinese leftovers that he’s eating out of.

“What do you think of marriage?”

Eddie shrugs. “I don’t know.”

“What do you mean ‘I don’t know’!”

“It means I don’t know! I’ve never really thought about it affecting me.”

The takeout is moved from Eddie’s hands to one of the front seats as Richie comes out of his blanket and throws himself across Eddie, a hand buried in Eddie’s soft beach curls. “I’d take you down to the chapel right now if I could. Or a courtroom, or a picturesque vineyard if my Spaghetti wants something fancy. Hell, we could throw all these miles away and get married by Elvis in Vegas--”

“I know you would,” Eddie huffs.

Richie continues to roll around dramatically. He walks around on his knees, standing as tall as he can before his head starts bumping the ceiling and the photos they have tacked up there already. “We could be the next When Harry Met Sally!”

“Don’t start with this--”

“I love that you get cold when it's 71 degrees out. I love that it takes you an hour and a half to order a sandwich. I love th--”

Eddie’s tackling Richie before he can continue his monologue, back into their mess of blankets. “You’re ridiculous.”

The Elephant Love Medley from Moulin! Rouge comes on just as Eddie is leaning into Richie. They enter character immediately, laughing as they roll around the bed and sing back and forth as Satine and Christian.

“I don’t care about marriage, really,” Richie says after they’ve stopped singing and have buried themselves underneath their blankets, turned off their lights and music.

Eddie stays silent.

“I’m just, like. Stupid for you. Stupid, stupid.”

Eddie laughs.

“And part of being stupid, stupid in love is doing stupid stuff. Like falling in love with your doctor, and adopting many cats with him, and driving to Maine for him. Doesn’t it blow your mind that we could add anything we want to that? Matching tattoos, getting married, driving off cliffs…”

“First we were Harry and Sally, then we were Satine and Christian, now we’re Thelma and Louise?”

Richie throws out his arms, nearly whacking Eddie in the face. “It’s Richie and Eddie versus the world!”

That doesn’t sound so bad.

Come live with me and be my love,

And we will all the pleasures prove,

That Valleys, groves, hills, and fields,

Woods, or steepy mountain yields.

And we will sit upon the Rocks,

Seeing the Shepherds feed their flocks,

By shallow Rivers to whose falls

Melodious birds sing Madrigals.

And I will make thee beds of Roses

And a thousand fragrant posies,

A cap of flowers, and a kirtle

Embroidered all with leaves of Myrtle;

A gown made of the finest wool

Which from our pretty Lambs we pull;

Fair lined slippers for the cold,

With buckles of the purest gold;

A belt of straw and Ivy buds,

With Coral clasps and Amber studs:

And if these pleasures may thee move,

Come live with me, and be my love.

Together awake and whilst we sleep,

Proof my soul is thine to keep.

My heart you hold within your hand;

Your clutch is thee most grand.

The Shepherds’ Swains shall dance and sing

For thy delight each May-morning:

If these delights thy mind may move,

Then live with me, and be my love.

--Christopher Marlowe,

The Passionate Shepherd to His Love

Trashmouth is traveling (and FaMoUs?!?) @richietoziersings

i kno youre all here for my beautifool singing now but uhh haev you herd of eddie… instagram.com/p/jhjUWjkh9...

Trashmouth is traveling (and FaMoUs?!?) @richietoziersings

i call this, ‘portrait of a man mid rendition of its all coming back to me now’’” instagram.com/p/uoQQs3s…

“But it wouldn't be as awful as a summer in Ohio,” Richie is singing, “Without cable, hot water, Vietnamese food, or you.”

The camera flashes and sputters. Richie hops off the sign, jogging over to Eddie. “How’re we lookin’, babycakes?”

Eddie watches the photo develop, acutely aware of Richie leaning over his shoulder. “Like we have so much to discover,” he says dryly. They’re approaching the end of their road. He’s not quite sure what awaits them there.

Richie scribbles his twitter handle on the bottom of the sign as Eddie walks back to the car with the photo. Two finger guns towards the camera and his tongue sticking out, Richie looks like he belongs on the cover of Alternative Press.

“What’s there to do in Ohio?” asks Eddie, once Richie has pulled the car away from the side of the road.

“Corn fields?” says Richie, after a moment.

“Mm. Sounds like every other state before this.”

“Not everywhere can be as glamorous as Seattle!”

The sound of light tapping fills their silence as Eddie’s knee bounces. Then, “anywhere is better than Maine.”

It’s just about the only topic they’ve been avoiding on their long drive. The reason for the drive. Why they’re not flying, why Richie is accompanying Eddie as he essentially walks into the gates of hell.

“I’ll be with you the whole time,” Richie promises. His hand settles on Eddie’s knee, steadying it.

“There’s still time for you to run for the hills,” Eddie says as his head tips to the side, looking at Richie as he drives. “Abandon me and my issues, run away with some Ohio harlot.”

“I’ll stick with my Maine harlot, thank you very much.”

Eddie tosses a hand over his chest. “You speak so highly of me.”

In lieu of an answer, Richie continues his singing from before. “I'll get on my knees, and pray I can state in my next bio: ‘I'm never gonna go back to Ohio!’”

Cornfields and trees pass them by, reminding Eddie of how far away from Seattle they are. It’s quiet, and homey. Makes Eddie want to settle down in some suburb, with Richie and their cats. A grand piano, and a library stacked with books. A mailbox with their names on it.

When did Ohio get so romantic? Eddie wonders.

Richie keeps driving through Pennsylvania and New York, stopping at an empty park where they can see the New York City skyline. They sit on the roof of the car, a box of classic NYC pizza between them.

It takes some convincing to get Eddie to take a picture with Richie, as opposed to Richie’s favored technique of candid and picturesque shots of him. The glittering buildings behind them, Richie’s arm around Eddie’s shoulder and mouth pressed to his cheek, Eddie thinks they look perfect.

Trashmouth is traveling (and FaMoUs?!?) @richietoziersings

final stop before the final stop instagram.com/p/jfj3dWs…

a rare ncie photo of both of us!!

Eddie curls up in their blankets through most of Connecticut, Massachusetts, and New Hampshire. He even sleeps, a little, focusing instead on the familiar nothingness in his dreams than on what awaits them in Maine. Richie wakes him up to continue their tradition of stopping at the signs, but otherwise, Richie stays behind the wheel while Eddie mopes in the back.

Every once in a while, Richie’s hand reaches back. Fingers against Eddie’s palm, or hand in his hair. It’s comforting, reassuring.

Distracting.

He wakes with a jolt when Richie shakes his shoulder.

“I need your guidance, Eds.”

Blinking away the sleep and feeling of deja vu, Eddie sits up. Richie’s still driving, and the sky outside is a tired sort of blue, like the sun is about to set.

“Where are we?”

“Maine.”

It takes a second for Eddie to process that information. They didn’t stop at the sign. “Oh,” he says. It feels like all he can say.

“You think you can tell me where I’m going.”

“Right,” falls out of Eddie’s mouth. He crawls between the seats into the passenger side, trying to get a gather of where they are exactly in Maine. Are they close to Derry? A long ways away? Eddie feels slightly disoriented.

Richie is the most wonderful person he’s ever known, Eddie thinks. He knows exactly how to distract him, keeps him grounded in reality while still edging him towards the painful truth. “You’ll have to get on a highway, I can guide us from there.”

The rest of the drive feels like their longest stretch yet. Eddie’s nervous, biting his nails and bouncing his knees. Richie seems apprehensive, on edge, like he’s ready to reach out and grab Eddie in case he decides to jump out of the moving car.

Eddie’s breath noticeably hitches as the DERRY WELCOMES YOU sign comes into view.

Richie grabs his hand, because he’s a saint.

They’ve been to Maine together once before, way back when. Eddie was just a bit annoyed, a bit inconvenienced with that trip. He didn’t like missing work just to visit his mother in his shitty hometown. Now, even after this long trek, Eddie still doesn’t feel ready.

They take their time driving through Derry, per Eddie’s request, even if Richie has already seen the important parts. They drive by the middle and high schools, then down Main Street and by the Paul Bunyon statue. Richie says it’s creepy.

Finally, Richie pulls onto the street. There’s the Kaspbrak home at the end of the street, white and a bit rundown with age, yet still exactly the same.

“I’m not ready,” he admits.

“We can turn around. Head right back to Seattle.” Richie sniffs awkwardly as he parks. “Or head south. Make our mark in Florida, or something.”

Eddie scoffs, wiping at his wet face. “I think the ghost of Sonia Kaspbrak would come down and smite me if we moved to Florida. She’d be afraid of me getting the West Nile virus, or something.”

Richie’s face is pulled in an unpleasant frown at Eddie’s words. He leans across the seats, pressing his mouth simply to the side of Eddie’s mouth, then slipping their lips to fit together. Once he pulls back, he says, “alright, Texas then.”

A laugh stumbles out of Eddie. Richie wipes at his wet cheeks, and presses a final kiss to Eddie’s forehead. “Come on,” he says quietly. “You can do it.”

The way he says it makes Eddie feel like he can.

Out of the car they go, stretching their legs and pressing close to each other. It feels odd, to be open and affectionate in his front yard. In Derry, even. The steps creak with each step, just as they always have done, and the windows on the front porch are covered in curtains, as if nothing has changed. Nothing really has, Eddie supposes.

Richie hovers slightly behind him as Eddie finds the spare key in the window sill. As he goes to put the key into the hole, Richie says, “I love you.”

It’s enough. The key slips into the slot, the door clicks, and opens.

“I won’t give up on you; even if I have to knock all the doors around the world to find you.”

--M.F. Moonzajer

#my fic #anti soulmate au #reddie #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #it chapter one #it chapter two #shut up mary

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evietheninja · 4 years

Text

It’s on site, Bitch.

Side story to a fan fic my friends and I are writing. They wanted a fight, they got one lmao.

New Message!

Pikachu 2.0: Yo, what do you guys think of this?

Evie glances down at her phone, reading the message out loud to the guys accompanying her in the living room. Attached to the message is a poster for an event happening tonight. "2000s night huh?" Kiri asks sitting on the couch. "Sounds MANLY!" He practically yells, excitement in his voice. "When was the last time we all went out anyway?" He asks, looking over at Bakugo and Evie who are sitting on the floor. "It's been some time, that's for sure." Evie says, closing the picture and typing out a reply.

Glowstick: Sounds like fun!

PoisonIvyWHO?: CAN WE GET READY TOGETHER LIKE WE USED TO??

BigTittieGothGF: YESSS

Evie laughs as she looks over to the boys who are staring down at their screens as the messages come through. "What the fuck babe, you kicking us out?" Bakugo asks, a smirk across his face. "No, dumbass. I may be getting ready at someone elses place." She says looking back down at her phone.

PoisonIvyWHO?: Evie's?

BigTittieGothGF: YEah! Evie, you okay with that?

BakuBITCH: Really? We JUST got this fucking place and you're already kicking us out?

DaddyShark: That's not very manly of you guys.

Glowstick: Kiri.. We're not men..

Kiri laughs. "Why the fuck are you texting me that I'M RIGHT HERE." Evie and Bakugo laugh. "You fucking texted us instead of SAYING IT." She says, leaning on Bakugo as she laughed.

PoisonIvyWho: I'll be there in 20.

BigTittieGothGF: Too bad, Bakugo. We're already going. Get whatever ur wearing and GO TO DENKI'S

Pikachu2.0: Yeah... Cal already told me you guys were getting kicked. Sorry lmaoo

Bakugo rolls his eyes. "Well FUCK Kiri, I guess we're getting kicked out of our own place." He says, standing up. "Let's go pick what we're gonna wear and get out of here before the girls get here. I'm not trying to fight with Cal when she gets here, and lord knows Nina will tell me some shit and they're gonna piss me the hell off before the night even starts." Bakugo finishes, holding out a hand to help Evie up. She laughs, making a loud HUMPH as she gets up. "Babe, seriously suck it up stop being such a baby." She says, laughing.

"Shut the hell up, dumbass. I'll fight your ass too." He says, pulling her in for a kiss. "UGH GET A ROOOOOMMMMM" Kiri says, tossing a ketchup packet at them. "Oh my GOD Suki when did we adopt a CHILD?" Evie laughed pulling away from Bakugo. She picks the ketchup packet up and throws it back, casuing Kiri to swat at it. It hits the wall, splattering. "BRO WHAT THE FUCK" Bakugo yells, walking over to Kiri and grabbing him. "BRO SHE FUCKIN THREW AT ME WHAT WAS I SUPPOSED TO DO?" Kiri yelled back, attempting to put Bakugo in a headlock.

Evie takes her phone and snaps a picture, sending it to the group chat.

Glowstick: Alright, who had two weeks?

PoisonIvyWho?: ME BEECH RUN ME MY MONEEEEYYY

Glowstick: *Paid PoisonIvyWHO? $20*

BigTittieGothGF: *Paid PoisonIvyWHO? $20*

Pikachu2.0: *Paid PoisonIvyWHO? $20*

BigTittieGothGF: Here's Shota's piece.

BigTittieGothGF: *Paid PoisonIvyWHO? $20*

PoisongIvyWHO: HELL YEAH IM GETTIN FUUUCKED TONIGHT!!

Pikachu2.0: You bet your ass you are. ;)

Glowstick: BROOOO

Evie laughed, watching the boys continue to wrestle. "Damn a little less clothing and I'd be questioning if I was just a cover up." She says, walking over to the hall towards her and Bakugo's room. Eventually, she heard the boys stop and she assumed one of them looked at their phone, because next thing she knew the boys were at the doorway, glaring at her.

"What?" Evie said, looking between the boys. "You fucking bet on us?" Bakugo says, his hands sparking lightly. "Hey, calm down. I wasn’t the ONLY one who bet. Even fucking Aizawa was in on it! You can't put that on me alone." She says, keeping her distance. "What were the lengths of time?" Kiri asks, genuinely curious. "Uh, Cal said 2 weeks, Ni said a week, Aizawa said an hour, Denki said 3 days." She says. "And YOU?" Bakugo asks. "Me? I gave you guys the benefit of the doubt and said a month. But nooooo." She says laughing. "ANYWAY. You two need to get the hell out.” She says, pushing the boys out of the room. “Wait, dumbass! I kind of need clothes to wear.” Bakugo says, pushing past her to get into the closet inside their room. Kiri laughs and walks over to his room to get some clothes to change into.

Bakugo packed a WHOLE ASS BAG of clothes, a few shirts and a couple pairs of jeans because he wanted to make sure he looked really good. Kiri did just about the same, a whole backpack with clothes inside. What the fuck? Are they spending the night? Why the fuck. Evie laughed lightly as they made their way to the door. They may be men, but god DAMN they take forever to get ready.

“Alright, we’ll be at Denki’s. Text me if you need anything.” Bakugo says, planting quick peck on Evie’s lips before leaving. “:Yeah yeah, have fun I’ll let you know when we leave.” She says as she opens the door. “Wha- why the fuck are you guys taking backpacks? I thought you guys were going just to change not spend the week there.” Nina’s voice echos through the hall after seeing the boys. “FUUUCK I thought we’d be gone by the time you guys got here.” Bakugo complains, nodding at Cal and Nina as they enter the apartment. “Shut the hell up, boom boom boy.” Cal says walking past him. He tugs at her sprout on her head, causing her to yelp. “Stop it, asshole! i’ll get Frank on your ass.” She warns, rubbing her sprout as he lets go.

“Who the fuck is Frank:?” He asks, Kirishima laughing next to him. “None of your business, leave! You take any longer and we’ll be fucking late.” Nina says, closing the door as they walk in. “I thought we’d never get rid of them.” They joke as they smile and hug Evie. Cal jumps onto them, laughing and giggling as they regain themselves.

The next hour and a half consists of the trio getting dressed, comparing outfits and making sure they looked really good for the night ahead. Cal is wearing a green lace bralette, with gloves to match. Shes got a tight black skirt, with thigh high stockings with guarders with heels. Her hair is down and tame, the black skirt and green top complimenting her every feature. Nina is wearing a black and white cheetah print tube top, with leather shorts, thigh high platform boots with her chains rearranged in a choker fashion, with a loop in the middle for an attachable leash, her mullet slick back. Evie is wearing a green long sleeve crop top that ties around her stomach, with a deep v cut, ripped skinny jeans and thigh high heel boots. Her hair is half up, the other half tamed beautifully to compliment the outfit. She puts on her favorite black choker with a silver heart in the middle. She only wears it when she wants Bakugo to replace it with his hand, which she was sure he would do later.

The group looks at each others outfits, gushing on how ridiculously good they looked. After a very long photo shoot, the group locks up the apartment and heads out. They meet up at the club, excited to get the night started. They are (not surprisingly) the first ones to make it. They stand around, waiting to hear from their significant other’s and Kirishima. Denki, Bakugo and Kirishima show up next, Denki walking up dressed from head to toe in black, a silver chain on his belt loops and black and silver jewelry complimenting his outfit. Kirishima has on red cargo shorts, a white t shirt on with a windbreaker jacket that says “Riot” in red letters on the back. Bakugo is in black jeans with an orange tee shirt, with orange converse to match and a black blazer. He, for once, slicked his hair back and hot DAMN he looked good to Evie. Cal and Evie couldn’t help but gawk over their men as Aizawa finally made his way to the group. Aizawa is dressed in a grey v neck t-shirt, skinny jeans, a loose fitting leather jacket with his scarf covering his neck as it always does. His hair is half up in a bun on the back of his head. He probably looks the most comfortable than every one in the group.

They gather in their group, Denki pulling Cal closer as he looks her up and down. Bakugo smirks as he watches Evie approach him, eyeing her figure. “You... you are SO lucky we didn’t get ready at the same place.” He growls as he throws an arm over her. “We would’ve never made it to this damn club.” He finishes, hearing Denki and Kirishima laugh in agreement. “I wouldn’t have heard the end of it.” Kiri says under his breath. They laugh and enter the club.

After a few drinks, dedicating drinks to their accomplishments ranging from graduating college and getting their own places, to them just being happy they were all finally getting to hang out. Feeling the light buzz, Evie urges Bakugo to go out and dance with her. He complains, although in actuality, she knew he loved to dance with her, able to show the girl he was with.

Cal and Denki were laughing and talking amongst themselves for a bit before finally heading out to the dance floor. Lets be honest, they were only a few drinks away from starting their dance battles, and everyone for once was ready for it.

Aizawa and Nina stood close together, Nina dancing to the music while Aizawa watched, almost entranced by her movements. God, the way he looked at her, the way he undressed her with his eyes. Anyone who’d watched them grew jealous of the love they had for each other. Every so often, he would pull them in and says something that would physically cause Nina to shudder. It always entertained Evie. She’d always laugh watching the way just words would make Nina squirm.

Evie looked up at Bakugo, urging him again. He laughed and nodded over to Kiri, inviting him to dance with them. Many people questioned the relationship they shared, were they all in some kind of relationship? Was it just as simple as Bakugo and Evie were just comfortable with Kiri? Pretty much. Nither Evie nor Bakugo saw Kiri in that way, and Kiri just really loved to dance.

The trio makes their way to the dance floor as the music bumped through the speakers. Evie let the music take over, feeling Bakugo behind her, molding to her body with ease. Kiri does the same, only in front. Nina had stopped dancing for a sec to watch her friends dance, and smirked at the three. They knew Bakugo wouldn’t hold his composure long, and would claim Evie in about a song or two.

The song Goodies bumped through the speakers, with it being Evie’s favorite song, she danced harder feeling the boys match her tempo. Every so often, because Bakugo couldn’t make his mind up about how comfortable he was with Evie facing either towards or away from him, he would turn her. She laughed, feeling the drinks work their way into her system, giving her a good feeling.

The song Me&U begins to bump through the speakers. Evie starts to sing the lyrics, the front of her body facing Kiri. Kiri begins to sing as well, looking Evie in the eyes while doing so. Bakugo takes notice, and whips her around, glaring at Kiri from over Evie. She laughs, noticing Kiri pick up his hands in apology and decides that’s the time for him to go find another dance partner. Evie grabs Bakugo by his cheeks, forcing him to look at her as they grind. For a while, it feels like they’re the only two in the room.

Sweat drips, their bodies bumping to the sound of the base. Evie smiles up at Bakugo and kisses him. Then, she jumps, feeling a cold, wet feeling run down her back. She whips around, seeing Ururaka looking her up and down smirking. “Oops, I’m sorry. I didn’t see you there.” She says smugly in a monotone voice over the music. Ururaka then turns her attention to Bakugo, her smile turning sweet. “Hey, Kachan, how are you?” She says, taking a step closer to him almost pushing Evie out of the way. Evie looks to her left, seeing Nina already making their way to her with Cal close behind, a worried Denki behind them and Aizawa looking from the distance. “Don’t fucking call me that, one. And two we’re in the middle of something, so if you could, you know, fuck off that’d be great.” Bakugo says, bumping her shoulder and returning to Evie.

“Oh, you’d rather be with that? HA, okay.” Ururaka says, scoffing as she looks at the couple. “Listen here you broke ass bit-” Cal starts, ready to lunge at her. Nina stops her for a second, looking Ururaka up and down before speaking. “Is there a problem?” they ask. “Oh, can’t fight your own fights?” Ururaka says, turning her attention back to Evie. “Oh, I can fucking fight alright.” Evie says, rolling up her sleeves and removing her earrings. “Hold these baby please.” She says, handing them to Bakugo who takes them and places them in his pocket, taking a step back to watch Evie do what she did best. “Oh you got the wrong bitch” Nina says, cracking their knuckles.

Ururaka pushes Evie. She stumbles lightly, and recovers quickly. Ururaka looks at her in confusion. She’s...not floating. Evie looks over to a golden eyed, floating haired Aizawa, who’d activated his quirk, disabling Ururaka’s. Evie smirked, returning her attention to Ururaka who was already on the floor due to Nina using her chains to restrain her, and Cal straight out kicking her on the ground. She laughed, bending down as Cal got in another kick. No one around noticed, nor cared about what was happening to Ururaka.

“Oh honey, you should’ve known better.” Evie says in the sweetest way possible as she stands and gets her kick in. Nina unrestrains her and they step over her, turning to return to Aizawa when Ururaka gets up, grabs Nina by the shoulder and throws a punch. Before the punch even makes contact, Cal jumps on her, throwing punches as Ururaka turns her attention to her. Somehow, she manages to get a hold of Cal’s sprout on her head, making her even more mad. Evie grabs Ururaka by the hair, pulling her off of Cal and punching her a couple times before Bakugo steps in. He grabs Evie, stopping her from injuring her anymore. “It’s not worth it, babe.” He says, attempting to calm her down.

“She isnt worth it!” Ururaka screams, getting up because this girl STILL hadn't had enough. Nina uses her chains to grab Ururaka, throwing her to the ground and planting a platformed boot on her chest. They lean in real close, speaking loud enough for her to hear. “Listen here, bitch. YOU, are a piece of shit, and if we EVER see you trying it again, it’s on site.” They say before getting up. Cal walks up, kicking her down as she tries to sit up. “Oh, the 99 cent store called, they want their dress back.” Cal says, spitting on her before leaving as well. Evie calms herself enough for Bakugo to let her go, and they turn back once more before laughing and walking off.

Before any kind of authorities are called, the group leaves the club, making their way to their favorite after club place, a 24/7 boba tea place just down the street from the club, They order drinks, and all make another toast to a great night. “I’ve really been wanting to do that shit since the situation.” Cal says, beaming. “Same” Nina says, clinking cups and laughing. Bakugo walks over to the table, with drinks in one hand and his phone in the other. The fact they’d forgotten Kiri was fucking hilarious to him. Kiri slams through the door, asking about what’d happened. He was SO upset he’d missed it.

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gimmesumsuga · 6 years

Text

See you (M)

The one where Taehyung notices you at a concert, and can't help but want to see you again.

Pairing: Taehyung x reader

Word count: 4.5K

Warnings: Mild smut; kissing, fingering.

A/N: This is gratuitously self-indulgant piece; a daydream gone too far!! And yes, i know I've left it open for a second part. No, I've got no idea when I might actually get around to it 😂

Part two

“Are you sure you want to bother with this?” Sarah asks, eyeing the seemingly never ending line the of people that stretches out before you with one doubtful eyebrow raised, disappearing above the blunt edge of her fringe.

You can’t blame her for looking skeptical. After yesterday’s debacle that had you standing for almost ten hours straight, your feet aren’t exactly in prime condition to go tackling yet another queue.

“I got an invite,” you reply, shrugging your shoulders and pulling the shoulder strap of your bag back up into place as it threatens to slip down. “I can’t just let it go to waste. There’s like a thousand other girls here who’d tear my arm off for this.” Gesturing to the sign above a set of glass double doors that reads ‘BTS Studio’, Sarah’s gaze follows the motion of your arm.

“Alright,” she concedes, shifting her weight from one foot to the other and grimacing as she does so. It’s all too easy to empathise with how she’s feeling; the balls of your feet are killing you, too, not to mention your lower back. “At least we’re sitting tonight, I guess.”

“And I’ve got more painkillers, so we’ll be fine.” Sarah nods and then follows alongside you as you make your way down to the back of the queue. It’s a relief when you realise that it’s not actually as long as you’d originally thought; nowhere near as long as the lines for the actually concert, anyway.

“Ok, I’m gonna go to the loo so that’s gonna kill… like, an hour, at least, right?” your friend sighs, a wry smile stretched across her pretty face, “And then I guess I’ll just go hang out in Starbucks or something until you’re done?”

“Sure, ok. I’ll text you when I’m out.”

“Cool. Have fun!” She bids you a farewell wave that you return as you sidestep into the queue behind a small group of girls who’re practically bouncing with excitement already, chattering away in a European language that you can’t hope to understand.

Luckily, once the doors actually open the queue moves fairly quickly. Scrolling through tumblr on your phone and rewatching last night’s videos keep you amused for the most part; smiling like an idiot down at your screen as you go over the precious memories stored inside.

You’re only thirty people or so from the front of the line when you suddenly get the feeling as though you’re being watched, looking up from your phone with curious eyes and glancing from side to side. Sure enough, your gaze meets that of one of the attending staff - a young East Asian man with neatly styled hair and sharp cheekbones - and oddly enough, when he sees you looking he doesn’t seem too concerned about having been caught staring. He looks you up and down quickly, eyes narrowed, and in under normal circumstances you might think he was checking you out but… for some reason it doesn’t quite feel that way. It feels more like a clinical inspection than anything else, but before you can even begin to figure out what his intentions might be he looks away and then he leaves; abandoning his post without a word to any of the other staff and striding away, leaving nothing but confusion in his wake.

“Well that was weird…” you murmur under your breath, and though you may be frowning as you lower your eyes back to your phone, the latest gifs of Jimin to grace your dash are more than enough to help you forget the odd little occurrence.

It’s not until you reach the front of the line that you start to feel the first flutters of excitement in your chest. You’ve seen the photos that have come out of the BTS studio booths before and always been really impressed with how convincing some of turn out. Sure, it might not be the real BTS that you’re posing with, but a photograph with a virtual member is the best you’re ever gonna get, so you may as well make the most of it.

It’s with an eager smile that you show the member of security guarding the entrance your emailed admission pass, who then explains the process that you’ll need to go through once you’re inside; selecting your member, taking a seat to strike a pose and then waiting outside the booth for the photo to be printed.

It doesn’t take long before it’s your turn to then enter, and as you step into the booth that’s no bigger than the size of your living room at home you feel your pulse rate start to steadily rise. The security guard that had welcomed you shuts the door behind you as soon as you’ve stepped through it, and it very nearly makes you jump as it thuds firmly into place.

You’re not sure why you’re so jumpy. Just over-excited, you guess. Your hands are a little shaky as you place your bag down by the door and head over to the touch screen that’s embedded into the wall to begin scrolling through the varying options and poses it presents, and very quickly you find one that you like; Namjoon sat with his chin rested on his hand and a broad smile on his face. It makes your heart beat all the harder to see it, and once you’ve made your selection you quickly rush to the bench opposite the screen and sit down, watching your reflection as you twist and turn your body so as best to position yourself next to his virtual image.

It’s so weird, seeing yourself sat beside him. Weird, but really cool! If only it was the real Namjoon you were sat next to! Not that you’d even know what to say, but -

“Hello.”

Your head turns sharply to the left, a yelp of surprise bursting forth from your mouth as you search wildly for the source of the deep voice that you just heard. Twisting your torso, you look over your shoulder and end up scrambling backwards to the very edge of the bench when you identify a familiar face poking out from behind the curtains that line the back of the booth.

“Sorry!” Taehyung exclaims, stepping out further from his hiding place and holding both hands up, palms facing outward in apology as he comes to stand by the bench on which you’re still sat, gawking up at him with your mouth hanging open. “Sorry,” he repeats, “Sorry to… scare.”

This can’t be real, right?

This has to be some sort of prank. This can’t be the real Kim Taehyung stood right here - right in front of you - in a snugly fitting pair of black trousers and mustard yellow shirt, looking completely and utterly flawless. No. No way.

“I just want to…” He hesitates, hands falling back down to his sides as he seemingly struggles for the right words to say in English, thick eyebrows creasing in frustration. “To say… hello… with you.”

You blink, dumbstruck, and so many seconds of silence pass by that Taehyung starts to fidget nervously with his hands, wringing them where they hang in front of his crotch.

“Sorry. My English not… good,” he laughs self-consciously, glancing down at the floor, “You understand?”

“Yes!” you blurt out, not wanting to make him think for even a single second that he isn’t doing an amazing job at saying what he means, “I mean, yes, I understand but how are you… why are you…?” You trail off, hopelessly lost for words under the weight of his deep brown eyes staring back at you.

He looks down at the empty space next to you on the bench.

“I can sit?” he asks and when you quickly nod he’s just as swift to take a seat next to you, his knees turned towards yours.

Taehyung looks even more stunning up close than he did a few seconds ago stood above you; his skin impossibly clear and his features just as inconceivably sharp.

“This is your second day, yes? You here... last night?” he questions once he’s made himself comfortable next to you, and when you nod once again a broad smile appears on his face and steals your breath away with it.

How does he know that you were here yesterday? Could it really be that he’d noticed you as you’d so desperately hoped he would during the final moment’s on last night’s concert? As the whole group had been saying their goodbyes to the crowd along the edges of the stage in those final precious moments at the end you’d sworn your eyes had met, but of course you could never be certain. There were probably at least twenty girls around you who’d thought the same thing; impossible to tell for sure with all the lights and confetti and noise going on around you.

“I saw you,” he grins gleefully, “Saw you sing, and dancing. All night.” He shimmies his shoulders playfully as he speaks, and as he does so you feel your cheeks filling with heat at the prospect of Taehyung having been witness to you flailing around like an idiot amongst the rest of the crowd. Smiling embarrassedly down at your feet, you rub at your neck.

“Oh, yeah… then that was probably me.” When you look back up Taehyung is still looking right back at you, his eyes practically twinkling in the stark lighting of the booth. “Did I win some sort of competition, then? Is that why you’re here? I was like… the craziest fan, or something?”

He cocks his head adorably to the side, eyes narrowing in confusion, and you can’t help but wonder whether that might well be where Yeontan gets it from.

“Competition?” he repeats slowly, clearly not quite comprehending your choice in words.

“Um, I mean like… a prize. This - a picture with you-” You gesture around the room and towards the camera, Taehyung’s gaze following the point of your finger. “-Is it a prize?” Understanding dawns in Taehyung’s eyes, opening them up wide as he exclaims,

“Ohhhh!” He shakes his head, shaking his bangs across his forehead. “No. No prize. I just…” Taehyung pauses again, and you swear you see the faintest hint of a blush colour the deep caramel of his cheeks as he ducks his head slightly. “I want - wanted - to see... you.”

“Me?” You really must be dreaming. Any moment now you’re going to wake up to the sound of your alarm and you’re going to roll over and tell Sarah all about the vivid dream you’ve had featuring the one and only Kim Taehyung. “Why?” you ask bluntly - disbelievingly - and at that Taehyung takes a deep breath, his eyes looking this way and that as he figures out what it is he wants to say.

“London is… very beautiful,” he begins to explain slowly, his features open and expressive as he shuffles closer to you across the bench, gesturing with his hands as he speaks. “The buildings. The art. All very beautiful. But you-” Taehyung pauses, his gaze flicking between each of your eyes,back and forth. “-You are more beautiful than all those things, I think.”

Yep… this is definitely - definitely - dream worthy material.

You pinch the side of your thigh as you stare back at him with your face flushed and your heart thumping, but no matter how hard you grab at your flesh you just can’t seem to wake up.

“T-thank you,” you stutter out when you realise you’ve left him waiting for a reply for far longer than you should, but Taehyung just grins regardless of how flustered and ineloquent you’ve become.

“Last night, you give kiss.” As your brow furrows in confusion, Taehyung smacks a kiss against his palm and then blows it back at you to clarify what he means, and as you watch him do it you feel your face start to burn all the hotter. You hadn’t been sure whether or not he’d seen that when you’d impulsively gone ahead and done it, but apparently he had… “Very cute,” he grins, scrunching his nose at you when you momentarily hide your scarlet face behind your hands. “Your bias… is me?”

Crap.

“Oh… uh... well,” you stammer haltingly, and you know the way you're suddenly refusing to meet Taehyung's eyes will likely have already given you away.

If he'd have asked you the same question about 18 months ago you would've been able to easily give him an affirmative answer, but being a BTS stan is a tricky business! How is a girl supposed to stay loyal with seven equally attractive and charming men to choose from?!

“No?” Thankfully, Taehyung starts to laugh as you pick your doleful gaze up off the floor to grin apologetically back at him. He crosses his legs, holding onto his knee as he back at you with an appraising gaze, head tilting again. “Jimin?”

You shake your head ‘no’ and revel in how Taehyung's eyebrows jump with surprise.

“Jungkook?” he guesses again, laughing when you once again shake your head, grinning playfully. “Who? You tell me.”

Leaning back slightly, you chose to show rather than tell. With a guilty look and a bite of your lip, you straight out the shirt that you're wearing - the print of which was just hidden by the way you were sat.

“Ah, hyung,” he nods in understanding when he takes in the images of Namjoon that you have printed across your chest. “That is… very good choice.”

Do you detect just the slightest hint of disappointment in his voice, perhaps?

“I like all of you, though,” you hasten to tell him, instinctively shuffling closer across the bench. “You're all so talented.”

“You think so?”

“Of course,” you confirm quickly, butterflies kicking up a storm inside your stomach as he gifts you with that famous boxy smile of his, so wide that his eyes briefly press shut.

“I'm happy.” Sweetly, he presses a hand to his heart, palm flat to his chest as he declares, “I like you, too. Very much.”

“Really?” you ask, embarrassingly breathless already, and when he reaches out to take your hand in his, long fingers intertwined with yours as he pulls them into his lap, you stare dumbly down at them, so overwhelmed you could very nearly cry.

“Really,” Taehyung nods. “I like your hair.” He reaches out to touch it with his free hand, brushing the strands with his fingertips. “I like your eye.”

God, it feels like a struggle to breathe when he looks at you this way; sat so close you can smell the clean scent of his aftershave.

“I like... everything.” His gaze flickers down to your lips, his tongue flicking out to wet his own before looking back into your eyes, his pupils dilating slightly as they meet.

“Wow…” Ok, so now you're definitely breathless. You feel Taehyung's fingers squeeze around yours and before you know it you're squeezing right back.

“Last night, you give kiss.” Taehyung's voice seems to have dropped in pitch since he last spoke, quiet and husky. Again he looks at your mouth, shifting over on the bench so there's no space left remaining between you; his thigh pressed to yours, elbows knocking. “Today, I kiss you?” he asks, and you've barely even registered the question before your head begins to nod.

“Yes. Yes please,” you whisper, and before you can take even a single bracing breath to prepare yourself, Taehyung's smiling lips are pressing against your own.

Warm and supple, they brush yours. His kiss is sweet and tentative - his hand gentle when it reaches up to slip into your hair - and when you lean into him further, resting your weight on his thigh, Taehyung releases a deep groan of approval that rumbles in his chest.

“Your name,” he murmurs between kisses, head tilting from one side and then to the other as your lips collide, press after press as he cradles your cheek in his palm, “What is your name?”

Oh god, haven't you even told him that yet? If this weren't Kim Taehyung that you were kissing, you'd judge yourself quite harshly for letting yourself getting so badly carried away.

Your name is so muffled by his lips the first time you say it that you have to repeat it again, pulling away for just a second. Taehyung's shapely lips look slightly puffy from the kisses you've shared; shiny and flushed a far deeper red than the pretty pink warming his cheeks.

He releases your hand, smiling happy as he lets an echo of your name roll off his tongue and cradles your cheeks in both his palms.

“That is beautiful too.”

With each second that goes by that you're looking into Taehyung's deep and soulful eyes, you're starting to care less and less about whether or not this could ever be real. Unlikely or not, now that you're here you intend to make the very most of it, and it's with a renewed sense of urgency that you grip onto the material of his trousers with both hands, pressing your fingertips into the meat of his thighs.

“Taehyung, Tae, kiss me again,” you urge, already leaning in, and the beautiful boy sat next to you needs very little encouragement to meet you halfway. He surges forward - mouths colliding - and every kiss is tinged with impatience, now; a heat unfurling in your lower abdomen as his hands slip into your hand and his grip tightens, holding you fast against him.

His tongue swipes across your lips and then delves inside the moment that they part, rolling against yours with another deep groan of desire. When you hook your knee over his thigh, Taehyung is quick to grab a hold of the back of it and uses it as leverage to pull you onto his lap, straddling his waist despite how difficult it may be given the tight denim of your skirt.

His hand snakes up your thigh, kneading along your flesh onto it finds its resting place on your behind; squeezing firmly.

“Oh fuck,” you gasp as an instinctive roll of your hips into his draws attention to how aroused the both of you are. As your pelvises had pressed, the solidness of his erection had ground the material of your sullied panties against your core, coating them with the warm slick that's gathered so generously that the next time it happens it's a smooth slide of wet fabric against sopping wet skin.

Taehyung groans your name, tugging on your ass to rock you against him again; harder this time.

“I… can I?” With his mind clouded by lust, Taehyung seems to be struggling with English more than ever as he mumbles out words between kisses fervent kisses, his hand leaving your hair to come rest on the top of your thigh. “My hand? Yes?”

“Yes, yes,” you chant enthusiastically, already scrambling to pull your skirt up higher for him and grant Taehyung better access to your ruined underwear.

You've wasted so many hours just imagining his long and graceful fingers doing exactly as they are now - slipping between your legs to seek out your aching heat - that you can hardly believe this is real.

It must be, though. Never before has your imagination so vivid and visceral as this; the lightest brush of his fingertips against your panties making you gasp and shiver in his arms.

“Oh please,” you whimper as he toys with the seam, having abandoned your lips in favour of laying kiss upon kiss along the slant of your jaw and further below, grazing his mouth against the sensitive flesh of your neck.

“Shhhh,” Taehyung hushes, his breath hot against your throat, and it's only thanks to the way you sink your teeth into your bottom lip that you don't then cry out when he shifts the crotch of your panties aside and the pads of his index and middle finger slip between your dripping folds.

He doesn't push them inside right away, not at first. To begin with, he simply lets them slip and slide amongst your wetness, gathering your slick on his fingertips ready to then press them to the swollen nub of your clitoris. Round and round he circles it, gently stimulating you to the point that you're softly whining and rocking against the heel of his hand and gripping at his shoulders, so consumed with desire that you're practically burning from the inside out.

Mouthing at the base of your neck, you let out a strangled moan when Taehyung sucks rhythmically at your skin. He doesn't stop until it's starting to hurt, and you can tell from the ache that's left behind in his wake that he'll have left a mark; claiming you as his own.

The thought of it arouses you beyond belief and now, more than ever, you know you need to feel him inside. Reaching down to grab a hold of his forearm you try to force his touch lower - away from your clit to your centre instead - and when Taehyung finally looks up from his assault of your throat his sinful tongue is prodding at the corner of his parted lips, breathing hard.

He flashes you a smirk so salacious that it makes your pelvic floor clench, and you’d start pleading for him again if it weren't for him seizing your lips once more, taking everything you're willing to give.

Taehyung murmurs something in Korean, rubbing hard against your clit until your thighs start to clench either side of him, and it isn't until your whole body has started to shake that he slips his fingers lower and pushes them inside; two knuckles wide and deep.

“Yes,” he groans in approval when your silken walls squeeze around him - a cry catching in your throat - and Taehyung gives you no time to get used to the stretch before he's already moving them inside you. He thrusts them in and out so fast that the room fills with the sound of his palm slapping against you, and when he tires of that and begins to rapid ‘come hither’ motions to press at your g-spot, you can hear every wet curl of his fingers inside.

Desperate to smother some of the broken moans that are spilling out of you, you press your face to his shoulder, hiding amongst the creases of his shirt.

“Fuck,” you whine helplessly, hips twisting on his lap because he just won't let up, dragging his fingertips against your most sensitive parts again and again and again, determined to make you fall apart. More Korean uttered into your hair - more kisses to your scalp - and you can feel yourself getting close, squeezing even tighter around his fingers, so wet that it must surely be dripping down onto his palm.

“Good girl,” he praises, his accent thicker than ever; the sexiest two words you've ever heard in your life. They send you hurtling towards your end at almost breakneck speed, and suddenly every motion of Taehyung's fingers feels even more intense than they did just a moment before; a fire roaring to life deep in your pelvis that threatens to consume you whole.

“Tae… I… Oh god, I-” you cry as you cling onto him, fingers fisted in his shirt, and it takes barely a moment before you're cumming wildly on his fingers. Every inch of your body goes rigid as it hits and then quickly begins to tremble as you choke out his name against his lips when they find yours, tenderly kissing you back down to Earth.

“Ok?” Taehyung asks as you rest your forehead on his, eyes closed and catching your breath, gasping with oversensitivity when he gently slips his fingers out of you. He must wipe them on his trousers or something, because when he takes your face in his hands and tilts your chin up they're already dry; a contented smile on his face when you open up your eyes. “Good?”

“Yeah,” you sigh happily, sitting up straighter in his lap, “Yeah, really, really good.”

“Good,” he echoes, smile widening. “Pretty,” he admires, brushing his thumbs over your blushing cheeks. You glance down, embarrassed to be on the receiving end of such rapt attention from someone you admire so much, and as you do you notice the problem that Taehyung still appears to be suffering from; rock hard underneath the zipper of his trousers.

Bravely, you slip your hand down the length of his chest and press your palm over it, squeezing lightly and smiling at the way his breath hitches, his eyebrows furrowing. Taehyung looks pained as he takes a hold of your wrist and moves your touch away, sadly shaking his head.

“What about you?” you ask regretfully. You've been so lucky. Never in your wildest dreams would you have imagined you'd be on the receiving end of Taehyung's attentions; the least you can do is return the favour.

“Too long,” he husks, glancing at the door behind you, and it's with widened eyes and a deepening blush that you suddenly remember where it is you are. “ARMY… they are waiting too much.”

He probably has a point. You've no idea how long the two of you have been in here, but it's probably far longer than you ever had to wait.

Ever so carefully, Taehyung helps you up off his lap and pats your butt affectionately once you've pulled your skirt back into place. He looks thoughtful once you sit back down, and suddenly you don't quite know what to say.

‘Thanks for the orgasm, I'll see you at the show?’

“I want…” He stops, clucking his tongue against teeth as he clasps his hand in his lap. “Would like… hope... to see you again.”

“Me too,” you admit, meaning it more desperately than you've ever meant anything in your life.

“Can I… trust?” Taehyung gestures between the two of you. “Secret?”

“Of course!” you answer instantly. For one thing, you doubt anyone would ever believe you if you told them. Not only that, but you'd rather not risk getting sued by BigHit themselves for creating any kind of scandal, either.

“Ok,” he smiles and then reaches into his pocket, pulling out a small slip of paper that he hands to you, pointing at its contents when you turn it over. “This is hotel. This is my name. Today, after show you come?”

“Yeah,” you agree, folding it up and slipping it into your phone case for safe keeping; your most treasured possession. “Yeah, I definitely will.”

“Yay,” he grins adorably, screwing his hands into fists with excitement where they rest atop his thighs.

You'd never guess the things he'd just done to you given how sweet and innocent he looks now - how cutely his fringe dangles over his scrunched up eyes.

“Taehyung-ssi!” a voice calls from behind the curtain from which he'd emerged earlier, and Taehyung straightens in his seat, his eyes pinging open.

“Oh,” he says quickly, rising to his feet, “I must-”

“You need to go, I know. It's ok.” You get up as well, standing toe to toe with him with a consoling smile tugging at your lips.

There's an odd feeling in the centre of your chest; a sadness despite knowing that you're supposed to be meeting again later. You don't want him to leave…

As if reading the mournful look in your eyes, Taehyung smiles sweetly and takes your face in his hands to steal your breath away with one last sweet kiss.

“Thank you,” you sigh into his lips, only re-opening your eyes once he steps away and releases you.

“Tonight,” he promises, walking backwards towards the curtain with a wave of his hand and a wink of one eye that has your stomach doing flips on the inside. “See you.”

“See you,” you reply, and then he disappears behind the curtain and out of your sight; at least until tonight.

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